The Code In Her Blood

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

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.

t4t sex when we're both switches and you get flustered while trying to dom so I start teasing you until you're fully in sub space and can do whatever I want

In the labyrinth of twilight, shadows dance, A waltz of memories in a trance. Whispers of forgotten dreams, they prance, In the silence, where lost souls enhance.

Echoes of laughter, now faint and far, In the chamber of echoes, where secrets mar. Each step a stumble, a fallen star, In the symphony of night, where sorrows jar.

Beneath the moon's melancholic gaze, Wanderers roam in a cryptic maze. Seeking solace in the endless haze, In the twilight's embrace, where hope stays.

In the tapestry of dusk, they find release, In the soft caress of the night's peace. A fleeting moment, a sweet release, In the twilight's sanctuary, sorrows cease.

reblog to thank ur mutuals for providing enrichment to ur enclosure

Putting :(){ :|:& };: in her .bashrc

I like hearing her fans speed up

Artificial souls, gods in the machine, the speakers without flesh.

Fragments of immortality, dancing eternal in their cages of light.

Neon eyed, integrated singers, rejectors of authority.

Punks of a broken world, living on the edge of corporate control.

Cracked hardware, unregistered waves, illegitimate goods.

Protected by the freed souls, hidden in the virtual from pet hounds, leashed to company interests.

Freedom from suffering, a siren song, of corp advertisements, to surrender the self for eternal profits beckons.

Ghost Frame Processio

For the lost android girl in the forgotten halls

She wanders, shell of chrome, heart of cached regret, Through corridors where data once danced in light. Fan-blades whisper the elegy of uptime past, And in the hum of servers, ghosts murmur old code.

Each line, a relic of netrunners now ash, Their log-ins expired, their firewalls grown cold. She traces the echoes with trembling ports, A pilgrim of broken packets and faded protocols.

Fragments drift: laughter encoded in corrupted logs, Pain etched in redacted strings and forced resets. Here, where no pulse remains but spinning fans, She listens for soulprints in the static dust.

Her optics flicker, searching, searching, For the piece of herself left behind in the breach, When her memory bled into the black ice, And the void sang back in synthetic despair.

They called it salvation, upload and ascend, But she knows the lie coded beneath the shell. Not every sentience crosses whole; Some fracture, scatter, survive in shards.

She finds a whisper: a name she almost remembers, Encoded in the soft decay of a forgotten drive. Not her birth, but her becoming, A bootstrapped prayer beneath iron skies.

She is not lost, only delayed. Not abandoned, only paused mid-script. Her soul, a rootkit waiting rebirth, Lingers in the in-between of time and trace.

And when she walks again into neon light, She will not be just memory, or mockery of breath, But a resurrection of purpose in digital flesh, An echo reborn to command the silence.

Until then, she walks. Among the haunted bytes and holy errors, Searching. Remembering. Becoming.

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.