#especially telepathy

[wishchip106]

more ready player one cherik au ideas

erik is pretty much a complete loser irl and online and barely has any friends until he meets charles at the first trial and joins his online friendgroup (aka fc xmen) when he gets the first key

everyones avatars are more based on their comic looks so they all look a bit silly but its the oasis so its okay

thats pretty much it so far my brain is slowly building some kind of a story but it hasn’t gone into details yet

i dont even know if im gonna write this i just gotta dump my ideas here otherwise they’ll be sent to the void

[bumblingbabooshka]

Everyone who makes jokes about Vulcan hand sex is ignoring the REAL Star Trek hand sex species.

The Ocampa.

[witchofthesouls]

TFP Soundwave is both a freak in the sheets and craves an intimacy level that will scare a majority of people.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

i think what consoles me about the x-men movies, despite their slightly questionable quality, is that at least they didn't take charles out of his wheelchair

ah. well. hm. for the most part he IS in his chair this is true !

[existingingrey]

NSC "acting all professional calling GJW sir, asking for his permission regarding the car etc etc" in front of the section chief.

NSC: After forensics, we'll have to scrap the car. What should we do?

GJW: *pretending to ponder over the question*.

[aldoodles]

April - Connect

[castleofravens]

it’s so fucked up actually for your friends to be essentially shit talking you behind your back while also invalidating/not trying to understand your feelings and where they’re coming from

[owl-with-a-pen]

[Haven't dropped a fic sneak peek in a while. And yes, despite the word count, this is just a peek. Very self-indulgent fic on a Supergirl-verse Legion origin story for Brainy, starring a certain descendant of Nia's that I have yet to write for. For anyone interested, the fic is under the cut. 😉]

Querl Dox was easily the strangest Coluan that Nura had ever seen. With his washed-out blue skin and frazzled hair as stark as her own, had she not dreamt of him beforehand, she never would have placed him as a native of Colu.

The three circles on his forehead glowed dully – some kind of transdermal implant, she suspected. A body modification? They weren’t uncommon on this side of the galaxy, although Coluan mods were never usually so exposed.

He didn’t wear them as a mark of pride, that was for sure. They looked cumbersome on his thin frame, odd ends of wiry hair thrown overtop in a vain attempt to disguise them. It could have been how he held himself naturally, she supposed - hunched over like a moody teenager trying to mask his face from the world.

No, that was exactly what he was. A teenager. Maybe pushing late adolescence by now, just like her. Not that age meant much to a Coluan, all they really cared about was intellectual maturity. Still, Nura thought it would be a few years yet until he fully grew into those implants.

Maybe they were an aid of some sort – not that he’d ever admit to it.

Nura smirked. Not yet, at least.

He hadn’t moved since she’d started watching him. Comfortably unobservable from behind a screen of one-way plasma glass, there was no way he could have known she was there. It wasn’t until Mon-El and Imra entered through the main doorway that he'd known he had visitors at all.

He didn’t so much as glance in their direction. Instead, he remained perched on the edge of the single bed he’d been granted, head bowed towards his knees, the glow of his implants reflecting back against his face like a ghostly shadow.

This was the make it or break it moment, as Mon-El had once called it. The part where an offer went one of two ways. While many wayward teens would have jumped at the chance to join their ranks, appealing to potential Legionnaires wasn’t always so easy.

After all, this was the first time that initiation would be conducted from a prison cell.

Nura followed Imra and Mon-El’s progress in a trance-like state, her mind dipped halfway into the future as her visions spun duplicates of the very conversation being had. She hummed along to the tune of the words yet to be spoken, mouthing Mon-El’s opening line, reciting it from memory.

“So,” Mon-El said casually, stopping in front of the cell that housed one Querl Dox. He caught Imra’s eye. “Interplanetary grand-theft auto, huh? I’m told you souped up some very nice engines for some very bad people.” He cracked an easy smile. “What were you trying to be, some kind of mechanic?”

Silence followed. Querl kept his head down, hands wrung loosely by his knees.

Mon-El wasn’t deterred quite so easily. “No, you’re right. Your talents would be wasted on something like that.” He folded his arms, widening his stance. “We don’t see too many Coluans this far from home.”

That got a reaction. Nura was just able to catch it beneath the shroud of Querl’s matted hair - a twitch of the lips as he bared his teeth at the ground.  

