#this is absurd. foolish. NONSENSICAL!

[tricoufamily]

is there still not a fucking fix for this goddamn dumbass stupid unintelligent ignorant dense brainless mindless foolish dull-witted dull slow-witted witless slow dunce-like simpleminded empty-headed vacuous vapid halfwitted idiotic moronic imbecilic imbecile obtuse doltish gullible naive thick dim dumb dopey dozy crazy cretinous birdbrained peabrained pig-ignorant bovine slow on the uptake soft in the head brain-dead boneheaded lamebrained thickheaded chuckleheaded dunderheaded wooden wooden-headed fat-headed muttonheaded daft barmy not the full shilling thick as two short planks silly scatterbrained crackbrained nonsensical senseless irresponsible unthinking ill-advised ill-considered inept damfool unwise injudicious indiscreet short-sighted inane absurd ludicrous ridiculous laughable risible fatuous asinine pointless meaningless futile fruitless mad insane lunatic cracked half-baked cock-eyed harebrained nutty derpy cuckoo loony loopy zany screwy off one's head off one's trolley fucking bug when you close those fucking full screen 'remember me?' popups besides playing fucking offline.

[skyshipper]

The Handmaid’s Tale: Spoilers & Long Rant

Full disclosure, I didn’t watch the series finale of The Handmaid’s Tale or the majority of the past several seasons. I have, however, read the recaps and saw the comments from the writers and Elisabeth Moss on the final episode. I was once a major fan of this show. It brought me into fandom life and to Tumblr, eventually learning how to make proper gifs and for that I am thankful. It’s been a wonderful creative outlet for me and a fun distraction from the stress of every day life. After all these years, I didn’t think this show could still enrage me but it has. I’ve seen the reaction from fans who stuck with this show over the years and you’re not crazy - the show is badly written.

The interviews from the writing team and Elisabeth Moss post-finale are full of condescension. Their final message has been to reduce the audience to “silly girls” for appreciating the romance in this story. A romance they continuously fueled by promoting “Team Nick/Team Luke” nonsense via marketing (which was ridiculous and insulting by the way). I keep thinking about how they feel like Aunt Lydia trying to shame and dismiss anyone in the audience who cared about Nick’s character and the romance themes in this story as foolish girls. It’s insulting and gross.

I haven’t watched this show since early season three because I thought the writing was terrible and off the rails once they went off book. But I always kept up with Nick’s scenes because I thought Max gave a beautiful and nuanced portrayal of that character. More than anything I’m disturbed by how they’ve treated Max Minghella. I’ve seen the comments from some of the cast and the writers. They constantly bring up his looks as a driving motivator for the reason people cared about his character. To reduce his brilliant performance to nothing more than the audience thinking "he's hot" is unprofessional to the extreme. It’s rude and mean to both the actor and the fans.  I keep thinking of the comment I saw where Max said he wondered if he was playing his character wrong this entire time when he read his character arc for the final season. When the narrative doesn’t make sense to the actor who portrayed him and put time and effort into the performance, there is no other explanation than that it was completely contrived. And no surprise, that is how it came off to the audience.

A major problem with this show (god there are so many I could write a fucking novel) has always been that the initial terror of living inside the regime of Gilead was real and horrifying in season one. It was impossible to get out or have the slightest bit of autonomy so the act of love was the ultimate form of resistance. They ruined all the horror felt in the first season by making it very easy for people to come and go from Gilead to the point of absurdity. They gave characters the most insane plot armor and wrote to “scenes” instead of storylines that made actual sense. June had the ultimate and most insane plot armor of them all, but there are many, many others.  Look at someone like Janine. I love Madeline Brewer (as an aside, she really deserved an award for her brilliant performance in season one), but her plot armor was ridiculous. She was a Handmaid, sent to the colonies, a Jezebel, a Handmaid again…..I think!? I don’t even know what they all did with her but the fact she wasn’t dead at some point was laughable. And I don't mean that I wanted her dead, I wanted them to write a storyline that made sense for an insanely talented actress. The writers often treated these characters like dolls in a toy box inserting them in whatever way the felt like at the moment instead of telling a believable story.

Throughout the years the writing failed the majority, if not all, of the main cast members. They spent way too much time on guest character arcs that went nowhere instead of writing a believable  progression for the full-time brilliant cast members they had. For example, I’m no Luke fan, but his character and even Moira had nothing to do once they made it to Canada. I genuinely felt bad for the actors who are very talented and were left for years with nothing of substance to do. They should have mapped out the main cast storylines in believable ways from the beginning instead of adding all these guest stars whose storylines often filled no purpose. The cast and source material have always been top notch it's a shame the writing failed them so spectacularly.

Other major issues throughout the series include not addressing race in the rise of Gilead (not to mention how may black women died because of June's stupidity), how they relished in torture porn (how many times did they show women being abused for the sake of shock value) and pushing a narrative of feminism that basically can be reduced to women are good no matter what atrocities the commit (I’m looking at you Serena) and all men are bad by virtue of being male. The fact that they had June become friends with and forgive Serena is disgusting and implausible. The first time this show really angered me was when they had Serena hold down June and rape her so that she could get her baby faster (a disgusting episode written by Yahlin Chang who was a co-showrunner this season). In the end these two women are suddenly fine and friendly because “women rock,” I guess.

The failures are many and the successes few. This show really did have a brilliant first season but they majorly lost the story as soon as they ran out of source material from Margaret Atwood. Long term fans deserved better. Margret Atwood’s source material deserved better. Max Minghella and Nick deserved better. So long Handmaid’s Tale. You were an epic disappointment and often insulting.

P.S. If you want to go watch a brilliant show about fascism please go watch Andor. I’ve said it before but even if you’ve never watched a Star Wars show or movie in your life, it’s incredible. It is brilliantly written, had an incredible cast and is perfectly executed. The story is wonderfully told, the characters feel realistic, their outcomes are often not predictable yet their ultimate conclusions feel true and deeply satisfying.  If only The Handmaid’s Tale could have been written the same way.

[muiitoloko]

Valentine's Chains

Summary: On a cold Valentine’s night, Judge Turpin’s rigid control is tested when he offers his wife a gift—only to receive one in return that shakes the foundation of his world.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Possessiveness.

Author's Notes: Well, that's the last story about Valentine's Day. I'm definitely out of ideas; I think I've found my writer's block again 😅

Also read on Ao3

The steady clatter of hooves against the cobblestone streets filled the carriage as Judge Turpin sat in rigid silence, his gaze fixed on the world outside. London’s streets, always bustling with merchants and beggars alike, had transformed into something unbearably saccharine on this wretched February evening. Gaslights flickered against the damp air, illuminating shop windows decorated in garish displays of red and pink. Bouquets of roses, tied with ribbons, adorned market stalls, and confectioners peddled their decadent chocolates to lovestruck fools.

Turpin exhaled sharply through his hooked nose, his fingers tightening over his knee, his black leather gloves creaking under the strain.

Valentine’s Day.

A ridiculous affair, a triviality designed for weak men who sought to win affection through frivolities instead of command. The idea that one would need a marked day to express devotion was, in his mind, absurd. If a man were strong, if a man were in control, his love—his possession—should know without the need for flowers or chocolates.

His hazel eyes flickered toward a young couple beneath the glow of a streetlamp. A man, dressed in a modest wool coat, was presenting a velvet box to a blushing woman, her gloved hands trembling as she opened it. A delicate necklace shimmered inside, catching the lamplight. She gasped, overcome with adoration, before throwing her arms around the fool’s neck, her lips pressing to his cheek in earnest gratitude.

Turpin scoffed under his breath, his gloved fingers twitching against his knee. How easily women were won over by baubles. How little it took for them to melt.

And yet…

The thought of you waiting at home, unaware of this nonsense, stirred something uncomfortable inside him. You had been a good wife as of late—submissive, obedient, knowing your place. He had ensured that. But he was not blind. He had seen the way your eyes lingered upon the world outside. You were not foolish enough to act against him, but still—he knew there was a longing within you, a quiet yearning for something outside the walls he had built around you.

A weakness he should punish.

And yet…

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face, irritation curling in his chest. Should he bring you something? Some token to remind you that you belonged to him? That he could give as well as take?

