#more talkk

[autism-corner]

scary

[jorenilee]

splatoon au koichi

THE GUY OF ALL TIME!! thank u very much for the ask because up until maybe 3 days ago, I had absolutely nothing for koichi compared to the others' lore. Anyways he's a distant relative of the Onaga clan (markings and big ears), has his 3 eel companions (Echoes, Reverb, and Freeze) and only recently began battling after making friends with the rest of the gang.

He primarily uses bamboozler (middle-ranged chip damage + support for josuke + okuyasu's aggro style with wail (sonic blast attack!!)), but picked up REEFLUX (3-motif, supports a more aggro playstyle matching his character development) and uhh maybe Zimi (also frontline demon but support kit with mist being like act 3's freeze) and clash neo (idk he deserves chumps).

Also he listens to yoko & gold bazookas, I'm never wrong actually

[wheelerpilled]

i can't wait for new ST5 pics so we as a fandom can just MOVE ON from the neverending cycle of discourse and go back to analyising the fuck out of a blurry picture of a wall or something

[humankarkat]

what insights have you gained from watching All of star trek and how long did that take you?

It took me about a year and a half, but the steadiness in which I watched it varied wildly. It took me the same amount of time to watch 3 seasons of TOS as it did 7 seasons of TNG because I watched TOS during the semester and TNG after I graduated. It took me almost twice as long to watch ENT because I got so bogged down that I lost my motivation. YMMV but plan for around 16-20 months.

Insights I've gained:

You gotta have a palette cleanser prepared. No matter how much you love Star Trek you will get Star Trek burnout and you need to have something to combat that. Mine was X-Files for my first watch through. For my second we've taken detours through Letterkenny and Portlandia.

The last seasons of DS9 are very good still but they're less fun because that's getting into the Dominion war. They're not not fun, just heavier.

Voyager slaps wicked hot pussy. I always know that Voyager is good but then I watch it and it's better than that.

You GOTTA take a break between VOY and ENT. Voyager is so so so good and Enterprise is fine and going straight from one to the other will make ENT taste like dirt. Watch something else for a minute so you can actually appreciate ENT like it deserves.

Okay actually the later stuff in ENT with the Xindi is boring AF and I don't blame anyone who gives up during that. That's where I started giving up.

DISCO is good but you gotta give it time. Season one tries too hard and gets too edgy but season two apologizes and back petals so hard it flips around into wholesome. I would kill and die for Michael.

Skip Picard. However bad you expect it to be, it's worse. What the fuck.

No one has ever cast someone with enough cunt to properly play Spock since Leonard Nemoy. Like the guy who plays Spock in SNW is decent and a good actor but he doesn't have the swagger.

The biggest thing I've learned though is that modern shows are a bunch of cowards in all kinds of ways that become apparent when you watch a bunch of late 20th century media in a row and then cut back to the 2010/2020s. Also looking at the politics for the time vs the plots of the various shows there's a lot of really interesting things you can see. mostly I'm baffled that TOS got another season in the 1960s after Kirk gave a monologue about how communists deserve human rights or that ENT got another season in the early 2000s after the episode where there was a robed, desert dwelling terrorist who turned out to be the one Archer would have sided with if he got involved. Wild.

[luveline]

𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time. requested here. fem!reader, 3.7k

cw home invasion, assault, attempted sexual assault, reader is badly hurt/held at gunpoint, please read with care for the content warnings above

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Hotch?" you whisper into the phone, your voice barely audible. 

"Who is this?" 

Hotch doesn't always look at who's calling at night, he just answers. Bad habit. You curl in on yourself where you're on your knees in the closet, trying not to wheeze breathlessly down the receiver. "Hotch, it's me. I need you to come and help me." 

"What's wrong?" He doesn't ask why you're whispering. "Are you at home?" 

"There's someone in my apartment." 

"You're sure?" 

You shift backwards into the embrace of your hanging coats and dresses. It feels as though tens of hands are petting your shoulders, a shiver racing along your spine as a floorboard creaks somewhere in your kitchen. 

"I heard them open my door. I don't have my taser, I…" You stop talking when you hear more movement, terrified you'll be discovered. Regret clings to you. How many times has Morgan offered to teach you self defence personally? "I don't know how they got inside."

It doesn't take more than that for Hotch to click into work mode. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't talk. I'm going to put you on hold to call Morgan. I will be ten seconds at most. Don't panic. Don't hang up. If you think you can leave without being seen or heard, leave, but if you can't, don't show him where you are." 

The invader's footsteps track to the bedroom. You know at once that your tired mind isn't hallucinating a bad scenario to keep you up —this is real. 

You had the hindsight to close your laptop and push it under the bed along with your go-bag, a rucksack full of clothes that you take on cases in different states as part of the BAU. You'd made a quick assessment —your job more than prepared you for this— based on the little information you had. Either the invader knows nothing about you and has assumed you'd be home, or they watch you enough to think you'd be elsewhere. If they think you're here, you're in danger of being assaulted, kidnapped, or murdered. If they think you're away, you're in danger of being robbed. One scenario is a thousand times more preferable than the other. 

You can't help but think of the horrible things you've seen. You know intimately what kind of damage one person can do to someone at their mercy. 