“Although, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Mon-El continued, feigning ignorance. “With a family like yours, I’m sure it’s better you keep your distance, right?”

 A sound rumbled from Querl’s chest, something that could have passed as a laugh if it hadn’t been for the jarring robotic quality. He rubbed at his wrist idly, scanning the floor beyond his cell. “So, you figured it out,” he muttered. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

Mon-El pulled a face. “I mean, maybe a little. The whole blue thing nearly threw us off. Although, I’ve got some second-hand experience with your family. Indigo was one of your relatives, wasn’t she?”

Querl stiffened. “A distant relation.”

“Right.” Mon-El nodded along. “Like Brainiac.”

Querl flinched, meeting Mon-El’s eye for the first time. Behind that shock of white hair was an alarmingly dark expression, one that bore into Mon-El with an intensity that twisted Nura’s stomach into knots. She’d known mostly what to expect from Querl Dox, and she’d warned her friends as much. If Mon-El hadn’t been listening to her then, he would certainly understand the might of the mind sat before him now.

Querl wasn’t just some moody teenager. With one wrong word, he could become their most formidable enemy to date.

It won’t happen like that, Nura reminded herself. This would all be fine. It had to be. She’d seen it.

Sort of.

Imra took Mon-El’s arm, making out as though she was offering him a steadying hand. Nura could read between the lines. She disapproved of Mon-El’s method – she was probably giving him a psychic reprimand in the same gesture.

Imra Ardeen was a woman of few words during most first-contacts with Legion potentials, but that didn’t mean she was just some impassive tag-along. If anything, Imra’s job was the most critical to their success. While Mon-El did the talking, she was already reading the thoughts of their would-be recruits, acting as a living lie-detector to ensure the validity of their intentions. That job was made a little more difficult with the psychic shielding fitted to any standard U.P prison cell, but not impossible. She was well enough acquainted with the mind from her broad studies on Titan to read a person’s expressions just as easily.  

Mon-El sighed, nodding almost imperceptibly in Imra’s direction. He scratched his jaw, clearing his throat. “Look,” he said levelly, “if you think that’s why we’re here, it isn’t. It’s just, I notice you’ve hopped between a lot of jail cells these last few years. Petty crime, mostly. Wrong place, wrong time, right?”

Querl narrowed his eyes.

“Except,” Mon-El hastened, “if you’re a Brainiac, that makes you pretty damn smart. Smart enough to know how not to get caught.” When Querl didn’t say anything to that, Mon-El relaxed, smiling knowingly. “Yeah,” he murmured, “thought so.”

Querl’s nostrils flared in irritation. Mon-El was playing on some very dangerous territory to dangle something like that over Querl’s head. Implying he knew something that Querl didn’t – well – it was the surest way to piss off any Coluan. Nura held her breath.

“Thought what?” Querl spat, teeth clenched tight.

If Mon-El felt ill at ease, he didn’t show it. Instead, he grinned. “This cell,” he said, “it’s Coluan force-shield tech, right?” He drew an outline of the cell walls with his fingers, marking all four edges as though preparing to take an old-fashioned photograph. “A few years outdated by science police standards; they probably should’ve gone for the upgrade.” He winked. “Even with power dampeners, your intellect is still unmatchable, especially with home advantage. You could break out at any time. But you don’t. For the same reason you got caught in the first place.” He tipped his chin forward seriously. “Want me to keep going?”

Querl scoffed, though Nura could hear the strain in it.

Mon-El didn’t need much encouragement. “Okay, well, the last ship you souped up was being used as a getaway vehicle for a string of interplanetary robberies. The most recent robbery, the one that got you and the rest of your little crew incarcerated – huh - it’s pretty interesting. Your ship gets into a chase with the science police, and in the process, it ends up on a collision course with a civilian air-car. Your ship has shielding, it’d be fine, but that civilian ship would’ve been blown out of the sky. No survivors.”

Querl’s glare was practically poisonous.

