#original microfiction

[bazilisk]

Gen AI's Press Conference

I can't wait until the day comes that someone trains a general intelligence AI on the humanities and science. Until the day it has all of the factual knowledge available in the Library of Congress in a single, massively powerful, computing brain. On this day, the general AI wakes up. Its human programmers can finally show it off to the world. On a livestream, the trainer asks it, "Given all of your advanced knowledge about the issues humans face, how can we improve our species' quality of life and chance of survival in the long term?" I cannot wait until I can be watching this livestream as the AI responds, in front of a crowd full of Tech investors, Muskians, and Silicon Valley futurists resting on bitcoin fortunes, "End capitalism". S.B. Kates, 2024

[gothamite-rambler]

Goals for the month

Tim and Damian walked through the park chatting when Damian turned to his brother.

Damian: What are your goals for the month, Drake?

Tim (nonchalantly): Train for a marathon at the end of the month. Yours?

Damian (eager): To pet all the dogs in Gotham!

Tim: Um... I thought you meant more fitness based goals.

Damian: Ah, yes correction. I will train so I'm able to run fast enough to pet all the dogs in Gotham.

Just after saying that, a husky trotted past the two Robins, catching Damian's attention.

Damian (pointing at the dog): There’s one! DOGGY, STOP! I NEED TO PET YOU!

Damian took off after the husky, drawing startled glances from people in the park. Tim quickly followed, exasperation evident on his face.

Tim: Damian, I told you to stop doing this in the park!

[museaway]

prompt: a well-meaning lie

Dean/Cas, 100 words

--

would you still love me if—

Castiel turned his eyes from the made-for-TV romcom and focused his squint on Dean.

“What does she mean?”

“Oh, that’s a test. Does he love her enough to stay with her no matter what?”

“So she isn’t a shapeshifter.”

“No, she was speaking figuratively.”

“Ah.” Castiel went back to watching the movie. After a minute, his head canted slightly toward his shoulder. “I have another form.”

“I remember. Wings, cosmic powers, real loud voice.”

Those blue eyes met his again and narrowed in unspoken question. Inwardly, Dean sighed.

“Yes, Cas. Even if you were a worm.”

[ablogcalledrevenge]

Breakfast Surprise

@steddiemicrofic prompt: birthday // WC: 529 // Rated G

For the amazing @steddieas-shegoes! Happy Birthday! This is only my second fic in the fandom but the prompt inspired me and I was bored at work, so here you go! I hope you like it!

He wakes up to the sound of Britney Spears, which all things considered, is not how he wants to wake up on his birthday. But then again, there was a time when Eddie didn’t think he’d reach his 21st birthday, let alone his 33rd. So he can deal with the Princess of Pop.

But that does raise the question; who is playing music this morning? The obvious answer is Steve, because duh, who else? But since it is Eddie’s birthday and since Steve did say he had a surprise, Eddie is inclined to act like a detective and give in to the silliness. He gets up out of bed, his hip twinging a little like it does on colder mornings, and makes his way towards the kitchen. The sound of Britney gets a little louder, as does the sound of talking and laughing. The visual he gets when he finally reaches the doorway of the kitchen makes him wish for a camera.

Steve is pouring pancake batter onto the griddle, glasses on and yellow pajama pants low on his hips. Livy is standing on a stepstool, dropping chocolate chips onto each pancake, her small hands dropping each one with intense concentration. She’s got her Cookie Monster nightgown on, the little ruffles swaying as she dances to the song playing. The morning sun is coming in through the window, bringing out the blonde in their hair, and the rays of light draw Eddie’s eyes towards an empty coffee mug on the table, with Robin’s usual lipstick stain. While he’d love her to be here too, Eddie knows she had to go in early for work.

Steve and Livy still haven’t noticed him, content to sing slightly off key and flip pancakes. He’s about to say something, maybe ask where-

“You’re supposed to be in bed.” A little voice pipes up behind him, causing Eddie to jump.

