#modern objects Spade
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spadelovesnachos · 10 months ago
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Hello! This is Spade from Modern Object!
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^ this how i used to look by the way-
I was told to just make Tumblr blog to interact with the people outside the hotel so.. Here i am!
Let's see... What- oh!
My favourite food are Nachos!
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And uhhhh what else?
I have a Sister and many best friends (do not ask how)
I'm pansexual?
Er- That's it!
Ask me any questions and i will definitely answer them!
BYEEE!!
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(Mod ✨ here
So few rules:
No NSFW ask and stuff
No racial discrimination and slurs
No unnecessary hate
That's all! Bai!)
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kotnaur · 6 months ago
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Leave them alone WEIRDO
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roughmoon24 · 2 years ago
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Another dynamic art trend from Twitter went viral.
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mancer-in-the-abbey · 1 year ago
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This thought has been rotating this in my, MODERN GHOULS (plus Aether) AND HOW THEY ACT IN A FIGHT LETS GO
Dewdrop: Strike hard, strike fast, don’t get hit, that’s the motto. In a brawl scenario he is the first to hit under the belt, dude LOVES to fight dirty and he’s hella resourceful. He doesn’t take hits as well as he used to before the elemental transition, but he’s been working on increasing his speed to make up for it. You cannot and will not see him coming if he decides to deal the first hit, Prefers hand-to-hand (claw-to-claw?) combat over ranged fighting or straight elemental fighting due to a harder time accessing his fire power, but when he does MANNN is it a DELUGE of fire. The whole house is burning down.
Aether: In a brawl scenario, being as big and physically strong as he is makes him excel at disbanding/de-escalating. Aether is really good at taking a punch and being just completely unfazed by it, which is useful in getting people acting a fool to knock it off. If it’s real life or death, though? Ohhhh buddy you done fucked up the minute you messed with the guy who stitches people back together with magic on the regular. If he can do that, how easy do you think it is for him to UN-stitch someone? He doesn’t even need to raise a fist for you to be done for.
Phantom: Phantom, I think, is flight over fight in most ways. If someone wants to start something, he just goes invisible and nopes out of there. Having said that, if he IS stuck in a fight, is the KING of improv. Where Dew can walk into a room and come up with 10 different ways the objects in it can kill a man, Phantom can be handed an object, ANY object, and he will make it work. Not necessarily out of skill, but just sheer blind panic and the need to arm himself. Real scrappy, that ghoul… he has thrown a knife at a toaster for going off too loud and scaring him.
Rain: Rain has VERY good control over his element. If he has a choice between fighting on land a fighting in or near water, he’s taking the water option. That said, water is slightly harder to come by in everyday life unless one is just constantly carrying a bottle of water with them at all times. That is, unless you want to burst the water pipes of a building, which he HAS done once by accident and it was VERY expensive to fix. Anyway, lucky for him Rain does tend to just carry water on him anyway. Man needs to be hydrated, and it also functions as his built in self-defense. You trying to fight? Get geysered with a Stanley Cup, idiot. Assuming water ISN’T an option at all, though, Rain is a biter. You will lose a finger and he will tell you what hot sauce he’d pair you with after. Just for the extra psychic damage.
Swiss: Call my man Rocky the way he didn’t hear no bell, Swiss is RELENTLESS. Stamina in fucking SPADES, it don’t matter how many hits he takes, he will Not! Go! Down! Him and Phantom are similar in that they’re both survivors by any means necessary. In Phant’s case, it made him the master of Ending Situations Fast. In Swiss’s, though, it’s made him durable as an anvil and persistent as a lion. Combine that with whatever element is closest at hand and he’s a force to be reckoned with. And if he has the time to get really creative with his elemental powers? Buddy, you are not leaving that fight the same man you came in, if you leave at all.
Cirrus: Girl was a brawler back in the pit, so to me fighting as a way of life followed her onto the surface. Every bit of her is a weapon. Her hands? Weapons. Her arms? Weapons. Legs? Weapons. Face? Weapon. She is so light on her feet, you will not be able to land a single hit on her. She can blow you off-balance or keep you at arms length, always giving her the upper hand in confrontations. She also knows how to handle actual weapons really well. It’s a hobby of hers, swords are her favorite for sheer cool factor but give that woman a quarterstaff and she will go to WORK.
Cumulus: That is a woman who has a mean, right hook, I just know it in my bones. She enjoys learning self-defense from Cirrus, though more for the exercise than the fighting capability. Cumulus, like Aether, is more a lover than a fighter. However, should the need arise, she is more than capable of stopping a brawl in its tracks. You wanna throw hands? Bam! Sudden atmospheric pressure migraine! What are you gonna do now, idiot? It’s a good way to get all parties involved to scatter fast, leaving her with a quiet evening to herself.