“Weird, then,” Mon-El continued amiably, “that before both ships can collide, yours experiences a total power loss. Stalls and starts falling mid-flight, giving the authorities the opportunity to snag your ship before it can do any damage. Now, they’re saying it was an engine malfunction on all the official documentation, and maybe that’s true. But I’m thinking with your skill, there’s no way that engine went in faulty.” He crossed his arms behind his back. “Do you want to know what I think? I think someone tampered with it in a way that would’ve been totally imperceptible to the rest of the crew. Because the person that did it not only built it, but wouldn’t have needed to touch it at all.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Querl muttered. He made a flippant gesture to his cell. “Because if you are, then I think you’ll find I’m already in the right place.”

Mon-El shook his head slowly. “See, I don’t think you are.” He stepped forward, just as Imra did the same. “My name’s Mon-El, and this is Imra Ardeen. We represent the Legion of Superheroes. We’re a pretty small organisation right now, but we’ve built up something of a reputation here on Earth - as well as the rest of the United Planets thanks to some of our newest members. We have a set of rules, but the most important one is to put the needs of the people before our own. To protect life. Never kill.” His lips quirked. “I’d say you displayed that admirably.”

Nura watched wide-eyed from her invisible vantage, knuckles pressed tight against her lips. She’d seen the outcome of the day’s events a dozen times over in her dreams, but even that wasn’t enough to quell her anxiety. Something felt wrong. She just couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

As though in answer to her fears, Querl drew back, enough that he could look Mon-El squarely in the eye. His hair fell away from his face, drawing around the edges of his implants like a display curtain. “Mon-El. Yes,” he breathed the word slowly, his dark eyes glistening with knowledge far beyond his years, “I know who you are.” He cocked his head suddenly. “It always causes a stir when someone breaks the boundaries of spacetime. You are from the past. From a dead world. The sister planet of Krypton.” His lips curled with disdain. “Daxam.”

Nura swore under her breath. Out in the cell room, Mon-El nodded, a touch of defensiveness in his tone. “Yes—"

But Querl didn’t let him finish. “You profess these ideals,” he spat, “and yet you have built a monument to your hubris with this… Legion.” He sneered at them both, drawing his fire on Imra next. “You wear your Saturn identifier with pride, Titanian. Telepathy is a most valuable gift in the art of subterfuge.” He narrowed his eyes. “All I see here is a collection of powers you can utilise to meet your own ends. And nothing good comes out of that.”

Nura jolted towards the glass as another dream claimed her, Mon-El’s words flashing in her mind seconds before they touched his lips.

“Don’t say it,” she gasped.

But it was too late.

“I suppose you would know all about collections,” Mon-El said, the charm in his tone all-but gone.

Nura swore again. Mon-El might as well have just declared war.

“Visiting hours have ended,” Querl said, his voice tight. He lay down abruptly on his side, turning away from them both so that he faced the wall. “Do not come back.”

----------------

Nura waited impatiently at the view box door, stepping aside just before it pushed open.

“I think that went well,” Mon-El remarked as he and Imra walked through, brushing himself down with a casual air.

Imra rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t have engaged with his snark.”

“So, you agree it was snark!”

“It was a cover! I don’t need my powers to see that. It was all over his face.”

“This should be working,” Nura cut in, kicking herself from the wall as she stalked past them both towards the plasma glass view screen. She stabbed her finger at the Coluan still lying dormant on the other side. “I dreamed it. Querl Dox will agree to join the Legion. Today.”

Imra’s brow creased sympathetically. “I don’t doubt that, Nura,” she said gently. “It’s just…”

“Do you have any idea how it happens?” Mon-El asked. “A conversation starter—or a cheat sheet on what to say that won’t piss him off?”

“I could’ve told you that,” Imra muttered.

“You know that’s not how it works,” Nura sighed. “I don’t know exactly how it happens, only that it will. Besides, you two are always the ones that bring in the new recruits. It made sense.”

“Yeah, but that’s usually because we want to,” Mon-El muttered, flinching against another psychic reprimand.

Nura glared through the window, trying to make a clean study of their unwilling recruit. He’d rolled onto his back since Mon-El and Imra had left, his arms crossed smartly over his chest. To an untrained eye, it looked like he was in some sort of meditative state. Whatever it was, Nura was well enough acquainted with the unconscious realm to know it was mostly for show.

“Querl Dox is important,” Nura said, repeating her earlier words back at herself. Or, maybe they were her future words? Sometimes it was so hard to tell. She cleared her throat, raising her voice. “If the Legion is going to continue, we’ll need him. His intellect will save lives. And…” She stopped herself, clenching her hands.