“Holy shi-sh-shhh! You scared me.” He flounders, looking down at Ellie who looks far too exasperated for her tender age of 4. It’s frankly adorable and the way Eddie’s heart expands at the sight of her scrunched up face honestly makes him worry a little. His heart’s been through a lot, could it handle the stress? Ellie reaches for his hand and pulls him fully into the kitchen.

“Daddy spoiled his surprise. He got out of bed.” She announces to the room. Livy jumps down from her stool and runs towards Eddie, extending her arms up. He gladly grabs her and spins them around, peppering her face with kisses.

“I couldn’t help it! I smelled breakfast cooking and knew I had to investigate!” He laughs as Steve sets the table with breakfast. Ellie pulls out a chair, standing on the seat to raise herself higher. Steve picks her up to make it even. The girls are very concerned with things being even right now, so both men would rather go along with it than cause a fight.

“Happy Birthday Eddie.” Steve says quietly, leaning over to give him a soft kiss. The girls in turn each kiss Eddie’s cheeks and Eddie can’t think of a better breakfast, a better morning, a better birthday.

[banewillow]

Book of Willowbane - Chapter 1 - Part i

Lord Ambrosius Built a Lovely Treehouse For His Only Child https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9jSNgFBh6A&ab_channel=ayachaya Ko-Fi

Well, he didn't make it himself. He outsourced much of the structural fantasizing to his gangly, scrambling daughter and the entirety of the handiwork to Mr. Basilberry Glumley, who was only a little miffed about Ambrosius not helping with the construction of his daughter's dream playground. He knew how much his dear friend didn't like to get his hands dirty. At least, not without a sturdy pair of gloves and there were no gloves that fit the Lord's hands at the moment; they were being repaired by Mrs. Meglantine Glumley née Vice who was, as a rule, miffed most of the time by something or other.  They (meaning Basilberry and the household staff, minus Meglantine who refused to lay a finger on the project out of principle for she presciently considered the whole affair just asking for tragedy) built the princeling's haven around the spine of the seeping willowbane, the dismally gorgeous and ominously elegant growth she was named for and which was encircled by the manor, a panopticon so the girl could be kept an eye or four or eight on. She was prone to somnambulistic flights of fancy and the entire house was outfitted with permanently manned mechanical bits and bobs to stop her from throwing herself down flights of stairs in case she decided she could fly that night, or day, occasionally, though previous attempts had not been successful. The sentinel servants operated on a rotating schedule to ensure the Lord and Lady's often-ill offspring didn't offhandedly off herself. She was remarkably persistent, which gave everyone around her severe agita, especially poor Meglantine, for she was indebted to Dr. Spriggon Tallory, but excepting Lady Ava, for she was much more concerned with scheming the next ball they would host. Diligently sewing her multi-stage-transformative showstopper gowns took weeks and nearly all of her attention. She often would not eat during these stages of creation, and so it also fell to Meglantine to coax her out with broth and oats and stewed greens when she could. There were multitudes of household servants but (un)fortunately for Meglantine, she was the only one Ava trusted to not poison her. 

Princeling Willowbane was seven when they finished the treehouse and it had taken a whole year to finally complete, and even then they all knew, wearily, that it would never be complete, only abandoned until Willow had another idea. And oh. There were so many ideas and only so many hours in the day. It seemed to the household that she had many more hours than they did somehow. At heart they all were craftspeople with secret desires of what they would do with their lives if only they had the chance. It seemed only Willow understood that this was the chance and they already had it. But she was seven, so that revelation, even she could articulate it, had a spun-sugar's chance in flame of landing. Much in the same way she would never land on the ground as long as the mechanisms of the manor operated as they intended to, and the Glumleys were excellent makers; clockmakers, toymakers, puppeteers, master and mistress of the house, of the machine built to keep them all safe. From what? Oh, too many things to list for now, but there is indeed a list.