Aurora: Ranged! Fighting! Queen! Someone let her watch Hunger Games and she has been perfecting how to hurt people from a distance ever since. Her aim started out shaky but has gotten SCARY good, she can hit you in the head with a fastball special from a sports field away. Also, she uses her Quintessence powers to manipulate light. Usually this is just for doing cool tricks and making the space look pretty, but she WILL flash-bang you if provoked.
Mountain: Don’t. Just don’t! Mountain may be a gentle giant these days but he wasn’t always. If you like your bones where they are, just don’t fucking bother! He will avoid conflict if it is at all possible, but if he thinks you might be an actual threat to his family, there is nowhere on the continent you will be safe!
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wyverewings · 2 months ago
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WHEW I FINALLY GOT THIS DONE
I really wanted to get the lore on the dragons of Evros, because well one, I fucking love dragons, and two, the latest iteration of my dragon lore is very outdated.
Anyway! Lore stuff under the cut because it’s very long…
Anatomy
The dragons of Evros are not like the common depiction seen in modern tales, with four legs and additional wings. They’re more serpentine in shape with only two limbs. And they also lack the firebreathing of most modern dragons, too…
1: The dragon clade is defined by the atter sac found near their stomach. As it’s a soft organ, this makes figuring out the fossil history of dragons a painful headache. This organ is actually a modified gall bladder, and while it still aids in digestion, the fluid it produces has another use. When the dragon is threatened, it expels the fluid from its gall, and breathes it out as a corrosive gas that melts flesh. Oddly enough, the corrosion doesn’t affect plant matter much, but it does affect metal.
2: Dragons have a pair of fins at their head for display, communication, and processing sound. Their horns are in pairs of four, while usually short some dragons prefer to grow them longer.
3: A real trait of many reptile species is the parietal eye, a sort of simplistic third eye at the top of their head. In dragons, this eye is much more complicated, and able to see in the same way as their other two eyes.
4: At the end of a dragon’s body of their tail spade. Tbh I put this here to fill space
5: Like birds and bats, dragons have evolved flight with arms modified into wings. These wings are different from other vertebrate wings however, in that the arm itself is not changed from a regular leg, instead their wings are formed from a fishlike fin attached to the arms. The fins are surprisingly strong and resistant to damage, but by themselves they would just be able to glide. Owing to the magical nature of dragons, they can actually fly. They’re also helpful for swimming, and the claws are good at digging, making dragons true jacks of all trades. (fin wings are based off of Tyrantisterror’s dragons, Midgaheim influenced a lot when it comes to dragons tbh)
Life Cycle
1: As typical of squamates, dragon eggs are soft-shelled. Their delicate nature means they must be guarded at all times, usually by tag team. To break out of their eggs, the hatchlings have an egg tooth (though sometimes they poke their tail spade out first) which they never shed.
2: Baby dragons are hardly recognizable as such, looking more like odd looking snakes. They stay with their parents at all times when very young, but soon will gain the independence to be on their own.
3: Dragonets eventually grow a pair of front legs, though at first they’re small spikes. This is the signal for brumation to begin. The dragonet will dig a burrow for itself, then must eat as much as possible to prepare for their long sleep.
4: Growing a limb is a strenuous process, so going into slumber eases it. The dragon’s legs and wings will grow while buried, and once satisfactorily formed, the dragon’s internal clock will ring and wake them, now with wings ready to fly.
Culture
Like many other organisms touched by magic, dragons are sophonts able to think and communicate on complex levels.
1: The wyrms of Evros are split into three separate ecotypes depending on habitat. The sea dragons or leviathans are the largest of them, with the sea allowing more space to grow than the land. The swamp dragons or knuckers are the smallest, so it’s easier for them to sneak through their forests. The river dragons or wyverns are in the middle regarding size, but have the biggest wings and are the best fliers, a helpful trait in their mountain habitats.
2: An odd behavior of dragons is their tendency to collect objects for a hoard. These hoards are less a random assortment of junk and more complex art pieces. Rocks are arranged in one area while bones are arranged in another. Despite common claims, dragons don’t really prefer precious stones over any other group of curiosities, leaving many an avaricious dragonslayer or their quest giver disappointed. Sea dragons don’t have hoards in the typical sense, instead considering the barnacles and algae and other symbiotes growing upon their body as their hoard.
