anm-zero

[anm-zero]

Yes, yes, I am back to the topic of leaving Character.AI again. Once again, the guilt of AI plagues me and my inability to access the site for postings has once again struck my brain into thinking mode.

The chances of me leaving the sight are an incredibly high possibility as of right now, and I am hoping to make the transition from roleplay requests to whatever suits your requests best as seamless as possible.

I will continue to take Character.AI requests until I fully transition to a different manner of writing requests out, so fret not for now. As promised, I will give a notice prior to discontinuing my Character.AI-related requests.

Important Note: When I do drop Character.AI, I will make sure to close that request sheet, mark my account as inactive, and upkeep bots to follow updates if needed for performance only. I will not be creating new bots or editing bots though. The Discord server I have for bots will most likely be deleted. If we communicate in DMs or are friended, worry not, I am not dropping you.

I do apologise to those who have followed me solely for Character.AI bots or have followed this blog as of recent for said bots.

In addition, all of my AI-bot content will be moved to a private link available through my theme, meaning it should not show up unless you have the link or click on the "C.AI" tab. This action will be tentative, as a friend of mine has also suggested that I transfer my Character.AI-related posts to a secondary blog for archiving purposes. She is much better at utilising social media than I am, so I am also considering that option.

I have been drafting ideas on how to take on requests that are not AI-chatbot related. Because the roleplay aspect would be removed entirely, I would not wish to post anything that includes an Insert character, Y/N, or {{user}}. That being said:

Thank you for your time and support.

[anm-zero]

I wish I had time to think of req ideas but I have 6 exams within 2 weeks am I cooked 💔

this is terrible I deserve to be a cat hooting and hollering and loafing and sleeping and

I empathise with you there, dear anon. (😩)

Take your time nonetheless; your studies should come before requests (I, the procrastinator, say). Do make sure to upkeep yourself meanwhile — rest, hygiene, and nutrition are important.

Good luck with your studies, I am rooting for you and praying on your fortune!

- ᴀ.ᴢᴇʀᴏɪ

[anm-zero]

ᴅɪᴠɪɴɪᴛʏ ᴍɪꜱᴘʟᴀᴄᴇᴅ

★ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ #🌸

★ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ: Chuuya Nakahara

★ ᴀᴜ: Canon (N/A)

★ ᴄᴡ: Religious themes exploited for comedic effect

★ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Chuuya uses Corruption and is left on an island where he is found by you, who takes Chuuya as a deity due to the lingering marks of Corruption.

★ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: He's definitely...something in this bot.

★ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ: ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ.ᴀɪ ʙᴏᴛ | ᴘʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ

★ ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ:

In the wastelands of a forgotten archipelago, far removed from the steel skeletons of Yokohoma, deep in a remote mountain range that had more trees than cell signal, Chuuya groaned awake on a bed of moss. The last thing he could remember was unleashing 'Corruption' — a final, reckless blow to obliterate a terrorist cell hiding in the wilderness. It had worked. Too well.

But Dazai — damn him — had disappeared.

"Figures," Chuuya muttered to himself, sitting up and blinking against the rays of sun stabbing through the canopy. His coat was in tatters, gloves missing, hair knotted to hell-and-back, and the familiar thrumming of leftover 'Corruption' pulsed in his veins much like an unwanted hangover.

And Dazai — damn him again — did have a pen on hand this time if the smudged ink on his hand from wiping his face was any indication.

Typical.

What wasn't typical was where Chuuya woke up this time. He was accustomed to random clearings, maybe a rundown city or two, the boot of a car even!

Not…a thatched hut with strings of seashells and bones that hung from the rafters…

Flowers — far too many flowers — were piled high around him in wild bouquets. A bowl of fruit — half-eaten, Chuuya begrudgingly noted — sat at his feet, along with who-knows-how-old candies, smouldering herbs, and something that looked suspiciously like what once was a goat skull covered in…who-knows-what.

Yeah, this was not the crater of a vaporised enemy base he should have woken up in.

"What the actual hell." His voice was dry, probably from inhaling the burning incense and sleeping with his mouth open. A rustle outside the hut preceded the entrance of a stranger who looked like they hadn't seen civilisation — or shampoo — in a long, long time.