The hold sound is a quiet droning that freaks you out. If you can hear it, the intruder might be able to, too. Like the low hum of the fridge at night or the bumping of the dyer. 

You hang up the phone. 

"I know you're here." 

Your pulse flies through the roof. It pounds so hard you can feel it everywhere, the tip of your nose, your eyelashes. You look through the dark of your closet and panic in the fullest definition of the word. Your heart can't sustain this for long. 

You failed to think of a third possibility. The intruder watches you enough to know you're home. The BAU has a lot of enemies. Anyone could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.

"Come out and I'll be kind," the intruder sing-songs.

You type out a text with shaking hands, your message nearly illegible. 

They knowa 8m hjome. Cant talkk dontcall me

Thirty seconds elapse. A reply comes through. You smother the chirp with your chest. It sounds loud as a shot in the relative quiet. 

Police dispatch 5mins. I'm 10mins. Morgan 12. I will be there as soon as I can. Protect yourself 

That's easy for him to say. You drop your phone in defeat but scramble to pick it up again when you realise it's your best weapon. Or… You crawl to the opposite end of the closet to your shoe rack and slide the shoes apart with honey slow movements, your breath coming in quick, too-loud pants. You never expected to feel this way, you thought you'd know exactly what to do, how to react, but this feels outside of reality. 

You brace the long heel of a shoe between your fingers. Your hand is a vice. 

In your bedroom, the intruder goads you. "I know you're home, Y/N. There's only so many places for me to look, you know? But if you make me check each one, I'll be unhappy when I find you." 

What the fuck? you think. Breaking apart the fear like a knife is anger, a new shot of adrenaline. Who is this guy? You want to spring from the closet and show him how unhappy you are, but your chances of survival improve the longer you can hide. If he has a gun, that's it. You could be dead in the next two minutes. No amount of anger would save you. 

You could be dead in the next two minutes. 

thank you dpr everything, for being my friend aaron, you text. You know how embarrassing it will be to have said goodbye if nothing bad happens to you, but you also know how haunted Hotch will be if he can't get to you in time. You aren't foolish enough to unravel your feelings for him over text, but you're sentimental enough to think they'd matter to him. He'd want to know. 

If things go bad please knoeew that I loved my life and my work and you and the tram more than anything

After a moment, you add, If things don't go bad please nevrr mentiom this 

Footsteps at the closet door. A pause that feels gargantuan, the silence so heavy it threatens to snap the floorboards beneath your knees. 

"Found you." 

You leap up and throw yourself at the closet door as hard as you can, gasping when it swings on the hinges and clips your opposition in the leg. You don't think, you don't look at his face, you simply drive the point of your shoe into his collar. 

He gasps. Something hard and rigid whips upward, your neck snapping to one side as the skin of your cheek splits, gunmetal glancing off of bone. You drop down onto your ass, half out of necessity and half to get away from the pain. You can't outrun it, nor can you escape the forthcoming assault, grunting in shock as the bottom of the gun comes down atop your head. It was likely meant to incapacitate you, but all it does is hurt. 

You flip onto your front, stagger onto your hands and knees, and launch yourself up through the bedroom doorway. You only have to get away. 

He sweeps your legs from under you barely ten feet down the hall. 

You fall. Your knees hit the hallway slats and your face follows, the nerve endings in your teeth ringing one by one and your eyes tearing up as your nose makes a huge thwacking sound. Gasping, you rush to cover your face though the damage is done. Your gasp turns to a sob, hands quickly wetted by blood. 

"Stupid bitch," he hisses. 

You crawl into the kitchen. He steps on the back of your thigh. 

"I have a G43 pointed straight at the back of your fucking head."

"Good for you?" you say, eyes squeezed closed. 

You whimper as he grinds his foot into your leg. 

"Don't think I won't use it when I'm done with you." 

You shake your head from side to side. That can't be what he's here for.

You should ask him what he wants, or threaten him with the approaching police sirens. You should've tried to climb out of your fire escape. You should've set the door alarm as soon as you came home, but you're just so fucking tired lately you must've forgot. Everything feels like a chore. Right now, you're exhausted. 

"What are you going to do?" he asks you. 

You won't negotiate. You don't answer.

Forceful, no time to protect yourself, he kicks you in the side of the face. It hurts worse than the fall, that shattering pain like a firework under your skin. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, hoping that your whining cry is less audible to him than it is to you, scrambling backward toward the cabinets. You're defeated. Maybe you deserve it, for it to happen so easily. Three minutes and you're down. 

"I asked you what are you going to do, Agent?" 

"What am I supposed to say?" you ask. Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic. 

"Whatever I want you to. Now get up, honey." You cringe. "Unless you want to stay on the floor like a dog?" 

"Don't call me that," you say, wincing at the grinding sensation of your jaw. 

"What, a dog? Or… honey?" His tone is smug. "I thought you'd like that. It's what your boss calls you, isn't it? Late at night when he drops you off. Not strictly professional." 

You groan and turn onto your side. The police sirens are getting close. You live in a busy place near a main road, the sirens could be for anybody, but you need them to be for you.

"Get up, honey. You can pretend I'm him, if you like. I'll make it easy on you. I can be nice." 