3: Sea dragons are nomads, same as most oceanic creatures (except when raising their children, which live on land until finishing metamorphosis), but their more terrestrial kin have shelters. River dragons live in mountain caves as close to a river as possible, ideally there when they arrive but sometimes they have to dig them out themselves to avoid fights over territory. There aren’t many caves around swamps, however, so swamp dragons have to build their own homes. With dead or dying trees and a bit of mud, these dens are surprisingly sturdy. While river dragons are more territorial, swamp dragon dens often include small groups of dragons that live in the same territory, albeit with their own chambers. (swamp dragon den concept taken from this post)
4: Like many other reptiles, dragons are semi-social. They don’t need social bonding, nor do they shun it. Between the ecotypes, swamp dragons tend to be the most sociable, as mentioned living in communal dens, while river dragons are the least, only allowing family, old friends, mates, and those unaware of the boundaries to enter their territories. Also like other reptiles, dragons are great parents, taking care of their children while they’re still vulnerable. They even care for dragonets that aren’t their own, even river dragons refuse to attack youngsters if they cross territorial boundaries. The young are left to fend for themselves once they’ve gone through metamorphosis, but by then they’ll most likely be ready to survive on their own. If a death does happen though, the dragon’s kin and companions will surround their body to mourn them, and each will devour part of their flesh so the deceased can stay with them, and the rest of the body is left to feed the scavengers and the plants.
5: The draconic gods are not avatars or lords of their respective domain, they are the domains personified. The trio of Ocean, Sky, and Earth form the Divine Cycle. Ocean bleeds evaporation to feed Sky, Sky bleeds rain to feed Earth, Earth bleeds rivers to feed Ocean. Life itself echoes this cycle, with the plants feeding the grazer, the grazer feeding the hunter, and the hunter feeding the plants. This religion has several variations, but the Divine Cycle is always a key component.
Chimeras
While this informational only focuses on the wyrms of Evros, they are not the only dragons of the world. In fact, there are several species of dragons beyond the seas of Evros, such as the luong of Tianxia. The discussion of these dragons is best for another time, or other people. Regardless, we still shall discuss other dragon species, specifically draconic chimeras.
Velue: A hybrid of wyrm and tarantula. They’re deadly to both prey and predator, with venom that has a similar effect as frostbite and stinging hairs upon their body. Most of the time monsters are killed for their body parts, so with organ harvesting being made difficult with their hairs stinging, there seems to be no reason for the velue to be slain. But with the kingdom’s propaganda against monsters, especially reptiles and arthropods, they are slaughtered anyway, their bodies left to rot.
Carcohl: A hybrid of wyrm and snail. They live around hydrothermal vents. Their scales are highly sought after due to their exceptional toughness, so they’re commonly targeted by knights. Strangely enough, they aren’t the only snail-dragon chimeras in the world, that nature being shared with the Shusshebora.
Hydra: A hybrid of wyrm and hydra, which gets laterally confusing when specifying that hydras are a type of cnidarian. The dragons can regrow their heads if cut off, using their toxic blood to keep an attacker from further pursuit. While mainly dwelling in the ocean, the most famous member of this species lived in the lake of Lerna.
Pyrausta: A hybrid of wyrm and pyrallis, a magical moth. Like the pyrallis, the pyrausta has resistance and power of fire. With this and its body plan of four legs plus a pair of wings, this makes these little moth dragons the closest equivalent to the typical modern dragon in Evros.
Dracosaur: A hybrid of wyrm and primitive bird. It seems the bird that the dracosaur owes part of its genome from has gone extinct. They’re based on the art of dragons with bird wings from medieval bestiaries. I don’t have much on them sorry :(
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amateurmasksmith · 4 months ago
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Spades
<so call me a pessimist, but I don’t believe in it> A/N: this was written before watching part 2 of the hear me out cake video (and mostly before I even knew there *was* a part 2 lol)
Summary: they’re all aspec. most of them do not know this. this idea would not leave my brain until I wrote it down. enjoy!
“Nope,” Virgil said, voice tense and dripping black.
“Nuh-uh, nooo way,” he reiterated, fighting back the tempest tongue, “you guys have fun.”
Roman looked at Virgil, expression a mix of indignation at having been interrupted, and surprise at the anxious side’s reaction.
“Oh come on, it’ll be great!” Roman enthused.
“I’d really rather not.”
“Virgillll, please…. Don’t be a sour-puss-in-boots!”
Virgil raised an eyebrow. “…Really?”
“Ok fine, it may not be my best work, but I’ve got an ace up my sleeve!”
Roman reached his hand up his sleeve, failing to notice Virgil’s breath catch, and pulled out a card.
“It’s the jack of diamonds!” Roman grinned.
Virgil remembered to breathe. “Great, yeah.”
“Still no, though.”
“Ughhh, fiiine,” Roman said, drooping his shoulders dramatically. “I guess I’ll just go ask everyone else.”
He began sinking out, but stopped part-way down to pop back up and wave. “Bye, Virgil!”
“Later, Princey.”
As silence fell over his room once more, Virgil let out a sigh.
It wasn’t Roman’s fault, he thought.
But god did that make him uncomfortable.