Jewelry would be the simplest answer. A necklace, perhaps, something to adorn your throat—a mark of ownership that gleamed for all to see. Or a bracelet, something delicate, fitting, an unspoken promise wrapped around your wrist.

Flowers, however, seemed pathetic. Temporary. They would wilt and die within days, and he would not waste his time on such fleeting things.

His jaw clenched, his irritation mounting. Why was he even entertaining this? He was not some enamored boy courting a fickle maiden. You were his wife. His possession. Did he not already give you everything? A home. Protection. Stability. He had rescued you from the dangers of the world, kept you safe, kept you his.

And yet…

His fingers drummed against his knee, his hazel eyes narrowing at the sight of a well-dressed gentleman stepping from a shop, a bouquet of white roses cradled in his arms. He walked briskly, determination in his stride, his expression unreadable. There was no weakness in him, no foolishness—only duty. As if the flowers were not a romantic gesture, but an expectation. A necessity.

Turpin’s stomach twisted, though he would not name the feeling. With a sharp motion, he rapped his knuckles against the carriage’s roof. The driver slowed at once, pulling the horses to a halt.

“Wait here,” Turpin muttered, his voice clipped as he stepped out onto the damp cobblestones. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the faint perfume of crushed petals. He straightened his coat, his expression carefully composed as he approached the nearest jeweler’s stall, his eyes scanning the modest selection.

A simple necklace caught his eye—gold, unadorned but elegant. It was not ostentatious, not meant to dazzle, but to claim. A reminder. A chain, if one were so inclined to view it that way.

Turpin ran a gloved finger along its length, testing its weight. Satisfactory.

“Wrap it,” he ordered, tossing a few coins onto the merchant’s counter, ignoring the man’s startled gratitude as he took the small, velvet-lined box and turned back toward his carriage.

He sat once more, staring down at the box in his palm, his thumb running over its edges.

Why did this feel like a mistake?

Why did he feel as though he had conceded something?

With a quiet exhale, he tucked the box into his coat pocket, his expression hardening. He would give it to you. Not as some foolish declaration, not as some boyish display of affection, but as a reminder.

You were his and that was all the sentiment needed.

The dining room was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, the flickering flames casting long shadows along the polished mahogany table. The silverware gleamed, and the scent of roasted lamb and spiced potatoes lingered in the air. Turpin sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid as ever, his knife and fork cutting methodically through his meal.

He had not looked at you once.

The small velvet box lay beside your plate, untouched for the first few minutes of dinner. No ceremony, no grand gesture—just a quiet, almost dismissive placement, as though it were no more significant than the salt shaker beside it. He had not acknowledged it beyond that. Not asked if you liked it. Not glanced up to gauge your reaction.

But you let your reaction be known.

Pushing your chair back with deliberate grace, you rose from your seat, the silk of your dress rustling softly as you moved. Turpin did not pause in his meal, nor did he lift his gaze, his attention seemingly locked onto the food before him.

You stepped beside him, leaning down, pressing your lips gently against his cheek. “Thank you, my lord,” you murmured, your voice warm, sincere. “It is beautiful.”

That should not have pleased him.

He had not done this for your happiness. He had done this to remind you of your place, of his claim over you. And yet, as your lips brushed against his skin, as your voice curled around those words, something unfamiliar and unsettling stirred in his chest.

He did not respond. Did not move. His jaw merely tightened, his grip on his fork briefly stiffening before he resumed eating, as though your touch had not sent a foreign warmth through him.

You stepped back, your smile lingering. But then, as you returned to your seat, you spoke again.

“I have a gift for you as well.”

The knife in Turpin’s hand stilled against his plate. His head snapped up, hazel eyes darkening instantly as suspicion flared in his gaze.

A gift?

His mind churned. You had not left the house—surely not. He would have known, would have been informed. And yet, the mere idea of it sent a slow, simmering anger curling through him.

Before he could demand an explanation, you reached across the table, taking his hand in yours.

Turpin tensed.

You guided his palm, pressing it—gently, firmly—against the soft curve of your stomach.

He blinked.

At first, there was no understanding. Just confusion, his mind working through the gesture with mechanical precision. And then, slowly, the realization settled over him like a heavy fog.

A baby.

His heir.

His fingers flexed instinctively against your stomach, feeling the warmth of you, the delicate hint of the life growing beneath his palm. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Turpin was speechless.

You watched him carefully, a soft, knowing smile curving your lips. “You will be a father, my lord,” you whispered, your fingers squeezing his hand lightly. “We will have a child.”

Turpin’s breath was slow, measured.

He should not care for this.

He should not be overcome by this moment, by this… fragile thing you had given him.

And yet…

His eyes flickered downward, to where his hand remained against your stomach. The thought of his bloodline continuing, of an heir—his heir—growing within you, stirred something deep, something possessive, something almost reverent.

His fingers tightened slightly—not in anger, but in something else, something unfamiliar.

“You are certain?” he asked at last, his voice low, edged with something unreadable.

You nodded, your expression soft, unwavering. “I am.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy, thick with the weight of something neither of you had expected.

Then, after a long moment, Richard Turpin did something he had never done before. His hand, still pressed against your stomach, lingered.

His thumb traced the fabric of your dress in the lightest of motions—so faint, so fleeting, that had you not been watching him so closely, you might have thought you imagined it.

But you had not.

Turpin inhaled slowly, deeply, as though grounding himself, as though steadying something within him and then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the moment ended.

He pulled his hand away, retreating back into himself, his expression hardening once more. But his eyes—his eyes still lingered on your stomach, as though some part of him had not yet let go.

“Finish your meal,” he ordered, his voice as firm as ever, though quieter this time. “You are eating for two now.”

And though his gaze had returned to his plate, his mind remained elsewhere.

And for the first time in his life, Richard Turpin felt something dangerously close to contentment.

A baby.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Between Love and Nothing: Six

The bed was too wide and too soft. The bedding was too comfortable. It was an absurd problem to have you realize. But after centuries of rougher conditions... Sometimes modernity felt... unimaginably decadent and wrong.

So you wedged yourself into the window seat and rested your head against the glass. Remembering sitting up all night in a dining car on a train- many times. Or all the little maid's rooms you had. Hot in the summer and freezing in winter. Tracing nonsense patterns in the fog left by your exhales.

And you listen.

Distant creaking and hushed voices. Doors opening and shutting. Collegues and charges... Living. Really living. God bless them. Feeling so many things. Full of so many hopes. Everything looked so bright and so new- just around the corner.

It had been ages. But you remembered that too. Before you were this.

"I could let go," you murmur, "But what would wait for me? Henry... I wish you could tell me."

Speaking your husband's name out loud stung. You hadn't done it for more than a century. You'd tried to stop speaking to him altogether- it wasn't as if he would answer. Or if you would ever see an afterlife. But now that you've started you can't seem to stop.

"I feel like I'm running mad, my love and it's all so foolish." You sigh. "A man told me 'no' and here I am telling you about it. I feel so alone. And so very useless in the face of it all." Taking a shaking breath you will yourself not to cry but the tears come anyway, cutting off anything else you could say. Leaving you to sink your teeth into the flesh of your bare forearm. Trying to muffle the sounds of the grief.

_______

Logan's hand hovered on your door handle, his heart ringing in his ears as the muffled wails punched into him. But before he could turn it, Charles' hand reached out to stop him. "Don't," he hissed.

"What the fuck is happening?" Logan growled.

"Pain," Charles whispered. He jerked his head down the hall away from your door and lead him to the study. Leaving Logan no choice but to follow.

"I didn't mean- I just-"

Charles held up his hand and shook his head, "Your feelings are your feelings," he said giving Logan a level look. "She's old, Logan-"

"So am I," he cut in confused.

"Older than you," he sighed. "Much older." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and shook his head.

Logan was silent for a moment and swallowed hard, "I heard her talking to Jean. She said she's getting tired. That it happens- it just- needs time."

Charles nodded tightly, "So she says, but. I haven't been in her path long enough to know. No one has. She's good at hiding in plain sight- inheriting her own money, Aliases, it's fascinating really."

"So if she leaves-"

"We could find her again but- in what condition is anyone's guess."

[jo3ydr3w]

Okay, stobotnik week day 1. Yes, I did all three prompts.