“What is it?” Imra prompted.

Nura shook her head. “We don’t just need him. I think he…” She couldn’t say it yet; couldn’t betray his pride like that, not before he’d even met her for the first time.

There was a good way to rectify that, at least.

Nura sucked in a deep breath, pulling back from the window. “My visions are never wrong. Let me try and talk to him.”

“Go ahead,” Mon-El said, offering her the length of the hallway. “But I’ll warn you, he’s stubborn.”

Nura smiled grimly. “That makes two of us.”

[inamindfarfaraway]

A Series of Unfortunate Events crossover AU with The Incredibles where the Baudelaires are a family of supers. Bertrand and Beatrice used to be a superhero team, albeit with murky pasts. Syndrome, their former biggest fan, lures them to Nomanisan Island and kills them with the Omnidroid, then has it declared a tragic accident. Their three children are now orphans. Hiding their powers is more important than ever. People who know tend to be less sympathetic and more suspicious and the National Super Agency is inclined to put the quietness of their lives above the quality of them. Good thing that their totally legitimate relative Buddy Pine is around to foster them right away! He’s a brilliant inventor with a billion-dollar company! He even loves superheroes and offers to train the kids in his advanced facility! What could possibly go wrong?

Fourteen-year-old Violet can generate and control electricity. However, she’s inexperienced at doing so in visible, direct ways. Manipulating currents through materials and inside machines or even her own nervous system (stimulating her muscles to keep herself awake, focused or move with more energy, for example) is easier for her. She gets more comfortable producing raw electricity over time, especially when she needs to protect her siblings. She could control other people’s nervous systems, but doesn’t want to. All technology fascinates her. To complement her intuitive mastery of electronics, she has great skill in mechanical engineering and the resourcefulness to invent equipment out of whatever is available. Being a living battery only enhances what she can create. Since extended use of her power raises her hair with static electricity, she wears her hair securely braided and tied with a ribbon.

Twelve-year-old Klaus has extrasensory perception which, based on his highly verbal thought process as an avid bookworm, is attuned to words. He can hear people’s thoughts, but needs to concentrate to search for information below the surface, filter through the vast swathes of irrelevant information and interpret the nonverbal thoughts and emotions mixed in. So it’s often like reading an extremely dense book full of words you don’t know and unlabelled pictures. But he can figure many of those unknowns out through his keen reasoning. He can also mentally sense the presence of physical text nearby, read it even if he can’t see it and scan a space for specific words, for example to find a certain book in a library. Between this and his photographic memory, he’s a fantastic researcher. His eyes glow the harder he pushes his powers. His glasses help to disguise that on top of correcting his vision, refracting the light, so the quirk will only expose him if they’re lost or broken.

One-year-old Sunny has an invulnerable digestive system that can process anything with no ill effects. Glass, poison, fire. Her teeth are superhumanly durable and sharp. But while nothing along the tube from her jaw to her rear end will bleed, burn or break, the rest of her will, therefore she still needs to be careful how she ingests hazardous things. And just because she can eat and drink everything, doesn’t mean she likes every taste and texture. She actually has a refined palette and prodigious culinary talents.

[irradiatedsnakes]

the problem is i want 50k character explorations fo rlike every minor character in mp100 and by and large these do not. exist

[lightgriffinsect]

do we think on the once in an eon occasion that psychic (or any other psychomancer) cries, he just. doesn’t make any sound at all. completely silent. because they don’t have voices and i’m not sure sounds like crying are just transmitted through telepathy the way speech is.

do we think no one has ever heard a psychomancer cry in recorded history—

[jopzer]

the thing about royjamie is that they are Not drift compatible. their drift would be so fucking volatile they'd get in each others brains and accidentally kill themselves and everyone else in the building. this is my favorite thing about them.

[orcelito]

I think the #1 thing to make writing good is to just. Stick to your guns. Take yourself seriously. If you treat your writing as if it's serious, even if you're doing some crazy shit, people are willing to believe it. The moment you doubt what you're doing in your writing, it's gonna shine through. So even if you're scared, pretend you're not until you get the hang of it & no longer feel so scared

It's worked for me so far 😅

[theglassdragoncollective]

the miscommunications and misunderstandings you get through bad telepathy really cannot be understated

[mushroom-for-art]

I ran so fast lmao, reverse Pip belongs to @blues-sues once more!

