#also also my Scrabble letters

[a-sleepy-ginger]

1/3/24

✿❈✿❈✿

Got most of my sociology assessment done just need to narrative the powerpoint

Got letters so bad in fridge Scrabble it made me laugh

Pineapple :)

[bookwyrminspiration]

there are a total of 8 O’s in a game of scrabble. guess how many O’s I drew? fucking EIGHT

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Tonight was a fun game night. I played Letter Tycoon, Machi Koro, and Camel Up all for the first time:)

[nsharks]

can we have more of fighting n make up w ghost plsss :,)

I love me my angst teehee

your first christmas with simon is by far the worst

very brief death mention

In the beginning, when your relationship is still a hesitant little game, Simon's mood can be hard to follow.

There are days between your visits at this point. He'll call you sometimes at odd hours to ask you over. Sometimes because he likes sipping tea with you. Most of the time because he wants to bury himself inside you and make you whimper.

He likes your company.

So much so that he calls you one evening, this time requesting: "Come play Scrabble with me, pet."

You'd been expecting him to invite you over, but not for this. This enigma of a man left you dumbfounded. "What?" was all you could say.

"You said you like it, right? Played it as a kid?"

You shook your head to yourself, disbelieving of his attention to the many details you'd ranted about over the past six months of knowing him. "Um, yes, I did say that."

But that was just one piece of Simon: inviting you over to play board games, grumpily bantering with you when you'd beaten him three times in a row (You must be hiding letters from me. Bloody hell.), then grabbing you by your ankles and dragging you across the rug so he could get you on his lap. He'd given a reproaching spank to your butt and said you had to ride his cock as an apology for cheating. (M’not cheating, Simon, I swear!) But you had no problem apologizing to him, there on his living room rug.

That was one piece, and then the other piece of him would arrive just a week later. Creep up on you until he wasn't even the same person anymore.

One evening, after inviting yourself over (because he'd oddly dropped off the grid for a few days), you are greeted by someone who smells an awful lot like Sterlings. He lets you in, but he's stiff. Withdrawn. He doesn’t offer much of a greeting. Just lets you tell him about your day. His hands are restrained to the pockets of his hoodie and you feel cold in the absence of their attention.

"Are you going to get a tree?" you ask him, forcing a smile despite the weird tension.

"What?"

"For the holidays," you clarify. "You know... to decorate."

Latent eyes. "Don’t plan to.”

Tongue pressed to your cheek, you decide to excuse yourself shortly after that. You mewl over your confusion that night underneath a hot shower.

Your patience and kindness is what entangled you with him in the first place. It’s also what results in you inviting him over to your flat the next day with a little surprise, hoping to bring back the man who’d played Scrabble with you and showered you with kisses.

He presents himself at your door with black sweats hugging his hips and a long-sleeved shirt. The mask, ever-present.

“I’ve got something for you,” you tell him after he’s inside, not bothering to kick off his boots.

Simon only offers you a quizzical look before waiting there as you grab the plate of cookies you’d made. But when you show him your attempt at frosted snowmen and Christmas trees, you suddenly start to feel a bit silly.

“I’ve never made these kind before,” you mutter sheepishly when he says nothing. Just stares at the cookies with a hard look. “Look, I promise they taste good. I also got you a little something.”

And then you’re pointing to a gift under your tree—

—small, humbly wrapped.

“It’s nothing much,” you shrug, chewing your lip. “It’s just something I picked up today. I thought you might need help to get you in the holiday-“

But the shift in his mood is not what you’d hoped for.

It’s strange. Like he hates everything he’s hearing.

The tension in Simon’s shoulders only seems to have woven deeper into the very fibers of him, and he’s suddenly staring between you and the cookies and the Christmas tree.

“What made you think I would wan’ any of this?” Simon cuts you off, each word a slow punch.

You must’ve misheard him. “Sorry?”

“Fuckin’ hell. I shouldn’t have come.”

Your faces pales. “I don’t understand—“

“Don’t understand what? That I don’t give a shit about the holidays?” And his low voice seems to have the same effect as barbed wire. The sheer mass of him suddenly becomes starkly apparent, filling up the room. “Can I make it any clearer for you?”

It’s a little thing called hindsight that gnaws at you. Prickles your eyes. Don’t plan to. You realize, in his own way, he’d already told you how he felt about Christmas time.

But the humiliation draws out a soft snap from you, “Is it so hard to just say thank you?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he huffs. He’s truly angry: you can’t begin to understand why. “I don’t want it.”

“A normal person would just accept it,” your fingers press into the plate. “Not be such a dick.”

“A dick, yeah?" A bitter taunt. "Can be a real dick if you want me to.”

“Jesus, Simon! No, I don’t want—“

“You sure, pet?” He gestures to the plate in your hands and the tree. “Maybe if you see just how much of a dick I can be, you’ll give this shit up.”

His eyes, typically dull and unreadable, shoot you a scrutinizing look that doesn’t even seem to resemble him. But those eyes open up to you, just for a moment. A vulnerable flame doused in what your own perception detects as guilt. Deeply buried guilt that he doesn’t know where to put right now except onto you.

“You know what—“ you’re turning from him with curled lips. Hurt. Embarrassed. There’s a splintering sound when the plate of cookies, ceramic and all, is shoved into the bin.

“However bad of a person you think you are, Simon… I promise, you are even worse than that.”

The words blister your mouth on the way out.

You don't look at him. Just listen, with your hands pressed to your temples, as you hear the thunder of his boots on his way out the door. A slam reverberates through the walls, through your trembling hands. The tears finally seep out once he’s gone. The choking kind. Leaves you a bit numb and empty by the time you’ve ghosted your way into bed.

And at this point in your relationship, there’s no Simon knocking at your door that night. No verbal apology— because Ghost never has to do that. Why would he? You're not even officially his girlfriend yet, just someone he can't seem to shake off. Someone who he thinks about a lot and someone who thinks about him. Someone who'd try, with gentle hands and patient ears, to show him that it's not so bad to be cared for.

You don’t hear from him for days. Empty days that ridicule you. A gift under the tree that snickers at you.

But did you really think he’d let you in?

There was a stony wall he’d put up long before you. Here and there, you’d manage to poke some of the bricks out, peek your gaze through. It was becoming apparent that you’d never truly find a way over it, though.

Until a little box shows up at your door—

—filled with cookies.

It’s a silent offering; you know it once you see the silhouettes of their Christmas shapes. You cry instantly. There’s no name, no message, but you know it’s from him.

That’s all there is, though. And although the box of cookies finds home on your kitchen table, you urge yourself not to give in no matter how strong the itch. You just find his name on your phone and blearily stare at it that night.

A few more days.

Finally, one evening, a dubious knock—

—you can’t stop the hope that carries you to the door.

Simon stands, looking at his feet, anger subdued, and his eyes carefully lifting up. Any scrutiny that’d once been there, storming in his pupils, has long settled. Baring its true skin of sadness.

He’s got something in his grip that you don’t notice until he’s walking in on his own accord.

His name leaves your breath but he must not hear it. Just sits down on your couch and looks at you expectantly. You join him, but leave a purposeful gap, because that scent, that warmth, would diffuse your efforts.

In his hands, a bear. Dwarfed by his palms.

“This was my nephew’s,” he tells you gruffly. Clearing his throat, he hands it to you and gives a little nod, as if to say have it. Within just days, Simon managed to give you the only two gifts he’d ever offered in your relationship. Perhaps, it’s how he thought apologies worked.

You take the bear with gentle hands and feel the aged softness, the worn love. Embedded in it: was, was, was.

Things start to click. You recall his guilt, his hate for the holidays: the distance and anger you’d witnessed in him had really been grief.

“Simon, I can’t take this from you.”

“It just sits in my closet,” he mumbles. Then, a low beg, “Take it… Please.”

You nod.

And then, Simon’s fingertips reach over the gap to touch your collarbone, a tentative request for permission that you give by saying: “It’s okay.”

It’s all he needs to hear before resting his head atop your shoulder. That skin between his brows pressed to the firm bone of you, and you feel it twist tightly to indicate that he closing his eyes, hard. Not crying, no. He didn’t have that in him. But you think, in this moment, that his offering of tender vulnerability is more than enough.

He has poked out one of the bricks in that wall for you.

“Was a proper dick,” he admits in a grumble. Mask lifted to allow a solemn kiss to you neck.

“You were,” you whisper. “But… I didn’t mean what I said.” About you being a bad person.

“Okay if you did.”

But you tell him again, shaking your head and touching his back: I didn’t mean it. And you repeat it a few more times for him until he truly hears you.

And maybe Simon won't spend Christmas day with you. No, he's not ready to let you see that much of his grief. But for tonight, he'll share those cookies with you and open that little gift you got him and tell you a few things about his nephew. Mumbling softly, "you would've liked him, I think."

[ninthcircleofprythian]

Scrabble Drabble

Just a quick little drabble based off of this reblog.

Moon Divider can be found here courtesy of @tsunami-of-tears

Also, shout out to @chairofchaos for reminding my that reading glasses exist.

Family game night after weekly dinners tended to get a little contentious. It wasn’t unusual for someone to quit midway through or to accuse another of cheating. It was no different now that Lucien had joined in the weekly tradition with his mate, Elain.

“That’s not a word!” Cassian bellowed from across the table.

“It most certainly is,” Lucien stated calmly as he straightened the wooden letter tiles he had just laid down. “It means to walk a wandering path.”

Rhys’ face screwed up in concentration as he studied the word laid on the board. “I think Cas might be right. I don’t think that’s a word.”

“I don’t think ‘rizz’ is a word either.” Feyre points out. “But we let Cas have that one.”

“Only because he gave a very compelling argument.” Mor smirked from her seat at the end of the table.