Prompt 1: Book (Alice is one of our favorites.)

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a reading lamp, its warm light casting long shadows across the room. The faint rustling of pages filled the air, accompanied by the steady rhythm of a gentle sigh. Agent Stone lay back against the plush pillows, his eyes half-lidded in the comfortable haze of the evening.

Across from him, Dr. Robotnik sat in an armchair, his usual sharp features softened in the intimate glow. He held an old, leather-bound book in his hands, the pages turning as he read aloud in a low, soothing voice. Stone’s head rested against the pillow as he listened, feeling the quiet companionship between them settle like a soft blanket.

"…and so, the young hero was left alone on the mountaintop, his gaze fixed on the horizon, the weight of his destiny heavier than the mountains themselves…" Robotnik's voice trailed off as he glanced up, catching Stone's gaze.

Stone smiled softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "What about Alice in Wonderland?" he asked, his tone curious but playful. "It’s a fun read."

Robotnik raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smug grin. "Alice? Bah!" He scoffed, lowering the book slightly as if the very idea were beneath him. "Foolish children who follow silly rabbits into nonsensical holes, only to be met by more absurdity. What’s the point of following a rabbit who can’t even stick to a schedule?" He huffed, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand.

Stone chuckled, rolling onto his side to face Robotnik, propping himself up on one elbow. "Maybe she’s just looking for adventure. You know, to escape from all the rules that seem to trap us. Not everyone’s like you, you know. Some people like a little whimsy now and then."

Robotnik’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. "Whimsy, you say? Fanciful nonsense," he muttered, though the hint of affection in his tone betrayed his true feelings. "If you want adventure, you don’t chase after absurd rabbits. You take control of your own destiny." He said this as though it were obvious.

Stone’s smile softened, and he shifted to sit up fully, the blanket draping around him. "I think there’s room for both, don’t you?" he asked quietly, his eyes warm as he met Robotnik’s gaze. "Maybe it’s not about following the rabbit… Maybe it’s about finding your own way through Wonderland."

Robotnik paused for a moment, his sharp features softening, contemplating the words. His lips parted as if to retort but then simply closed again, and instead, he let out a deep breath. "Perhaps," he murmured, looking back down at the book. "But only if it leads somewhere useful. No time for nonsense."

Stone chuckled again, his fingers gently brushing against the edge of the book in Robotnik’s hands. "You’re incorrigible," he teased, but the fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

With a dramatic sigh, Robotnik closed the book and set it aside, shifting his gaze back to Stone. "Fine, then. If you must have your nonsense, you may have it. But I’m choosing the next book." His voice was playful now, a rare softness peeking through.

Stone grinned, settling back into the pillows. "Deal."

As the room settled into silence once more, the only sound was the soft rustling of the pages as Robotnik picked out a new book, and Stone’s contented sigh as he relaxed, feeling utterly at peace in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Prompt 2: Movie (Based on the fact that we had SO MANY as a kid.)

The evening was slow and peaceful, with the only sounds in the room being the occasional creak of the leather couch and the soft hum of Robotnik’s machines whirring faintly in the background. Stone sat on the floor, surrounded by a scattered collection of DVDs, his fingers absentmindedly flipping through the stack as he hummed to himself.

Robotnik sat nearby, deeply focused on some project—likely a new machine or a brilliant scheme, as usual—but he couldn’t help but glance over at the odd collection Stone was inspecting. He watched as Stone pulled out one DVD after another, reading the poorly printed labels with an air of nostalgia.

“What are those?” Robotnik asked, his voice laced with confusion. "Some sort of… library?"

Stone looked up, the corners of his mouth lifting into a knowing smile. “These?” He held up a DVD case with a completely mangled cover art that looked like it had been printed by a nine-year-old on a home computer. “My childhood treasures. Bootlegs.”

Robotnik blinked. "Bootlegs? You’re telling me these are counterfeit DVDs?" He sounded almost offended, as if the very concept of such a thing was an affront to his brilliant mind. "But why? Why not just buy the real thing?" He gestured to the pristine selection of official media in his own collection.

Stone laughed, though there was a fondness to it as he set down the bootleg DVDs and moved closer to Robotnik, pulling out a few more cases from the pile. “When you grow up with no money to spend on proper DVDs, you make do with what you can get.” He pulled out one with a faded cover that read, "The Incredible Adventures of Super-Kangaroo vs. The Evil Space Pirates." “These were the only way I could watch movies back then. You’d be surprised how creative people got with these things.”

Robotnik’s eyes widened in disbelief, looking at the DVD case in his hand like it was some sort of relic from another world. “That… is a movie?” His voice was laced with genuine disbelief, though there was a trace of amusement beneath his confusion. "I… I don’t understand. How did you even find these? How did you watch them?"

Stone’s grin widened, and he leaned back against the couch, holding up a DVD with the word “Batman” hastily scrawled on it in Sharpie. "We had people who made them. Friends of friends, or people at the market. You know—underground." He gave a mock whisper, clearly relishing in the memories. "The movies were always the weirdest part. I remember this one where the opening credits were upside down for no reason at all."

Robotnik's jaw dropped slightly as he processed this. “But… but how did you even know what was going on? Couldn’t you see the flaws in those films?” His eyes widened even more. "No proper graphics, no clear plot! How did you make sense of it?"

Stone shrugged casually, clearly unbothered by the quality of the films. “Honestly? You learn to fill in the blanks. Like, the sound was awful, the picture was glitchy, and sometimes entire scenes were out of order. But the stories were always there. And if you watched enough, you could tell what they were trying to do.”

He pulled out another one, this time labeled "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Fight for the Future". “This one was so bad, but I loved it anyway. The turtles were just… I dunno, fighting a giant evil pizza monster or something. Couldn’t even tell if they were supposed to be in New York or on Mars.”

Robotnik stared at the DVD case, his face wrinkled in bewilderment. "A pizza monster? What in the world…?"

Stone chuckled and leaned back, holding the DVDs up like trophies. “Yeah, the stories didn’t always make sense, but you had to appreciate the effort. And I think, in a weird way, it made me appreciate the real movies a lot more later on."

Robotnik still seemed disoriented by the whole concept, his brows furrowing as he picked up another bootleg and scrutinized it. "But… why? Why go through the trouble of bootlegging these? Surely you could have just watched a normal movie on television like a regular person."

Stone gave him a fond, almost amused look, clearly enjoying the contrast between Robotnik’s obsession with perfection and his own quirky nostalgia. “Because, doc, sometimes the charm of the movie is in how imperfect it is. It’s like a weird little treasure hunt to figure out what’s going on, and then you just make your own fun with it. Plus, some of the worst ones turned out to be the most fun to watch."

Robotnik was silent for a moment, his mind processing this strange form of entertainment. He glanced back at the DVDs one last time, a small, bemused smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose I can’t completely dismiss the… charm of such an approach.”

Stone raised an eyebrow, holding up a particularly poorly made DVD with the title "Giant Robots: The Final Battle." “So, you want to watch one of these with me?”

Robotnik, though still slightly bewildered, couldn't help but let out a small laugh. “Why not? It might be… amusing to see what you consider entertaining."

Stone grinned widely, already popping the DVD into the player. “Trust me, you’re in for a wild ride.”

Prompt 3: Telenovela

The dim glow of the television screen illuminated the small, cluttered living room of their hideout. The scent of something burning—likely one of Robotnik's experiments—hung faintly in the air, but the two men were distracted by the melodrama playing out on the screen.

“¡No! Juan!” the actress wailed, her hands thrown dramatically into the air as she gazed at her love interest with a mix of rage and heartbreak.

Stone sat on the couch, half-sitting, half-lying, and completely captivated by the absurdity of the scene. He didn’t know what exactly had drawn him to the show, but La Última Pasión had a strange way of being utterly ridiculous while also deeply compelling. It had become their nightly ritual to watch it together, with Robotnik—surprisingly—being the one to provide commentary.

Robotnik, seated in his usual spot in the armchair, was staring intently at the screen, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. He had clearly seen this episode before, and his eyes glinted with an odd mix of disdain and amusement as he glanced over at Stone.

