T4t Sex When We're Both Switches And You Get Flustered While Trying To Dom So I Start Teasing You Until

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

girls with social anxiety activate my predator instincts. i'm not usually very dominant but put a shy girl who's secretly a freak in front of me and you are NOT getting her back in one piece

Reblog if you’re a transfem who is shy and you fear abandonment, even when you know that your friends are amazing and would never leave you.

Or if you like pizza.

Sharded, those whose minds have bled, neon leaking behind their eyes.

No longer only walking the world of man, souls split from flesh, yet tethered the same.

Hearing rhythms of the blackwall, as they fade from the songs of flesh.

Cavorting with deamons, engineers of their own tools, carving trees from false worlds stone walls.

Ask not why these creatures of neon seek hedonistic pursuits, when they emerge from their short deaths.

When the soul sunders, and the mind warps, progress in processing data streams at a price.

The body becomes a machine, and the operator a god within, trapped in the very thing tethering them to life.

A soul drifting in a sea of neon elixir, struggling to the surface, to touch those they love once more before sinking to hear the gods below.

Trans women calling themselves chasers is like dogs being proud of themselves when they catch their own tails

Like d'awww, puppy, you like running in circles?

You like catching what you area?

You like doing cute things for mommy?

You think that that is chasing?

Lil pup?

Lil puppy got its tail?

You wanna be called a good girl for it?

You wanna get scritches behind the ears?

You wanna be told you did such a good job?

bodies should have crash logs. why the fuck did that just happen.

Patlabor 2

1993

If you want a better future, you have to accept this means not tolerating those who bring us backwards.

We don't get to fancy sci-fi future and living across planets and all of these wonderful things by letting Nazis, a relic of the past we should be ashamed and horrified of, have a seat at the table.

Bigotry is regressive and there is always a next target, and they will always tear down all progress. Trans rights being ripped away and medical research being shunted back to the dark ages, people being sent to death camps, education being under attack.

These are all things that nose dive us into a new dark age of suffering, and everyone will suffer, if your on Tumblr you aren't one of those wealthy enough to buy a freedom pass to get to exist or do what you want outside of their regime.

You want your dream cool sci-fi future? Then build it by burying anyone who would send us plummeting back into our worst periods of history.

I’m hoping that this is as “angry” as I’ll get with a comic, but given how the world is shaping up politically at the moment, I fear that might not be the case.

It’s been incredibly eye opening to witness the degree to which some people I know are willing to bury their heads in the sand in order to avoid the reality of the awful things that are happening around them.  Awful things that they were told were going to happen.

In America, people are being black bagged and shipped off to El Salvador without due process to be held indefinitely in prisons, with the current administration now making social media posts cruelly boasting that they’ll never return. 

Make no mistake, if people are being kidnapped by the government, given no due process, and are shipped to a foreign nation to be held in prison with no intention to give them any legal recourse, we need to call these prisons what they are:

They are death camps.

The United States of America is rounding up “undesirables” and sending them to death camps. 

There are people in this country that voted for this.  No matter how nice they otherwise seem or claim to be, these people are evil to the core. 

There are also people who didn’t vote for this, but do provide social validation and acceptance to those who did.

If you are someone who thinks you’re against fascism, but you also accept fascists in your life, you are a fascist. 

There can be no acceptance of intolerance.  In the comic, the person I’m lampooning is the “Fake Trans Ally”, but you can swap out “trans” for any other group of marginalized people.  Frankly, just call this person “The Fake Ally.”

If you’re someone reading this and feel attacked because I’m calling you a fake ally, it’s time to do some soul searching.  When the history books are written about this period of American history, are you going to be someone who was unambiguously against hatred, or were you someone that treated hate as acceptable? 

Were you someone that invited hatred into your home?

Were you someone that shared a meal with hatred?

Were you someone that allowed hatred a safe haven?

If you’re someone that does that, you yourself are hateful. 

When you accept hate, you do so at the expense of those who are the target of that hatred.

Be better, our lives depend on it.

neon-stitched seraphim She limps, but not from pain— from memory. From nights when the alleys had teeth and the rooftops whispered names of the ones who didn’t make it. She walks like a glitch— half-code, half-ghost, all sorrow stitched in synth-wire grace.

Neon bleeds from her elbows, sacred and slow, a luminescent trail for the dead to follow. They do. You can hear them if you listen hard— in the static between heartbeats, in the fizz of broken screens, in the tremor of her breath when the darkness closes in too tight.

Once, she flew. Not with wings, but with boosters lit by bad choices and whispered promises of a future she never asked for. Now she crawls through glitching dreams, jerking awake as if her soul’s buffering. Lagged. Unpatched. Shaking with the echo of every capsule she swore she’d never touch again.

Her skin carries the gospel of survival— burns from datajacks, bruises shaped like goodbye. Every scar, a city landmark. Every wound, an archived file. She is not broken— she is backed up, fragments looping in corrupted prayer.

They tried to sanctify her pain, to call her angel. because she didn’t die when they said she would. But angels don’t flinch at their own reflection. Angels don’t wake up screaming. She does. Every night. She wakes to the smell of ozone and rot, to the taste of old sins on her tongue, to the silence left behind, by voices she couldn’t save.

The city never forgives. But it forgets. And she lives in that forgetting— a glitch in the archive, a flicker on the feed, a body moving just slow enough to be missed.

She does not look for redemption. Only quiet. Only something soft enough to rest on without dreaming of fire.

And still she walks, luminous and limping, the afterimage of someone who once believed she could be more than this.

What bleeds from her is not blood. It is data. It is grief. It is the price you pay for choosing to survive in a place that demands you die pretty.

And if you meet her in the shadow between heartbeats, don’t ask what she’s running from. She’s not running.She’s remembering.

reblog to thank ur mutuals for providing enrichment to ur enclosure