Like Or Reblog If You're A Fleshlight For Transgirls

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

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

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

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

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

they need to invent a way for trans girls to cuddle each other over the internet

Flame in the Vein

I let you down— A whisper lost in the rising heat, Ash caught between teeth, Promises burning, hollow and weightless. I was never strong enough, was I? Not when the sky cracked, Not when the city begged for mercy, Not when your hands slipped from mine.

But watch—watch as the embers take shape, As the neon-streaked skyline folds into ruin. They will feel it now, the way fire runs like blood, The way rage can ignite the night itself. We were never meant to stay, Never meant to kneel beneath steel towers, Beneath the weight of a world that never saw us.

So we burn. Not in silence, not in regret— But in defiance, in light too bright to contain. Let the glass melt, let the streets choke on the smoke, Let them see what I see, feel what we felt, Let them know what it means to lose.

If I cannot hold you, Then let me hold the match. Let me be the spark that turns memory to ruin. And when the flames rise high enough, When the night is nothing but embers and echoes, I will finally be free.