Draped Across The Window Edge, Watching The Passing Life, Like Cells In A Vein Moving The Cogs Of Industry.

Broken limbs bleed sparks, into abyssal seas lightless depths.

Screams in dark silence, a soul untethered.

Sinking down, to the throne of abyssal kings, courts built from fractured life code.

Petitions for grace, break from the machines demands, fall on muted ears.

As a world refused to bow to the broken, those backs no longer capable of bending, refusing to ask their mechanical sisters to yield.

PPSA (puppy PSA)

Broken wings, cracked bone exposed between feathers, dripping a neon pallet across dirty sidewalks.

Beauty painted by the glow, spilling from cracks in their masks.

With hesitant steps do angels weep.

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 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.

casual survey: reblog if you want to kiss a girl right now

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.

Waves crash into distant shores, while the stars mourn.

A people made for grace, what a tragic fall.

Tell me of your people, before the last breath escapes.

Were they happy?

don't flirt with me, my tail knocks stuff off the table when i get excited

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 [^-^])