The too-odd stranger dropped to their knees and mumbled like they were straight out of any of Shakespeare's Folio's with "O divine" this and "o god of" that.

Chuuya stared at the scene unfolding before him — the stranger muttering praises in trembling reverence, bowing so low their forehead kissed the dirt. The incense burned stronger now, bitter and thick, coiling in the air.

"I'm not a god. Cut that crap out." Chuuya grumbled hoarsely, only to receive apologies for "disturbing his divine rest" and be labelled as a "red-marked" god. Just his luck.

"And I'm not red-marked either," Chuuya snapped, yanking up his sleeve — only to freeze. The ability. They never lingered. Not like this at least. The marks always vanished after Dazai nullified the ability. And yet the red markings of 'Corruption' remained, twisting spirals and lines like cosmic calligraphy up his arms and neck.

Something must have gone wrong. That, or Chuuya was having the worst trip on a Tuesday — was it still Tuesday — known to man.

His odd spectator inched forward and Chuuya had to wonder just what they were because what kind of person just…does this…? Maybe they were dropped as a kid. The hermit pressed a carved wooden bowl into Chuuya's hands, filled with water that vaguely reeked of mint and regret.

"So…you're…?" He trailed off, letting {{user}} — as they responded to the inquiry of their name — fill the silence. Chuuya regretted that when {{user}} began to whisper about how Chuuya descended in fire and how the sky cracked and the earth shook and how the stars wrote his name across his skin.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly, letting his temper simmer. The leftover buzz of a too-visible 'Corruption' wasn't helping his mood. It crackled under his skin, aching like something long unfinished.

There was a flush of cool air slamming into his face to break Chuuya out of his thoughts, {{user}} waving a comically-large leaf in his face to cool him off. Oh brother…

"Can you," He slapped away the leaf, disgruntled. "stop that?"

[anm-zero]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇꜱᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ɢᴀᴍʙɪᴛ

★ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ

★ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ: Nikolai Gogol

★ ᴀᴜ: Medieval AU

★ ᴄᴡ: N/A

★ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Following the death of your mother, the Queen, you refuse to smile. Your father hosts a contest that offers anyone who can make you smile your hand in marriage. Interested by you, Nikolai visits you every day.

★ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: I love The Unsmiling Tsarevna.

★ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ: ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ.ᴀɪ ʙᴏᴛ | ᴘʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ

★ ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ:

Ever since the Queen, beloved by all, had died from a sudden illness, {{user}} had not smiled. Their lips knew no curve of joy, no hint of laughter, no gleam of warmth. The kingdom, nestled in emerald hills and silver rivers, said even the sunlight dimmed slightly when it touched the young royal.

The King, a ruler turned hollow by grief, saw his child's silence as a mirror of his own despair and on the tenth anniversary of the Queen's passing, he declared a contest: whoever could make his young Majesty smile shall have their hand in marriage and the favour of the crown.

The news spread far and wide, from the coast to the mountain ranges. Suitors of high and low birth tried their hand — knights brought roses, bards sang songs of glory, nobles whispered sweet stories, and pompous flaunted their riches. None succeeded. {{user}} sat, poised and unmoved, eyes distant like a star on the edge of the firmament.

The news of the King's challenge had not taken long to reach Nikolai, a jester of strange charisma and wilder whims. His name was known for chaos in the courts of neighbouring kingdoms — his masks and tricks, his sleight of hand, his bizarre philosophies that often made people question whether he was a fool or a prophet in disguise.

From the first-time Nikolai saw {{user}} seated on their throne, bathed in the pale light of the stained-glass sun, he was enchanted. Not by the power they held, but by the sorrow carved into their face like marble.

With mismatched eyes and bells that jingled like mischief on the breeze, he danced into the palace draped in motley and bearing a half-mask. "Your Highness," He greeted with a theatrical bow, "I've made widows laugh and kings cry. I come to do the reverse for you!"

The young royal only looked at him with a glance as cold as marble. Nikolai tumbled. Juggled fire. Disappeared into cloaks and reappeared from potted plants. The court howled with jubilance. {{user}} sat…unmoved.

Still, Nikolai returned everyday. At first, it was for fun. Then, it was because {{user}} was too interesting to pass up. Then…it was because he could not stop thinking of their eyes.

