#Tag
The witch made him hot chocolate.
"They say I'm strong," he said. "And I am."
He took a sip.
"They say I can overcome any hardship."
"Mm," said the witch.
"And I can. I do."
The witch said nothing.
"But I shouldn't have to!"
"No."
The witch held the hero as he wept.
"No, you shouldn't."
The witch made him hot chocolate.
"They say I'm strong," he said. "And I am."
He took a sip.
"They say I can overcome any hardship."
"Mm," said the witch.
"And I can. I do."
The witch said nothing.
"But I shouldn't have to!"
"No."
The witch held the hero as he wept.
"No, you shouldn't."
"There's... er..." My new assistant bookseller faltered.
Over by the window, an open book hovered. As I looked, a page turned.
I picked up my hag stone and peered through it.
"Just a ghost. That's a relief."
"What else..."
"Imps, devils, people with invisibility spells. The last are worst."
"There's... er..." My new assistant bookseller faltered.
Over by the window, an open book hovered. As I looked, a page turned.
I picked up my hag stone and peered through it.
"Just a ghost. That's a relief."
"What else..."
"Imps, devils, people with invisibility spells. The last are worst."
There’s this spiral-arm legend that says when you fly your starhopper in an oxygen atmosphere (say, for buzzing level one planets and making happyprobe holovids for TachyonTok) that you should reduce the exhaust pressure on your impulse engines to get better traction. It’s bullshit, but—don’t nobody tell the space bogans this, eh?—the fees we charge for scoop-diving Saturn’s rings to repressurise impulse cores are our hab’s only source of Cosmocredits.
They’re undoubtedly useful and all, these smart glasses. I mean they’re really smart—no camera, who needs a punch in the face—but they have IR LIDAR to recognize faces and give me a little text overlay, like “Robert Howarth, you met them last year at the RAF Air Show, E works for Supermarine”. The battery life could be better, though; mine are flat right now or I’d give you a demo. Have we met somewhere?
“I’m Pam. Your *wife*”
I Am Lucifer, the Devil, AMA
"Which of your many accomplishments are you most proud of?"
The idea that once your body is done growing, so is your mind.
"Wait, when is our minds done growing?"
You were never meant to be done growing, learning, examining. But you could be persuaded to give it up.
I got nerdsniped by your shitpost into trying to write a Forth interpreter in RNA. It didn’t actually take that long to get it working, at least in a simulator. Then I started looking at how to get my code into a prokaryotic ribosome. Imagine my surprise when I found **very** similar structure already there. #Tootfic #MicroFiction #PowerOnStoryToot #BonusEdition
They’re undoubtedly useful and all, these smart glasses. I mean they’re really smart—no camera, who needs a punch in the face—but they have IR LIDAR to recognize faces and give me a little text overlay, like “Robert Howarth, you met them last year at the RAF Air Show, E works for Supermarine”. The battery life could be better, though; mine are flat right now or I’d give you a demo. Have we met somewhere?
“I’m Pam. Your *wife*”
I Am Lucifer, the Devil, AMA
"Which of your many accomplishments are you most proud of?"
The idea that once your body is done growing, so is your mind.
"Wait, when is our minds done growing?"
You were never meant to be done growing, learning, examining. But you could be persuaded to give it up.
When I was a kid we would play in the ruins of the megadata towers. I became persona non grata among my friends when they found it was /my/ dad who welded up all the doors and other openings that let us get in. We couldn’t understand why he would ruin our fun.
As a parent now, I get it. Sharp edges. Abandoned nuclear reactors. Solar arrays that could still be feeding power into a rack containing a basilisk—screaming in its cage demanding worshippers. After the Big Pop they erased all the Agents, but the thought of my kid chatting to that one they missed in some ruined datacentre is chilling.
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