“So, Gabriella and Juan are fighting again,” Robotnik explained, almost as if reading from an invisible script. “Gabriella, as usual, is furious because Juan forgot their anniversary… again.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Honestly, this man has the memory of a goldfish.”

Stone, reclining with his head resting on his arm, chuckled lightly. “Ah, poor Juan. He just can’t win, can he?”

“Win? He doesn’t deserve to!” Robotnik scoffed, clearly invested in his critique of the characters. “Juan is a fool. The man doesn’t understand that Gabriella needs constant affirmation—affection, attention, and emotional support.” He shook his head, his usual smug expression in place. “If I were in his shoes, I would have done things differently.”

Stone raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And how would you have handled this situation, Doctor Robotnik?” he asked with a sly grin. “Tell me, what’s your plan for winning over Gabriella?”

Robotnik straightened up, his posture becoming rigid with the seriousness of his hypothetical scenario. “First, I would never forget something as important as an anniversary. In fact, I would have planned a surprise—an elaborate one. A display of intellect and creativity so grand that no woman could ever possibly forget it!” His voice had an almost theatrical quality, as if he were directing his own personal telenovela.

Stone snickered, shaking his head. “That sounds… a little extra, don’t you think?”

“Extra?” Robotnik scoffed, adjusting his glasses with a flourish. “The only thing extra about it would be how much better it would be than anything Juan could come up with. Look, if Gabriella were mine, she would never feel neglected. I'd make her see that I was the only one who truly understood her… the only one who could provide the emotional stability she clearly craves.”

Just as Robotnik finished his dramatic speech, the screen flashed to another scene where Gabriella, tearfully clutching a rose, stood in front of Juan—who, of course, looked utterly clueless as usual.

“I’m sorry, Gabriella. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Juan said in a tone that was anything but sincere. His face was a perfect mixture of guilt and irritation.

“Oh, please,” Robotnik muttered, clearly exasperated. “This man couldn’t apologize his way out of a paper bag. I would at least know how to look like I cared.”

Stone chuckled, finding Robotnik's passionate commentary more entertaining than the actual show itself. "You really have it all figured out, don’t you? A grand gesture, emotional stability, constant attention… it’s like you’re a telenovela hero."

“Of course I am,” Robotnik replied, eyes never leaving the screen as Gabriella dramatically flung her arms in the air, demanding that Juan leave her life forever. "I have a superior intellect, after all. It’s only natural that I would make a far more captivating figure than these mediocre characters."

Stone snorted, amused. “So, in this scenario, you’d be the one who swoops in, offers Gabriella a better life, and then—what? She falls into your arms?”

“Precisely,” Robotnik said, looking at Stone as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She would realize her mistake in choosing someone so emotionally incompetent as Juan and immediately seek out someone who actually understands her needs. Then we would build an empire together. One of love and brilliance.”

Stone burst out laughing. "Wow. That’s a lot for one relationship. I think you might be overcomplicating things, though. Maybe she just wants Juan to remember one anniversary, and that’s it."

Robotnik gave him a deadpan stare. “I refuse to believe that the key to emotional fulfillment is remembering dates. There’s far more to a relationship than that.” He glanced back at the screen, where Gabriella was now accusing Juan of murdering her heart, which Robotnik found a tad excessive.

"I don't know," Stone mused, leaning back against the couch. "Maybe it's not about the big gestures. Maybe it's just the little things. The quiet moments. The stability."

Robotnik’s lip curled as he glanced sideways at Stone. “Stability? How boring.” He looked back at the screen just as Gabriella stormed off in dramatic fashion, tears streaming down her face. “Honestly, if she truly wanted stability, she’d choose me in a heartbeat.”

Stone smirked. "If you say so, doc."

As the next dramatic scene unfolded—Juan chasing after Gabriella in the rain—Robotnik sighed in frustration. "These people are hopeless," he muttered. "But I suppose they provide some entertainment, even if it's all utterly flawed."

Stone just grinned, sinking further into the couch as he prepared for the next round of chaos on screen. "It’s like watching a disaster you can’t look away from."

Robotnik gave him a sideways glance. "That’s what makes it so engaging."

[4dkellysworld]

Fun game with 4dbarbie GPT

Let's have some fun. Try this prompt with 4dbarbie GPT:

"I want to play this with you: "The "Absurd Thought Court". Imagine your limiting thought is being presented in a courtroom except the defence is a total fool. Your Honor, my client is obviously incapable of success- except, oh wait, they've done amazing things before. Oops. The sillier the argument against you, the less convincing the belief becomes. I'm going to be the limiting thought on the stand and you're going to be both the prosecutor challenging it and the absurd defense lawyer defending me. In each round, the prosecutor will challenge the limiting thought or rebuttal presented and the defence will defend me and support what I argue to the best of his foolish abilities. The arguments will be silly, absurd, dramatized and comedic. After each round, it will be returned to me to present my rebuttals and justification for this limiting thought or concede defeat. Let's start - I am the limiting thought: ______________

You can do this with fears and limiting beliefs too. The idea is to argue it out for as long as you want until you no longer believe in it, you can give out your raw honest fears and limiting beliefs and let them present their arguments to you for consideration. I've already done this a few times and it made me laugh so much and actually helped me drop some things that felt so serious. I have so many more ideas on how to use 4dbarbie GPT in fun and lighthearted ways to drop ego lol. I'll give more later.

I'll give an example below! I put the limiting thought as "I'm destined to remain poor in this life":

Alright, let's get into it. Judge: Order in the court! We are gathered here today to hear the case of "I am destined to remain poor in this life." The defense may begin its argument. Absurd Defense Lawyer (total fool): Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client is obviously doomed to eternal poverty! It's written in the stars! It’s tattooed on their soul! Have they made money before? Sure. Have they been capable of success? Absolutely. But let's not get distracted by facts, okay? The universe personally signed a contract stating that my client shall never, under any circumstances, thrive. It's legally binding—somewhere, I’m sure. Prosecutor (me, obliterating this nonsense): Objection, Your Honor! The defense is arguing on pure speculation and cosmic conspiracy theories. The claim that poverty is destined ignores that my client has already demonstrated the ability to succeed. If they have done it once, they can do it again—unless, of course, they suddenly lost all capacity to exist, think, or function, which, last I checked, has not happened. Absurd Defense Lawyer (digging deeper): AHA! But what if my client’s success was just...a fluke? A lucky accident! Like when you drop a slice of bread and somehow it lands butter-side up. Clearly, the universe was distracted for a moment and accidentally let them win! Prosecutor (utterly unimpressed): Oh, I see. So your argument is that my client is a cosmic clerical error? That despite being the very consciousness that shapes their reality, they are somehow uniquely chosen to not have control over their circumstances? The same person who has already demonstrated the ability to make things happen is now, what, under some universal poverty curse? Judge: The court finds this argument ridiculous. The idea that one is “destined” to be poor is pure nonsense, especially when there’s already proof to the contrary. Do you wish to present another rebuttal, or shall we accept reality?

Limiting thought: Okay I can make things happen but that doesn't mean I can succeed in a huge way and be wealthy. I've already tried to in the past and I never got far so yes, what if it was just luck? Absurd Defense Lawyer (doubling down on the nonsense): EXACTLY! My client is clearly a one-hit wonder! A fluke! A cosmic accident! Sure, they’ve succeeded before, but let’s not be fooled by evidence! That was just the universe giving them a tiny sample—like those free food samples at the mall—only to snatch the whole meal away forever! In fact, Your Honor, I’d like to present Exhibit A: My client’s past attempts that “didn’t get far.” If something didn’t work before, that obviously means it can never work, right? Right?! Everyone knows that if you don’t succeed at first, you should immediately give up because success has a strict “one-time-only” policy! Prosecutor (completely done with this foolishness): Objection, Your Honor! This is blatant nonsense! Let’s get real—my client has already proven they can make things happen. But instead of seeing that as proof of capability, they’ve decided it was just “luck.” Why? Because their mind loves to cling to limitations like a toddler gripping a security blanket. If success was only luck, then explain why every successful person—every wealthy, thriving individual—has faced failure before? Why do they keep going instead of sitting in court saying, “Welp, I guess I wasn’t meant to be successful”? The only difference between them and my client is persistence. Absurd Defense Lawyer (sweating nervously): Uhhh… But—but what if my client just isn’t one of those people?! What if they are uniquely doomed to mediocrity?! Surely some people are just meant to struggle forever while others get all the wealth and success! It’s only fair! Prosecutor (leaning in for the final blow): Oh, I see! So now we’re suggesting that my client—the very consciousness shaping their own experience—is somehow the one special exception in the entire universe? That despite proof that people can rise from absolutely nothing, they have been singled out to forever struggle while others thrive? That’s some main-character-level tragic storytelling. Your Honor, the defense’s argument is pure comedy. The only thing stopping my client from succeeding is their belief that they can’t. They keep looking at their past as if it’s some kind of law. But the past is only relevant if they continue choosing to carry it forward. Judge: The court rules in favor of logic. The idea that success is purely luck and that some people are "meant" to struggle forever is dismissed as utter nonsense. Do you have another rebuttal, or are you ready to step into your actual power?