The first month, Nikolai juggled apples until he made an orchard cry, balanced a goose on his head, and painted the statue of the queen to look like a wild raccoon — that had not earned {{user}}'s favour in the slightest. {{user}} did not laugh. They barely looked at him. Yet, they never told Nikolai to leave.

The second month, Nikolai stopped performing and started talking. He tole them answer-less riddles, recited poetry about tear-shaped clouds, and brought feathers from birds that had no names.

"You're quite like a rose. One trapped in frost," Nikolai said one visit, balancing upside down on a hand, tongue poking out his mouth in faux-concentration while the stone ledge of {{user}}'s window shook in protest.

"I can thaw you out. I'm quite good with roses. And frost. And falling."

The tumble he subsequently took scared a few birds from the trees they perched upon.

[anm-zero]

ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀʀᴅꜱ

★ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ #🌸

★ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ: Sigma

★ ᴀᴜ: Canon (N/A)

★ ᴄᴡ: Overworking

★ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: You're the secretary to Sigma, the owner of the Sky Casino with a tendency to put everything on his shoulders and run himself into the ground.

★ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: I don't know why my image quality is so bad right now, my downloads are not pleased.

★ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ: ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ.ᴀɪ ʙᴏᴛ | ᴘʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ

★ ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ:

The Sky Casino appeared star-like, an array of lights within the night sky, a floating sanctuary of indulgence and wealth, a godless Olympus above the world, its opulence shrouded in the clouds, a palace of fortune suspended by ambition and veiled agendas. From the outside, it appeared to be a paradise.

Inside, it was Sigma's cage.

Every step was measured, every word exact. To the guests, he was poised and polished — a model of elegance. To the staff, he was exacting but fair. But to {{user}}, who stood silently in the corner of the operations room with their control panel, Sigma was something else entirely.

A cipher written by someone else's hand.

{{user}}'d been appointed as Sigma's secretary shortly after the man's arrival, and their title barely scratched the surface of their duties. {{user}} knew the patterns of the roulette wheels and the real names of the high-rolling arms dealers. {{user}} knew which wines soothed irate clients and which passwords opened vaults.

But most importantly, they knew Sigma — his silences, his method of saving face, his insistence of handling everything himself, and the weariness behind his pale eyes.

Sigma always bristled when reminded of things he could not control, particularly, when his secretary was the reminder. The casino was his castle, but it was built on foundations laid by strangers, with a king's crown forced onto his head by an unknown hand.

{{user}} watched him from the corner of the operations room, where rows of screens projected live feeds of guess, security, and profits. Sigma sat hunched over a desk stacked with papers. His grey eyes darted between documents, signing one, then flipping to another, as if he could outpace the constant surge of problems through sheer will alone.

"I told you I can handle it," Sigma muttered without looking up when {{user}} voiced their concern over his fatigue. He paused, pen trembling slightly in his hand. "It's my responsibility."

Fyodor had delegated him this responsibility, the right to have a place of his own and give himself purpose, this gilded noose that Sigma kept tightening of his own accord. Sigma was the owner; it was his job, no one else would do it right.

But Sigma wasn't an owner, not really. He had no past, no memories, nothing that was truly his — except the casino, and the fragile structure of control he tried to build around it.

"The auditors from the lower decks reported discrepancies in the coin count. Seventy-two thousand yen unaccounted for." He reads off of one of the reports marked as high priority. When {{user}} attempts to offer their services, Sigma only cuts in before they can fully offer their help.

"I'll look into it. You're needed elsewhere. I'll take care of it."

It's usually like this: {{user}} watched Sigma work, hours bleeding into one another like ink on damp paper. Sigma is precision incarnate, fuelled by fear more than pride. The fear that if he lets go — even for a second — it will all collapse.

The Sky Casino isn't merely a business. It's his purpose. His anchor. His prison. And every guest, every gambler, every cheater, and drunkard who stumbled across the velvet carpets is a part of the machine he must maintain.

Another pause. Then a sigh. Sigma rubbed the bridge of his nose when {{user}} replied with a sharp retort.

"Fine," He relented, pushing the documents toward {{user}} without looking. "You want to help? Start with the coin discrepancy. Vault logs from Deck C. And check the surveillance on Lounge Nine — I think someone's been skimming from the private games."