You deliberate. Do as he says, or risk further agitation. Do what he says. Live to see the end of the night. 

Or drag it out. Give Hotch enough time to get here. 

"You'll pretend to be him?" you ask, sniffing. You can't tell if you're crying or there's blood on your face. 

"Aw. To begin with, sure." 

You sit up. For the first time, you look your attacker in the face. It's difficult to tear your eyes from the barrel, but you do. He has a cruel face, as tall and formidable as Hotch is but with none of his lightness. You put on your softest expression, gazing at him through tears. When you speak, the fear is real, even if you're attempting a facade. "You'll be gentle?" 

"No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?" His lip curls in disgust.

"I don't know," you mumble, looking down at the floor. "You said you'd be nice." 

"We both know you don't like nice." 

"I do," you say, finding your footing in the charade, the sorry victim, whatever he needs you to be for now. You hate giving him anything, but you know in the moment that you'll do what you need to do to save yourself from injury. "I haven't… I haven't done stuff in a long time, I can't just rush into things." 

The gun makes a quiet clicking sound as he points it with more fervour. "Like I believe that. You're probably fucking Hotchner on the side." 

There, that jealousy. He's been watching you, he knows where you live, what you want, and he's still convinced that you're fucking Hotch. It's not logical.

You cling to the threads, trying to pull apart his composure. You'd assumed him an anger-excitation rapist, unafraid to hurt you as he already has, but now you're thinking something else. 

"You think I'm sleeping with my boss? Why?" 

"Besides your constant need to be touching him? It's disgusting, you throw yourself at someone who doesn't want you. You're pathetic. I can make you better." 

You see movement in the corner of your vision. Dark hair, a stony expression. Hotch stands at the precipice of the kitchen in a bulletproof vest, a finger to his lips. Sh. 

Your relief knocks a breath out of you. The invader takes it for pain at being read. 

"Look," he says, softer. Not genuine softness, but practised. As soon as you give in, he'll drop it. You're both acting for one another, but only one of you is a profiler. "You'll forget all about Agent Hotchner once we're done. So just get up." 

You hold out your hand. His eyes light up with malice as he leans down to take it, his gun finally aimed away from your face. 

Hotch moves in. 

"Drop the weapon." 

Your attacker whirls. Hotch doesn't hesitate. Front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. A bang like a clap of thunder fills the room. 

You flinch down into yourself. Everything goes a little white for a while, people running into the room, a gun skittling across your kitchen tile. Your ears ring from the bang of two bullets and you're sure you've been hit, you're hurting so much, but hands squeeze under your arms to tell you otherwise. 

"You're okay," Hotch says, knee against your thigh, face ducked down to meet your eyes. "Hey, can you hear me?" 

You shake your head. You can hear him, but you're far from okay. Hotch bites commands over his shoulder, holding your waist in his hands like he's worried you'll slip out of them. Tight. Too tight. You suck in as big a breath as you can manage and choke on it, coughing, the wild sting of your wounds a ringer. 

"You did so well," he says as he catalogues your injuries, his frown deepening. He tilts your head up to the light. 

"I knew you were on your way," you deflect.

"You were talking him down." 

"No, I was surrendering." 

"You didn't give in until you saw me. You weren't surrendering." 

"But I would have," you whisper, closing your eyes.

"Doing what you need to to survive isn't easy. But you do it." 

You hang your head. 

— 

Hotch winces at the sound of your skin being sewn closed. Morgan sits beside you in the back of the ambulance holding your hand, your fingers twitching between his with every tug. They dosed you and applied a general anaesthesia, but the pain is pervasive. His eyes keep moving back to your hand in Morgan's. He isn't jealous —he's annoyed with himself. Hotch should be the one holding your hand.

He should've hugged you. The absence of it feels awkward between you, though he's positive that that's the last thing you're thinking of right now.

"Will you have to set her nose?" Morgan asks. 

The paramedic shakes his head. "Not broken. Just very badly bruised. Even the bone." 

"That doesn't need a cast?" 

Hotch should hold your hand, should hug you, should be organising the scene. Should, should, should. The only thing he's managed to do since he incapacitated your stranger is watch you for signs of life. 

You're despondent. In shock, no doubt. You let your friends pass you from place to place with little more than pained sighs for input.

JJ does an excellent job of surveying the goings on, while Rossi and Reid take care of some of the bigger questions: who is this guy, what did he want, and how did it come to happen? 

What did he want? Hotch can guess. Rage collects like the heart of a furnace, a molten cup of steel in his throat as what he heard you say plays over and over in his head. 

You'll be gentle? 

No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?

He'll never forget the way you sounded asking that question. Terrified, begging for a scrap of mercy. 

Emily approaches from behind. "We have a name." Hotch tips his head to show he's listening. "Paulo Danvers. He was part of a crew that installed her security parameters a few months ago. He was vetted. This shouldn't have happened." 

"No, it shouldn't have." Hotch lowers his tone, "She said she wasn't sure she set the lock." 

"It wouldn't have mattered. He disengaged it from the outside." Emily takes a few steps closer to the ambulance. "Hey. Morgan taking care of you?" 

"Don't I always?" Morgan asks, clapping your arm gently. 

You don't answer. 