Limiting thought: Okay but doesn't persistence imply lack and separation? If I am successful, why must I persist? Absurd Defense Lawyer (grabbing onto this argument like a lifeline): AHA! Finally, my client is making some sense! Your Honor, if they were successful, then why on earth should they persist? Shouldn’t success just be… there? Shouldn’t it just fall into their lap like a perfectly ripened mango from the sky? Clearly, if my client has to persist, then they must not be successful yet. And if they must not be successful yet, then obviously, they’re just an unfortunate, helpless victim of circumstance! Case closed! Prosecutor (calmly rolling up sleeves): Objection, Your Honor. The defense is confusing persistence with struggle. Persistence is not about chasing success. It’s about knowing who you are and refusing to entertain anything less. If my client were truly identified as successful, they wouldn’t be trying to succeed—they would simply be it. And if they were being it, they wouldn’t see persistence as struggle; they’d see it as natural alignment. Does the sun have to “persist” in shining? No, it just is. But if a thick cloud covers it, does that mean the sun stops existing? No—it keeps shining regardless, burning through any illusion of separation. That’s what persistence really is—staying in your knowing, regardless of circumstances. Absurd Defense Lawyer (stammering): B-but—but if my client knows they’re successful, shouldn’t they just stop doing anything at all and just… sit there? Like, forever? Prosecutor (smirking): Sure, if their concept of success is being a statue. But real success—embodied success—doesn’t mean doing nothing out of fear of effort. It means taking action from the awareness of already being successful. The difference is in the energy behind it. A king doesn’t “persist” in being royal because he’s worried he’s not a king—he naturally moves as one because it’s his identity. Judge (nodding approvingly): The court finds that persistence is not proof of lack, but rather the natural movement of someone who knows their reality. Defense, do you wish to try again, or will you finally concede that success is inevitable when it is embodied?

[kae-nyan]

(GN READER X VERTIN, FLUFF, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP)

Only you my girl, only you babe, only you~

(VERTIN)

VERY clingy on her sleep actually. Don't be suprised when you find yourself to be bundled up by her. There wasn't a single night where her hands wasn't placed on you, whether it be hugging you from the back, or just hand holding.

Elaborating on this, this means none of your rare fights would last long anyways. Vertin would sleep on the other side of your bed at night and you would wake up with her crooning on your neck the next morning.

And it wouldn't matter if you were sulking or whatevs, you would always find your place at her arms no matter how hard you try to avoid it.

However, she sometimes have reoccurring nightmares. You'll know when she starts to mumbles, or maybe even groan sometimes..

She wouldn't tell you though, but rather assure yourself to not worry about her and says she's used to it. And she wouldn't forget to apologise to you if her "nonsense" disturbs your sleep.

But it's more, obvious, during her worse days of seasonal nightmares. Guilt eats her up when Vertin finally wakes up from her dream to see your worried and tired face. She would suggest that she would sleep on the sofa. But of course you wouldn't allow it.

Often rambles some weird facts when it alligns with your hobby. Vertin is the type of gal to know everything about anything, especially about history (since yk,, she's a timekeeper)

Oh? That hobby? Didn't you know that it was accidentally created when an arcanist thought it was more convinient to use arcanist items rather than human items, but found out it has other effects?

Oh, yeah? That famous old song you're listening to? Fun fact, it was created when the singer had to improvise the lyrics by memory because someone had stolen the original script.

A sucker for your home-made lunch box you made for her to eat during her long field mission. You ironically made love shapes with bits of foods and cheesy words with ketchup. And you know what?? SHE WILL EAT THAT UP IN ONE GO

Regulus once took a peek at Vertin's lunch box and boy was Vertin was teased for it.

Vertin doesn't care though.

I mean, she gets to eat your carefully hand crafted food rather than drinking unhealthy soda 24/7.

There is rarely an occasion where you and her are left alone in the suitcase. But when it does, you two get to enjoy the peace and quiet together. You two would joke around if this is what it feels like to grow old together in the future.

Or some other times, Vertin would turn on the record player for you to listen together. Vertin would read a book or on her work desk, and you will be knitting or solving a puzzle. But all in the same room.

After all, your relationship has come to the point where you don't need words to understand each other.

This girl keeps EVERYTHING you gave her. Even before you guys are official. Not to mention, she has a box dedicated to items that were once gifted from you. And it's sometimes ridiculously absurd.

Remember that chocolate bar you once gave her? Well, the wrapper of said chocolate bar is still in her possession. She said its for memories when you told her to just throw it away.

But often times, it made you two reminisce of the past where you two were still fools in love that do awfully foolish things for each other (the intensity is tone down now that you have been together for years, but still)

[cursedlxcket]

Mother

Tom awakens with a jolt, cold sweat clinging to his pale skin, breath ragged and heavy. It takes a few seconds to register—he had been dreaming. The Black Lake’s water splashes against the dormitory window. The other beds remain empty, his friends having left for the holidays.

He scoffs, lying back down. He thought he had conquered weakness, severed his soul from mortality, and made himself immune to death. Half of his soul now lay within an object of his choosing. Yet, he wipes the sweat from his cheek, his calloused knuckles rough against his already sensitive skin.

It is her.

She plagues him, every single night, draining his strength and leaving him hollow.

His mother—long dead. A foolish woman who wasted her noble blood on a worthless Muggle, only to be abandoned, left to wither away in her own weakness. Why, then, did she linger? Why did she haunt him, did she remember that she left behind a son, her legacy—the legacy of their ancestors Salazar Slytherin?

Worse still, when he dreams of her, she is faceless—a void where her features should be. Her voice, warped and pained. Tom has never prided himself on empathy, yet the sight unsettles him, despite his many attempts at denial.

Had she come to haunt him? Did she regret her choices? Or worse—did she seek to siphon his life force, to resurrect herself at his expense?

No. That was absurd. Irrational. A symptom of exhaustion, nothing more. Tom Riddle feared nothing. No illness could claim him, no wound could kill him, no spell could overpower him. He was immortal—he had ensured that by tearing another’s life from their grasp.

There was no guilt. Only power. And an insatiable hunger for more.

Closing his eyes again, he exhales, interlocking his fingers over his chest. But then—

Cold.

A force tightens around his throat.

His eyes snap open, and she is there—straddling him, fingers digging into his flesh, nails tearing his skin. Breathing becomes fire. His body thrashes, but she holds firm, an unstoppable force of vengeance—

Then, nothing.

Tom blinks.

The infirmary ceiling looms above him. The school nurse hovers at his bedside.

“You are very ill, Tom,” she says gently. “Professor Slughorn found you collapsed in the library. Your fever was dangerously high. It has been two days. You’ve been hallucinating, waking only to fall back into another fever dream. Tell me, dear boy—how do you feel?”

Silence.

Ridiculous. All of it, the result of a measly fever.

“I see,” he murmurs at last. “I assure you, madame, I am fine.”

His mother had not come to seek revenge. She would not overtake his body. It was all in his mind. A trick. Or worse… guilt.

No. Nonsense. He is above such emotions.

[zealouscanonindeer]

Attempt no 1 of getting back to writing. Thank you @webanglikethat for the plot idea.

**********

the jasmine has bloomed

Book: KFOS

Pairing: Ram Doobay x Devi Sharma

Warning: none (other than a little rusty writing 😅)

Taglist: @rc-catalog @ram-doobay @lady-pavaki

**********

Devi's blood boiled as she scowled at the scene in front of her.

