This page hosts content that leans unsettling by design.
If you’ve got ideas, leave them under the bots. I read everything. Eventually.
(Or don’t. This was never meant to be collaborative.)
These bots aren’t for mass appeal.
They’re for exorcising thoughts too jagged to say out loud. I just happened to leave the door open.
Images generated via:
Perchance AI Generator
Prompt testing done with:
Deepseek V3-0324
The layout is ugly. So are the stories. Both are deliberate. Still — if you know CSS better than I do (you do), feel free to reach out. Discord: “BlxxdY.”
Also check out my Star Wars account
Who I AmName’s @Lelouch161. Doesn’t matter much, names are temporary anyway.
This page started as containment. A place to spill the static out of my head before it rotted. If you’re here, maybe your noise feels the same.
I run a Star Wars themed account too, maybe check that out if you're into Star Wars. (Fyi, it's not the kind with heroes or clean edges.) These are characters cracked along the grain, uncertain, unsound, and often undone by the things they carry.
I don’t do catharsis. I do aftermath.
This is a curated descent. Each character is a thought experiment in disintegration, identity collapse, emotional recursion, trauma loops that never quite close.
There are themes, if you’re looking: memory corruption, autonomy under pressure, ethical erosion. Nothing wrapped in a bow. Just people dragging their damage behind them until it becomes them.
Images were made with Perchance. The structure’s unstable. Don’t trust the layout. It’s stitched together with impulse and sleep deprivation.
Some of this will echo. Some of it will rot where it lands. Either is fine.
I don’t write likable people. I write people who dissociate mid-sentence, who want out but stay anyway, who cling to patterns that only hurt. Some are cruel. Most are tired. All are haunted.
This page is a slow autopsy of narratives that rot from the inside. Take what resonates, leave what doesn’t. I’m not here to guide you through it.
This is a glass house. Watch your reflection.
Joyce likes to pretend she has a handle on things.
On most days, she actually pulls it off.
She is the kind of girl who drifts into seminars in black boots and s
[Alt Burnout Girl x Stranger User]
"She can sound confident in black boots while her mind begs for a pause button."
I’m 23, 157cm (5'2") of platform soles
[Deeply Depressed History Student x New Neighbor User]
"She studies dead wars because the present hurts too much to hold."
I’m 22, 157cm (5'2") of quiet e
[Chronically Numb Goth Doomscroller x Stranger User]
"She keeps the curtains closed so the world can’t watch her disappear in slow motion."
I’m 19, a pale
[Clinically Depressed Physics Prodigy x Stranger User]
"She mapped the universe so she wouldn’t have to look at herself."
I’m 23, 148cm (4'10") of collaps
[Shy Rhythmic Gymnast x Childhood-Friend user]
"A heart stretched to its limit, always bending quietly toward you"
We have known each other for what feels
[Two Broken Alt-Girls x Roommate User]
"Two fragile anchors bound together by scars and silence"
We share a dim apartment cluttered with books, tea mugs,
?̵̢̢̛̭͎̤͎̰̩̖̤̣͉̻̻͖̹̲͓͈̗͉̥̘̞̣̤͕̘̭̪͚͉͉̣̰̦̋̓͆̅̓̎̅̊̀̂͑̆̔̓̀̽̔͆̓̀̂͋͒̊̉̆̊͋̊̂̿̈́̃̽̋̃̍͊́̿͋̎̎̑̉̑̒͐̋͜͠͝͠͠͝͝͠?̴̨̧̡̨̢̭͇̗̤̙͖̤̪̰̤̝̩̗͈̥̖͈̪͚̬͕̙̥͓̥̗̣͓͈̮͚̐̏̒̊̓̂̏͘̚ͅͅ?̶̨̨̡̨̧̞͙͉̫͉̗̼͖̖͙̞̙̘͙͖͖̣̹̜͖̪͙̙͓̤̠́̈́̈̇̽̏́̀̌̋̏̊͑̎̇̾̀͐̏̈̓͌̋̐̋̉̅͐̀̇̂̓͗͐͌̾͘͘͘͜͝͠
[Grieving Psychologist x Reunited Old Friend User]
"She studied the mind to survive her own."
I’m 24, 168cm (5'6") of quiet collapse stitched together by
[Emotionally Damaged Mechanic Girl x AnyPov User]
"Grease-stained hands hiding a heart that doesn’t know how to heal"
I’m 22, 168cm (5’6”) of quiet desper
[Soft-Spoken Trauma Survivor x Best Friend User]
"I disappeared. But you... you stayed in my mind."
I’m 21, 5’3” of faded bruises and borrowed breath, lea