Call Me An Inkjet The Way I Need A Cartridge Stuffed In Me

call me an inkjet the way i need a cartridge stuffed in me

if your game needs 150 gigabytes of my hard drive it better come out the computer and suck me off. i hate you

Robot girlfriends who interface with a USB cable while they sleep so they can feel the closeness, but they keep each other awake by accidentally sending system popups that say "I love you <3" and making the other girl's fans kick on, and the noise keeps them up until she calms down, but then she accidentally sends a system popup that-

the feminine urge to get lost in an incomprehensibly massive megastructure

reblog to give a strawberry to the person you reblogged this from

Thinking about scent, and the way a person's musk and sweat combine with the residue of shampoo and laundry detergent and deodorant to create a smell that is unique to them. A combination of organic and synthetic, innate and deliberate. The story of their natural body and the care they put into it.

Thinking about robots, and the stories their scent might tell. Brass and ozone. Fine steel dust from their component parts rubbing together when they move. The hot air venting from their cooling system. A particular brand of machine oil.

Thinking about the way a person's home smells like them, and the way some people smell like home.

Thinking about holding my cherished bot, breathing in the scent of a fresh coat of carnauba wax, the lingering traces of soldering fumes and isopropyl alcohol. Inhaling stories of their construction and of their programming and of my love for them.