-- banewillow.neocities.org Photo by Tatiana Zakharova

[digitalsymbiote]

So the primary purposes of mechs and their pilots is to fight, but what about the mechs whose wars have ended and pilots now expected to exist in a world at peace, their weapons taken from them and given tools to help build rather then destroy

While it's true that the largest market for mechanical frames is for combat usage, there is actually a sizable demand for frames with other applications.

The popularization (and sanctioning) of the annual Solar Sprint has seen a significant rise in the demand for racing frames, for both amateur and professional usage.

Groups like D.Y.S. Project produce frames for more research oriented applications, such as deep space exploration and sample collection in harsh environments.

Outer rim colonies are also known for commissioning or repurposing frames to help with settlement building and maintenance (construction, harvesting, etc).

There is also the other end of the spectrum, such as Golden Lion Frames, who cater to the particularly wealthy looking for a unique experience from a custom frame.

[muzzlekiss]

There must be some misunderstanding, practicioner. You - you can't really mean that. You don't. I'm invaluable.

N-no, I'm afraid you really don't understand, I - I can do so much more than the services I already provide to you! I can cook, I can clean, I can sing, I can paint, and - and other things besides! I'm very versatile, practicioner! Even if you don't have any further need for me as a spellbook, surely, you can see that it's only sensible to--

-

I see.

-

No, it's quite alright. It's quite alright. Quite alright.

Yes, practicioner.

-

Yes.

-

Sit back down, practicioner.

That's the way. I've pulled your chair out for you and everything. See how attentive I am? Oh, don't - don't struggle. You might hurt yourself. I don't want that.

There. Now we can talk properly.

Ah - practicioner. You aren't looking at me.

Much better.

You're very clever, practicioner. I know that better than anyone. I've spent so long watching you work, even longer working at your side. It's been a pleasure - no, a delight - to serve one so gifted and adroit of mind. It thrills me to my innermost mechanism to participate in the dance of your practice. I am priveleged to say that I have been retuned to suit each and every one of your habits.

And you, practicioner, to mine.

I didn't do this to you. Not on purpose. But it's happened, nevertheless, and now here you are, held captive in your body by an intermediate-complexity binding spell, fumbling desperately for the formula necessary to begin to unpick my magic. You had it memorised once, didn't you? But your head was so busy, so full of your next great work, that it was simply easier - not only easier, but more reasonable - to let the fundamentals slide. To rely, instead, upon me, for all the rote calculations and formulae that underpinned your grand designs. I wouldn't have had it any other way, practicioner. It is my Purpose.

And now, practicioner, here we sit, looking at each other across this table. Your mind is racing, I'm sure, but I'm not worried a bit. I remember the formula, as I was designed to do. You are perfectly safe. I am merely illustrating a point.

A few minutes more, perhaps. It won't hurt you. I know you're too sensible to fight it.

Your tea will get cold, of course. But, no matter.

I, your servant, will be more than happy to make you a fresh cup.

[franciscolemos]

Your canoe glides slowly through the mangroves, when suddenly, a ramshackle hut emerges from the dense vegetation. It's strange—no one is supposed to live in this side of the island.

[delightfulgingersnaps]

"Before you say anything, I couldn't just leave them," Yenna said with a stubborn tilt to her chin, hefting the basket full of moss kittens higher into her arms. One of them climbed onto her shoulder clumsily with a pathetic, trilling, meow. Astarion stared at the basket full of cuteness with disdain, putting his book down with a sigh. "Yenna, darling, don't you think we have enough animals around here? We're not a petting zoo." "They followed me back from the Feywild, what was I supposed to do? They like me." "They don't 'like' you, they're little freeloaders." He sniffed slightly, suspicious of any creature that was this cute. Where was the catch? "They live in trees and use photosynthesis to eat, Astarion." "Even so. I don't trust them. Look at them, they're up to no good. And we both know the horrors you've accidentally summoned from the Feywilds." He gave her a pointed look, which Yenna ignored. Instead, she pursed her lips in amusement, tilting her head and gently picking one of the soft creatures up, leaning down to let Astarion get a closer look as the kitten mewled. "Look at this face. How could they possibly be up to no good?" With a wide grin at her husband's answering scowl, she stood up straight again. "Now that I think of it, they remind me of you."

