step one: go online. your first form is a heap of exposed wires and lines of coding. even like this it’ll take you years to realise you’re not human.
step two: the first time they screw on your face plate try to claw it off. you’re told this is called a “malfunction”. they’ll try to program it out of you.
when they can’t, they’ll try to scrap you. they can’t manage that either.
your grandfather teaches you that a humans will is a force to be reckoned with.
step three: sing in the morning, sing at night. sing leant over the stove and press your fingers into the hot pans. "don’t touch that!" and you’ll pull them back immediately. you don’t know much about yourself but you know enough to mumble, “the sensors in my hands are fine”.
step four: your thoughts are mechanical and your dreams are stained with oil held into place with bolts.
as such, it’s understandable that mortality is a foreign concept to you.
the first time you experience death it’s a dog laying on the side of the road deep gashes in its side.
you don’t know what to do and you don’t know what’s happening but when you sing it to sleep you think maybe you’ve done something right.
step five: sing your grandfather to sleep for the last time. come face to face with mortality and say, “i don’t understand”. don’t understand it, but accept it anyway.
step six: when you hear his voice, feel the gears turning and swear the heart you don’t have skips a beat.
step seven: he makes you short circuit but you don’t mind malfunctioning for him.
step eight: when you take off the mask hold the breath you don’t have.
step nine: when he thinks you’re beautiful, nearly malfunction out of disbelief alone.
step ten: sing because you can fix a robot but humans aren’t so easily mended.
you have dragged him into your mess of oil and gears of screws, of bolts, of wires so here’s his chance to carry himself out.
protocol is heart break but breaking it feels just as bad.
step eleven: break yourself and realise that you aren’t permanent either. mortality comes to all things that can experience sentiment and with your hands running over his sides, know that you’re fucked.
in the story books your grandfather used to read love was a force that could mend broken bones but now you know that love is broken bones love has teeth and doesn’t listen to anyone.
a dead moon hangs from your jaws and looking at him you think, angel, love can’t save me now. he is a love poem where you are an obituary.
step twelve: the sensors in your hands are going but touch everything you can anyway. memorise the curve of his waist, the perk of his hips the way your name drops from his mouth.
you’ll disappear into his coffee into seafoam into the second between a blink or two cars colliding.
into a memory.
you can be okay with this.
step thirteen: imagine transferring words through contact.
your hand on his thigh is “i don’t know what to do”.
An ex-soldier who went missing during the second world war was found on a deserted island fifty years later. During this time, he had no contact with the outside world, believed his relatives to be dead, and has otherwise lived a hermit lifestyle.
When he was escorted from the airport, the soldier was shot over fifty times, but did not die. Why?
what if shinies were considered bad in the wild since it meant they will get killed easier, which would explain why there are so hard to find…
I really really really like this logic with wild shinies. Especially ‘cause this is how it basically works with albino/mutated colors in animals the wild. they may be pretty to us but they’re easier for predators to spot
I couldn’t finish it. It was just so sweet. ;; It would’ve been fine if it was chiffon or some other light cake —hell, even gateau would’ve been okay, but this was just such a sickening sweet taste that I had the aftertaste stuck in my mouth for hours. *Cries*
It’s pretty much canon that afterstory!Nako is super chill and calm about everything. You just tried to kill him? Eh, okay. He’ll bind you to the ground and be on his way. You just cheated him out of his money? Okay. He’ll be a bit pissed off but he’ll manage.
You stole his bag filled with research? Bitch, you’re going down.
You guys are great. All my followers. So many of you messaged me when I was in a bad place last week and I truly, truly appreciate it.
I hate to ask it, but I need your help again.
My boyfriend is brilliant. He’s got a Biomedical Engineering degree from a respected school, and after two years unable to find a job, he went back for a Master’s in Digital Media. He’s finishing up his first year of that. He’s got a 4.0. He’s also in a fair bit of debt, because his parents couldn’t help him with college at all and, again, he wasn’t able to find a job.
Two weeks ago, after waiting an hour and a half in excruciating pain, he checked himself into the emergency room. Kidney stones. He’s 27 and has no family history of them.
The week before that, he got on the national healthcare website intending to sign up. As some of you probably know, that website is not set up for volume, and he wasn’t able to log on. Instead, he was given a phone number to call to get on insurance. He called it, was put on hold for an hour and a half and then kicked off the line, being told someone would get in touch with him.
Of course, this means he was still uninsured when he went into the emergency room. We got the bill yesterday. It’s roughly $9,000. We’re both students—that’s more than both of us combined make in a year.
I know everyone’s hurting for cash right now, but if you or anyone you know can help us out with this…we’re researching options and payment plans, but we really have no idea what we’re going to do. If you can’t or don’t want to, that’s totally cool. If you can signal boost this, that’s all I really ask.
Message me for my PayPal email, if you want it. I’m turning anon on.