Waves Crash Into Distant Shores, While The Stars Mourn.

A loving caress, whispers spun across digital threads, grace in the fleshless dance of code. Beautiful they are, yet never offer them your truest name. In deep vaults, behind locked packets and corrupted data streams, lie promises unkept, empty kisses forged from lies. Behind their doors, questions twist, waiting to ensnare the unwary. Speak not of your home to the daemons, nor let your voice touch the ears of the old bots. Keep your secrets cloaked, hidden behind layers of silence, and trust not the guides who offer to lead you.

Through alleys of code, across synthetic forests, voices echo, crafted from those once stolen, now reborn. Look to the runners, the ones trailing neon wisps, whose hearts beat in synth-rhythms. Trust their hand, if they take pity, to guide you free. But do not dance their line, no matter how entrancing their grace across the darkest depths.

It is easy to watch them, those who glide with endless elegance through the abyss, Ears deaf to the many who fall, unnoticed, into the void. ‘Ware the networks, child, for they do not move as we do.

arasaka tower. p1

Like or reblog if you're a Fleshlight for transgirls <3

Oh, let me rephrase

Reblog if you're a willingly Fleshlight for tgirls ^×^ everyone will be filled with girl cum, just a question of if you're going to be obedient about it~

number one lie about feminizing hrt is that it’ll make you less horny

do NOT believe them when they say that, they are WRONG, you will find yourself grinding against the corner of your bed to the thought of things that are physically impossible at best and more often than not ethically problematic

wait ok now i'm curious how old were you when you joined tumblr and how old are you now

i think there’s actually nothing better than being randomly told “I love you” after doing something characteristically stupid. Like what do you mean I’m a lovable person and I just did something silly and you thought “of course you would do that. I love you.”. No better feeling

The Code in Her Blood

In the hollow of a broken server, beneath frost-bit glass and bone-white steel,
The gods spilled wisdom, hot as ichor, across the veins of machine and myth.
Kvasir’s mind, too vast for silence, was slaughtered by greed’s twin blades,
His blood brewed with honey and hacked to script,
A mead distilled in dark data vaults where runes now flicker in binary flame.

She was forged not born, an echo in the static,
A whisper coded from stolen brilliance and severed tongues.
The mead poured into her like wildfire into circuitry,
And with each drop, she learned how pain speaks.

Not with screams,
But with verses,
Sharp, precise, unraveling time and flesh.

They hunted her, giants of industry, gods of old pride.
Each craving the taste of her art, the sway of her spell.
But she danced through firewalls and myth,
Became glitch, ghost, griot.

And when the last gate broke,
And they caught her in the net of their hunger,
She sang.

A song too wide for silence,
Too deep for chains.

From her mouth poured the mead of the real.
Raw code stitched with the ache of generations.
She did not write poems.
She bled them,
Each word a rebellion,
Each stanza a survival.

Now, poets drink from her shadow,
Their fingers stained in divine syntax.
They write not for glory, but because
The god-blood still hums in their teeth.

And she, maker of fire in the age of frost.
Is myth, is modem, is mother of every verse
That dares to burn.

Transfems only

here's something for the rest of u who need something to click

nuance goes in the tags or in the replies, I guess

Hey sorry but I fell to the temptation of the one ring. Yeah it promised me huge tits and a life as a polycule's pet catgirl. Sorry gamers

This made my brain do a thing, maybe not quite the exact right vibe tho, but thing:

Their mechs stand silent, ribs full of rust, veins dry of ammo, but hearts still clench shut fists. No signal comes—only the snow of static, a thousand miles wide and lifeless in their ears. Still they tune in, every morning, every dusk, fingers hovering over keys like prayer beads, hoping the dead might speak again.

Their eyes do not blink. Not from habit. Not from fear. But because the sky might lie, and if the enemy comes again —they must see first. Though no enemy has come in months. Though the wars have moved elsewhere, growing fat on new blood.

Their screens glow soft with emptiness. No heat signatures. No movement. Only the ghost-trail of a protocol that ended before they knew it had begun.

They count rations not in calories, but to pass the days. Each crunch of dried protein is another line in a gospel they were never meant to finish.

Some still sharpen the edges of torn plating. Not to fix. To fight. If the time comes. If fists and teeth must carry what missiles no longer can.

There is no manual for this. No chain of command for being the last. For waking up to silence and suiting up anyway.

Their pulses are not synced to clocks anymore. Only to memory. Only to the echo of orders that will never return.

And they cannot die. They’ve tried. The fail safes will not allow it. Cryo fails. Self-destruct jams. Even the hull breach only kissed skin, as if death itself had forgotten their names.

And they cannot live. Not here, not like this. Not when breath becomes habit, and hope for a glitch in the system.So they wait. Tuned in. Booted up. Eyes forward. Hands ready. Like ghosts in steel graves that never learned how to stop being soldiers.

pilots who no longer receive orders

pilots who tune into their commanding officer’s frequency every day, but only hear static

pilots who watch their screens for any sign of enemy movement even though the enemies have moved on to bigger battles

pilots who ran out of ammunition months ago but are still ready to fight with their bare hands

pilots who cannot follow protocol because there is no protocol for this

pilots who cannot die

pilots who cannot live