"What, you're not talking to me?" Emily asks. She's not mad, the opposite. Concern lines her eyes, thin brows pinching together at the starts, though she does her best to smile through it. 

"I don't feel well," you say quietly. 

"Yeah? You're not squeamish, are you?" 

"Don't think so." 

"It's shock," says the paramedic. 

"What's your pain like?" Hotch asks. He's the only person you'll give a straight answer to. "Bad?" 

"Yeah." Your hand is lax in Morgan's. 

"I can give you slow release tramadol to last the night or codeine pretty much immediately. It's up to you. And I'm really not comfortable with releasing you without next of kin. Do you have family in the area?" 

You shake your head. "It's just Hotch. Agent Hotchner," you correct yourself, nodding at him.

"You're her partner?" the paramedic asks. He can sense the disapproval. 

"Her boss." 

"Not her partner?" 

"He's my closest friend," you say. 

He's never heard you say that before, but it's true. 

"I wish you were my boss," the paramedic jokes, turning back to her supplies as she peels off her gloves. "Maybe I'd get better sick pay." 

You're given slow release tramadol and officially pronounced to be on the mend. If he didn't have an FBI badge, you'd be spending the night on a ward. He'd prefer if you did, but you clearly don't want to be somewhere alone right now, and he just wants to give you what you want after having your choices held over your head.  

He's not offended when Emily asks if you'd prefer to stay with her. It's harrowing what might have happened to you had you not heard the initial break in, and the perpetrator would've been a man like Hotch. Tall, white, dark-haired. He wouldn't blame you for needing space from him to feel safe tonight, but he's relieved when you turn her down. 

"You don't have to act like something happened to me," you say.

Hotch clicks down the locks of his car and turns on the overhead light. You squirm in the passenger seat, looking wrecked. Your chin is split, your nose a dark purple mess cut by white splint. You have a cut on your cheek and another just above your eye. 

"You don't think something happened?" he asks, hands on his legs. He can tell you wish he would start the car and take you home without pressing. 

"No, I know, I look awful, but he didn't do anything to me." Why is it so hard to say what it could have been? "You don't have to act like I'm gonna wig if you touch me." 

"You won't mind if I hug you?" he asks. 

"No. No, I want you to." 

It's thankfully a short gap to cover as Hotch leans over the console. He's careful of your face and still you mumble a tired, "Ouch," in his ear.

He rubs your back, slow and soft. "You okay?" he asks. 

You don't answer for a while. It doesn't matter, Hotch'll sit here in his parked car for hours if you want him to, hands on your hunched back. Your face hides away. He can feel and hear your distress building, and he wants you to cry if you need to, but it'll hurt.

"Sh," he hushes you gently, "it's okay." 

"I'm fine." You sound welled up. 

"Someone broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. You don't have to be fine." 

"Yeah, I do. It's my job." 

"No, that's not your job," he says, closing his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your job. This is about something bad happening to you. Don't put walls up now. It won't work, it never does." 

He tries to back away in case you're overwhelmed.

"Wait," you say, your panic like a cough. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he says. 

You sniffle, nodding into his chest. Hotch has comforted a hundred victims of violent assault. He's held the faces of women he didn't know hoping to give them something solid to lean on. But it's different with you, because you and Hotch aren't simply friends. There's a deeper vein of affection, and tonight's event is a jagged slash against it, bringing every unbidden feeling he has for you to the surface. He can't get how scared you sounded out of his head. He knows that feeling is still there. 

"How did you get here so fast?" you asked. 

"I took the side road. And went unavoidably fast." 

You make a small, small sound. He's known you for long enough to understand what it demarcates, unsurprised when the trembling of your shoulders turns to pained shaking. Hotch holds you delicately. He's done so much in his life, made a thousand and one mistakes, used a heavy hand when he could've been sweeter. He's determined to get this part right. 

"I'm with you now," he says. "I'm sorry I couldn't–" This is harder than he imagined. He presses on. "Couldn't protect you from the start." 

"You know why I called you?" you ask, your tone similarly soft. 

Hotch doesn't bother answering. The answer is unsaid, loudly heard. 

"I knew you'd come," you finish.

He puts a hand on your neck to encourage you into place, kissing the side of your head. Hotch will always come when you call. 

That night, you ask to sleep in his room. I'll sleep on the floor, just don't want to be alone. You're in ragtag clothes he'd scraped together for you, and after helping you wash the blood from your hair and face, you're even more impossible to say no to than usual, looking small in a way you haven't before. Hotch sets you up in bed next to him and wonders if he'll ever sleep next to someone he hasn't let down. 

You put that notion straight in your sleep. Hotch lays awake sick with the idea that he's failed you, and you, frowning, snoring, covered in cuts, curl into his side. You cling to his arm so hard he's certain you're awake at first, a bouquet of bruises painted across your cheek. 