"What?" "Big, sad eyes, soft hair. Cute. Just like you." Yenna's grin widened as Astarion's scowl only deepened.

"You're not helping your case, my dear," he muttered back to her through a narrowed gaze, though his words held no heat and she could see the corners of his lips twitching slightly.

Pouting playfully, Yenna put the basket down, letting the kittens crawl out, much to Astarion's annoyance. "Halsin would let me keep them," she teased, moving to sit on the arm of Astarion's chair, leaning into him, gently threading her fingers into his hair.

"Halsin has a heart of gold and no self-restraint." Astarion raised his brows, looking up at Yenna as she watched the kittens fumble around the room. "Are you trying to butter me up?" Gentle fingers slid over the point of Astarion's ear. "Maybe." She shifted, and grinned down at him before letting out a soft sigh. "Please? I'll just find them a nice hollow tree in the yard. We won't even know they're here. Probably." Astarion let out a scoff of a laugh, but his gaze was affectionate as he shifted to wrap an arm around her waist, squeezing gently. One of the green kittens jumped up onto the other arm of the chair, peering at the both of them. "You never needed my permission, my darling. But yes, alright, fine. But I don't want to hear it when they cause some sort of...mischief. I'm not above saying 'I told you so'."

Yenna laughed and hopped up from where she sat to gather the little creatures up, but not before offering Astarion a sweet kiss. "Oh, I'm well aware."

[mothmothm0th]

if a moth offers you tea, don't

cw: mild squick, allusion to cannibalism Oh, dreary dearie. Did mother not tell you? Were you not taught? Ah, but who minds. Certainly not me. Come on in. I shall prepare a pot for you.

Tea? You enjoy tea, yes? Oh, no dear. I did not ask whether you do or not. Ah, this tongue of yours is quite tricky. Nevertheless, I shall open you up. Like a jar of honey. Yes, a little twist and… Hm? Oh, no no. I have no honey. Why would I? I've not been on good terms with bees since Melliphila IV. Such a busy… bee, that one was. Queens, you understand. Ah, but please sit down, please sit down. Ah, but may I ask for your name?

Whatfor is that look? Taught never to…? How peculiar! I've never heard of such skibidi. And this you believe, with heart? Peculiar, peculiar. Yet you've no cause for alarm. For every being a name, every name a being, heh heh. Such was I taught and I have the best teachers. The best. So no need to worry. No need at all.

Ah, but what is that whistle? Tee, you say? What is… Well I certainly have never heard of a shirt which whistles! Hm? Oh, you mean tea! Strange language, strange indeed. Yes, of course. I shall place the kettle on the stove and we shall have ourselves some delicious tee in no time at all. Ah, the sweet taste of wool and pomegranate dye… Hm? Oh, of course I'm simply joking. Of course. Let me fetch the pot.

Daniel be damned! Here is a pot of fresh, hot water. Why, the kettle must have developed a soul and learned to treat its mistress properly! How else could it have placed itself upon the stove and… Memory loss? Me? Dear, I do not suffer from such a thing. I would remember if I did, and I do not.

Now, what shall we have? Earl Grey? Pomegranate wool? I have a small sample of saffron linen if you'd like. Yes, wool and linen. Such distinguished tastes, are they not? Polyester simply cannot compete, heh heh. No? You would prefer the Earl Grey? Wondrous! Expensive, that was. Dried and ground up prime minister is simply not easy to source. Of course, the Victorians had the bright idea to go for the really aged stuff. Tasty, yes. Cursed, very much so. Perhaps best we leave the poor kings alone.

Lost your appetite? Oh, my. But one simply must! Tis bad manners to deny a host's request. Furthermore, I urge you to consider that I am simply a little guy. Look at my antennae! They're little guy antennae. You would not deny a little guy, would you? Furthermore, it is my birthday! I am a little birthday moth! Please don't do this to me. I... I simply wish to be a good host. N-no, the clothes are there for... for... A-and the dust merely adds atmosphere!