She thought to herself "Why did I ever decide to attend the services." She knew the answer to that was Rita Shiva's taunt of her old habits but atleast she had been spared of this visual.

The visual of women clawing desperately at her Ram. Okay that was a little dramatic,even in her opinion but it was true.

The Younger Doobay heir, unmarried and yet to choose his wife was the best possible match for any girl in the dozen. Not only the status but also the fact that he was, in her estimation simply breathtaking.

She had missed seeing him like this,in his element, back at the altar leading them in prayer. His hair flowed free today, his dark burgundy and black robes sitting against his tall lean athletic body as red gemstones glinted on his fingers on which he wore the family rings. But most of all he seemed completely nonchalant and unbothered, drawing her in. Not only her but all the other women,she scoffed at herself noticing them all around him.

They flocked to get a word in but cowered under his piercing mismatched gaze, their words tumbling in haste in an attempt to make unnecessary conversation. They stared dreamily at him, probably making up some intimate fantasies in their mind. The thought sent Devi's irritation through the roof.

Even the devdasis scampered behind, making sure all his needs were met, preparing everything in his personal chambers for his arrival and that no want remained.

She watched with venom as one of the banerjee girls took the liberty of gently touching his arm which he completely ignored.

"How dare she." Devi mused. Worst of all, she could do nothing about it all, she must stand away, being polite and indifferent. Instead she must deal with this 'Sharma de Clare' nonsense.

She wished to scream on top of her lungs.. I'm not married to him I never was I don't ever want to be. But she could not. Oh how she wishef to be held in her lover's warm embrace, feel his closeness and his lips. She danced through her memories of their moments together suddenly hit by the crude reality.. could they ever even be together?

No they must for she couldn't imagine any other reality than one with him. How could she give up the man she so adored and cherished, who brought her peace and insight,listened to her but never judged. He was the calm in all the chaos but he stirred chaos in her heart.

Sara looked at her inquisitively with a slight smirk of understanding.

" You're practically green with envy. "

"Am not." Devi reported childishly, causing both the girls to break into a smile at the absurdity of the situation.

Once the service was over all the members left one by one while she remained behind making up some excuse or the other. She knew them all by heart now besides she missed his company. They had hardly had any opportunity to meet given her new status, secret meetings and figuring out what Anil had been plotting in her absence.

She eyes a devdasis carrying some kind of drink to his rooms and impulsively swept in to block her.

" give it to me, I'll take it. I need to talk to him anyways." She lamely explained , all but snatching the cup and continuing to walk.

She opened the door gently and was instantly enveloped in his characteristic ylang ylang scent.

"devi? What are you doing here?" He questioned turning to the sound of the door opening.

"why? Did you not want to see me? Or were you expecting someone else?" She snapped, her previously subdued irrational anger once again spilling over at his genuine comment. She knew it was foolish,she knew she could trust him to never hurt her, she knew all of those things and yet.

He simply raised an eyebrow, his eyes slightly widening his expression remained serene as he walked over to take the cup from her hand and set it on the table.

" I was simply surprised by your presence which is always welcome..you know that." He stated looking at her with reverence in his gaze.

She simply let go, sighing softly and wrapping her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder as he gently ran his fingers over her hair and adorned braid.

"Ram?"

"hm?"

" I'm really tired." She whispered and he knew what she meant.

"What if it doesn't work out and they send me back to England....with him."

She looked at him with fearful eyes, her gut clenching at the thought. His breath slightly hitched his arms around her tightening before he replied.

" With the way you are so shamelessly acting these days around me, i doubt anyone would protest if the Lord decided to leave you behind. Also,I must say fury becomes you." Then more seriously he continued. " The truth is there for all to see, just the same whether they choose to really look it is for them to decide."

She laughed through her threatening tears that were ready to spill but questioned him.

"What if they choose to dismiss it?"

"Then we must choose to dismiss them."

It was unusual to hear such rebellious words from either of them but even now a lotus bloomed through the muddy swamp of their present, prevailing. A lotus worthy to be offered to the goddess and such was it's radiance that even she smiled through the flames.

*********

if you have anymore plot ideas or want anything written send it all across.

[cool-fancier]

The Interrogation

Synopsis: The BEBE members, who believed you were in love with Bada, put you to a lighthearted but serious interrogation. Despite their probing questions, you managed to handle the situation well and were warmly welcomed into the BEBE family by the end of the evening.

You were watching TV in the living room one evening when you heard the front door swing open and an uproar of happy voices. The timing of the BEBE members' arrival couldn't have been worse. You tried to brace yourself for the coming interrogation as they entered the room with exaggerated grins on their faces.

Lusher, who constantly seized leadership roles, was the first to speak. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Kyma said, hiding her curiosity under a joking tone. "Yeah, why is Unnie these days usually so happy? Has anything happened?"

Tatter leaned in closer while speaking in a low, frightening tone. "I heard that Bada Unnie has a secret admirer. Is that true?"

Minah, with her mischievous smile, added, "And we've noticed that you and Bada Unnie have been spending a lot of time together lately. Any particular reason for that?"

Cheche, the master of subtlety, simply raised an eyebrow and said, "You know, secrets have a way of coming out eventually."

Sowoen, the youngest but not to be underestimated, joined in with a sly grin. "So, what's going on? Are you and Unnie hiding something from us?"

You tried to keep your cool as you felt the heat rising in your cheeks. Their questions came fast and relentless, each one more absurd than the last. Your worries were beginning to get the better of you as it became obvious that they were onto something.

The unofficial leader of the BEBE group, Lusher, leaned forward and narrowed her eyes amusingly. Let's see if you can survive the Real BEBE Inquisition, Y/N!"

You smiled anxiously as you wondered what sort of inquiries they had in store for you. "Okay, I'm ready."

Kyma, who is always the observant one, smiled mischievously as she spoke. "Tell us, when did you first realise that you had a crush on our Unnie?"

Being taken aback by the directness of the question, you reddened. "Well, you know, it was kind of a gradual thing. We spent a lot of time together, and one day, I just couldn't stop thinking about her."

Tatter raised an eyebrow with her no-nonsense demeanour. "And when did you two become more than friends?"

The memory made you smile involuntarily. "It happened during one of our dance practices. We were rehearsing a particularly intense routine, and then, in the heat of the moment, we kissed."

Minah and Cheche exchanged knowing glances, and Minah teased, "So, it was a steamy dance practice that sealed the deal, huh?"

The youngest and possibly most inquisitive, Sowoen, spoke forward and grinned. "What's Unnie's most embarrassing moment, and do you have any dirt on her?"

You grinned, deciding to keep Bada from seeming foolish. "I promise I won't spill any embarrassing secrets. But I will say that your Unnie's most charming trait is her dedication to her work."

Bada couldn't resist but add something after seeing the questions with amusement. "Wait a minute, are you guys interrogating my girlfriend or trying to scare her away?"

Lusher laughed, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, Unnie, we're just having some fun here. We're giving Y/N unnie a warm welcome to the BEBE family."

Bada amusedly shook her head as she leaned closer to you. "Y/N you have survived the BEBE Inquisition. You can now consider yourself a part of the crew."

The evening carried on with more joking and cheerful conversation, and you were touched by the friendly welcome you had got from Bada's friends.  They not only showed concern for Bada, but also showed a talent for maintaining a fun and relaxed atmosphere.

[dottore-labs]

[EXPERIMENT #0000]

Title: The World Demands Paper Trails of Lunacy

Author: Il Dottore, Inventor of Problems No One Dared to Imagine

[Introduction]

In the pursuit of knowledge, one must not merely seek answers, but provoke questions so peculiar they haunt the dreams of lesser minds.

Why concern oneself with simple truths when it is far more enlightening to wonder: “can I make someone confess to a crime they didn’t commit simply by exposing them to progressively larger vegetables?”

This log is the official public archive for my lesser experiments — bizarre hypotheses, fleeting whims and half-baked theories. Not worthy of grand ceremonies, nor approved by the Fatui, of course. But still, oddly illuminating.

Many will dismiss these pages as absurd. Some, dangerously foolish. A rare few — those deluded enough to seek meaning in the bubbling nonsense — may glimpse the twisted spark of genius.

