How to Repair a Mechanical Heart

Abel snores pornographically, like a prince sleeping off an orgy.

And when you’re a weird and awkward and paranoid person at all times, CastieCon is the happiest place on the planet.
It’s like, a baseline level of freakiness is expected here, right? So unless you’re disemboweling goats in the vendor hall, no one gives a damn who you are or what you’re doing.

... Brandon's going to talk to a B-O-Y, and -"
"That's your assignment tonight. You converse in public with a boy. You've heard of them, right? They're like girls, but with penises?

Dude, can I have your pickle?

Entering the ball is like crashing on a planet where no one cares how you dress or how you dance or who you love.

For crap’s sake: the holy-grail scene of the world’s most ridiculous, implausible ship, and I was holding my breath with the rest of the room.

God is like junior high, Brandon. Graduate already.

Help me be ready, I say to him. Or her. If you exist, please help. If

His eyes trace the droplets branching down my chest.
They stop at my waistband.
“Brandon. Cutie.”
“You’re still wearing your boxers.”
“I am.”
“Is there something you need to tell me?”
“Are you actually a Ken doll?”
“Is your dad a secret superhero and you have a bionic penis and you make up this big religious-paranoia back story because it shoots laser beams and has the strength of a bulldozer?”
“I knew it.

I am one man with a laptop. When I give the world my characters, it's because I don't want to keep them for myself. You don't like what I made them do? Fucking tell me I'm wrong! Rewrite the story. Throw in a new plot twist. Make up your own ending.

I can tell I'm being annoying, the kind of annoying where it feels like I haven't showered for days and everyone should just stay away.

If they really got together, guys?—?wouldn’t that ruin everything?” ***

I hit send and shut my phone off before it can protest. The world doesn’t end.

I mean, if no one knows for sure what God's like, then why don't you just believe the people who think he's all rainbows and sunshine and loves you no matter what?

Status: Naked. On bed. With boy. Systems overheating. Sudden doubts multiplying. Meltdown imminent.

It’s fandom, Bran. Getting butthurt over nothing is practically a sacrament.

I've never seen a naked torso that wasn't on a cross, at least not so close up. I don't know where to look. His belly button. Belly button. Look at the belly button.

I want to make a sweater out of this week and wrap myself up in it until it falls apart. If

LIKE WHAT IS THIS LIFE EVEN. amity crashful: 

My secret is cool and mysterious like a jagged scar across my chest, and not dull and heavy like I gave up church buy not the angst.

Omigod. Omigod, he sees you.”
“You have to talk to him.”
“I don’t, actually.”
“Yes. Yes. After the Bill Debacle? Prove you can do this.”
“My knee hurts.

"So? I love pretentious people!"
"They try so hard to be interesting, you don't have to do any work.

Well, who doesn't love a good mpreg?"
"A what?"
"Sim gets man-pregnant? Gives birth to twins during a tornado?"
"I'll pretend I never heard that."
"Here, I'll read you the wedding one -"

Whatever. I’m used to showy silent treatments. I have an older sister. “Since

What if I die of happiness and then go right to hell?

When I give the world my characters, it’s because I don’t want to keep them for myself. You don’t like what I made them do? Fucking tell me I’m wrong! Rewrite the story. Throw in a new plot twist. Make up your own ending.

You can stop waiting, you know,' she says. 'For what?' 'For God to strike you down.

You can't stay fucked up forever, can you? You need to start putting yourself out there and getting humiliated like the rest of us. Only then will you be a Real Boy

You’re just like them. Just like your parents. You hate yourself, don’t you?

You've thrown a lot of pennies in ponds," she says. "Haven't you.