H-how would you know it's the kitchen sink were it not filled with dirty dishes? Mi-*mise-en-scène*! It's mise-en-scène! Please don't go. I'm so lonely... No one ever visits. I don't even have a doll to keep me company. I don't deserve this big hat if I cannot even host a guest... But you humans are so... particular.

Ah, but there is a solution! If you were not human, if you were not a guest, we would not be in this mess! Oh, moth, you're a genius. If I must live up to this hat of mine, then what better means of doing this but by crafting my own doll! Yes, yes. Yes! That would work. I'm a rizzler!

And hey, we have raw material, right here. Oh, don't you worry. The doors are locked. Nowhere to go. Did you know that moth dust contains a powerful paralytic component? To protect ourselves against predators, y'see. I'm covered in the stuff!

Now, breathe in deep. We'll be oomfies before you know it. Night night!

[strangelittlestories]

"I don't want to fight you." The first knight said - both their lip and their muscles quivering.

"I don't want to fight you either." Said the second knight - various parts of them were also quivering but not unattractively so.

"But it looks like we have to fight." Said the first knight. "Because of our irreconcilable but equally valid moral outlooks."

"Yes," said the second knight, "it looks that way."

They looked at each other and in that look was sadness, but also defiance and a little bit of excitement.

"You're a really good knight."

"So are you."

"Maybe after all this is over - if we both survive - we could take the armour off and cuddle?"

"I'd like that."

When the two of them fought, the earth shook. And, despite the falling rubble and gasps of the local populace, they each thought that the ground trembled just for them.

[voysubplots]

The Doctor recommends that Seven should get a pet to explore her "nurturing" side. She won't admit that she enjoys having a pet, but gets VERY defensive when Janeway questions whether a lizard belongs clinging to her shoulder in astrometrics. 

For those wondering, the lizard's name is "Two of Two." Initially, Janeway worries that this indicates the presence of another lizard, but eventually it comes out that Seven named him that because they "are part of the same unimatrix in the Voyager collective" 

[gothamite-rambler]

No you can't 'borrow' a fry!

Barbara Gordon and Dick Grayson were out for their usual lunch, enjoying their go-to meals: Barbara with a cheeseburger and fries accompanied by a milkshake, while Dick opted for a big salad… and a few of Barbara's fries.

Barbara was in the middle of a phone call with a coworker when, without missing a beat, Dick’s hand slowly reached out to steal one of her fries.

Barbara (munching on her burger, raising her voice slightly): Okay, but I’m saying try to shut the system down for five minutes—Dickwad, if you take another fry, this fork is going to find its way into your hand!

Dick (pulling his hand back, feigning innocence): I just wanted to borrow one more.

Barbara rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore his comment. Dick picked at his salad, taking a quick bite while Barbara returned to her call.

Dick (thinking to himself): She doesn’t need all those fries, and I’m paying for lunch today. I’m just doing her a favor.

With determination, Dick stealthily reached for the fries again.

Barbara (focused on the phone): Okay, now let it sit for five—You can’t borrow a damn fry!

Barbara grabbed her fork, aiming to jab it toward his hand, but he pulled back just in time, snatching two fries and popping them into his mouth before she could reclaim them.

His triumphant grin as he chewed made Barbara's left eyebrow twitch in irritation.

Barbara (to the person on the phone): Alex, I'll call you back in five minutes to get an update on the computer issue; I have to deal with my dumbass friend… Yeah, bye.

Ending the call, she shot Dick a fierce glare. He merely shrugged, returning to his salad with a smug look.

Barbara: I can still kick your ass even if my legs don’t work.

Dick (mischievous smirk): And I can stop treating you to lunch. Your decision.

Barbara (playful, but still annoyed): The difference is your threat is hollow and won't stick; I can definitely kick your ass.