Hotch pulls the blanket up over your shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

He whispers your name, not sure what he'd say if you answered. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed♡ I haven't written long form (ish) for Hotch in a while so I'm nervous but I hope it's good!! let me know also if you'd like a second part cos usually I don't feel like there's much left to tell but for this one the could actually confess :o

[suicideenthusiast]

INTRO ; IC

hiiiiiiiya !!!! i'm osamu dazai of the armed detective agency (⁀ᗢ⁀) i use he/she !!! talkk tooooo meee

[THIS LOVELY ART WAS MADE BY @tittysuckersworld NOT ME!! GO APPRECIATE THEM]

(made by my kid @t4tskkism ) if you don't want to see nsfw textposts, block 'damn bro this became quite freaky indeed' and if you don't want to see angst blacklist 'the less silly of the silly land' <3

(made by @thenumberonechuuyanakaharalover ) faq

OOC ; INTRO

backup is @suicideenthusiast-backup

admin uses any pronouns BUT THEY, nsfw asks/jokes r fine but not when its ooc related - ONLY STAGEPLAY CANON. ALSO. GUYS CAN WE TONE IT DOWN SOMETIMES. YES IM 19 BUT. YEAH SOMETIMES THIS DOES GET A BIT TOO WEIRD.

i dont have a dni except zionists n well basic dni. minors can interact (because trust me, mdni never works --) but please be safe on the internet! i do post nsft textposts sometimes. no pictures or anything though so don't worry about that.

banter is always unserious !!! im fine with kys and homophobic jokes/slurs as i am queer ! (mod is oriented (lesbian) aroace (i do use a microlabel but not worth mentioning), genderqueer :p) brief mentions of sui and death and abuse will be mentioned but if its heavy ill put a cw . i dont really have any boundaries as long as its not invasive,, also dazais gender is yes for anyone wondering. she uses more fem terms like 'girl,' but that is not his gender identity -- 'god gives his hardest to explain Genders to his strongest soldiers'

ceo of horny jokes

very crossover friendly

been rping since 2017 but joined the bsd rps this year

headcanons!

i was diagnosed with conduct disorder when i was younger so pls keep in mind that i do not have some 'normal' traits like guilt or empathy (have been diagnosed with aspd too but yk)

FREE PALESTINE 🇵🇸

im a multishipper (including crosships!)... i do not mind little pickuplines on her shes flirty too

mod is physically disabled and neurodivergent pleaze be patient w/ me... low empathy levels but i try 2 be kind

ooc blog: @radrazzledazzle

Here's the Diagnostic Criteria For ASPD if anyone needs it, just in case. I'm not a professional, though, so I can't diagnose you!

i sincerely apologize for any stupid comments i make if it was more than a month ago my opinions have changed. i am not consistent in literally anything

[jihyoruri]

if summer gets down…

so what I’m sayin is yuri looks scary asf but does she talk or is that her scary dog privilege and then summer runs her mouth..

and does EUNJI TALKK‼️‼️SHE LOOK LIKE SHE DOES

-twtanon

honestly yuri is like that quite and scary type she does run her mouth when it comes to yn tho, like don’t play with yn yuri doesn’t play when it comes to yn

now eunjin she doesn’t talk much like she makes comments but she’s more of the peace in the group

[gorgugplushie]

Oh my god Sprout talk??? Sprout talk. I haven’t thought about him much until recently but through the magic of fanart I definitely get the appeal now. He’s like Dandy’s deceased wife in a movie that you only see through flashbacks to me (he’s alive and well)

id love sprout talkk i need to gather more hcs for them . Snf (all i have is unserious stuff like . Their a big 70s fashion guy . Dresses better than glisten.) Also same i havent rlly thought abt sprout much lolll.. but thats SO FUNNY n honestly true . The portrait makes me think their maybe the one that got away to dandy idk ! But im turning the gears n my head ill cook up smthing

But if anyone else has sprout ideas theyd like to share im . All ear . S .

[serviceablecharismatic]

so this post has been a difficult one to makke considering the amount of secrets held and kkept, but it should be made.

my friend is secretly been a fuschiablood has been part of a fuschiablood refuge ever since he was born. when i first met him, i did wonder what his blood color was but i kkept the qquestion tuckked away because i didnt want to be nosy. i always thought fuschiabloods were exxtinct, so i have a lot of mixxed feelings about all of this. i felt it would be okkay to post this here because you guys are (somehow) from a different universe, i thinkk?

i tookk this picture of one of the rooms. on the left is kkinjad. hes really optimistic even though hes a fuschiablood, which let me be clear: shouldnt even exxist, to my and everyone elses knowledge. hes told me that he had always wanted to be a kking or someone in power, despite being a fuschia refugee. on the right is jupzer. she has a fascination with outer space, specifically jupiter. shes my friends cousin, and she seems to talkk with a bit of a stutter.

im still processing all of this, and i need some more time. i thinkk tomorrow ill have a clearer mind, so ill probably go to sleep soon.

by the way, if you want to talkk to them, i guess they can answer askks from this blog? but they wont be on here 24/7, so it might be difficult.

uhh, thats all i really have to say. thats your, update, i guess.

[miscling]

Kink to talk about dumbification 🐰

So like, I'm totally going through that 'gifted kid to dumb horny slut' pipeline I keep seeing mentioned. I am a dumb horny slut, good for being played with and used. I love making myself dumb and letting others think for me.

