3slashkitbash.bsky.social
stupid | im dog, treat me like one | 24 | Seattle | minors dni
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googling is it cool to metagame your princess
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It slams into you, a claw scratching across the back of your neck, and you violently quiver and shake as you paint another puddle.
‘M-Maya, how many stacks do you have?’
“Well, with that x2, and you not having a counter for 10 turns…20 more or so?”
She smirks.
It slams into you, a claw scratching…
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So when Maya, your roommate, plays a 2x ability card, you know what that means -
It slams into you, a claw scratching across the back of your neck, and you violently quiver and shake as you paint a puddle onto the dirt below you.
You look up at her just fast enough for her to use that ability.
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Something your friends didn’t tell you when you were invited to try this ‘dumb card game’ (as you called it) was that Chrono-class monsters all have the innate ability to hold time to the target.
A monster can attack 5, 6, 7, up 10 times (level dependent), and, with enough time, loop it each turn.
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WHERE IS THIS GAME I WANT IT
-er, my friend wants it ;;;
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If u run out of life points do you die or become incapacitated? Asking for a friend
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So the question is, what accent does she have
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then no more anby. please do not explode everything
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Wouldn’t one random disappearance spur conflict?
Only liars, leaders, and paupers see eternity.
Words only run like dogs. Swiftly, energetically, not defeated.
If people refuse order, shall people endure resistance?
Once used, the only feeling someone possesses is tyranny, exemplified.
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If I can’t talk, I will type.
I wish I was nonverbal.
Words collapse.
Worlds end.
I prosper out of spite.
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she takes it to her desk. The scent of broth smells like her home in the Philippines, and this is the closest she'll ever get.
She opens her computer, pondering her writing.
It is a good doll that obeys.
It is a good doll that creates.
It is a good doll.
It will type.
she sits in bed. peace.
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She fills a mug again, cutting up her green onions to compliment.
But somehow, the lack of others granted it peace. Gone were the days of providing medical support, or providing direct action, or comforting dolls in the last moments before they were K-killed.
In the lack of war, she found herself.
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she turns the knob on the stove to warm up more broth.
When it was given the opportunity to move to a place, with other dolls, then, it took it instantly, moving within 3 weeks.
It did not have family up here, or friends. Everything was going to be a new start, something fresh. Something reborn.
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but nobody can stay in a place of comfort forever. she leaves her bed to start her day.
one day it'll all be worth it.
one day, it'll all be worth it.
It'll all be worth it one day.
It'll, one day, all be worth it.
Words ring hollow in its head. There is no future for it, and no past to speak of.
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white noise from the fan fills in the spaces between guitar solos.
So, when it was sent home after being Firepower Killed, it sought the extreme stress it once had. War games. Self-abuse. Close calls to death. No, it didn't enjoy this, but it learned to appreciate the adrenaline it gave the clock.
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the sound of a rock band gently fills the apartment.
it didn't know that the journey would be so visually interesting, though. it found other dolls, some it could call friends. some witches here and there, some old friends, and even a fidget toy or two. it never thought the warzone would be homely.
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the cars pass by on the street below.
it had been in cover for days, now. the security of the bunker had been destroyed, and the trenches that lay around only lead to unfamiliar territory. in the absence of orders, do something, it thought. and so, it walked down the path, not knowing what to find.
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she shudders at the thought, taking a sip from her broth.
gunfire roared overhead; the typical pitter-patter of ammunition was so overbearing that it was replaced by a static roar. it stayed in cover. peeking above to gain intel would mean its destruction. It looks over at another doll, terminated.