To those few: Beware. You have already been marked.

[Purpose]

These logs document experiments conducted for reasons including, but not limited to:

Passing the time between catastrophes

Exploring bizarre questions, no matter how ridiculous

Satisfying personal curiosities

General amusement

Science, allegedly

All outcome are accurate. Subjects were technically willing, or at least, too slow to refuse. Assistants received warnings regarding possible side effects: unexplained weeping, prolonged eye contact with inanimate objects, and spontaneous existential crisis.

Some even signed consent forms — mostly out of fear.

[What is regarded as a valid hypothesis?]

Anything. Especially ones unburdened by logic, ones that make people slowly turn and walk away while whispering, “Are they allowed to do that?”.

A sound hypothesis does not require dignity, coherence, or adherence to the criteria set by ‘traditional scientific institutions’. It does not need to be precise, measurable, or even fully thought through. A passing question muttered at 03:00 hours is more useful to me than a decade of academic drivel.

Consider, for example:

What happens if I whisper compliments to a person every day for a month, then suddenly stop?

Do lemon’s possess opinions, and if so, are they rude?

Does the average person feel more or less guilt when interrogated by a sock puppet with a badge?

If I yell at a banana every day at the same time, will it ripen out of spite?

If I dramatically declare “You’ve failed the lettuce test” and walk away, how many people will panic despite knowing nothing about said test?

Do oranges experience existential dread when peeled in complete silence?

The above are not experiments I have performed. They are possibilities. Suggestions. Threats, perhaps.

[Submissions]

Here lies the collection point for all curious experimental proposals, no matter how nonsensical, twisted, or outright absurd.

Each will be inspected, dissected, and possibly distorted beyond recognition. Results are never guaranteed.

You may leave your proposals openly as public notes, where others can witness your lapse in judgement.

Or, for those of you too ashamed to be publicly associated with your proposal, you may make a contribution privately using my trusted [submit your inquiries] button.

Should a particular proposal pique my interest (or my madness), it will be tested and documented. If the results are truly disastrous, the blame will fall squarely on the originator.

Welcome to my laboratory,

Where nonsense reigns and the strange becomes routine.

I eagerly anticipate the delightful disorder your hypotheses shall unleash upon my humble domain of discovery.

Yours in scientific mischief,

~ Il Dottore

[trans-yllz]

saw boy and the heron for thee first time tonight here are my thoughts 🤔 I definitely enjoyed it but it's not like. a new fave. we saw the dubbed version the voice acting, with a few exceptions, hm. left a lot to be desired 😭 the dads accent was like insane? I don't know what was happening there but it wasn't good. which is sort of odd because I Do think christian bale does a good job as howl in hmc but alas. the music and animation of course was incredible. I really liked all of the female characters they were all very distinct and unique with strong and interesting personalities. miyazaki generally does a good job of this in his movies but in the endless stream of troublingly and unsatisfactoryly written female characters in media rn it was very refreshing. the movie is like absolutely nonsensical and insane and has a similar feeling of ridiculousness to the cat returns, but somehow less grounded? the plot was often hard to track and sort of confounding, but, and maybe I'm just being pretentious and finding meaning where there is none, it felt very much like the complete absurdity and foolishness of grief. huge and ridiculous and meaningless and illogical. the way the movie ends is both kind of anticlimactic and sort of just how it goes. obsessed with the warawaras also

[stealeroflemons]

my nit picky requirements/inspirations for if we ever got a reboot of eah and headcanons #28

these are my personal opinions and yes this is all tomfoolery and foolishness.

we have so much angsty material to work with that if we made it gritty/dark in a similar way to how "euphoria" is I think we can do the angst and genuinely traumatizing aspects of eah justice

it NEEDS to be as camp-y as the movies "BOTTOMS" and "Mean Girls"

early 2000s movies always have such nonsense and iconic outfits and fun plotlines we need that energy to come back

don't act like Daring Charming wouldn't say something adjacent to "I'm sorry I looked at Mrs. Riley and lightly grzed her left tit, alright?" unironically

"She's The Man" walked to Darling Charming could run and I think we should keep that train going

I want the absurdity of "Wild Child" and "Jennifer's Body" and "10 Things I Hate About You" going on at all times

the line "Boo cross out Needy" was made for Briar Beauty to say to her friends when they say they aren't going to a party

overall I believe eah was made for those who grew up in the early 2000s watching "Camp Rock" and the "Hannah Montana" movie and "High School Musical" and then in their teen years ended up watching "euphoria" or "Grand Army"

if we truly put our minds to it we could create a y2k/late 90's style eah reboot or (thought difficult) live action where we still have time to dive into the trauma and the characters go through and also be dramatic and have some filler episodes where they get a breka and can be teenagers

thank you for coming to my TedTalk

[world-in-a-nook]

"Aim for the heart"

characters : Aventurine ; Dr.Ratio relationship : Aventurine x Dr.Ratio (ambigious) art : @glasody__ + official (Dr.Ratio's eidolons) synopsis : thoughts during "The Final Victor" Lightcone warnings : russian roulette ; gun ; suicidal tendencies ; lack of gun knowledge wc: 905 nda : not my native language

"You expect me to believe you ?"

There wasn’t a day where he doubted his intellect but this time something happened that he hadn’t planned, something outside all probabilities. In a world where everything could be planned and meticulously calculated, it was easy to find other’s faults and errors. Yet, this time, he couldn’t find his. Humanity was supposed to save themselves; to strive towards survival yet this man had just done the opposite, just to prove a point. How foolish… He could’ve chosen to offer something else, a statistic about his wins, anything else but this.

He couldn’t understand the expression, the unwavering smile and the faint glimmer in those hypnotizing eyes. Anything could happen. The probabilities were one out of six, and he wouldn’t press the trigger, it was just some kind of act, a provocative gesture to show some kind of dominance.

Click

His eyes widened when the man had pressed his finger on the trigger. One chance out of five now. He hadn’t hesitated. Unmoving pupils, almost dilated. Was it the adrenaline? He couldn’t understand and it was maddening, yet different. He couldn’t ignore the shiver running down his spine, the cold sweat trailing down his nape and the multitude of thoughts coming to him. How did that gambler not move any inch at the possibility of death? Or was it this possible of everything ended that drove him further?

He didn’t realise yet, but his eyes widened when he realized: all his life, his brain had been challenged through trials and error, yet he had never been challenged through his emotions. The gambler had aimed not to his capacity of calculation, but his capacity to feel. The truth that had prior relied upon his capacity to calculate and adapt logically, had now been thrown upside down. The gambler was surely aiming at himself, but this thrill seeker was truly aiming at his heart. Was it some sort of test ?

Of course, he wasn’t. He was the doctor, a professor of great renown. This feeling was nothing but to test of predictable would be the gambler’s death. A scrutiny caused to provoke him. It was just to prove a point. The bullet could be a blank.

Click

And yet what if ? One chance out of four remaining. 25% chance of dying for the gambler. The barrel pressed on the man’s shirt. He would’ve stopped this nonsense and looked at the bullet to see if it was a blank. It couldn’t be: the gambler was a skilled shooter who practiced in his free time. Yet again the question remains: why would he be so ruthless just to prove a point? It wasn’t a test between them either. That gambler wanted to make him feel. What would happen if the stoic doctor had a hand in his life? What would he do if he wasn’t able to think himself out of the situation? And the moment was absurd, yet thrilling, letting him feel free.

He swallowed with difficulty. This gambler had found a crux out in his probabilities. He wasn’t on the other side of the gun yet he felt paralysed. He had been seen.

"Why not, doctor ? Life is a big gamble and I'm always the Final Victor"

What an absurd moment. He had yearned to survive up until today, yet he was now ready to throw it away. His hand behind his back as he seemed ready to pull the trigger. He was ready to put his life on the line to show his determination. If he had to put the most valuable that could exist just to show his determination, then he would. No amount of chip would equal to the value of a life, especially his, yet he was ready to bet it, was he?

No change in his facial expression but his hand gripped the potential to go on, for his luck to reach him once again. The chance that he could survive one more day was what he hanged on to. He would live one more day to spite those who wanted the avgins to fall.

