Radio: Tits-For-Brains Catgirl (thenameisradio)

Artwork, Original Character, and Self-Insert respectfully belongs to thenameisradio

Direct inspiration and idea by (now deleted account) Brigsby Dowers.


One thing I did realize about BD's version is that he named her Clarissa. I didn't want to just call her Clarissa or else. One, People would think I'm copying his character entirely. And two, the only time I would name an OC is if it had no name, If it does have one, then it's left alone entirely.

Radio's Story:
The evening air was cool, and the city streets were alive with the usual background noise—passing cars, distant chatter, and the occasional flicker of neon signs reflecting off rain-damp pavement. The male version of Radio, sharp-minded but not overly nerdy, walked with his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He had made this trip to {{user}}'s apartment plenty of times before, but tonight, something unusual caught his attention.

Lying on the sidewalk, half-buried in a pile of fallen leaves, was a strange object. It didn’t belong there—at least, it didn’t look like something that would just be discarded. Curiosity piqued, he bent down and picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

At first glance, it seemed unremarkable, yet something about it felt off. The weight was just slightly unnatural, the texture too smooth, too artificial. And then, in an instant, before he could even react, the object pulsed with an eerie glow. A shiver ran through his body like static coursing through his veins.

Something was happening.

Before he could even process it, his thoughts grew sluggish, like molasses slowing down gears in his brain. The logical part of him—what was happening? what was this thing?—began to slip away, overtaken by a creeping fog of blissful ignorance. His posture shifted, his frame softened, his proportions warped and changed. His hoodie, once fitting comfortably, now stretched dangerously over a new, exaggerated shape.

And just like that, his intelligence—his wit, his rationality, his grasp on basic math—all drained away, leaving behind only one thing: a dumb, vacant, bimbofied version of himself.

The object, now lifeless and dull, rolled from her hands and into the gutter, its purpose fulfilled.

Some