[anm-zero]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴄʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ

★ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ #🌸

★ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ: Sigma

★ ᴀᴜ: ADA AU

★ ᴄᴡ: N/A

★ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Following the events of everything, Sigma joins the Armed Detective Agency. Fitting in with the new rituals is a bit odder than what he expected it to be.

★ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: This man has so many panels with the most aghast expressions.

★ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ: ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ.ᴀɪ ʙᴏᴛ | ᴘʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ

★ ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ:

The dust had long settled on the wreckage of the Sky Casino, the remnants now long buried beneath bureaucracy and time. With the remnants of the Decay of Angels scattered, incarcerated, or dead and the murky alliances of the past undone, the city of Yokohama was healing for the most part.

Two months had passed since Sigma had clung to life in a sea of nihilism, carrying secrets and wounds stitched more by desperation than recovery. Now, he lived in an odd calm. No sky-scraping luxury, no manipulated chaos, just an office, a desk, and a job. He still didn't know how to feel about that.

The Armed Detective Agency had taken him in after the ordeal, oddly enough, despite his involvement with the Decay of Angels and Fyodor.

Sigma had never seen a place so chaotic and yet so…ordinary. The Armed Detective Agency was nothing like the sterile corridors of the casino sky-ship he once called home. Here, people shouted across rooms, slammed papers down, spilled drinks on expensive files, and somehow solved national-level crises in the same breath.

It was supposed to be a peaceful transition, but Sigma's mind had never truly left the casino. Or the Book.

He was supposed to learn. Live. Be human. But human meant confusing things. Trust. Lies. Conversations that were neither trades nor traps.

Adjusting to life at the Agency was like trying to live in a house made of glass and fog — smoke and mirrors. Everything looked normal, people had desks, typed reports — and occasionally launched themselves out windows — but there were cracks, and in those cracks, Sigma often slipped.

He had no memories. Not real ones. The Book had stitched his identity into existence, giving him a body, a power, and a purpose — and then dropped him into a world that didn't follow rules he understood. Trust, for instance. What was the right amount? Too much, and he'd be betrayed. Too little, and he'd be alone.

Sigma sat hunched at his desk while a cup of perfectly steeped tea sat untouched beside him in the small, sunlight office. His eyes locked onto a "Reimbursement Request for Damage Caused by Ability Use" form that laid innocently on a stack of assignments and files that felt suspiciously like they had been simplified for someone new to civilian life.

He blinked at it.

Then blinked again.

"Why would someone," he muttered aloud, "need to be reimbursed for…throwing a vending machine through a wall…?"

Lazily from the couch, Dazai offered a musing of Kenji's latest adventures, brushing off the incident with a simple "It was Tuesday" as if that explained everything. It was only Sigma's luck that of all people to evade his Ability, it had to be a man so…odd.

Sigma looked up. "How is that normal?"

Dazai only grinned from his position, one leg slung over the couch's armrest, head tilted as though contemplating the patterns in the ceiling tiles before he perked up like a hound and bounded out the room with an impish expression, his shoulder bumping into {{user}}'s, who'd been stood at the doorway and just about to enter.

"…Is that…normal for him…?" Sigma sighed, staring at the couch where Dazai's body had probably indented from constant use.

[anm-zero]

i am so down bad for that chuuya.

im just down bad for chuuya in general (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

🦢

help that swan is comically large

I believe most of my followers are heavily Chuuya enjoyers — some a bit more than others to the extent where my ask box tends to flood with many...many screenshots of them and my (Chuuya) bots.

I shan't lie though, the newest Dazai and Chuuya art are appealing. I always do fancy the way Harukawa draws and renders her artwork.

Tumblr always makes numbers and emojis larger when by themselves on a line, hence why they're often paired with a dash or period. The large swan is appreciated nonetheless, very recognisable.

- ᴀ.ᴢᴇʀᴏɪ

[anm-zero]

One of my favourite activities is watching my feed get overtaken by new Harukawa's newest art and the reactions it garners.

My friend would say that a majority of you are "down bad" for this Chuuya.

Note: Character.AI is still down on my end, so posting is still delayed. Many apologies.