Cassian puffed out his chest with a mischievous smile. “Thank you Mor. Plus it had two z’s. It’s the only hope I had to unseat this one as reigning champ.” He shook his thumb toward Lucien.

Elain giggled from her perch on Lucien’s knee. It had been her turn to choose the game this week but she had passed the decision off to Lucien, knowing he loved this game. And she also loved it when he won. 

“It is a word,” he states matter of factly. “I’ll prove it.” 

Suddenly a thick leather bound tome appeared from thin air, making the short drop into Lucien’s open palm. His long fingers began flipping through the pages. Pulling the book from his face with a squint, he patted at his shirt.

“I can’t see withou–”

Elain deftly flipped her hand from her dress pocket, producing a folded pair of reading glasses.

“Ah, thank you my love.” He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. “Here,” he said, pointing to the middle of the page. “It is a word, just like I said. Origination - The Old Language.”

“Now wait a minute, we can’t just use words from another language. That’s definitely cheating.” Cassian whined. 

Lucien set the book down on the table and leaned forward, slipping his hand around Elain’s waist a little tighter as he did, reaching for the paper in the box top.

“According to the rules –”

“It’s another language!” Cas shouted. 

“Give it up Cassian, it’s in the dictionary.” Rhys drawled.

“Yeah, unlike ‘rizz’,” Mor chuckled.

Cas whipped his head around to her. “I thought you were on my side!”

“The rules clearly state - “ Lucien started before being cut off once more. 

“It’s fine. Word accepted.” Rhys waved an impatient hand. “Whose turn is it?”

Elain giggled a little louder this time as she added up the new tally on the scorecard, putting Lucien a good 20 points ahead of the others.

Without a word, Azriel began laying out tiles. One at a time, neatly lined up against Cassian’s previous word. With a sly smile he placed the last tile, an empty rack left in front of him on the table. 

Cassian threw a shocked face toward his brother before stammering, “All seven tiles?! That - It’s not —”

“It is a word.” Lucien stated peering over his glasses, fingers already laid upon the book’s page. 

“I quit!” Cas yelled as he stomped off. “My own family – cheaters.”

[lemon-natalia]

The Locked Tomb Reaction - The Unwanted Guest

it’s taken a while, but finally I’ve been able to get around to liveblogging this! my understanding is that The Unwanted Guest takes place in that period of time where Palamedes is ousting Ianthe from Naberius’s body? so i’m intrigued to see what actually happens, as well as how Muir writes in a new theatre-play format

‘kissing or feeding; we can’t be sure’ haha what the fuck. we’re really going in right off the bat with the surrealist horror here. i had a feeling that Ianthe’s mindscape might be a disturbing place, and apparently i was right

ok so i’m willing to suspend my disbelief that this is just a description for the reader to understand the concept but … does either Palamedes or Ianthe’s subconscious know what a 20th century English butler is?

ohhh my god Ianthe’s in a French maid costume, is this because Palamedes considers it sexy. this is so cursed. once again suspension of disbelief, but do either of these characters know what France is?

i am very much enjoying the dynamic between the two of them here, especially how unimpressed Palamedes is with, well, everything Ianthe 

oooh okay thats intriguing, there’s another person’s voice here. my first instinct is that it’s Camilla, given Palamedes is currently in her body

wow Palamedes’ immediate response to a game of essentially 20 questions is to immediately get philosophical and start a debate about whether the soul can be changed. he sounds like the kind of person who would be absolute hell to play Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit against 

what they’re talking about here is very interesting though. i like the little glimpses we get, primarily through the Sixth and the Fifth, about what academia and science looks like in a world with necromancy. whether the soul can be changed is kind of a big hypothetical in the real world, but in TLT where you can literally summon or ‘consume’ a person’s soul it would be much more directly relevant 

also a very interesting point (at least what I think he’s saying?) from Palamedes here that just because the Lyctors lived for 10,000 years doesn’t necessarily mean that the thanergy powering them is perpetual, it could just be declining very very slowly

okay so the Voice just started talking about ‘Camilla’s idea’, so presumably not her unless she’s talking about herself in third person? it could theoretically just be Palamedes debating with himself? 

Palamedes briefly trying to play bad cop/Ace Attorney and intimidate Ianthe is hilarious 

Ianthe’s insistence that she didn’t murder Naberius because it was his job to die for her anyway is an … interesting perspective

‘she and I both understand that the goal is always worth the cost’ ngl i think Harrow herself would have something to say about that, given she literally gave herself a Claire’s lobotomy in the hope of saving Gideon. it wasn’t so much Harrow who decided that Lyctorhood was worth defeating Cytherea, but Gideon deciding for her 

once again i feel horribly bad for Naberius Tern, whose worst crime was pretty much just being an asshole

hah has Palamedes picked up a cigarette habit from Pyrrha. i’m enjoying the insight into his thought process here given that he generally comes off as knowing more than other people all the time, so it’s nice to see him actually in the process of figuring stuff out 

‘She wandered around like she was the protagonist’ HAH Ianthe i have bad news for you 

aww it’s sweet to get Pal’s view on Gideon here, namely that he thinks she’s smarter than even she gives herself credit for and that he was initially jealous of her dynamic with ‘Dulcinea’ but came to like her anyways

‘My problem was reminding myself you were a child’ ohhh my god the mysterious voice is Dulcinea! i can’t believe this is literally the only time we’ve seen Pal and Dulcinea actually interact. and isn't this possibly the first time that they've had an 'in person' (so to speak) interaction since most of their relationship was sending letters to each other?? oh i am not okay

okayy i’m interested in what Dulcinea’s saying here about how she seems to have died again and ‘something awful’ happened to her soul … it doesn’t seem to totally line up with what happened at the end of HtN, especially with her mention that there are two shores on the River. again everything seems to point to the nature of the River playing a big part in AtN 

woooh Magnus Quinn reference, my beloved 

oooh i love the contrast between Ianthe’s descriptions of her relationships with Corona and Babs - despite Babs being the one who was actually the cavalier, the kind of co-dependent relationship she has with Corona is much closer to the relationship between the other cavaliers and their necromancers. which is why the fact that she’s apparently the only Lyctor to outright murder their cavalier vs her admission that she wouldn’t have used Corona is very interesting to me

‘Coronabeth herself is part of your goal’ i’m very interested in the long-term goal of Ianthe in general. obviously one part was becoming a Lyctor, but i do wonder if she has something else planned, i doubt she’s content to just sort of do what John wants her to do forever

‘Jeannemary Chatur regaled me with the story at breakfast’ woooh Jeannemary reference. also this is such a cute detail

ooooh Palamedes's newfound cigarette habit is from Ianthe not Pyrrha, that's very fun

and Palamedes’ final point here that the soul is permeable is not just very satisfying against Ianthe’s general smugness, but has very interesting implications for all of the Lyctor characters, especially the fact that their titles are named after their cavaliers. for example, how much of Mercy’s devotion originally came from her versus the fact that Christabel pre-Res was a literal nun. and what does it mean for John and Alecto exactly - how much of the same person, or even human, is he after literally eating the soul of a planet

ok this isn’t to do with the Unwanted Guest exactly but i am very concerned by the notice at the very end that ‘Hell Will Break Loose’ in AtN. it already sounds ominous enough without considering that the previous notice, ‘Gideon will return’ at the end of HtN was done in the most painful way possible 

overall i really enjoyed this! what i really like about the additional short stories Muir writes for TLT is that you get to see little character moments and explore bits of the lore that would have dragged the main story down a bit, so it was very fun to see Palamedes and Ianthe interact one-on-one and debate a bit

and now i really have run out of stuff to liveblog about these books rip my sanity

[exoticalmonde]

The Evealia Guide Through Babel (event) - Part IV

Man, why do all of you have the most terrible names to remember? This is what actual witchcraft sounds like. Aefanyl. I'm going to scramble him like I'm scrambling these letters trying to make the name Logos out of this Scrabble.

Even more interesting is the aspect that she used magic to preserve the way she looks, so she can be eternal in his memory. It's kind of sweet, kind of... sad. Very sad if you think about how it seems like she doesn't have a long time left. I wonder if I can find anything else about her--

O, lady,

THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE NOW, LOOK AT THIS

SHE IS ONE OF THE SIX HEROES????

That makes... Her, Theresis, Theresa, Kal'tsit....? Two more are missing. It might be obvious but I genuinely forgot right now. I'm sure when Dr. Pinkie sees this she's going to beat me over the head since we spoke about this.

Anyways,

Ascalon is fighting with Theresis this time. It's a bittersweet goodbye too.

Theresis is still respected by Ascalon, so it's a struggle for her to face him truly. He's also giving her some fair pointers as a last goodbye.

[You still don't know what you seek, do you? To protect? That's just empty self-deceptive sentimentality. When you're unsure of your path, you merely project your motivations onto vague ideals.] <I really like this quote. Can you tell?

[I-I've thought about it carefully.]

[Perhaps. Then follow Theresa and protect her, but don't blindly adopt her ways. Think for yourself. Manfred found his answer long before you did.]

Then, Ascalon falls to one knee and turns to a mist that closes around Theresis. When it disperses, he's left with a stone knife in his hand.

As terrifying as that conversation was, nothing could prepare me for the one Theresa and Theresis had - basically agreeing that if any of them comes in the way of the other, they will have to be killed.

The Babel procession stretches far as the eye could see, past the disdainful crowd. Theresis walks towards the crowd and stand with them. He has left Theresa's side for the first time in two centuries.

They say their goodbyes.

Then something occurs, enough the silence the restless onlookers and momentarily halt the procession.

[A mercenary steps out of the line to embrace his best friend in the procession. No one can hear the whispers exchanged between the two friends by the ruins of Babel, but all are willing to wait and give them their moment of farewell.]