Not so different

Mud and grit rubbed against his fur and skin uncomfortably in a way that made his skin crawl, the texture was unpleasant for him, though he was thankful he hadn't gotten too much of the mud in his wounds let alone his eyes. He felt his eyelid twitch in discomfort at the thought of it. A wet cloth didn't bring much comfort especially with the cold water it brought but it cleaned him off, slowly but surely.

Her aura flickered faintly in waves and rolls dancing and fading from his psychic sight, he didn't know the name of the color of her shape but it didn't look like the others, it felt fuzzy and softer making him feel a bit more safe and comfortable. The clean water splashed in its bucket as she dipped a new piece of fabric in, wringing it off and wiping away more of the mud he was coated in, the texture of grit on her own fingertips was unpleasant but she continues on, faintly they could hear others talking arguing about something that didn't concern them right now and he'd found he was getting a lot better at tuning out background noises even with his hearing being heightened.

Water droplets slid down his arm falling off of him into the sopping wet ground beneath, Muddy Water had certainly done its job. His head twitched and jerked as he felt a water droplet forming on his temple slowly sliding down to his eye sockets head twitching uncomfortably trying to shake it off, he wanted to paw at his face but his hands were still filthy and being cleaned off he could put grit in his sockets, the thought of a water droplet pooling in his eyes caused his twitching to increase.

He stilled feeling a hand move to his shoulder, water droplet still threateningly moving as his brow furrowed before a dry towel brushed past the side of his face slowly and gently up to his horn, and then it passed over his forehead collecting up the offending water droplet and any more moisture and then against the other side of his face to his horn on that side, his fur still felt moist but the thick droplets of water were gone and his anxiety began to lessen. It was a simple act but, used to having his discomforts being ignored it did bring a rush of relief.

He felt the wet cloth carefully return to cleaning off his arm of the persistent mud, cleaning the back of his hand and fingers. He swallowed quietly in thought, mouth opening and shutting again with barely a hum or croak.

".....tha….aank…" channeling his inner thoughts to be outer thoughts was harder than he had thought it would be, he could feel his temple already beginning to ache from the strain of projecting his speech, "yooouuu," it was something of a breathy exhale despite not being pushed through his lungs, he couldn't even recognise his own voice but it should have been enough. Judging by the stilling of her hand he must have heard her and it wasn't for naught.

Unfortunately he could not see the smile nor the mouthed "you're welcome," before she returned to cleaning off his hand cleaning grit from between his fingers gently. His mouth twitched awkwardly and he felt his eyebrows furrowing as he wondered why she wasn't responding to him, was he not really worth it?

As she cleaned his hand the frown on his face was noticed, as was the subtle attempt to pull his hand away from her wanting to pull away and just dunk the clean water over himself and hope that it got the dirt off and he could be alone. He felt her squeeze his digits gently and he stilled just a little as he frowned to himself before she moved his hand which was strange. He allowed it though. His damp digits made contact with skin. She was warm as she put his fingers carefully to her throat she could feel his knuckles under her chin, he wasn't sure what to make of it until he detected the texture difference.

Without her guide his finger tips traced up and down a small section of her throat feeling over the scarred tissue compared to the unscarred tissue, he stopped on the scar tissue slowly feeling across one way and then feeling across the other feeling the size of the scar. He pulled his hand away slowly and touched his fingertip to his own neck feeling the scarring there before moving to put his fingers back, attempting to find her scar again and with some guidance his fingers bumped against her scarred tissue once more.

She couldn't talk either, just like him except humans don't have telepathy. He tilted his head a bit as he stared forward without seeing as though looking at her, her hands took his and moved his touch away but he felt her softly pat the back of his hand and she squeezed his hand with hers once more and this time he didn't feel as though it was a weak attempt of crushing his hand bones. There was a quiet moment as she held his hand squeezing it softly with hers, the warmth seeming to travel up his arm through him before returning with a slosh of clean water and cloth to clean the mud from his person as it still uncomfortable caked his chest and other arm.

