If Sci-Fi Was Written by People with the Same Amount of Scientific Knowledge as Romantasy Writers Have About Sex
Static cracked between the two big sort of metal pole things with a bauble on top, sort of like a butterfly net for lightning I think.
Static cracked between the two big sort of metal pole things with a bauble on top, sort of like a butterfly net for lightning I think.
The high school cafeteria comes into surreal focus.... Excellent! Loved high school!
So now I’m a child, still bouncing on the trampoline—did I mention the forest floor is made of trampoline?—and I’m trying desperately not to cry.
Mr. Jensen has not won eight gold medals in curling. In fact, it’s unclear whether or not Mr. Jensen has even seen curling before.
What business is it of yours if I put mango in my risotto? Hm?
Kevin’s voice sounds like Dad’s. Except it cracks walls and sets off car alarms, and also he accidentally stepped on a school bus.
We found out that for a whole six months of junior year you got really, really into Doctor Who and Sherlock. Like, fanfiction level.
The “Seat Yourself” sign in a totally empty restaurant, so I stood awkwardly at the host stand for 15 minutes.
I don’t want my future to go up in smoke. Sam is always watching. I don’t want to risk my chances of getting into a good college. Or my standing with Sam.
I don't want to be bad, but I will if I have to. Wait, scratch that. I actually LOVE being bad. And guess what? To me? Being bad feels GOOD.
You’re young, your hormones are raging. All you want to do is figure out what the shadowy figure following you through mirrors is saying.
Depending on how gross the thought is, I’ll either do a full “tut tut” or just a simple tongue cluck. It’s an art, really.