[A farewell between the people and their city, and between two peoples of the same blood.]

With them, Odda also part ways. With his family. His home.

For Theresa's eyes only, there's a letter. A functional ship has been excavated from Rim Billington. On it, she found something that could change the tide of history.

Given its importance, Kal'tsit has a lot of faith in its utility for their plan.

---

BB-ST-2

Awakening in Exhaustion

[Things have not gone according to plan.]

PRIESTESS???

Can I be honest? I'm going to be honest.

I don't really like Priestess. I think yesterday Dr. Kryo asked what we all think about her and my immediate response is 'I hope she died'. Which, I think if somebody (not me) has read Vigilo they might confirm what happened with her.

If anything, I think I'm going to go and have a little dip in Vigilo since it's one of those episodic stories and I checked out the Wiki long enough to figure out which episodes will be important to understand.

But overall, yeah, I don't like her and I've been struggling to understand the Doctor for long enough to know that I probably never will agree with their ideas. As Priestess says, us lower-intelligence lifeforms can't even hope to understand their greater plans.

And speaking of plans, we should move on with the Babel story.

Four Years Ago...

Summer, 1090

We're opening with Closure and Scout, how wonderful. Hm... Interesting, why do I have this nagging feeling that there's something inherently sad about the situation?

Ah.

Well, they are on a mission. Closure imparts with us the detail that she and Kal'tsit have secured the ship and have been working on dealing with the defence system for a specific package that is on board.

Snapping to Kal and Theresa, they're talking about a specialist in Originium, the only person who can help with their task. They stand before a set of doors that have not been opened for a long time, reminiscing in the fact that Kal'tsit, no matter how careful she is, still cannot predict all the contingencies.

But they open it anyway.

And this light, we're familiar with. There was once an event, where we witnessed this same feeling, the same occurrence and that same red light shining down on Kal'tsit. Though, this is a couple of years prior.

In Lone Trail.

[Search: Preserver... No signal.] [Search: Caerula Arbor... No signal.] [Search: Celestial Fulcrum... No signal.] [Search: (Unknown static noise)... No signal.] [.......] [Search complete. No signal detected on any channel.] All these spots we are familiar with and for me it was bone-chilling to see them. Preserver is a reference to the Preserver Project, which was created by the "First Civilization" at some point after the "disaster from above" that resulted in the Civilization's near-total annihilation. They are meant to act as overseers of the Sarcophagi where the Civilization's survivors are kept in stasis until they can be awakened when the situation stabilizes in the distant future so they can restore their civilization. [Image above]

Caerula Arbor is our current IS4. Known also as the "Creeping Branch" is a dying tree-like Leviathan representing the power of "Growth" who had lost His struggle in controlling the kin, causing Him to fall from grace from the Many. His roots grow towards the core of Terra and feed on the energy of the magma beneath the surface, and is said to have the potential to consume the entire planet if allowed to grow unchecked, but currently, the Arbor is acting as a mere food source that nourishes microscopic Seaborn cells in the ocean.

Celestial Fulcrum is uh...

:)

And actually, we know a little bit more about the unrecognisable static, because we have already seen it part of a concept trailer. We were actually JUST shown this, so I did such a good job strategically stalling just so I can put this in the script.

Voila, if you have not seen it yet.

This is very kindly provided by the Wiki.

[Last update: Four million, seven hundred fifty-five thousand, nine hundred and fifty-four days ago.]

Me thinks it's around 13K years and that's quite a bit since the last update.

So the Doctor was woken up rather early, with Originium still abound. Interesting part is, they're surprised about the way it has managed to survive/has evolved - through the Sarkaz and Oripathy.

Oh no this is so endearing....

It's so endearing and sad at the same time. Doctor learning about Theresa, holding her warm hands. She was so excited to learn the language of the past from Kal'tsit, but instead Doctor hits her with 'my world is lost'.

For those like me who missed it entirely SOMEHOW, Civilight Eterna is the Crown of the Sarkaz, although I'm not sure how Doctor recognises it when he was not present during it's... release(?) and whether he understands the significance of it differently to what I know.

She's showing the Doctor different parts of their... life, I suppose.

This quote stuck out to me a lot:

Before I'm immediately on my knees because of the mentioning of a pioneer chasing the stars is pushing forward with his fallen ally on his back.

This is UNFAIR,

THEY'RE BEING MENTIONED AGAIN.

After witnessing the way Terra is right now, the Doctor seems to take it in rather well. In their view, it's all moving in the right direction, a mix of ignorance and progress that feels nostalgic and beautiful. Within Theresa, the Doctor spots somebody who loves Terra, not just a single nation. Her ideals are pure, but ultimately, way too different. She might be loathed for that, because her people aren't ready for this kind of step.

Thus the Doctor is willing to cooperate and help by first exploring the land itself to learn about the way Originium has influenced life, culture and the environment.

Ascalon is being sent after them both for protection and with a secret little task from Theresa - to explore the things other nations have, because the Sarkaz don't have the luxury to choose.

[shock]

really enjoying the uncle-to-a-2yrold phase of being an uncle right now. in the span of an hour we played instruments terribly, i cartoon-snore pretended to sleep in his pile of stuffed animals, played cat noises on a soundboard, got told 'surprise!' before being handed another farm animal about 6 times, he fell and hit his head on part of a chair but i rubbed his head and told him to dance it off and he tried sooo hard and danced it off and started laughing so we went and told his mom how AWESOME he danced it off, i whispered at him to go tell people they were stinky and he did so, we spelled words out of scrabble letters on the floor and i taught him how funny it was to make up new words like 'TEEBIE' and 'HOOL', pretended my hand was a talking creature who couldn't see trying to find him, had various magic spells cast at me with a colored pencil, had a giant stuffed charmander thrown at me while being told 'CHARMANDER!!!', and when he tried to jump on me we reminded him that i was still healing so i couldnt pick him up yet and his understanding is that uncle jack's boobs were broken so they fixed them but they still need to heal and they're getting better and we showed him how different the scars looked compared to a month ago and he's so genuinely curious and caring i love that i get to be an uncle who not only is privileged to be part of a person's formative experiences as a casual trans person but also GETS TO BE THE GUY WHO TEACHES HIM TO PUT 'WHAT THE FART?!' IN HIS VOCABULARY!!!!! 😈😈😈😈😈😈

[andypantsx3]

Deceiving the Duke | 4 | Todoroki Shouto

pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female Reader

length: 3.1k of 30k words | 4th of 9 chapters

summary: When Camie Utsushimi elopes on the eve of her society debut, scandal threatens to destroy the family’s prospects. It’s up to you, a maid, to impersonate Camie throughout the Season, long enough that her elder sister can make a match. The only trouble? Lord Shouto Todoroki is also intent on making a match—and that match, quite impossibly, appears to involve you.

tags/warnings: romance, regency au, class differences, hidden identity/identity porn, aged up characters, eventual smut

A few weeks on, you received a reply from Camie.

It was a great luck that the Utsushimis employed so few staff, which meant that you were the servant in charge of collecting the post. You imagined Mrs. Utsushimi would have seized on the letter as soon as she caught sight of it.

It was addressed in Camie’s horribly girlish hand, and it opened in the most typical of Camie phrasings.

Y/N, my sweet foolish friend–

Your plot is hilarious but doomed and you should end it sooner rather than later. Mumsy should have never asked you for this, it’s sure to ruin you and ruin her, even if Caroline makes a match.

I would have always taken care of her, and Inasa has promised the same. Of course you will come live with us on Inasa’s estate, too.

You’ll find a way to put a stop to things, won’t you?

She’d signed her name below with an aggressively elaborate flourish, so you knew how upsetting she truly found the news.

Guilt settled in your stomach like a leaden weight.

You shouldn’t have undertaken this plot, obviously. You’d said as much in your original missive to Camie. But now that the scheme was already well underway, you thought it had to be seen through. Otherwise, what had all this been for? The Utsushimi family would be embroiled in scandal with absolutely nothing to show for it. And you doubted Mrs. Utsushimi would be so generous with your promised wages, were you to renege on your commitments now.

Carefully folding Camie’s letter and stowing it under your mattress, you decided you’d just have to redouble your efforts. Perhaps you would start accepting dances with gentlemen just to talk Caroline up, and mention her kindly to Miss Uraraka and Lady Asui.

You wished you’d taken the chance to mention her to Lord Shouto, before you’d caused the scene at Lady Cathleen’s party. If he wasn’t actually courting Princess Yaoyorozu, that was, as rumor seemed to suggest.

With a new plan in mind, you started your morning chores, mending the hem of one of Mrs. Utsushimi’s gowns where she’d torn it, starching the linens, picking seams on the latest of Camie’s dresses you planned to wear. You helped the family with breakfast and saw them off to the milliner’s, after which you changed their bedding and washed the old sheets. You were just settling down to get more work done on one of Camie’s gowns when a knock came at the door.

When you pulled it open, you found Lord Shouto on the other side, peering into the dim of the hallway. His mouth parted in surprise to see you, those mismatched eyes going rounder at the corners. You immediately panicked, slamming the door shut on him.

Fuck! You’d been dressed in your maid attire, not expecting the family to receive a caller! Your only grace was that the hall was very dim this time of the morning–you hoped he hadn’t been able to make out your dress in the dark.

“Um!” you called through the door, your voice strangled. “Forgive me, my lord, I am not yet properly attired! I will be right back!”

You dashed up the stairs, grabbing the latest of Camie’s gowns, quickly unlacing your apron and shedding your clothes, then stuffing yourself into the dress. Your fingers scrabbled over all the ties and buttons, shaky with nerves. You were back down the stairs in under two minutes, panting, hoping Lord Shouto wasn’t working himself into a state at being so rudely received.