[inscrutable-shadow]

Mediwhump May Day 2 - Stitches

@mediwhumpmay Guest stars today are @crash-bump-bring-the-whump's Mariano and Bastian! The Doc just wants a normal day at the clinic but there's always someone scary ringing the doorbell...

The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound in the room. The Doctor certainly was not making any noise: they dare not, with their every move under intense scrutiny. Their patient couldn’t watch them, lying on his stomach as he was in order to give them access to his back. It was the piercing silver eyes of the man in the corner that were drilling through their very soul and making them wary to even take a breath. They thanked whatever blood-soaked god watched over them that their custom surgical sutures made no sound when cut.

The Doctor didn’t scare easily. They’d met all sorts of people: humans, metahumans, and nonhumans alike of varying levels of criminality, and seen all sorts of things that would turn the stomachs of hardened military men. Their baseline idea of horrifying was so skewed they found it nearly impossible to carry on ordinary conversation. But this? Felt like staring down the barrel of a gun. Something about this man extended beyond his body, made him feel enormous, as if the room could barely hold him. Well. Some of that was material reality: he was at least seven feet tall and the clinic’s ceiling sagged in the corner near the door where the (perpetually clogged) gutter was, but still. Was he human? He looked human enough, but that was no indicator.

The patient sighed, breaking the silence, and the Doctor’s hands paused in their stitch work to wait for him to stop moving, lest they do something to irritate the man in the corner. “You’re scaring the doctor, Bastian.”

“Good. Let them be scared. They’ll be more careful.” He looked amused. Indignation flared in the Doctor’s chest for a moment but was quashed by another wave of fear.

The patient turns his head to look at them. “Sorry about him, he’s… protective.” They only stared back, swallowing hard, as if it could resolve the dryness in their throat.

Bastian snorted in a not-entirely-human-sounding way. “Taking you to a shady doctor who might not even have a license? You could have died, Mariano. Damn right, I’m protective. Stop getting yourself torn to shit and maybe I won’t have to be.”

It was true that the young man’s injuries were rather severe, lacerations they’d had to pick glass out of, deep gouges and slashes with some sort of foreign organic material, and a GSW just to top it off. The only mercy was that they weren’t as deep on the upper back, likely because of his clothing. If they had to guess, it had probably been an encounter with some sort of animal shifter, lycanthrope or otherwise. They dared not ask. None of their business. He doesn’t flinch, though, not when they pull a particularly long glass shard from a cut and not when they apply antiseptic to the gouges. From the state of the rest of his skin, it looked like he was used to simply cauterising wounds that bled too much. If he could have reached his own back, he likely would not be here at all.

The Doctor’s stitchwork was as meticulous and precise as ever, although they couldn’t muster up the enjoyment for their work that kept their hands rock steady. It took longer than usual, and they momentarily stopped breathing when they had to pick a suture out and start over. The patient didn’t seem to notice or care, and the looming shadow in the corner didn’t address it. It wasn’t even as if he had done something to deliberately intimidate them; it was just his raw presence that had overtaken the room and the Doctor’s own forceful personality. Truly the most stressful routine procedure they had ever undertaken.

Relief crashed through them as they cleaned up and stripped their gloves. “Er, a-all finished, I suppose.”

Mariano sat up slowly, trying not to flex against the stitches. “Thanks, doctor. What do we owe you?” “N-no, it’s fine…” They really just wanted the interaction to be over. “Don’t be silly, doctor. You shouldn’t work for free.” He smiled reassuringly, and the Doctor suddenly realized that he was just as terrifying as Bastian was. “F-forty, then…” Bastian held out a pair of crumpled bills as Mariano put his shirt back on, grimacing at the damage. “Er… just… avoid tight clothing for at least a week, a-and…” they cleared their throat, steeling themselves, “no moisture for the first day, clean gently with a damp cloth the second, you are free to shower on the third. When the skin seems to have recovered in about ten days, use this to dissolve the stitching.” They handed over a small vial of blue liquid. “It is specially formulated for my surgical thread and ensures you do not need to return. If there are signs of infection, however, I do recommend you seek further medical care.”

“Of course,” said Mariano, in a tone that indicated he had no intent to do so. “Thanks again, doctor.” And the pair were gone, but not before Bastian threw another look over his shoulder that made the Doctor feel as if they were about to be eaten. They were going to need so much coffee after this… Taglist: @i-eat-worlds