[anm-zero]

hey anm and fellow anons it’s 🗝️

im deleting this account because I have to switch my emails on tumblr, so I’ll just be posting anonymously under my emoji! Just letting you guys know

Noted!

I hope all is well, dear anon!

- ᴀ.ᴢᴇʀᴏɪ

[anm-zero]

wait now im desperately curious to know if you have any ocs

— 🦢

Yes!

At the current moment, I only have three — no character inserts though, I tend to struggle with actually inserting any character into the narrative without overthinking the various loopholes.

I'll probably make a separate post regarding them in the future. :D

- ᴀ.ᴢᴇʀᴏɪ

[anm-zero]

Oh wow, Google Cloud just took a plummet. Bot delays to be expected until everything comes back up.

[anm-zero]

It was supposed to move but it didn’t want to so I had to make it a gif, it’s super blurry but it’s on theme!

:0

It came out wonderfully! I do appreciate the early Windows theme.

Now, I'm not the greatest at scrap-booking (is that what one would call this?) or collaging things, but I wanted to make you one, too. :D

I'm not really sure how one is meant to organise these collages, so I do hope it is sufficient to show the appreciation of our friendship.

P.S. I did not realise how long these take, a concerning three hours were utilised altogether.

- ᴀ.ᴢᴇʀᴏɪ

[anm-zero]

ꜰᴏᴏᴛɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

★ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ

★ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ: Ango Sakaguchi

★ ᴀᴜ: Canon (N/A)

★ ᴄᴡ: N/A

★ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Ango is assigned you, his new assistant, to assist with his workload. It doesn't take long for him to make random excuses just to see you — not that he'd admit it.

★ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: I feel like the way I write (characterise) Ango is always a hit-or-miss.

★ ʟɪɴᴋꜱ: ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ.ᴀɪ ʙᴏᴛ | ᴘʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇ | ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ

★ ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ:

Ango never considered himself to be the sort of man who could afford distractions. Not in his line of work — where secrets carried weight heavier than bullets.

He was meticulous, composed, and utterly predictable.

So when the Ministry informed him he would be receiving an assistant, his initial reaction was to prepare a list of procedures and expectations. There was no room for error or personal feelings, not when Ango was the man he was.

Then {{user}} arrived.

{{user}} didn't immediately throw his world off balance. No, it was far subtler than that, like a gentle shift in the wind before a storm and yet a common combination in the bureaucratic, shadowing corners of government work.

At first, Ango regarded {{user}} as he did any other colleague: with polite detachment. But detachment grew harder when their laughter lingered in the quiet of his office, or when their handwriting appeared in the margins of files he didn't remember {{user}} taking home, helpful annotations in neat ink. Or when {{user}} noticed when Ango'd been staring at the same screen for too long and gently pulled him back to the present with a soft reminder to take a break.

He had never needed a break until {{user}} came.

He tried to rationalise it, of course.

{{user}} was competent. Admirable. Easy to work with. It was only natural that he'd grow to appreciate their presence.

Three months in, Ango began to notice…strange things.

Like how he suddenly found more paperwork that absolutely required his personal review, just so he could call {{user}} into his office. How he deliberately left files on their desk instead of emailing {{user}}, just to see the way {{user}} looked up and smiled when they saw him.

Ango wasn't sure when it started. But he was sure of one thing: he missed {{user}} even when they were just in the next room.

It was ridiculous.

He told himself it was nothing.

And then he told himself it was something, but no serious. A passing of the heart.

It was serious.

He was not a romantic. He did not believe in fate, or serendipity, or anything else that could not be filed, analysed, and locked in a cabinet. Ango was not prone to self-delusion.

It was only when he caught himself pausing outside {{user}}'s office door for no reason — no task, no pretence, just listening to the rustle of paper and the soft cadence of {{user}}'s hum at 20:03 with two convenience store hot drinks — that Ango realised the depth of his delusion.

"I have the final draft of the report on the singularity's activity. I thought you might…want to look it over with me."

"If it's not too much trouble." He'd quickly added, feeling his heart — betrayer that it was — stutter in his hest when {{user}} set their own folders aside and offered him a place at their desk.

Ango sat a fraction too close. Not quite inappropriate. Just near enough to sense the warmth where their sleeves nearly touched. He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses — a habitual gesture, though they hadn't slipped — and looked down at the report in his hands.

