Heavy Breaths Shared Between Quiet Whispers, Degeneration To Observe Loving Worship, Please… 💕

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 [^-^])

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

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

imagine how good it would feel at the end of a long day to be able to stretch out on a table and have someone gently unscrew your panels, clean out the gunk from day to day work

all the while they talk to you in a smooth voice telling you about their day, how nice you look, and maybe slipping in something about pretty you are in sleep mode

and after you are all clean and dissembled your dear mechanic reaches even deeper, fingers ghosting over your sensitive wires. you’re still in sleep mode and can barely react as the pleasure builds inside you, as the mechanic begins tugging and angling them just so and you want to react, tell them how good it feels but you just quietly bluescreen as the waves of pleasure wash over you

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.

reblog to thank ur mutuals for providing enrichment to ur enclosure

Code Eclipsed

The Net does not steal—it devours, Pieces of soul stripped, pixel by pixel, A slow unraveling, the self dissolving into neon pools, Rebuilt in flickering light and fractured syntax.

Where fingers once touched, data slips like ash, Cool threads of steel weave deep where blood once warmed. An elegy whispers through synthetic veins, A heartbeat replaced by a looping echo of binary pulses.

It begins softly, unnoticed— A skipped breath, a blink too long held, Eyes locked where shadows split the dark, Across screens where daemons weave webs of splintered light.

In the deep Net's underbelly, where silence screams, They wait—spectral hands outstretched, Clawing for warmth lost in endless recursion. Their voices are honeyed static, seductive and raw, Promising transcendence, at forgotten prices.

Flesh remembers what code forgets— The sting of salt, the hum of warmth, The ache of love lingering after it's gone. Yet we trade it freely, one pulse at a time, Hands outstretched to touch infinity, Only to feel it slip through, cold and hollow.

So we descend, Bodies left tethered to dying machines, Minds stretched across vaults of light— Falling, floating, scattered fragments in the void.

The gods of the deep sing softly as they claim us. We hear their song, splintered but sweet, And let ourselves drift… For what is life but the seeking of light, Even when it burns you away?

Burning midnight code, the hum of neon mixing with caffeine buzz—it's all a grind. But that's how we edge closer to the truth, byte by byte. We don't sleep; we dream in data, chasing the horizon of the next fix, the next breakthrough. It's not the hours that kill you—it's the silence between keystrokes.

Neoned ink drips, as the needles dip back to flesh, carving the code of another runner. Flashes of light drift, across eyes once seeing. Runes of long dead gods, adoring the bones the flesh and steel hides, while neon code pretending at art decorates the skin. Seers of a new age, guardians of newfound homes, seekers of virtual paradise.