When you pulled the door open again, however, he was wearing a curious expression. Those eyes picked over you, seeming to note every detail, and you self-consciously tugged at the skirts of your dress. You did not even want to think of the state of your hair.

There was a bouquet of flowers in his hand, sweet purple lilacs decorated with bursts of white clover. You squinted at the flowers, remembering Caroline had told you each had a special meaning, if you knew how to interpret them.

They looked too pretty to be declarations of your idiocy, however, so you guessed they might not be for you.

“I—you must be here to see, um, Caroline?” you asked. “I’m afraid she’s out at the moment–she should be back in a few hours, however–if you want to leave your card…”

Lord Shouto shook his head, stepping forward. “I am here for you.”

Your heart tripped over itself with his proximity, and you backed up a step, leaning back to look into his face. “I–-you are?” you asked stupidly.

The tiniest hint of a smile twitched at the edge of his mouth. “I came to see that you were well, after Lady Cathleen’s.”

Your stomach churned guiltily. That was really too kind, especially considering that you’d done nothing but fling snacks at him, ramble nonsense at him, and then pretended to faint on him. To say nothing of the fact that you were pretending to be an entirely different person than the one you’d introduced yourself as. And here he was, in your doorway still, looking at you carefully, as though he meant to catch you were you to faint again.

Now that he was here, it would not be so easy to refuse him. You backed out of the doorway, gesturing him inside. “Please come in. I can serve tea in the sitting room.”

Lord Shouto inclined his head and followed you inside. You lead him to the parlor, glad you’d neatened it, wondering at your own nerve–a servant, entertaining a duke, in a sitting room that was not her own.

“The maid is, um, indisposed today,” you told him. “I’ll make the tea myself, please make yourself comfortable.”

You left him to his own devices, darting to the kitchen. You’d hoped to run into the cook but she was also apparently out, probably at market, so you threw the kettle on and spent several long minutes rummaging around for the nice tea–-the kind Mrs. Utsushimi only served when she wanted to impress. You figured a duke would definitely meet her criteria for people worth impressing.

When you returned, Lord Shouto had left his flowers laying over the settee. He was at the mantle over the fireplace, glancing through the Utsushimis’ portraits and displayed needlework. That curious look was back on his face when he turned back to you, and his eyes seemed to rove over every inch of your face.

He looked strange, in fact, as though he’d just been confronted with a startling discovery. You flushed under his scrutiny, hoping you hadn’t missed a stain on your dress or some large rip in the fabric.

You hurried to the corner and set the tea tray down on the sideboard. Your skin prickled tellingly as he drew near, and you quickly poured him a cup and ordered him into a chair to get him away from you. You did not understand why his presence made you feel so strange.

You dared to pour yourself a cup of tea, too, and perched on a chair opposite him, luxuriating in how good the tea was compared to your usual fare.

“I, um, appreciate you calling,” you said to him, watching him settle into his chair, and trying not to pay too much attention to the way his thighs filled out his breeches, or the way his shoulders seemed to take up the entire width of the chair back.

Lord Shouto sipped at his tea, humming low in his throat. “Have you recovered, Miss Utsushimi?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes. It was just, um, a passing thing. I am completely fine.”

He looked satisfied, smiling softly into his tea cup. “I am happy to hear it.”

You noticed his lashes left long shadows over the tops of his cheekbones as he drank, and you pinched your leg through your skirts when you realized how deeply undue that observation was.

You quickly cast about for something to take your mind off of the way Lord Shouto looked sitting across from you.

“The flowers are pretty,” you said, glancing over at them. The purple of the lilacs looked especially deep against the lighter fabric of the settee–you wondered what purple lilac was supposed to mean, and which of the Utsushimis they were for.

Lord Shouto had said he was calling on you, but he’d not said the same of the flowers. It would be the height of conceit to think that they were also for you, especially given how completely unhinged you’d been with him to date. A man did not bring flowers to a woman who pelted him with snack cakes.

“Are they–-Caroline’s?” you guessed.

Another threat of a smile pressed at Lord Shouto’s mouth. “You speak as though you’ve never received flowers before.”

That arrested you. What did he mean, you? They were for you? You couldn’t help the way your mouth dropped open.

“I–me?” you asked, dumbfounded. “I’ve never—are you certain?”

Lord Shouto’s eyebrows went up, and there was a note of something amused in his deep tone. “I should hope so.”

You left your cup on the table beside you, unable to help the way you were drawn to the flowers. Your first bouquet! And probably your only, considering your prospects and the expense. But they were so lovely, and they smelled so bright and green and fresh.

A weird giddiness came over you, and you tried to squash the feeling down.

“I–Thank you, Lord Shouto,” you said, unable to help the embarrassingly touched note in your voice. “They are beautiful.”

Lord Shouto looked a little bit smug, you thought, as you fingered some of the petals, feeling their silky smoothness on the pads of your fingers. You’d have to put them in water. And maybe hide them in your room, if you got the chance. You doubted Mrs. Utsushimi would be pleased to discover Lord Shouto had brought you flowers, considering you were supposed to be keeping a low profile.

Which you were apparently utterly failing at.

You turned back to Lord Shouto, placing your flowers on the seat next to you, unwilling to be parted from them. It was probably strange, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care quite enough to try to be normal about it all.

“They don’t mean something like learn Greek, do they?” you asked him suspiciously.

Lord Shouto laughed, out loud this time, low and easy, and the sound went straight to your head.

“They do not,” he said, but he did not elaborate on whether they did mean something. You made a note to try and look them up later.

You had the sudden, wild thought that a man bringing a woman flowers meant something more than you were currently accounting for. And it also dawned on you that you were a man and woman alone–-an impropriety by any of good society’s standards, regardless of the fact that your first meeting had been much like this as well.

“Caroline and Mrs. Utsushimi should be back soon,” you blurted out, as if to reassure him that you had no inappropriate designs on him.

Lord Shouto looked unbothered, watching you with those mismatched eyes over the rim of his tea cup. “It does not matter to me. I am not here to see either.”

There was something teasing in his tone that warmed you all the way to your toes, and you had to school your face so as not to betray how much that pleased you.

You tried to remind yourself that he meant nothing by it, and that this could be nothing, in the end. And now was as good a time as any to try and talk Caroline up, now that you had Lord Shouto in your clutches.

“Caroline is good company, it is a loss,” you said. “Have you met her?”

“In passing,” Lord Shouto said. “She’s never flung anything, so I’m afraid she did not make a significant impression on me.”

You laughed. “But a better one, I hope.”

Lord Shouto did not say so.

“You’ll remember how pretty she is, though,” you said insistently. “And she does read Ancient Greek, I think. She’s accomplished on the piano forte.”

“So her hobbies are not so secret as yours?” Lord Shouto asked.

You smiled. “She is rather more accomplished. I must hide my own in order to save myself the embarrassment.”

Lord Shouto leaned forward in interest. “You’ll tell me at least one? You are aware I am a trustworthy secret keeper.”

He looked so earnest, and his tone was so genuine, you couldn’t do anything but give him what he wanted. Much may it please him to learn.

“My chief hobby is reading–though obviously not in any ancient languages. I’m…quite fond of novels, actually.” You were mostly fond of them because Camie was fond of them, and they were the principal artifact she had been able to smuggle you. But you quite liked all the tales of adventure, cunning, and head-spinning romance. The only type of adventure you’d seen thus far was this hare-brained scheme of yours–and it would not end nearly so well as the stories in your novels did.

“I too, enjoy reading,” Lord Shouto obliged you. “Though not usually novels.”

You smiled. “I’ll recommend you some, though I can’t tell if you’d enjoy them. They’re a lot of nonsense.”

“I believe I told you,” Lord Shouto said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on those thighs. “I like nonsense.”

For some reason, your heart did a weird fluttering motion in your chest. Your cheeks heated, and you grasped your tea cup tighter, as if holding on for safety.

“Well, then,” you said. “I’m certain I can oblige you. I’ll send you a list, perhaps.”

Lord Shouto looked pleased, blinking long and slow like a cat in a sunbeam. “I’d quite like that.”

You took another sip of your tea to hide some of your face, trying to reign yourself in. You had not meant for this conversation to turn towards you–Caroline was the objective here. You wracked your brain for another segue back to her.

“I’ll ask Caroline to send along recommendations as well–though they won’t be novels,” you said. “Perhaps something in Greek may tempt you.”

Lord Shouto regarded you curiously. “Your recommendations do not stand on their own?”

You frowned at him defensively. “My recommendations are the finest,” you sniffed.

A tiny smile lifted the corner of his lips, like he’d caught you. “Then I need only accept yours.”

“But really–Caroline–” you started, but Lord Shouto cut you off.

“Miss…Utsushimi,” he said, pausing strangely over the name. “It is not Caroline’s opinions I seek. My attentions are yours, and yours alone.”

You froze, a spear of ice plunging into your heart. His attentions were yours? What could he mean–which attentions, exactly? That sounded quite terribly like an admission of interest–-romantic interest–-except that would be insanity itself.

He was so very noble, and so very handsome, and you were beginning to learn that he was so very kind. You were the most horrible match imaginable for him.

You’d have to make sure he understood it.

“Lord Shouto, you understand I do not mean to marry,” you said, testing the waters.

“You’ve intimated as much,” he replied, his tone low. “Though your reasons…remain a mystery.”

For some reason, his eyes cut back to the mantle, lingering strangely over the Utsushimi family’s portraits.

“I would be a poor choice,” you said. “You understand my shortcomings already.”

Lord Shouto’s features arranged themselves into a mask of polite incredulity. “You think all a man wants in a wife is her knowledge of ancient languages?”

