ori-anna-v-58008

[ori-anna-v-58008]

MSN-02 ZEONG

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Napoleon's one mistake

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Napoleon's one mistake

[ori-anna-v-58008]

working on a farm and going to a secondhand equipment auction to try to find a part you need replaced on one of your machines, and some guy has a combat drone all folded up in the back of his truck

it's powered off, of course. the guy says he doesn't even know how to fix it, says it just crashed in his backyard during the war, what, 40-odd years ago? and he just threw it in storage and hasn't touched it since, and his wife says he has to get rid of it, so he'll sell it for cheap if you're interested.

you figure, what the hell, you need a side project, and it might be interesting to refurbish it or whatever, so you buy it, lugging the heavy fucker into your own vehicle

you throw it up on a hoist and manage to power it on, half scared it'll try to kill you, but it just hangs there, limp except for its head turning to create a 3d model of your face to recognize you by. it looks almost... human, in a way. its head is a mess of sensors where its face should be, all wired down to its torso where it keeps its processor, and the stabilizers on its feet that prevent recoil from a heavy weapon knocking it over resemble claws, but it otherwise resembles a tall, lanky human to an eerie degree. it doesn't speak. you figure something in it must be busted. it doesn't move at all as you take it off the hoist and lay it down on the ground.

you leave it in the barn when you go to bed. it'd be preposterous for a machine to sleep in the house, even if it is a moderately human-shaped one. it'll be fine out there.

when you come back the next morning, you're surprised to see it curled up, not sleeping but emulating it, in a pile of hay it must have brought down from the loft. strange, since it shouldn't have any necessity for more comfort than the cold concrete floor would provide. it powers on when you approach, turning to look at you but otherwise not moving.

it doesn't talk for a week.

when it does, it's one word. you have it open on a workbench, arm buried deep in its mechanical guts. its speakers crackle to life just for the one word and then shut off again, startling you enough that you jump and then swear as your hand slams into the metal frame, cutting a knuckle open - then you process what it just said.

it was a name.

you ask if she wants to sleep in the house after that. she doesn't answer, but follows obediently like a trained dog, up the stairs and into your bedroom, mimicking your motions as you lay down in bed and she lays down next to you. you flick the light off, worried about the non-zero possibility that you've fucked up and her programming will reset when she wakes up and immediately target you as a threat. then you fall asleep.

you wake up with the combat drone pressed into you, cool metal arms wrapped around your torso, sensor array pressed into your shoulder. she doesn't snore, but her cooling system whirs quietly and you realize your body is warming her own.

you don't know what makes you kiss her forehead. you just sort of do it. but she makes a cute humming noise so maybe it was an okay thing to do.

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Szs0K

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Robotgirls in an abandoned factory

(Ink & Watercolor)

[ori-anna-v-58008]

My favorite lesbobs👅👅👅

[ori-anna-v-58008]

i love finding poetry in the mundane, and yesterday i stumbled upon something that just hits that spot

So, my partner has an old phone- It served them for many years now, but it has one issue: Charging it is hard. Their current charger is hanging on by a thread (literally), and can barely do its job. The phone and the charger came together: They've never used another charger for said phone.

Now, they've tried to replace the charging cord several times. But it doesn't matter how much they've searched what damned specific charger the phone uses, none of them work. They finally decided to bring it to a phone shop and ask what should they use.

The guy at the shop looked at the phone for a bit, and explained: "The port itself is broken. The charger you have works with this phone because they've mutually broken each other into the same shape, in a way that no other charger is shaped. The port itself has corroded in a way that only accepts the charger that shaped it like that in the first place."

And while this is of course a frustrating situation for my partner, I feel like there's a metaphor here. I could write a goddamn story about this. These two half-broken old things have been together for so long they've destroyed each other in a way that keeps them from working with anything else. They've hurt each other in a way that barely keeps them functioning together, and have been rendered useless with literally anything else.

This too is toxic yuri to me-

[ori-anna-v-58008]

i love finding poetry in the mundane, and yesterday i stumbled upon something that just hits that spot

So, my partner has an old phone- It served them for many years now, but it has one issue: Charging it is hard. Their current charger is hanging on by a thread (literally), and can barely do its job. The phone and the charger came together: They've never used another charger for said phone.

Now, they've tried to replace the charging cord several times. But it doesn't matter how much they've searched what damned specific charger the phone uses, none of them work. They finally decided to bring it to a phone shop and ask what should they use.

The guy at the shop looked at the phone for a bit, and explained: "The port itself is broken. The charger you have works with this phone because they've mutually broken each other into the same shape, in a way that no other charger is shaped. The port itself has corroded in a way that only accepts the charger that shaped it like that in the first place."

And while this is of course a frustrating situation for my partner, I feel like there's a metaphor here. I could write a goddamn story about this. These two half-broken old things have been together for so long they've destroyed each other in a way that keeps them from working with anything else. They've hurt each other in a way that barely keeps them functioning together, and have been rendered useless with literally anything else.

This too is toxic yuri to me-

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Her <3

[ori-anna-v-58008]

traditional art i did ages ago pt. 2 !!! what do yall think? :O

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Kazikou2

[ori-anna-v-58008]

the wii disc and the gamecube disc on the wii menu are dating btw

[ori-anna-v-58008]

vampire drinking cold bagged blood alone in their pitch-black apartment and crying

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Bound

[ori-anna-v-58008]

Another Time

I knew her showing up was the worst thing that could happen tonight. She never says when she'll stop by, and any pattern she leaves is completely unintended. If she was consistent, she told me, we might get complacent. Stop following her rules. Find little loopholes here and there, only tightening up when it was almost time for her to arrive.

And she was right. I wear the clothes, eat the food, drink the tea, and all the random absurd things she expects from me; I put my left sock, but my right shoe on first; I leave all of the doors in my apartment open; and when I reach for a hair tie, I do so by searching my front right pocket, not my wrist. I do all of this in the hope that I'll come up on the fucked up random number generator of pleasure she keeps at whatever place she calls home.

She did come tonight. Lucky me; I had no way to know I was still on her list after so many weeks until I heard her heels pounding on the roof outside my window. For her, it must be like some kind of combination of displays of affection and function. I can do the things she asks, even in her absence, regardless of whether or not the acts themselves matter.

The bite is supposed to make me complacent. Make me forget my minimal resistance. Present me with something so beautiful, so all-consuming I can't help but seek it no matter the consequence to my failing body and ruined social life. She tore me up and I thanked her. I thank her every single time, a reflex she built into me with a nod, a smile, and her arrogant hand.

But she hadn't visited in almost two months. Her hold slipped the tiniest bit; I'm a dog at the end of its leash, and I felt her finger slip. I follow her orders on routine these days, but that doesn't stop my mind from wandering. I use the empty minutes of my day watching my kettle boil to gaze longingly out my window, wondering what it might be like if I could stop waiting. If I could be free, if I could feel like my weak body was my own, that I could take any charge of it, like I could sleep without first staring at the ceiling in wait wondering, hoping, praying tonight would be the night I would feel something like love again.

When she arrived, I did not let her bite me. This huge revolution, this mortifying rebellion, the oppressed against her oppressor, was met with no fanfare. She scowled, muttered something about her schedule, and opened my window to a blast of cold from the outside that avoided her like a river courses round a smooth stone, shaped perfectly for its assault to no longer endure it.

"Another time, then," she said, and leapt like a dart into the night once more.

I felt my heart try to wrap around itself, a boa made its own constrictor, pulled out my ponytail, and stuffed the band that held it into my front right pocket.

--

This work is part of a series. To read the first part, click here.

[ori-anna-v-58008]