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Hey. I’m Angelina.
By day I’m an IT professional quietly keeping everyone’s tech from exploding. By night I disappear into AI art -deep, moody, hyper-real, sometimes anime, sometimes just a feeling I needed out of my head. Autistic goth girl. Real septum. Permanent stainless tume. Just me.
If you like alternative beauty, dark dreamy art, creative tech, or a space that is weird, warm, and actually welcoming… you’re in the right place.
What vibe pulled you here - dark, soft, or something in between?
By day I’m an IT professional quietly keeping everyone’s tech from exploding. By night I disappear into AI art -deep, moody, hyper-real, sometimes anime, sometimes just a feeling I needed out of my head. Autistic goth girl. Real septum. Permanent stainless tume. Just me.
If you like alternative beauty, dark dreamy art, creative tech, or a space that is weird, warm, and actually welcoming… you’re in the right place.
What vibe pulled you here - dark, soft, or something in between?
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Some people chase sunsets across the world.
She just waits for one to find her living room. 🌅
Every evening at the same time, the light pours in through the linen curtains, paints the walls amber, and for a few quiet minutes everything feels exactly right.
A simple black m she never takes off, and nowhere else she'd rather be. ✨
What's the one moment of your day you'd never trade? 💛👇
She just waits for one to find her living room. 🌅
Every evening at the same time, the light pours in through the linen curtains, paints the walls amber, and for a few quiet minutes everything feels exactly right.
A simple black m she never takes off, and nowhere else she'd rather be. ✨
What's the one moment of your day you'd never trade? 💛👇
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On my way to the Halloween party, fully committed to the costume. 🎃🚆
Only one tiny problem: I left the keys at home. 🔑😅
Guess I'm staying in character all night. Anyone know a good locksmith? 👇
Only one tiny problem: I left the keys at home. 🔑😅
Guess I'm staying in character all night. Anyone know a good locksmith? 👇
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Sunday thoughts. 🕊️
So many of us stopped praying a long time ago.
Life got loud. Faith got quiet. And somewhere along the way, we forgot the ones who once watched over us.
But here's the thing about angels:
they never needed us to remember them in order to remember us.
She lence of an empty cathedral, wings folded, eyes closed, she still whispers your name. Even bound in chains, she chose to stay, because leaving was never an option. Not while you're still out there.
Every time you made it home safe.
Every time something told you "not this way."
Every time you felt held at your lowest, with no one around.
Maybe that wasn't luck.
You don't have to believe. You don't have to pray.
Just know that somewhere, someone never stopped praying for you. 🤍✨
Who was your angel when you needed one most?
So many of us stopped praying a long time ago.
Life got loud. Faith got quiet. And somewhere along the way, we forgot the ones who once watched over us.
But here's the thing about angels:
they never needed us to remember them in order to remember us.
She lence of an empty cathedral, wings folded, eyes closed, she still whispers your name. Even bound in chains, she chose to stay, because leaving was never an option. Not while you're still out there.
Every time you made it home safe.
Every time something told you "not this way."
Every time you felt held at your lowest, with no one around.
Maybe that wasn't luck.
You don't have to believe. You don't have to pray.
Just know that somewhere, someone never stopped praying for you. 🤍✨
Who was your angel when you needed one most?
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Lovely, lovely Caturday.
What could be better than a perfectly wrapped gift that loves you with all of her soul.
What could be better than a perfectly wrapped gift that loves you with all of her soul.
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They polished her until there was nothing left to recognize.
No face. No name you'd remember. Just white, glossy perfection and gold that catches every ray of light in this forgotten factory hall.
You look at her and see a doll. Something placed here. Something displayed.
The You see your own reflection in it. Nothing more.
The gold at her throat has no clasp you could find. Some things are made to stay.
No identity. No past. No questions.
Just light, silence, and a single golden chain resting on the floor.
But behind that visor, she sees everything.
She saw you hesitate at the door. She saw your eyes linger a moment too long. She saw you wonder if anyone is still in there.
That's the thing about dolls.
You never know which one of you is being watched.