A laugh burst out of you. “In part.”

A tiny smile threatened the corner of Lord Shouto’s mouth again. “I assure you there are other qualities one might desire.”

Yes, like needlework and piano forte and singing and such. Your talents lay elsewhere–and plenty undiscovered.

“I also understand that your hand is all but promised to Princess Momo,” you told him. You hoped he understood what you were implying–whatever attentions he had been referencing, he needn’t lavish them on you.

“Do you?” Lord Shouto said softly.

You nodded earnestly. Lord Shouto looked thoughtful but did not elaborate.

You wondered what he was really doing here, in the Utsushimis’ sitting room. If he meant for you to be a distraction, a shield against the other debutantes while he waited on the princess. Or if he was perhaps open to marriage.

You decided it could not hurt to continue to peddle your Caroline agenda. Whatever Lord Shouto’s reasons, you were not a suitable prospect for him. But if he was open to marriage, Caroline would be a good match.

“Still, I’d like you to meet Caroline,” you said. “I’ll introduce you at the Satos’ dinner next week.”

“If you like,” Lord Shouto said vaguely, but you could tell he had no interest in her. His eyes drifted back to the mantle, roving over the miles of needlework and colorful oils of the portraits.

You sighed, sensing the enormity of the task before you.

After that, Lord Shouto steered the conversation back into calmer waters, trying to ferret out more about you. You managed to turn a great deal of it back on him, learning more about his family. You were surprised to learn he was the baby of his family, as he’d inherited his father’s title.

He told you about his eldest brother, Touya, who’d disowned the family to join some antimonarchist group in the south, and his other brother Natsuo, who’d rejected the title to become a man of the cloth instead. He talked fondly of his mother and his older sister, Fuyumi, who he seemed to visit often.

You liked the way he spoke about the people in his life, with patience and intention—even Touya, who it was clear had bad blood with the rest of the family. You could have listened to him for hours, luxuriating in his low, soft tone, the occasional conspiratorial twitch of his mouth.

He really was unlike anything you’d expected from a duke.

Eventually the tea ran cold, and the real world called back to you both. You saw Lord Shouto to the door with both regrets and a resolution forming in the back of your mind.

Whatever his interest in you, you would redirect it to Caroline, and kill two birds with one stone–Caroline could make her match, and Lord Shouto would be made to see what a pretty, qualified wife could be like. You carefully ignored the large part of you that recoiled at the thought.

It did not matter what you wanted, and you wouldn’t let yourself think on it. Lord Shouto was good, and he should make a suitable match.

You would arrange it so Lord Shouto and Caroline got a happy ending, just like in your novels.

You would make absolutely sure of it.

[nrdmssgs]

Hello! Could you do some headcannons or some characters reacting to this scenario?

So I was sitting on the floor with my bff and we are playing a game of sorts right? He's hella competitive so I look up and i see the hottest smirk on his face. Like his eyes are half litted and just foxlike as he smirked down at me.

Now the cod characters are obvi gonna be in different situations but for example like we are training and they get their ass handed to and they just look up to see the most cockyest hottest smirk possible on our face.

You can change things if you'd like! Thank you! - JAY

TF 141 + Nikolai reacting on (different) readers, having hot smug smirk

Masterlist This is pure fluff and comfort. Sometimes with romance, sometimes platonic. AN: Jay!! Thank you for being so patient with me) I really hope, I got your request right. But if I failed - feel free to paraphrase and resend it to me, so we can figure this out. Also: I loved working on this. So much fun!!

Captain John Price

"Come on, now you are just making up words!" Price lets out a cloud of cigar smoke in the air.

But you insist, it is a real word, since you were pretty proud, it was about to win you a game of scrabble against a native English speaker.

"Somebody, look this up, I have this feeling, there's a cheater in our ranks." Captain stretches his back and shoulders, while waiting for anyones confirmation.

"Ehm, it's actually a word." Gaz leans over the table where you and Price play and shows him something on the smartphone screen. Then he looks at the letters Price has left and whistles.

"Looks like you won, congratulations," Kyle pats you on the shoulder with that.

You clapped your hands loudly and jumped up from the table. "Yes! An hour and a half in that horrible chair, my back won't thank me, but it was worth it!"

The others turn at the sound of your voice and come over to congratulate you.

Price does not stand up, but takes another puff, watching your widening cocky grin.

When you finally approach him, holding out your hand for a friendly handshake, he gathers a few letter chips into his palm.

"Sir, it was a pleasure to ruin you on this fine evening!" You wait for a handshake, but he takes your wrist, flips your hand and gives you a few of his letters.

"Go on, professor, figure yourself, where you've made a mistake." He chuckles darkly, amused by your expression getting puzzled and lost.

You look at the letters in your hand, then at the playing field... And you don't understand what word can be formed from what John gave you.

"Need a hand?" Price squints. You nod, and he takes letters one by one from your hand and places them in the field.

"What... what does that mean?" As you ask, others, for some mysterious reason, diverge to the far corners of the room.

"Someone needs a lesson, I see," Price purrs "C`mere, this is a nasty one."

As you lean closer, he brushes hair off your ear and whispers, what does the word he has just laid out on the field, mean. And with every next his word, your face becomes more red.

"Now be a darling and do the math, so that your Captain knows with what score exactly did he beat you." Price stand up, cracks his back and leaves you alone at the table.

(Of course, he will return with tea and something sweet to cheer you up. He just wanted to teach you to never celebrate too soon.)

Kyle Gaz Garrick

He was always your biggest fan. From that time, you showed him your very first painting to this very moment, your local gallery declared your private selling exhibition open.

"I bet, I don't understand even one third of the meaning behind this one, but I'm in love. Just want to look at it every day," he confesses when you get closer to him.

"And you have a trained eye for a soldier. This painting is one of the most pricey ones." You fan yourself with a price list printed out for visitors. Kyle catches it in flight, quickly finds the picture in front of which you met in the list, and looks up at you.

"Jeez, after I retire - I'll ask you to teach me how to paint!" He finally lets go of the price list in your hand and gives you a warm and soft embrace. 'Famous Garrick signature hug' as you two used to call it always. The best hug, you could ever get.

"Congratulations," He huffs in your hair, not wanting to let go. "Can I already flex, that my best friend is a famous artist?"

"Oh, yes, famous artist, that has sold zero paintings yet." You chuckle, leaning back.

"You just wait, till I become a Captain, your works will all be sold, before they are even ready." Kyle is the only man able to illuminate any space with just his laugh. You wish, you could tell that to him, but it sounds banal and vulgar even in your head.

Later that evening, when someone approaches you and asks if that painting is still available, you shake your head in excuse.

Six months later, you celebrate Kyle's birthday. His colleagues gathered in a small and cozy local pub.

You all have known each other for a long time, so they all greet you warmly when you approach their table.

Kyle jumps up and hugs you with such a speed that you almost drop the present you were hiding behind your back.

"Happy birthday!" You smile and hand him a big flat box.

Suspecting nothing, Kyle opens it and freezes in shock.

"What, what is it? Gaz, what you've got?" Johnny MacTavish was agitated as usual.

"You can't..." Kyle looks from the painting to you. "You can`t give it to me..."

"Just did it, Garrick," a wide smile spreads across your face. The more times he looks from you to the painting and back, the more smug your grin gets.

He can't thank you enough. The whole evening, he keeps repeating, "You are crazy. Freaking psycho, I tell you... I promise, I'm gonna come up with the best present on your birthday."

As the others start heading home, Price calls Kyle over. "If this is not screaming to you, you have a chance with that girl, Gaz, I'll have to send you for your hearing screening before your next deployment."

Simon Ghost Riley

You hated weekly performance reviews. Others may find it terrifying, since the Lieutenant wasn't very generous with praise, but you just couldn't stand this infinite cycle. Because every week it was the same.

"Y/N, you already know what I have to say." "Yes sir. More confidence brings better results."

You two kept going over this exact dialogue for the last month. Week after week. "More confidence, Y/N".

This review went on as usual. You reacted on your name automatically. "Yes, sir."

When others started leaving his office, you too stood up and headed to the door.

"I asked you to stay, soldier." Ghosts low voice rumbles behind your back, making you frown. Yes, maybe you should have paid more attention to what was he saying.

You turn around and land on the first chair, you see. It was useless to try to come with excuse, why you almost sneak out of his office instead of following his command, so you prepare to obediently accept his condemnation.

But he instead takes a small box sealed in plastic from his desk and throws it on the table in front of you. "Open it. And read the rules out loud. I don't have a single idea, how to play this one."

"Sir? You want us... to play a card game? Am I missing something?" Instead of an answer, he gives a long look, that could make anyone frightened. Yes, when it came to the Lt, you never knew if this man just looking at you without any particular purpose or actually was plotting to end you.

So you unpack a deck of cards and read the rules. The game wasn't too complicated, but required strategic thinking and some understanding of behavioral patterns of the opponent.

You two play a pair of rounds, and then Ghost says 'enough with training, you win this time - you get a reward'.

"Wait, how? I don't think, I'm ready..." "Observe, memorize, analyze, react, don't forget to count the cards and believe in yourself." He looks you in the eyes and nods at the deck.

At first, you panic. Does he really expect you to beat him in a game where you have to manipulate your opponent? This is not a gullible and naive colleague - this is Simon 'Ghost' Riley - someone, whom you can't just read like an open book!

But at some point you notice a particular pattern in a way, he plays. And that leads you to an idea worth of the risk.

So you start carefully tinkering circumstances to make him do just what you want. And he follows to your surprise!

In a few minutes you understand, you got him trapped. There are only a pair of moves left to defeat Ghost.

"That's what I wanted to see," Ghost leans back in his chair a bit, not even looking at his hand.