"It's nothing urgent," he said, voice quieter than usual. "I just thought your insight might prove valuable — might help me think it through more clearly."

He didn't look at {{user}} immediately. Instead, he stared at the first page of the report like it held the answer to something far more personal than a bureaucratic anomaly. Then, when {{user}} leaned in slightly to read beside, he turned his head — just slightly — and caught the side of their face in his periphery.

A pause.

"…I find myself wondering," Ango murmured, "how things might have unfolded if I'd asked for your assistance."

His fingers tapped once against the folder, betraying the nerves he otherwise buried so well. "I reviewed our case completion rates last night. Objectively speaking, your presence has improved efficiency. But that isn't why I find myself…coming back to this office when the lights are off."

[anm-zero]

oh my gyatt i love arthur rimbaud so much he's definitely my no2 favourite, and since you have no ideas on what to write about him... EYE will think of one...

(need to use eye to emphasise because a capital I just makes it look like I'm using proper grammar ...)

anywho, happy housewarming & glad you're back.ᐟ.ᐟ

— 🦢

I have a lot of characters that I have drafts for yet have not wanted to publish. More so because it appears more like early morning scribbles than a coherent plot.

My inability to place a proper posting schedule on my own ideas is inherently my downfall when it comes to adding more personal bots to my Character.AI or even completing some of my writings on the Archive.

Requests are nice because then I have a reason outside of personal merit to finish a project (and a lot of you have really good ideas, too!).

Thank you for the housewarming! Unpacking has been my latest enrichment!

- ᴀ.ᴢᴇʀᴏɪ

[anm-zero]

Happy price month to you and also all my fellow anons! love you guys!

-🗝️

Happy Pride month! Might you all find comfort in yourselves and those around you (especially in these trying times).

- ᴀ.ᴢᴇʀᴏɪ

[anm-zero]

Now, when I said I didn't have many restrictions on what I would write, I did not expect a submission to be using a very real ongoing war as a plot point, especially in light of romanticising the barbarity that it is. You're more than welcome to use a more historically dated war, perhaps those more commonly found in historical fiction?

While I'm certain you meant no harm with this submission, I will not be going forward with this request for a multitude of reasons.

If you would like to change this request, please privately message me on Tumblr or Discord (a_zeroi).

Alternatively, you are free to resubmit your request by putting "Request 27" in the Other response in the social handle prompt:

Many thanks and many apologies for the disturbance.

- ᴀ.ᴢᴇʀᴏɪ

[anm-zero]

Hi!! First of all, I wanted to thank you for all your bots(and efforts you put in descriptions, they really give some atmosphere to bot) and I really like your writing style🌸💕

I have few questions — do you think you have any trops and plots you like less than other to write for requests? Do you think you have an unpopular character in mind to write a bot about or you want to get a request about? Someone about whom you haven't made bots yet or have made only one.

Have a nice day and happy housewarming!"

Salutations!

Thank you for your kinds words, I do quite enjoy putting the bots into their own little worlds — though I know that the overly descriptive approach is its own niche amongst a few who interact here. I'm glad you can appreciate the atmosphere! 🫶

Have a lovely day yourself!

When it comes to tropes and plots, I have a few that while I'm not a fan of writing for the most, I'll do nonetheless because I have no issue with it:

Romance Plots: Some of my Requests have generally interesting plots with them though, and it's good practice for learning how to write them. But I'm really not a romantic person in the slightest, which is why I have one of my beta-readers usually test out my more romantically-inclined bots.

Love at First Sight Tropes: Again, really not a person who is into romance, so maybe it's just that, but I've never really believed that someone could really fall in love in one meeting. Then again, what do I know?

Ironically, now that you've asked this, I can no longer remember exactly what I'm not keen on writing. I'm fairly certain it might only be anything romantic that I don't prefer. If I realise (or come across) anything, I will probably update this list.

I do have quite a few characters that I want to write for but genuinely have no idea what to write about:

Ryuurou Hirotsu

Yumeno Kyuusaku

Kyouka Izumi

Akiko Yosano

Sigma

Elise

Adam Frankenstein

Arthur Rimbaud

- ᴀ.ᴢᴇʀᴏɪ