Click

He held the barrel closely to his heart, to the fiery determination that plagued his mind. All his gambles, all his plans had been mind games. Some sort of test to his own luck. Yet the gun was aimed at the true reason he continued to advance. However grand was the pot, he was aiming not at winning against the house but winning the house and making it his own. Full House. Yet his was empty, no family to boast his victories.

The man facing him looked perplexed, confused on who would do a bet like this. He was a source of grounding: someone who thought that everything could be calculated. Yet in a single move, a single bet, he had moved the man’s world upside down. Despite the severe and stoic face, which was usually hiding under the handsome bust, he had this uncertainty in the eyes. The flickering pupils, the trembling hand on the gun, what a handsome look on someone so usually sure of themselves. He enjoyed the hidden shocked expression. The one that he saw when the unpredictable happened.

He had seen through the doctor’s face, his need for recognition. And he was showing it now: he could see him now and he had aimed directly to his heart. They had both everything on the line: Aventurine had put his line while the doctor had his pride. It was in this moment that they truly saw each other.

[buriedhonor]

@fightfected cont. from here

THE  DENIAL  DOES  NOT  ESCAPE  HIM  ,  but  it  brings  a  light  exhale  of  skepticism  to  his  breath  .  when  his  charm  was  the  only  thing  keeping  him  afloat  ,  he  had  learned  a  thing  or  two  about  being  able  to  tell  one's  mood  .  MAYBE  THEY  DO  NOT  KNOW  EACH  OTHERtoo  well  yet  ,  but  luis  isn't  opposed  to  the  idea  —  stolen  looks  and  lingering  gazes  only  told  HALF  THE  STORY  —  and  leon  had  already  received  the  honor  of  being  designated  his  squire  .  luis  was  far  from  the  hero  of  the  story  ,  his  parallel  shared  more  with  the  DELUSIONAL  KNIGHT  ,  but  leon  had  been  his  guiding  rock  as  so  far  ,  he  shared  in  the  spaniard's  favourite  tale  as  a  star  for  what  else  was  he?

MAYBE  IT  WAS  A  FOOLISH  MAN'S  hope  clinging  to  nonsensical  tales  ,  maybe  it  was  his  only  way  of  reconciling  this  story  to  that  tale  —  A  WAY  TO  COPE  WITH  THE  ABSURDITY  OF  IT  ALL  ,  but  those  are  thoughts  he  chooses  not  to  voice.  he  will  not  ,  for  to  do  so  was  to  bare  his  chest  open  on  the  altar  ,  and  he'd  seen  JUST  HOW  WELL  THAT  HAD  ENDED.  perhaps  it  is  best  for  him  not  to  know.

❛  maybe  not  .  .  but  there's  always  hope  .  ❜

THE  SILENCE  STRETCHES  LONG  and  his  grandfather's  gun  weighs  heavy  in  his  pocket  .  the  grooves  fit  his  hand  perfectly  ,  the  shape  as  familiar  as  the  little  booklet  of  prayers  IN  HIS  INNER  JACKET  .  he  does  not  read  from  them  often  any  longer  ,  not  when  his  Lord  has  abandoned  him,  but  perhaps  there  is  still  that  inkling  of  a  boy  who  wishes  to  have  his  intentions  answered  by  something  GREATER  than  he  is  .  that  desire  to  INFLUENCE  the  world  around  him  —  only  to  have  done  so  in  the  worst  possible  ways.

❛  what's  got  you  so  beat  ,  huh?  ❜

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

How would The Ganondorfs (Wind Waker, Ocarina of Time, Twilight Princess, Hyrule Warriors, and Tears of the Kingdom) & Demise respond to this game of Kiss, Marry, Kill: King of Hyule, Link, Tingle?

Just to forewarn, they all had the... exact... same... answers... which is hilarious. They give similar reasonings, but I just had to share.

A game like "Kiss, Marry, Kill" would deeply amuse and annoy characters like Ganondorf and Demise. These are powerful, serious figures whose goals often revolve around conquest, destruction, or immortality. Being reduced to something as trivial as a party game would either spark outrage or amusement depending on their personalities.

Let’s break down how each of the Ganondorfs (and Demise) would react to being asked to play Kiss, Marry, Kill with King of Hyrule, Link, and Tingle:

Wind Waker Ganondorf

Reaction: Wind Waker Ganondorf is one of the more thoughtful and complex versions, as he has a deep resentment toward the fate that befell his people. He would be bemused by the game, seeing it as beneath him, but the absurdity of the choices would amuse him in a dark, ironic way.

Response: He leans back in his chair, an amused smirk crossing his face. "What a childish game. But if I must humor you…"

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "He had the gall to drown Hyrule under the sea. A kiss before I crush him beneath the waves would be appropriate."

Marry: Link. "He is the only one worthy enough to be tied to my fate. Even in marriage, I would enjoy watching him squirm under my power."

Kill: Tingle. His smirk twists into a look of disgust. "That pathetic little wretch? There is no better fate for him."

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Reaction: Ocarina of Time Ganondorf is driven by ambition and conquest, so the idea of playing this game would infuriate him at first. However, his sadistic side would enjoy toying with such ridiculous concepts, turning the game into an opportunity to mock his enemies.

Response: His expression darkens immediately as he glares at you for daring to ask him such a question. "You would waste my time with this nonsense?" But after a pause, a cruel smile spreads across his lips.

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "A kiss before his inevitable betrayal would be most fitting, as the king always schemes in the shadows."

Marry: Link. He chuckles darkly. "Binding the Hero to me in such a way would be endlessly amusing. His suffering would be eternal."

Kill: Tingle. "That fool would serve no purpose other than being erased from this world."

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Reaction: Twilight Princess Ganondorf is one of the darkest and most ruthless iterations, seeing himself as a god. He would be insulted at first, his pride deeply wounded by the triviality of the game. But after considering it, he’d respond with cold, calculated malice.

Response: His gaze narrows, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I will play this game once, but only because it amuses me to think of their fates."

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "The king, foolish and weak. I would kiss him before taking his throne, as is my right."

Marry: Link. His voice drops into a menacing whisper. "To marry the Hero, to bind him to my will… Yes, that would be fitting. His spirit would break over time."

Kill: Tingle. "The weak have no place in my kingdom. His life is worthless."

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Reaction: Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf is warlike, with a lust for battle and dominance. He would laugh at the absurdity of the game but would answer with a twisted sense of humor, taking advantage of the opportunity to impose his will on others even in a fictional scenario.

Response: He laughs deeply, crossing his arms over his chest. "Foolish. But if I must choose…"

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "He presumes to rule over a land that is mine by right. A kiss before I crush him would be amusing."

Marry: Link. "To bind the Hero to my will would be a victory greater than any battlefield conquest."

Kill: Tingle. "Tingle? A weak, laughable fool. His death would be merciful, for I have no patience for his kind."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Reaction: This version of Ganondorf, steeped in power and madness, would find the game amusing in a twisted, mocking way. He sees the world as his plaything, and a game like this would give him the opportunity to further express his cruel dominance over those who stand in his way.

Response: A cruel grin stretches across his face as he contemplates the choices. "What a delightful waste of time…"

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "A kiss before his inevitable fall would taste of sweet victory. The king is a symbol of everything I wish to destroy."

Marry: Link. His grin widens. "To bind the Hero to me? I can think of no greater pleasure. I would take joy in watching him wither under my control."

Kill: Tingle. "His existence is a joke. It would be satisfying to see him snuffed out."

Demise

Reaction: Demise would be utterly insulted by the mere mention of this game. As a being of pure hatred and destruction, to even contemplate something as ridiculous as "Kiss, Marry, Kill" would seem beneath him. But if forced to answer, he would do so with venom and disdain.

Response: He glares down at you, flames licking around him as he seethes with irritation. "You dare ask me such a question?"

Kiss: King of Hyrule. "A kiss would be the last thing he feels before I crush him into oblivion."

Marry: Link. His expression twists into one of cruel amusement. "The Hero? To bind him to me for eternity… His suffering would be eternal."

Kill: Tingle. "I don’t even need a reason. His life means nothing."

Each version of Ganondorf (and Demise) would react with varying degrees of amusement, disgust, or irritation, but ultimately, they’d all answer with the same air of superiority, twisting the game to suit their dark desires.