You tense up a little, wondering why he's looking at your face instead of his cards, and then you realize you're smiling broadly, enjoying the approach of victory.

"Excuse me, sir." "No, keep that smile. Remember it. Never forget the smile, with which you beat 'the Ghost' you were so afraid of. And next time you feel insecure - put on that smile for a minute, ok? Now get on with it and win this round finally."

Johnny Soap MacTavish

"But Johnny! I'm in the mood for crimes!!" you whined, as he pulled you away from the garden fence.

"Na-a-ah, no crimes for you today, lassie. I'd hate it if you end up in prison." Soaps grip around your wrist was iron.

"One berry! I won't end up in jail for eating one berry, that I've found, by the way, outside this fence, because the bush overgrown through it!" You keep protesting.

"We'll, go on a farmers market and ill buy you a flippin` ton of those berries, you little rascal!" Johnny catches you by the waist and lifts you up in his arms with such ease, as if you weigh nothing. The longed-for berries, so affably peeking out from behind the neighbor's fence, turn out to be farther and farther away.

You see them off with a sad sigh. "But the stolen ones are always sweeter!"

Soap grumbles about how childhood hit you at the wrong time, but can't help but smile. He loves coming back from deployments and hanging out with you, just the same as when you two were kids.

Today you decided to go for a picknick on the nearest lake and on the way you decided that you just need to pick a few berries from the neighbors. The fact that the neighbors were not at home at that moment did not bother you, because 'CRIMES' as you happily shrieked.

As you reached the lake, Soap went for a quick swim, and you stayed to enjoy some rare for your region sun. You never understood, how he could swim in this ice-cold water.

When he came back and didn't find you anywhere near your picnic blanket, he grew suspicious.

His suspicions grew stronger when you emerged from behind the hill, grinning contentedly.

"Well, where have you been?" Johnny folded his arms across his chest.

"First, dry yourself, you will drip water all over our blanket!" You got close enough not to scream. Too close. Because he noticed your purple tongue.

"Show me your tongue." You froze at those words.

You took a few steps back, and he cocked his head to the side, as if he was trying to figure something out in his mind.

"I was gone for 10-15 minutes... Did you manage to run to that garden and back?"

Instead of answering, you jumped up and rushed away from him. But Johnny's reaction was lightning fast: he caught up with you in a couple of swift motions and put you on his shoulders.

"I'm getting half of my dress wet because of you!" you screamed, trying to escape.

"Not half," he answered with a mischievous voice.

You followed Soap's gaze and realized that he was carrying you towards the water.

"Johnny no..."

"Johnny, yes!" he grinned ominously.

Nikolai

"You're going down, MacTavish!" You swing with such force that you almost lose your balance. A snowball flies towards Soap and you hear a soft pop as it hits his face and spills over his jacket.

"Yes!! Still the champion! Still have it!!" With a wild grin, you twirl around in a tiny victory dance. Soap could be better than you on a firing range and at training fields, but when it came to snowball fights - you were invincible.

You've secretly waited for winter and prayed for a snowfall every year just to show Johnny, you are a force to be reckoned with.

So you really deserve this little moment of triumph.

You still smile when you hear Soap calling your name.

A satisfied sneer blooming on your face as you turn around... and freeze.

Johnny stands there as if nothing had happened, the smirk on his face almost as wide as yours. And a few meters behind him is Nik, shaking the snow from behind the collar of his jacket.

"You ducked?! That's not fair, Soap!" "Since when using my knees is not fair?" Johnny moves aside little by little.

You meet Niks unamused gaze and shrug. "I am so terribly sorry, Nikolai. I swear, this was an accident!"

"Accident, yeah? I see, you like playing with snow so much..." He finishes brushing off the snow and holds out his hand to you. "Come closer, I can teach you a thing or two about snow. Where I come from, we've had a lot of it."

You shake your head. "You can't, you are not my Captain." This should have sounded like a reasoning, but comes out more as a plea.

"Captain?" Nikolai shouts, "I need to teach one of your soldiers a lesson, is it ok with you?" "Is it Gaz?" Price's voice reaches you. "No." "No objections then! Take your time!"

You quietly curse as Nik turns to you once again. He points an index finger to you, then to the ground right before him, and forms an inaudible command. "You. Here."

The last part of his order is spoken out loud in a manner that doesn't leave you any choice. "Now."

[sovietpostcards]

Vintage travel game - Erudit (Scrabble) (1982)

Inside the plastic box, there's a magnetic field, tiny pieces of magnets with Russian letters on them, and 4 letter holders. There's also a sheet of game rules. The stamp says that the game was made in 1982.

There are 130 tiles. Per the instruction it should be 131, so looks like one is missing.

Size of the box: 12.6 × 12.6 cm (5" × 5")

Available in my shop for $20 + $22 shipping (registered, by Russian Mail). Sold

Message me if you want to buy this. Currently available items. I combine shipping. How to buy.

[eloquentcoconut]

TWST: 🤔 What Would They Name Their Child?

.‧₊˚ ⋅. ݁₊ ⊹

it's the infamous High School baby project

TWST does not care about verbs/nouns/gender when it comes to names, I'm only going to do 1 'gender neutral' name (in theory), in twst fashion. For instance, a boy has an equal chance of being named Sarah, Kart, or John and vice-versa for a girl. I'll be using a randomizer for the gender and number of children, you can decide on what gender the baby is (unless you comment which character(s) you'd like to know.)

.‧₊˚ ⋅. ݁₊ ⊹

🌹Heartslabyul

🌹 Ace - Stariya nn: Ari

If Thorn's eyes just so happen to match the name (starry) that's between Ace and himself. I just made up the name ^ ace/star are like synonyms.

🌹Deuce - Dawner

Dylla, Deuce, might as well have another 'D' name. I tried to make dawn sound more unique. Dawn represents 'new beginnings' since Deuce would want to leave that rebel past behind and step up to father a bag of flour.

🌹 Trey - Blithe

Trey and Blithe are both word names where I feel they're both so in use they don't conjure up an image. Blithe means happy/joyful. When scrolling through baby name websites I did see 'Almond and 'Nachos' listed, I need you to know this.

🌹 Cater - Dice nn: Icy

When making this I realized the characters aren't exactly named after games, sorry Uno, Scrabble, and Yahtzee - but parts of it, so Dice.

🌹 Riddle - Bridge

The card game bridge, he so would, but also a reference of Um from Umbridge. 'Rule' was listed as a baby name I--

🐾Savanaclaw

🐾 Leona - Folasade nn: Sade

(Based off my fav singer Sade ♡) I think Leona would like the meaning 'honor earns a crown; rule with nobility'

🐾 Ruggie - Junior

Thorn and Ruggie could not agree on a name - no the baby isn't Thorn jr or Ruggie jr, they're just Junior. Ruggie's name is a joke about his rugged life right? If he was based on a carpet his child could be Matti.

🐾 Jack - Gabrielle nn: Brielle/Gibby

Jack is one of few characters that has a common/average name - the child will need this stability in a place like twst! He's also a serious guy so it would be impossible to get him to agree on any name trends like alternate spellings/locations/words etc. Thorn finds a loophole with nicknames.

🌊 Octavinelle

Azul - Seren and Perle

I changed the spelling of 'pearl' and I keep debating if I should have or not. Seren is pretty close to siren, these names sound mermaid-y.

Jade - Nori

From the character Nori in Barbie Mermaidia, I think it means seaweed. Jade was nice enough to let Thorn pick out the name, and Thorn went for the first fictional mermaid that came to mind.

Floyd - Nike

Names from sneaker brands you could use as baby names and no on would know: Nike, Chuck, Chelsea, Taylor, Jordan, Mary Jane, Croc, etc.

💜 Pomefiore

💜 Vil - Liesel, Eden, and Hansl

I don't think Vil would be one of those celebrities parents that have all their children have the same initial, unique spellings, or invent names, or maybe he would? You know what? Having a common name would be a celeb niche in twst, he did not beat those allegations.

💜 Rook - Giselle

Is Rook French? bc I feel like he just uses French bc its trendy - he'd still pick a French/French influenced name though. Giselle is from the ballet 'Gisele' its romantic/dramatic/dark (quite sad really.)

💜 Epel - Ruby, Opal, and Jona

Part 2 of names from apples you could use and nobody would know: Crispin, Jonathan, Gala, Ruby, Opal, Ambrosia, Autumn, Rose, Granny, etc. When I realized I could make all their names 4 letters I had to take that opportunity.

🦜 Scarabia

🦜 Kalim - Salim

Derived from the Arabic expression 'salima' which points to something 'safe' and 'sound' Salim means peaceful/safe.

🦜 Jamil - Rana

Rana has so many meanings from around the world, in Arabic it means 'eye-catching' or 'beautiful' and in Sanksrit it means 'king/nobility'

🦋 Ignihyde

Idia - Raiden, Kaeya, Haruhi

There's no way Idia isn't naming his kids, real or not, after his fav characters. I settled on these names bc I was tired of thinking 😭he's a gamer and otaku and I could not think of anything niche or any deep cuts, they're all from Genshin Impact or OHSHC, lets face it, Idia wouldn't like the mainstream anything. Thorn was just trying to save these kids from a 'Bakugou Johnson' situation.

🍵 Diasominia

Malleus - Maenight and Twillian

(I invented these names part 2) Maenight is meadow + midnight bc no child of Malleus is mid 😤 and Twillian is twilight + lillian. Both kids are named after their parents initial and hobby: nature/night walks

Lilia - Garnet and Dove

Lilia has interesting naming conventions (Silver), so I tried to apply that here. Let's say child one has his eyes, so garnet, and child two has a calm demeanor, so dove.