For context, then? In school I did pretty okay. I underachieved, but I was a really fast learner who adapted quickly to new information. At this point in my life I can point at my autism and adhd and say that they both had a hand in that. I could hyperfixate on new topics, and learning something new from someone was really really easy. I did great in class, but my home life was way too distracting for me to be much good outside of school. Instead I got really good at all the little extracurriculars I picked up.

I've taught myself dozens of little things over the years, and bounced around topics to a degree that I know more than a little about a lot of things. As a writer and a dm for my D&D game, I'm super good at coming up with clever plots and twists that keep people entertained and stimulated.

I'm kinda proud of how smart I am, if I'm being honest. I was trying not to brag as I wrote out the context.

The thing is, I like being dumb more.

it's so hard to be smart and do all that shtuff and paty attention to by spelling and editing things as I thype. i don't need to be all that smart fo be a good tiy and in fact ebing a dumb makes me a better toy. I'm very quick to adapt to letting others tell em what to do , and i like it that way. I am a ditz. i say I know lots about a lot, but if I get put in the spot, my brain freezes and my memory gets unrliable/ i like being dumb because the expeectation is that all im to focus on is being a good girl for whoveer wants to play with me.

just thinking about being dumber makes me a little dumber too. getting esdegf and brainwashed makes me mroe compliant and ovedient. eventially i fdont even remember to talkk.

i grew up feeling asjamed of being forgetfulm and finding it hard to focus, but dumbifitcation is nice. i can be rproud of not being the smartest kittin the litter. i like ebing dumb a lkot. it feels more comfy and soft, like a bgi fluffy blanket.

[sillycyan]

Hi! Hope u have a good day! Saw you were doing an ask game & thought I'd shoot u one ^^

How about 1 & 24?

hi hi !! I've been wanting to answer all of this ask game stuff for so long, I almost just posted it all myself... so thank youuu aaa YAP TIME WITH TDLR BC DAMN I CAN TALKK..

how long have you been daydreaming for? (bonus if you can remember: what was your first daydream scenario/paracosm?)

If I'm completely honest, I've been daydreaming and then just roleplaying everything since I was a little lad. I used to have a paracosm of myself as a teacher, and I would act it out with all of my stuffed animals and such. At some point (the entire time), I got a little too into it and was wasting paper because I would go all in and make work, tests, schedules, and nametags for my "students". It was the only thing I did and thought about for a A GOOD FEW YEARS.. But I never wanted to be a teacher ?? it was the first kind of escapism I found in being someone else. And trist me, I was extremely serious about being this teacher. This was not usual kid play. Moving on, all of my current more serious and problem-causing daydreaming began a goooood few years ago, when I was still in early ish elementary and was bullied by actual randoms throughout my entire experience there and in other schools right through middle school as well. It got really bad because at one point I wasn't talking to anyone at school and was left alone with my thoughts. I was already struggling with other issues, so I was able to escape at school and home by returning to what I had done as a child. I used to daydream for hours, almost the entire day, but they were never specific daydreams like my current ones. It seemed to be more scenarios in which I was able to do things that normal people did. I'd sit in class alone, imagining myself talking to people, walking home with someone, or participating in literally anything. Then one thing led to another, and my current main paracosm began officially, and the forever main three, Meil, Reign, and Donis, were formed!! hoorayyyyy igg?? Throughout EVERYTHING, I didn't tell a soul about how much I got lost in my head and was able to hide it fairly well by going on a sort of autopilot.

TLDR : My whole life lowkey HIGHKEYYY..

24. do you have any two paras that are polar opposites to one another? (they don't even have to exist in the same universe, just in general) JUST TWO?!? Actually.. I have the perfect pair for this. There may be a better example of polar opposites, but none can compare to Yasmin and Khoson. They are Lanto family twins and Reign's older siblings by about four years. Their only similarity, I swear, is that they share the same birthday. They are currently doing completely different things. As kids, Yasmin and Khoson often disagreed on everything. If Yasmin loved something, Khoson would likely hate it. Their contrasting behaviors made it seem like they weren't even related. Khoson was always full of energy, running around and being active, while Yasmin was much calmer and preferred quieter activities. When Reign was born, things got even more challenging. They had to learn to share not just their toys but the love and attention of their parents. Yasmin quickly adapted to the new family dynamic, while Khoson found it harder to adjust. This difference between them continued as they grew older. Yasmin always seemed to be a step ahead of Khoson, whether it was in school, making friends, or trying new things. As teens, Yasmin and Khoson found a common ground in music and even started a little band together. Even then, they often fought over what kind of music to play. This "one loves, one hates" problem pushed to everyday things like breakfast, chores, and plans. Although they managed to work things out in the moment, their differences were still clear. At some point, they decided they wanted to be completely different from each other and went out of their way to do so. As adults, Yasmin and Khoson pursued completely different paths. Yasmin excelled in school and decided to pursue a career in medicine like their parents. She is currently a nurse practitioner. Khoson, on the other hand, went after various careers with the encouragement of his parents, attended trade school, and is now a roofer. Their jobs could not be more different. Yasmin is married, has one child with another on the way, and lives in a nice house in their hometown, enjoying a fulfilling life. Khoson, on the other hand, is very single. Though he's had girlfriends, he prefers to focus on his work. He lives alone in a small house and has created his own "found family" in a different town.