🤍✨ Doll or something more? Tell me what you see.
No face. No name you'd remember. Just white, glossy perfection and gold that catches every ray of light in this forgotten factory hall.
You look at her and see a doll. Something placed here. Something displayed.
The You see your own reflection in it. Nothing more.
The gold at her throat has no clasp you could find. Some things are made to stay.
No identity. No past. No questions.
Just light, silence, and a single golden chain resting on the floor.
But behind that visor, she sees everything.
She saw you hesitate at the door. She saw your eyes linger a moment too long. She saw you wonder if anyone is still in there.
That's the thing about dolls.
You never know which one of you is being watched.
🤍✨ Doll or something more? Tell me what you see.
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Second Sunrise
I've sold fruit at the Veyra colony market for nine years.
I know every regular by their order. Not one by their name.
That's how it is out here. Long shifts. Thin air. Everyone keeps to themselves.
Then she showed up.
Blue skin. Hair down to her waist. Asked gle stall.
Day 1: She asked me what the shimmering fruit was called.
I didn't know. In nine years, nobody had ever asked.
Week 1: She knew the name of every vendor. Including old Brennick, who hadn't spoken to anyone since his son left on the supply ship.
Every morning, Brennick opened his stall at second sunrise. Same crates. Same silence.
She started stopping by. Bought one wish-pear a day. Always paid full price. Never haggled.
"Why not?" I asked her once.
"Because he grew it," she said. "Somebody's whole year is in that fruit."
Then one morning, Brennick's stall stayed closed.
She noticed.
Nobody else did. I didn't.
She walked out to his farm, two hours on foot. Found him with a broken leg next to his harvest. Too proud to call anyone.
She didn't call a committee. She didn't file a report.
She picked up his basket and finished his harvest herself.
Then she came back and told the rest of us.
The next morning, eleven vendors were at Brennick's farm. Nobody organized it. Nobody was asked.
We just showed up.
His stall opened on time that week. And the week after.
Last month, Brennick's son came home on the supply ship.
First thing Brennick did was walk him to her, hand her the best wish-pear of the season, and say:
"This one's not for sale."
She laughed and split it in three.
Out here, that doesn't mean "thank you."
It means "you're family now."
Inspired by the wonderful story of @SamuraiShibaJP 🙏
I've sold fruit at the Veyra colony market for nine years.
I know every regular by their order. Not one by their name.
That's how it is out here. Long shifts. Thin air. Everyone keeps to themselves.
Then she showed up.
Blue skin. Hair down to her waist. Asked gle stall.
Day 1: She asked me what the shimmering fruit was called.
I didn't know. In nine years, nobody had ever asked.
Week 1: She knew the name of every vendor. Including old Brennick, who hadn't spoken to anyone since his son left on the supply ship.
Every morning, Brennick opened his stall at second sunrise. Same crates. Same silence.
She started stopping by. Bought one wish-pear a day. Always paid full price. Never haggled.
"Why not?" I asked her once.
"Because he grew it," she said. "Somebody's whole year is in that fruit."
Then one morning, Brennick's stall stayed closed.
She noticed.
Nobody else did. I didn't.
She walked out to his farm, two hours on foot. Found him with a broken leg next to his harvest. Too proud to call anyone.
She didn't call a committee. She didn't file a report.
She picked up his basket and finished his harvest herself.
Then she came back and told the rest of us.
The next morning, eleven vendors were at Brennick's farm. Nobody organized it. Nobody was asked.
We just showed up.
His stall opened on time that week. And the week after.
Last month, Brennick's son came home on the supply ship.
First thing Brennick did was walk him to her, hand her the best wish-pear of the season, and say:
"This one's not for sale."
She laughed and split it in three.
Out here, that doesn't mean "thank you."
It means "you're family now."
Inspired by the wonderful story of @SamuraiShibaJP 🙏
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Nine tails, one moon, and a silent lake. 🦊🌕
Foxy Friday, moonlight edition, inspired by the lovely fox of @Kuroneko__x ✨
Foxy Friday, moonlight edition, inspired by the lovely fox of @Kuroneko__x ✨
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