NEW STORY: A homage to Isaac Asimov's robot stories with a Scömìche twist ---- Everything about today has Agent Scott Hoying supremely unsettled. And it's barely even started. Three impossible things before breakfast are three things too many. He has so many questions about the chain of events that have led him here, standing utterly stunned in front of the Director of the Federal Robotics Agency, that he doesn't even know where to start. "She's your what?!" Scott says, incredulously. ---- Shout out to the obscenely talented ptxcaz on tumblr; I've used their beautiful drawing for the cover. Check out more of their amazing work here: http://ptxcaz.tumblr.com

Scott's vision is fuzzy. Hazy. Unfocused like it hasn't been since the LASIK. He vaguely wonders why, but his head hurts so much he's distracted and can't figure it out. He thinks for a second that he's drunk. That he's given himself the mother of all hangovers. But his shoulder and his arm and his chest and his side and his leg also hurt-shit, his shoulder really hurts-and he's never been drunk enough for that to happen before. Plus, if he's not mistaken, that's his steering wheel in front of him, through the haze and the dust and the noise and the red and whatever the deflated white thing is. Regardless of how drunk he's been, he would never be drunk in the driver's seat of his car. Fuck. Fuck, he hurts. The spiderweb pattern across his windshield is kinda pretty though, sparkling like that in the sun. Blink.

"Police! Open up!" I yell, banging again. I steel myself as this time I hear the locks click-clunk and see the door pull back slowly to reveal a half-naked blond bear of a man, who fucking towers over me. He's standing, blocking the doorway, with a frying pan in one hand and an aerosol can in the other. His face is flushed, his chest heaving with exertion, eyes wide with adrenaline, and his bare torso is glistening with sweat. He adjusts the grip on the pan and I see the muscles of that arm ripple underneath the monochrome sleeve that adorns it. Shit. Why the fuck did I not call for back up? (Aka the failed one shot. From the ship that sails itself.) Some content is mature. Caution advised, but specific trigger warnings will be given where appropriate. Note: AWOOGA is used to label the dirrrrrrty chapters.

A handful of chance encounters with a mysterious girl leads Avi into a world of secrecy that won't be so easy to get out of. Before long, he's in danger of losing everything, including his heart. Thanks to my darling Lisa for another killer cover! And to the "Big White Jesus" girls, who will probably love this the most.

Mitch wants an experience he can't get in his buttoned-up, high society world.

Leo: I'm twitter famous I shouldn't have to take this test let's do karaoke!!! Virgo: *Highlighting every passage in the book* SHUT THE FUCK UP LEO

It's moving day and Mitch is in charge of all the arrangements. He's a little stressed about it.

Mitch is too exhausted to participate.

Moments and scenes that are not complete stories and will not be finished.

"Well, whatever else happens between us at least we know that part works." -- "What do you have to say to me?" "I love you." -- "Why did you come here? You ditched school and everything. That's so not you. Why'd you do it?" "Because you didn't say goodbye." -- "I'm sorry I came here." "It is what it is. You. Me." (I'm Gilmore Girl trash and I'm so excited to write all of this)