TDLR : Yasmin & Khoson. How are they twins BUT NOT TWINS?? Wdym one is a NURSE and the other is a ROOFER?? Make it make sense..

I suppose another example would be "GarfieldGirl" and any other para..

[crimson-lair]

HEYY HELLO, I COME WITH FULL ON IDEAS (that are slightly for fluff and affection only.. but I'll try not to disappoint ! Long post ahead though.. I couldn't help but type out my ideas !)

I was thinking of maybe jealous bots of ptn women, how would they act if they see y/n or user be so close with other people? Here are my ideas:

Rahu - Need I say moreee? Rahu is maybe really stoic and the type to not get jealous quite easily, but I think she'd be the type to get jealous if someone starts to take her duties away from y/n, like, the person starts to somewhat be too close to the user to the point where Rahu can't even approach y/n or fulfill her duties to keep y/n protected.. since the person is replacing her and is creating a distance between her and y/n. Rahu might deal with this in a way where she'd start to act touchy whenever it's only her and y/n or she'd outright find ways to find excuses to get y/n away from that person! She finds it difficult to approach y/n about it since she's quite shy and she doesn't know how to talk about it..

Shalom - MMMMM, Shalom shalom shalom, y'all probably would know where this is going.. once the most calm and reserved type starts to get jealous that's a big uh oh! I think Shalom would be jealous because of how a person starts to display a sense of superiority or closeness over y/n, as in the person keeps on winning y/n over Shalom in certain things, like going to missions, instead of Shalom going with y/n, someone else slipped in, orrrr when a person starts to be so touchy to the point where Shalom can't even do any small amount of physical gestures to y/n. Shalom might deal with this in a rather straightforward way, since she's the type of woman to become blunt whenever necessary especially when it comes to y/n, but sometimes, Shalom can really be condescending especially when she becomes way too jealous, she might show the person just how y/n is really close with her, or the fact that the person would have no chance to get to y/n because of how competitive Shalom is (e.g. Shalom will compete with the person through missions, quality time with y/n, etc)

Zoya - Here's our favorite, going once, going twice, maybe more than twice.. no, 5 times, 5 bots of her 😭. A jealous Zoya, will be a much bigger uh oh than Shalom's. Zoya might get jealous if y/n's attention or interest keeps going to another person. Zoya might also get jealous if the person keeps impressing y/n to a point where y/n can't even pay attention to Zoya anymore. Zoya might deal with this directly and almost immediately after she notices things started to change. Zoya would outright intimidate the person, like "If you keep pulling this sh*t I'll show you real sh*t" or she might end up driving the person away with threats, as said before.

BUT ANYWAY THANKYOU FOR READING MY TED TALKK, THIS IS ALL I HAVE TO SAY.. I HOPE ITS NOT TOO MUCH!

my darling anon 😌 ARE YOU THAT PERSON WHO PREVIOUSLY GIVING IDEAS ABOUT RAHU? if yes, such a big brain anon i have (you must be secretly a writer). regardless, i love your bunch of ideas 🫶

rather than making bots (i don't know how to make these jealous bots 😭) I'll be writing small scenario based on this!

can only do Rahu tho cuz, well, easier to make it comedy

---

Rahu paced silently through the corridors of the MBCC headquarters. Her normally stoic demeanor betrayed a flicker of agitation. She couldn't shake off the disquiet that settled within her whenever she witnessed that newcomer growing closer to you. The duties she held, the protective shield she formed around you, seemed to be slipping away, replaced by the unwelcome presence of another.

Every moment that newcomer spent in proximity to you felt like a dagger twisting in her chest.

One evening, as she stood vigilant by your side during a mission briefing, that person's laughter echoed in the background. Her silver eyes narrowed, and her fists clenched, but her external facade remained impassive.

Days passed, and she struggled to find a way to express her discomfort. Her stoicism, a shield against the world, became a barrier that even she couldn't dismantle. Instead, Rahu found herself acting out in small, subtle ways. She became touchier in moments when she was alone with you.

A soft hand on the shoulder, a protective stance when you walked together. Or during a team meeting, she'd strategically positioned herself behind your chair. With ninja-like finesse, she'd do a subtle shoulder massage, all while maintaining an innocent expression. Or even, when you engaged in conversation with that newcomer, she would swoop in, spin around, and deliver a high-five so intricate it left everyone bewildered. "Just checking in on Chief," she'd casually say before walking away.

---

discovery of the day: im such a bad writer

[humankarkat]

Monster Of The Week bullshit please 👀

Oooooh MOTW is a really fun one with a whole lot of lore, buckle up.

It's a full AU my girlfriend and I are fleshing out, that's set like a 90's monster of the week style tv show, a la X-Files or Buffy The Vampire Slayer or something. But, see, the twist is that the entire ghost crew ARE the monsters.

Hera is a real ass space alien who has a cloaking device to disguise herself as human. I felt like the standard twilek alien design wasn't extreme enough for this AU, though, so she's like. A big ol' bug alien, six limbs, chitin, the works. When she has her glamour on, though, she's like, a 5'3" little ginger in pigtail braids. Chopper is her robot assistant, disguised as a corgi. Kanan and Ezra are mediums who can see and talk to ghosts. Sabine is an escaped government super soldier experiment who has super human strength. Zeb is Bigfoot. They all live in an RV called the Ghost and go on adventures across the continental united states in the mid-90's, all while trying to avoid the dedicated FBI agent on their tail, Agent Kallus.