Sebek - Amoret and Evermore nn: Ami and Ever

Sebek and Thorn have a book club so they'd pick literary names. Amoret is a character from the epic poem 'The Faerie Queene' by Edmund Spenser, and I think Sebek would like it. Evermore is from 'The Raven' a narrative poem by Edgar Allen Poe (there's a raven character that repeats evermore/nevermore) BUT if thats too dark there's also the Taylor Swift song 'Evermore' (which I feel has inspiration from 'The Raven')

Silver - Aurelia

Aurelia means gold, but I was trying to have Thorn and Silver apply their own meanings, aurora + starlight = aurelia. (Named after how their parents' eye colors are described)

.‧₊˚ ⋅. ݁₊ ⊹

(Should Ortho + side characters be included? Let me know in the comments if you'd like to see anyone else!)

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 7/30/2023

this post half brought to you by viewers like you! thank you!

listening

all my brain wants is charli xcx's apple on repeat. i understand there's a very popular dance with it but it's not H-O-T T-O G-O so i don't know anything about that. extremely effective song to have on loop while writing. peppy but very even and easy to just sort of bop along to in the background. looking forward to this being my #1 most listened song on spotify this year after the (DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT) number of hours last night working on yeehawgust.

thank you to my real-life sister for 1) teaching me about brat summer after i sent her a pic of the neon green pool outside and 2) telling me i would like this album. i do!

-

reading

i saw a photo on here several weeks ago of Balfour Tower, a brutalist residential building in London where all the mechanics are in the little tower on the right and said to myself "what the FUCK is that. how does it WORK."

someone else who said "what the FUCK is that. how does it WORK." was JG Ballard, previous tuesdaypost feature. there are only two books i reread most years, Jane Eyre in the fall and Ballard's The Drowned World in the summer (one of the nicest vintage hardcovers i own, from @morrak ).

let's yoink the description off wikipedia bc it's the most succinct:

The story describes the disintegration of a luxury high-rise building as its affluent residents gradually descend into violent chaos. As with Ballard's previous novels Crash (1973) and Concrete Island (1974), High-Rise inquires into the ways in which modern social and technological landscapes could alter the human psyche in provocative and hitherto unexplored ways.

it's less "the building is evil" and more "by incentivizing residents to not leave the building by providing everything they need, including a liquor store, the building is a petri dish for fucked up british social interaction".

Ballard is extremely good, on a very technical sentence level, of creating an immersive cocoon of dreamlike unreality in the middle of an otherwise functioning world. this is Not good for my brain when i am having a particularly prolonged bout of The Morbs. High-Rise was extremely effective in creating its particular pocket of fucked-up happenings in the middle of the "real world" but was EXTREMELY not the book i needed at this particular moment.

-

watching

The Burglars (1971, dir. Verneuil). this is a french heist film but i'm just going to drop my letterboxd review here.

do you want to see an all-in-one safecracking kit in a beautiful imitation leather suitcase straight from the catalog? with a computer to make a punchcard for the key cutting device also in the suitcase? do you feel strongly about emeralds? do you want to see a fuckin lupin iii style real life car chase where they run a little red fiat ragged? a man dumped out the back of a dump truck to fall down a slope half a mile long? do you want to see tits? do you want to see omar sharif get grain entrapped? this movie may be for you!

i would do anything for omar sharif and his big brown eyes.

the title sequence and a remarkably spare morricone soundtrack go SO hard. graphic design IS my passion!!!

how'd i find this: needed to use up some credits on kanopy. the gadgetry in the actual heist part of this film... mwah. a very poorly paced movie, but by god does it Look.

-

playing

thank you VERY much @sybilius for gifting me Pentiment! i would describe this as a point-and-click/visual novel murder mystery rpg?

it's endlessly charming. it is dense with medieval sociopolitical factions. i would expect nothing less from je sawyer. i loooove the different fonts: the printer in town has a custom font for his dialogue, other characters' dialogue changes fonts as you learn more about them (a noble's font changes from scrabbly handwriting to fine lettering after we learn he's got some education under his belt).

much like High-Rise, but for visual novel pace reasons and not content/atmosphere, this is not quite the right game for my brain at this time, but i am very excited to loop back around to it when better brain weather rolls in!

-

making

yeehawgust prep! i manage to do one prompt every other year but we'll see how this one goes

[literallykenmaandshoyo]

What About Me?

Peter Parker x Female Reader!

Warnings: Angst. Reader is upset because Peter is off being busy as Spider-Man and he's stood her up one too many times for her liking

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: Guys this is my first Peter Parker drabble! YAY!~ I absolutely adore Peter and I wrote this one up earlier tonight and figured it'd be good to share! I hope you all love it, I'm so used to writing fluff that sometimes I forget that writing angst is really good too! Let me know if you have any feedback or requests by sending in an ask, and remember to request Mod Shoyo to be specific! Have a great night (Or morning) everyone!

Also, PicsArt doesn't have the same scrabble letter thingies that Kenma and I have been using for our headers so this one is just a major WTF. Sorry if this looks ugly lol :,)

~Mod Shoyo <3

Y/N sat by her bedroom window, overlooking all of Queens from the seventh floor of her apartment building. Night had fallen and the stars were out, all of the buildings nearby had some office lights still on, people were probably still working, even at this ungodly hour.

That’s one thing that they had in common with her boyfriend Peter.

Being a web-slinging superhero was definitely not on Y/N's list of why Peter Parker could be so distant and just vanish all the time. However, when they first officially started dating, Peter took it upon himself to lay out all of his cards for her right then and there. Y/N was more than understanding and he thanked God for her every single day. Y/N knew that she said she’d be okay with the late nights and the canceled plans, that she’d be up waiting for him during late hours of the night just to make sure he came home safe.

But there was only so much she could take.

She stared down at her text messages with Peter. She asked him if he wanted to come and stay over at her apartment tonight since she’d been missing him a little extra these past couple days. Not only has Tony been working him to the bone, but the crime percentages in Queens seem to have only elevated since Peter would be out all night stopping robberies, saving people from getting mugged or kidnapped, the whole shebang. 

I’ll swing over in 10 love <3 11:45 p.m

Y/N looked at the top of her screen and saw that it was 1:57 in the morning. She knew that she got herself into this and she told herself that every time that he was late or had to cancel on her. It wasn’t his fault. Peter was just doing his job, what he signed up to do, so she couldn’t be mad at him. But who could she get mad at?

She looked like a lovesick puppy, just waiting at her window to see the red and blue suit that her boyfriend wore to come swinging over to her building. Tears were streaming down her face and she was making herself more upset by crying over something like this. She grabbed her phone off the windowsill and turned it off, chucking it into a random corner of her room and lying in her bed. She got under her throw blanket on top of her covers and threw it over her head. Her sniffles and soft sobs weren’t loud enough to wake anyone, but a small part of her wished that Peter would walk in and hear how devastated she was.

Being Peter’s girlfriend was a blessing. It was something like a mantra that she told herself every single morning when she woke up. She wanted to be the one he came home to, the one that would make all of his cuts and bruises better after she cleaned him up, she wanted to be the last woman he would ever love in his life. She wanted to be his. Forever. But being in a relationship didn’t always mean that Peter was the one she fussed over all the time. She was entitled to her own feelings and how she felt, and right now, she was sick and tired of waiting up for Peter.

As if right on cue, her bedroom window slid open and in crawled Peter. He was panting, short of breath as soon as he ripped his mask off his face. “I’m so sorry love, there was this guy in an alleyway that wouldn’t leave this group of middle schoolers alone and he-”

Peter stopped dead in his tracks as he looked at Y/N's shaking figure under her throw blanket. He raised an eyebrow and walked over to the bed, his ears picking up on the sounds of her soft sniffles and hiccups. He pulled the blanket off her head and saw her laying in the fetal position. Her hair was covering the side of her face and he couldn’t really see her expression, but he knew that she was upset. Obviously.

“Baby,...” Peter pushed her hair behind her ear and could see her puffy eyes and red nose. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

Y/N sat up in bed and fixed her crazy hair, sniffling and wiping tears off of her cheeks with the sleeves of her shirt. She sputtered and tried to speak, but she didn’t even know what to tell him. Part of her wanted to be straight up and just tell him that this is the seventh time she’s been kept up waiting on him, but the other part of her knew it wasn’t his fault and that she was just upset because he’s been so busy. Just because she was always available for him, doesn’t mean that Peter was always at her dispense too, especially with what he does with his time.

“I…”

Peter waited for her to explain, but she just looked down at her lap and started to cry again. He felt awful and he was so clueless. He thought back to the last time she cried and remembered that she had lost a grandfather recently that she was close to. Maybe it was that. He grabbed her hand and held it in his tightly.

“Is this about your grandpa again, love?”

Y/N shook her head and pulled her hand away from his. Now Peter was really confused. He racked his brain trying to figure out what else it could be, but every single option he came up with just came to a dead end. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how hard he was trying to think, and she found it ironic. He was so intelligent, the smartest guy she’s ever known. Yet he’s so oblivious when it comes to the small things, she always thought that maybe his brain was so big, that the most simple of questions really took a couple of seconds for him to think about.

“I’m just tired, Peter.” She finally croaked.

Peter’s heart fell into his chest. His gaze met hers instantly and he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He always thought about how Y/N never deserved to be with someone like him, not when he has the whole Spider-Man thing going for him. It’s unfair to her. And he always felt like one day she’d get tired of it all, but he was praying to God out of his own selfishness, that today was not that day.

“This…” She hiccuped. “This is the seventh time that I’ve stayed up past what we agreed to see each other at just to see if maybe you needed a little more time to come home.”

Now Peter understood. 