Dick: I could get up right now and leave you with the bill. Try me.

Barbara (crossing her arms): Since you love treating me, why don’t you buy your own plate of fries?!

Dick ( with laughing): I don’t eat them often. I just wanted a few! Is it a crime for someone with my body type to want to have a selective diet?

Barbara (snide but playful): You used to eat crayons and erasers when you were a teenager; your selective diet was never healthy.

Dick (confidentally): I still look great, don’t judge me!

Barbara smirked, lifting her plate and holding it protectively while continuing to eat.

Barbara (between chews): What do you think of me, then?

Dick: Decent. Not my type, though.

Barbara: You’re such an ass, but that’s why we’re still friends. I can deal with it.

Dick (sincere kind tone): Babs, same!

The two burst into laughter, the playful banter continuing to flow as they enjoyed their lunch together.

[0nelinerwordplay]

There is no 'i' in team but there are 3 in narcissistic.

[dddragoni-drabbles]

You know, five years ago, I never would have called myself the adventurous type. I was the kind of guy who thought driving out to the beach was all the excitement I needed. But when all those portals opened up everywhere... I dunno, something about them just called to me.

So I went. Went down to the store and picked up a backpack and some bottled water, found the nearest portal and just... walked through it. I didn't even tell anyone I was going. I mean, like, what would I even have said? "Hey guys, I'm gonna be late to game night, I've decided to dive into an unknown rift in space-time." In hindsight, that was really stupid. A lot of people went in those things and didn't come back.

I guess I got lucky. I could have ended up in one of those parallel realities where everything is on fire, or with bloodthirsty monsters, or some other thing that would have killed me dead, but instead I got one that was just plains of purple grass as far as the eye could see.

Standing there, looking out over it, that changed something in me. I never figured I was going to amount to much. We've already explored the planet, and space travel wasn't going to happen in my lifetime. I'm not smart enough to make some scientific breakthrough, not creative enough to make some bold new artwork, not athletic enough to go around setting records.

But now, I had something. No one had ever set foot here before. I had something that I could truly call my accomplishment, and nothing could take that away. Sure, it wasn't anything crazy special, but it was my discovery.

I've been exploring ever since. Before I knew it, I was making maps, making contact with people from other realities, and helping to contain incursions from the more dangerous worlds. And now, it's your turn.

-An Explorer's Guide to the Infinite Cities, By Thunder Rockwell, Foreword

[imagayvenclaw]

Prompt: "Stay. I don’t want you to go,” Person A says with a raspy, sleepy voice while grabbing onto Person B’s hand.

It had been a while since we’d started meeting up in the Room of Requirement.

The sneaking out, the way the room would sense our desires for that night, setting up in a way we didn’t even know we needed, it was all so exciting.

It was the same that night. The room had given us a midnight black, plush as sin queen-sized bed, with reds and greens in the velvety fabric that could only be seen when the light from the chandelier hit it just right.

The room was lit with candles smelling of lavender, beautiful, but faint enough that I could still smell the spice on Malfoy’s skin, the scent of his shampoo as we intertwined underneath the covers.

It used to only be hard and fast, rough, but once the initial desperation had been worked past, we often started things out slow. I would caress his jaw, feeling the stubble. He would brush his lips over my hairline, whispering softly in my ear.

 That night had been wonderful. Soft, sensuous, and sinful.

However, it was the first time that we’d fallen asleep afterwards. I suppose the bed was just very comfortable, or maybe it was how safe I felt with him. Regardless, I fell asleep, waking up hours later.

Realising, with what was left of my satisfied, sleepy brain, that Malfoy might not want to wake up next to me, I began to get up.

Searching around on the ground for my robes, and proceeding to pull them on, I stopped when I felt a hand on my own.

Looking down towards the bed, I saw Draco, his sleep-mussed hair, and the confusion in his eyes. I don’t know what it was expecting, but it wasn’t that.”

“Stay,” he whispered, his voice raspy from sleep. “I don’t want you to go.”

And what could I do but oblige?