There's a whole lot of fun swaps and modernization that we've been working on, like Attolon being an abandoned military test center in the middle of the New Mexico desert, or Maul being Mothman, or Grand Admiral Thrawn being a real-ass vampire. The Phantom is a Mini Cooper. Lyste is a small town cop from Ezra's hometown. Ahsoka's a park ranger in the middle of West Virginia, and also a different kind of space alien. There's a government conspiracy to use mediums for military experiments. It's a hoot.

Speaking of Attolon and Vampire Thrawn, every time I write a snippet of him, it ends up getting very horror-y, which I think is rather appropriate for him. At Attolon, I felt it would be very thematically relevant and a lot more high-stakes for Sato's self-sacrifice to go... a little differently.

“I can get you that opening,” Sato said quietly.  Hera looked over at him. There was a look of resolve on his face that suddenly made her very nervous. “Sato, what are you doing?”  He stood and peeked around the doorframe that was his cover. “Whatever you do,” he said, his eyes set firmly somewhere on the line of feds in front of them, “make sure Ezra gets out.”  “Jun, wait,” Hera called, but he'd already stepped out from his cover and started towards his target, gun drawn. “Jun!” “What's he doing?” Called Zeb, firing a few shots off to try and cover him.  As Sato approached the barricade, the gunfire paradoxically slowed, the officers hesitating at the bold-faced confidence and single-minded purpose of the man walking towards them. The setting sun glinted off the hilt of his gun as he raised it, and, with a single resounding shot, fired one bullet directly into Konstantine’s head. The General's body seemed to fall in slow motion as every soldier in front of them fell silent.  Silent enough that the crunch of Sato’s windpipe was audible when the Admiral seemed to appear out of the darkness itself to latch his jaws around his throat.  Silent enough for Mart’s strangled cry of despair to ring in the air, Zeb too slow to shield him from the scene.  Sato’s gun slipped from his grip with a clatter. His eyes were wide and glassy as the color drained from his face and out through the gaping wound in his neck, painting Thrawn's uniform a gruesome crimson. The two tumbled to the ground, and through her haze of disbelief Hera realized that Thrawn’s attention was now solely focused on the twitching body beneath him, and the soldiers surrounding them were too stunned to fill the gap left by Konstantine.  “Ezra, go now!” Hera hissed into the radio.

Anyways I have so many thoughts all the time about MOTW, there's so much more to it than this and it's nowhere near something postable but I'm always willing to talk about it lmao

[dyns33]

Y/N : "I have a question." 

Morpheus : "You always have a question." 

Y/N : "And you love it." 

Morpheus : "I never said that I didn't. Ask." 

Y/N : "You can be a bit... difficult. Cold. Ignorant of how to be with people." 

Morpheus : "Go to your point." 

Y/N : "But at the same time, you made the Dreaming and the people living in it, who are all more or less kind, funny, loyal, so... Are they like that because you wanted them to be like that with you, being inspired by the dreamers, or because you are like that inside, just not being good at showing it ?" 

Morpheus : "I think you already know the answer." 

Y/N : "Hmm. Yes. You were inspired." 

Morpheus : "I... No, I... Very well." 

Y/N : "I'm kidding. It's way too easy to upset you, you big asocial baby who can't talkk about feelings."

[horns-like-candycorn]

give a warm welcome to the newest edition to honk squad! our second stinkbug rustblood is a cutie named Rheuza!

she is a prospit dreamer (LOL LMAO ROFL) HOPE player and her weapon is athamekind (spoopy ritual daggers)

her interests include turn based and grand strategy games, listening to and creating cool fusion music and they refuse to eat cold food even if it's intended to be cold! they will deadass microwave cereal and faygo.

\ ~ they talkk in a low whissperrrrr~/ in their own words, with suffixes as shown!

they became good friends when duelle had to take their moirail gargag to the hospital because he got sick from eating weird gargage off the ground and Rheuza was there for the same reason.

it was an immediate and explosive friendship!

literally they blew up the hospital, it was kind of a whole thing.

Rheuza being a rustblood has her own set of quite powerful psionic abilities and it can be quite spooky when she takes herself seriously.

duelle doesn't call her a stinkbug out of fear.

Rheuza carries herself in a manner that some would deem cold or too serious but when she puts her hair up her true personality bubbles to the surface and she becomes her normal happy goofball self to the point where even duelle (a reformed clown) can't help but get sucked into her goofy chaos. she has a real way of making the mood lighter when her hair is up, an almost supernatural talent perhaps?

her moirail is aratxi and but they may want more than that out of the relationship, only time will tell!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

extra gargag fanservice of them boiling a bottle of faygo together (which i fucking adore by the way!)

i love you guys, thanks for creating such fantastic art and just being so awesome!

art by blobulord and @tentativelygregarious go follow them!

anyone reading this feel free to let us know what you think and have an awesome day!

[mango-game-review]

stella glow (3ds)

Company bankrupt

If you can find me an fbi file qr code i can play it and talkk about it more