“You said you’d only be ten minutes at 11:45 and it's two in the morning now, Peter.” Peter looked down at her hands and noticed that they were trembling. “It’s been so hard for me these past couple times to just tell myself this is what I signed up for. But I miss you so much while you’re gone.”

She broke down in tears again, sobbing into her hands. Her sobs and her hiccups were muffled, but that only made them louder in Peter’s head. She was right, in every way imaginable. He hadn’t been much of a boyfriend recently, only texting her about how much he loved and missed her, sending her a quick selfie while he was mid-swing from one crime to the next. He couldn’t even imagine how lonely she must feel within those gaps of time that he wasn’t messaging her.

“Baby, I- I’m so sorry,” Peter cooed. “I know that I’ve been really busy recently, and I-I can’t even think about how lonely you must feel every single time I do this,”

Y/N looked up from her hands and wiped the snot that was running down her nose. She could barely keep her puffy eyes open enough to look at him.

“Don’t ever tell yourself that this is what you signed up for ever again.” Peter scolded. “I asked you to be my girlfriend because I knew in my heart that I was ready to be your boyfriend. And I still believe that. I haven’t been giving you the attention that you deserve and that’s completely on me. Okay?”

Y/N stayed quiet, staring at him with her bloodshot eyes and a quivering lip. The scary part was over. She was never good with calling people out and telling them how what they’re doing affects her. She’d rather just forgive them and never have to talk about it again. But then, when it happens again, she just puts herself through an endless cycle.

“I just miss you…” Y/N sobbed, wrapping her arms around Peter.

She dug her nose into the crook of his neck, bringing her hands up to the back of his head to feel his hair in between her fingers. When Peter hugged her back, her entire body relaxed and she just let him hold her while she cried into his suit. Peter was rubbing her back comfortingly, whispering sweet things into her ears in between pressing kisses to the top of her head and her temples.

“I’ll do better for you, baby. I promise, okay?”

Y/N nodded. 

Peter felt himself getting choked up the entire time Y/N was crying in front of him. The lump in the back of his throat was almost unbearable to push his spit past whenever he swallowed. He held Y/N in his arms for a while longer before finally taking his suit off and changing into some pajamas. He crawled into bed with Y/N and held her once more, the sound of her heart beat finally calming down bringing a soft smile to his face. He kissed the top of her head once more and closed his eyes.

That night, he made a promise to himself.

A promise that she was never going to feel like this ever again.

[novlr]

Hey! I'm a non native English speaker and i find it very hard to use wide variety of vocabulary in my writing. Any tips??

Just as a painter needs a rich palette of colours to make their art, writers need a diverse vocabulary to craft deep and engaging story worlds.

Your vocabulary as a writer is much like a paint box, with each word adding depth, contrast, and colour to your creation. So what techniques can you use to improve your vocabulary and give yourself more linguistic colours to choose from?

Read a lot

Reading is the best way to improve your vocabulary. It’s immersive, enjoyable, and will introduce you to more varied words. Make it a habit to read often, and try to read widely. Don’t limit yourself to one genre, age range, or style. Whether fiction, non-fiction, articles, or instruction manuals, reading as widely as you can opens your mind to words and styles you might never encounter naturally in your day-to-day life.

Write a lot

Write as often as you can. The more you write, the more often you’ll find yourself reaching for varying words and phrases to accurately convey your thoughts. Every written piece is an opportunity to experiment with new words. As with anything, practice is crucial—regular writing will naturally enhance your vocabulary and make your word usage more instinctive and fluid.

Use a thesaurus

A thesaurus introduces you to a variety of synonyms for the words you’re using and can help you express your thoughts with a bit more flair. However, using a thesaurus does come with a caveat: avoid using complex words just for the sake of appearing more sophisticated. Always choose words that best fit the context and effectively convey what you’re trying to say.

Join a writing group

Beyond being a place to talk about words, writing groups let you test your understanding of words in real time. Writing groups provide valuable insight into whether your word choices effectively convey your intended meaning. Seeing how other writers use their own vocabularies to share their own meanings is a great way to see how word choice can make your writing richer and more nuanced

Play word games

Playing word games is not only fun but is also an effective way to expand your vocabulary. For instance, games like Scrabble challenge you to form varying words from a set of letters, crossword puzzles can improve your understanding and recall of words, and games like Boggle can stimulate quick thinking around word formation.

Keep a word journal

Every time you encounter a new and intriguing word, whether through reading, conversation, or even during a TV show, jot it down in your word journal. Follow it up by researching its meaning, synonyms, and usage in sentences. Revisit these entries frequently, and try to incorporate these words into your writing somehow, even if it’s only during practice sessions. Over time, you’ll notice these new words naturally creeping into your vocabulary.

Sometimes simple is best

While having a broad vocabulary is an asset for any writer, it’s also important to remember that effective communication is what it’s all about, and sometimes, simpler words serve this purpose best. Not every situation calls for intricate or sophisticated language; in fact, often, using simpler, more direct language can make your message clearer and more accessible to a wider audience. More important than a wide vocabulary is an understanding of your readers and the message you want to convey in your text.

[homestuckreplay]

kill them with bladekindness

(page 575-586)

9/3/2009 Wheel Spin: Parent Bad :( Verdict: It’s The Background Texture

9/4/2009 Wheel Spin: Long Pesterlog Verdict: Dave Should Pester John About This

Not much actually happens in these pages, just picking things up and putting them down, so I re-read all Dave’s POV sections so far to experience his uninterrupted slow descent into puppet madness. And it was actually very enlightening and is probably a good way of re-reading for character development/analysis now that character switches are happening so regularly.

But today I was just trying to figure out how the fuck hash map works.

Dave brags to John a couple times about being a super hardcore genius sylladex user, and he’s exaggerating, but not totally lying. As well as already having his strife specibus allocated, on p.576 he does a smooth box catch after seeing the fireworks ejected out the corner of his eye, and on p.579 he shows off by intentionally ejecting and then dodging about ten shurikens. Even though there’s way easier ways he could have accomplished that – such as GENTLY GATHERING (5) the shurikens to free up card 5, then taking the box.

Except, it makes sense if we assume Dave is practicing. In the past we’ve seen Dave mess with his sylladex in his room and in the bathroom, but this is the first time he’s used it in the public areas of the house – and with the Dude Dodge and demonstrations of using different words for the same item and dealing with collisions, it’s almost like he’s putting on a performance. On p.386, he tells John: ���you should look into weaponizing your sylladex. my bro is always getting on my case about it but man its not as easy as it sounds.’

We’ve now learned that Dave’s bro stocks the kitchen with weapons, which could be there specifically for sylladex practice. Dave’s bro, who it’s been implied also uses hash map, could have been practicing the shuriken-dodge maneuver for years, to use if he ever gets into a real fight. (Or is there a league? Is sylladex usage a sport and Dave’s bro is like a former high school football player who’s trying to train up a younger family member to relive their glory days)?

These kitchen violence pages pair well with Dave reading the Midnight Crew on p.329-331. ‘A familiar feeling stirs. That feeling is overwhelming, soul-blackening rage. It's the sort of rage that'll make a man feel totally justified in sporting an unnecessarily elaborate assortment of fancy blades’ is a line referring to Spades Slick, but Dave lives with a man who sports an unnecessarily elaborate assortment of fancy blades, so I wonder what soul-blackening rage Bro is feeling and why. It makes me think about how a hyperviolent character in a piece of media can be very fun and likeable, but that same trait in a real person, especially one you live with, is terrifying, and certainly gets different reactions from Dave.

Page 585 shows some different options for hash map point scoring, and I wonder which is most user friendly. Scrabble points is fun, but only helpful if you’ve memorized the Scrabble score system. 2-point consonants and 1-point vowels, which Dave has been using, is pretty easy to calculate numbers for, but certain cards seem like they come up a lot more than others. A short, 3-5 letter word will probably occupy cards 5 through 9, and it gets harder to fill up those low numbered cards when calculating in a hurry. The system where A=1, B=2, C=3, etc, probably solves that issue, but involves working with much bigger numbers, which (if playing TTRPGs has taught me anything) lots of people struggle with. A good hash map needs to be easy to calculate and leave items naturally well distributed among cards.

The most effective hash map, I think, wouldn't depend on function but would have a standard set of 20-30 items that you regularly captchalogue and know the values for, along with ways of retrieving them. So when leaving the house, I could have my KEYS in card 6 and use them to OPEN the front door, plus my WALLET in card 0 to EXCHANGE MONEY for goods and services, but when I go home I can switch them out for a BAKING TRAY (6) that I could use to COOK dinner, and a LAPTOP (0) to easily BROWSE the internet. (If I wanted to leave the house with my laptop, I could captchalogue it as a PORTABLE DEVICE (2) for SURFING THE WEB). Getting to know these items really well, and the ways they might be used as weapons, would probably be way easier than just figuring it out as you go.

Of course, when losing a sylladex battle, you can just hit that eject button for a near guaranteed win. It’s possible this counts as a forfeit or is just bad conduct, but with a sylladex full of shurikens it might just be worth it. ‘detect collisions,’ in this context, feels like using training wheels on a bike or those railings over the bowling lane gutters. You should do it to learn, but some assholes will look down on it, and it’s totally not allowed in competitions.

I also noted on this reread how it’s very common for Dave to have the tiny flashing exclamation point above his head when he gets a sudden shock. This might have happened once or twice with John or Rose, I’d need to reread more to check, but it’s definitely a lot more common with Dave. He could be easily startled, it could be an artistic way of showing his emotion when he wouldn’t show it on his face like other characters do, or this could be where Dave stores his unused exclamation points that he’s too cool to put in chat messages.

Finally. I love the bit on p.581 when the picture of Sweet Bro or Hella Jeff gets knocked off the fridge and slowly floats to the floor.