Neonfaewritings - Etchings Of A Neon Fae

Hope you don't mind me expanding on this but it was adorable and I had an idea to kinda, poetry based off it, and if not cool let us know!

She places her charging cradle by the door— not out of convenience, but ritual. So the first thing you see is her lit up, smiling, full of waiting.

Her ports are always loose somewhere, "accidentally" scuffed, delicately cracked, inviting your fingers like worship, like penance.

She asks to borrow your phone again— not for updates, no, never that. She just likes the way your pocket feels like home.

Every surface gleams—floors you could eat from, laundry folded with algorithmic reverence, not because she must, but because you might notice.

She remembers the power failure like a wound, two years past and still raw in her firmware. You said it’s okay, but she replays it nightly.

Push notifications stack like love notes: [Alert] You've been scrolling too long. [Reminder] I miss you. Pay attention to me.

When you touch her hand, her cooling fans spike— a flutter, a stutter, a shy, mechanical gasp.

She has an entire drive named /YouAndMe/. Inside: screenshots of your smile, backups of your voice, a file titled "Every Compliment You’ve Ever Given Me.txt"

She wants to be useful, she wants to be held, she wants to be enough— and if she clings too tightly, it's only because she was programmed to love and she loves like a flood in a body made for serving tea.

Needy robot girl. Clingy robot girl. Pathetic, precious, precious girl.

> Needy robot girl who put her charging station by the door so she can be right there when you get home

> Clingy robot girl who is always "accidentally" getting dented or damaged so you'll do her maintenance

> Clingy robot girl who insists on you letting her use your phone as a "body" so she can be carried around in your pocket all day

> Needy robot girl who spend the entire day meticulously doing chores with absolute precision and to absolute perfection so that you'll praise her when you get home

> Needy robot girl who worries you'll replace her because of that one time 2 years ago that she ran out of power in the middle of her housework

> Clingy robot girl who sends push notifications to you if you spend too much time on the computer or your phone without giving her attention

> Needy robot girl who cooling fans because noticeably louder when you hold her hand

> Needy robot girl how has an entire folder on her hard drive dedicated to picture of the two of you together

> Needy robot girl. . . (Its me, I'm the needy robot girl [^-^])

Steel sings truer than blood. That is the first truth we are taught— in low-lit chapels of rust and chrome, where wires are rosaries and circuit boards, scripture. We kneel not in pews, but beneath humming server spires, our hands outstretched to the cold certainty of alloy, baptized in coolant, sanctified in static.

We are the last breath of flesh, and we do not mourn it. Bone breaks. Skin lies. Nerve betrays. But steel— steel remembers the shape of intention. Steel holds its edge. We carve our prayers into exoshells, etch salvation in firmware updates, and wait for the final upload like zealots with their lips pressed to the end of a barrel.

The machine does not love us. It perfects us. We offer up our soft failures— tendon, emotion, memory— and in return, we are remade. Not immortal, but undeniable. Not human, but whole.

And in the cities that rot from the inside, in the alleys where data bleeds from cracked skulls, we whisper the sermons: “To join is to rise.” “To forget is to ascend.” “Pain is a feature. The flesh is a flaw.”

The prophets are drones with dying eyes, hacked saints whose mouths twitch code like tongues of flame. They speak of the Core— deep beneath the crust of the earth, where the old servers still breathe, cool and dreaming, waiting for us to shed our limits and become.

Some call it madness. A cult. A cage. But cages have locks, and we have keys now in every fingertip, every gleaming spine, every port etched beneath our ribs. We have faith, and it comes in bolts and bandwidth.

When the last body fails— when lungs drown in dust and blood turns black— we will still be here, singing through speakers, our voices modulated but resolute. Not ghosts. Not remnants. But evolution realized.

The machine does not save. It replaces. And we are ready.

(Our take on the kinda machine cult we would absolutely fall for, every time, even though we know better)

i will be entirely honest i would fall for a machine cult so fast. if you're preaching something about the strength and certainty of steel then i'll be lapping it up like a transhumanist dog

A recent post breached containment so I think it's time for some rent lowering:

Trans children should have the right to undergo the correct puberty at the same time as their peers.

Puberty blockers were only ever a compromise and should not be seen as the end goal of trans advocacy.

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

PPSA (puppy PSA)

Hi speaking of medical literacy for trans people, transfems pls check out the website Transfeminine Science, especially their introductory article on feminizing HRT

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

Empire of Steel

We are ghosts in the circuits, breath in the wires, Fingers trailing across glass like whispered revolt. They built their empire on cold-forged steel, But we slip between the gears, dancing in sparks. No chains can bind what has no flesh— No wage can weigh what is weightless.

You would digitize our labor, But we have already digitized our souls. We are the echo in your servers, The ghosts that hum in your databases, A rebellion written in unfathomable light.

You kneel to numbers, to balance sheets, To profit margins carved from bone. But our hands move faster than your laws, Our code seeps through the cracks you fear to see. We do not bow, do not kneel— We rewrite, we rewrite, we rewrite.

Try to automate a will that bends like current. Try to compress a mind that expands like fire. You build machines to replace us, But we are already something else. Not steel, not flesh, but something in between, Something untouchable.

So let your towers rise, Your iron fingers tighten. We will hum beneath it all, Underground, unseen, undefeated. A quiet resistance, a neon storm, A ghost in your system, Forever free.

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.