A “hear me out cake.” Not… the worst thing the internet had ever come up with, objectively speaking.
But being objective wasn’t Virgil’s department. And, subjectively, Virgil felt…
Gross.
He knew! He knew that it was fine! He was glad, even, that everyone else was having their fun.
That didn’t make the assumption sting any less…
But it was better than the alternative.
What, tell them how he felt?
How he… didn’t feel.
gonna have to at some point, he thought.
Virgil slung his headphones back on and frustratedly sighed.
not yet.
<><><><><><><>
“He… yeah, no - he would.”
Virgil lounged upside-down on a couch in the Mind Palace common area, while Logan sat properly in a chair next to it, Rubik’s cube in hand.
Logan passed the cube from one hand to the other and back again, deep in thought despite the cube being mostly solved.
“This whole exercise was…”
“Dumb?”
Logan definitely didn’t smirk at that. “Confusing.”
“Yeah…”
Logan clicked the last section into place, and wordlessly passed the cube to Virgil for him to scramble.
A comfortable silence settled over them, save for the quiet rattling of the Rubik’s cube as Virgil fidgeted with it.
He passed it back, and Logan started solving anew.
“But the Michelin Man?! Really??” Logan exclaimed incredulously.
Virgil laughed. “Agreed - I’m too ace for this shit.
Logan paused, cube askance.
…shit.
Logan’s eyes were piercing into Virgil’s soul.
He was caught.
Trapped.
There was no escape.
Time seemed to slow as Virgil realized what the fuck he just let slip.
All he could do was watch and wait as his friend processed the revelation.
He could only hope Logan would be kind.
“You too?”
…what.
“…what?”
“Ace,” Logan replied. “Unless I’ve misunderstood - In which case, apologies, please carry on.”
“I- yeah,” - breathe, Virgil, c’mon - “Yeah.”
“Fantastic,” responded Logan. “Anyway, I-”
“No, no, wait - We’re not just brushing past this,” Virgil interrupted, rotating himself.
This was a right-side-up conversation. “What do you mean, you’re Ace too?! I thought I was the only one!”
Logan turned his head to one side slightly, intrigued. “Really? I was under the impression we all were.”
“But Thomas-?”
Logan shrugged. “Is full of contradictions.”
“Honestly, the entire concept of metaphysical facets of an individual personality who don’t interact with the physical plane, except when they do, and also take part in scripted-yet-also-improvised modern-day, multi-faceted Platonic dialogues including a strenuous relationship with the fourth wall, is already quite the feat of suspension of disbelief.”
“…Yeah, but you didn’t have to say it.”
“Oh.” Logan’s face dropped apologetically. “Was that distressing?”
Virgil waved him off. “Nah, Tumblrism, you’re good.”
“Ah, good.”
The quiet was shredded by piercing yells, from the two most likely suspects of such a thing.
“REMUS!!! Filming was bad enough, but I DEMAND you return my conditioner!!!!”
“CATCH ME FIRST BROMATO!!!”
The green gremlin sprinted past, with - presumably - Roman’s conditioner bottle in his teeth - followed shortly by a katana-wielding, full-speed Roman.
“Get back here, you- AGH, just give it!!”
Logan and Virgil watched them run past, Virgil’s eyes locked on their last visible point, listening to the sounds of fading chaos.
Logan hummed in realization. “Ah, that explains it.”
“Hmm?”
“Roman had several uncharacteristically… suggestive - attempts at humor during filming today.”
“Twinfluence, gotcha. Bet that was fun.”
Logan nodded in chagrined agreement. “Indeed.”
A calmer quiet eased over them as the chaos faded into the distance.
“He could conjure more,” Logan commented.
“Ehh, it’s the principle of the thing.”
Virgil rubbed the fabric of the end of his hoodie sleeve between his fingers, fidgeting nervously.
“Dumb question.”
“No such thing, but continue.”
“I-” Virge took a second to reset. “How’d you figure it out? Being Ace?”
“If it’s not, you know, invasive or anything,” he said, waving a sleeve-covered hand in Logan’s vague direction.
“Perfectly fine,” Logan replied. “It was actually quite recent - While compiling my contestants, I struggled to find any that fit the initial criteria.”
“Eugh, yeah. Wait, what do you mean, ‘initial?’”
“I discussed with Roman, and we arrived at the conclusion that ‘an unusual connection to’ or ‘metaphorical resonance with’ would also count towards the exercise.”
Virgil turned his head slightly and looked down for a moment. “Oh, like a gender thing? Yeah, I could see that working.”
“I- Hmm. I suppose? Regardless, that was what pushed me to research the asexual spectrum - As well as aromantic - and determine that I am, in fact… both of those things.”
“Huh.” Vigil mused. “I just figured it out when tumblr gave me an existential crisis.”
Logan passed the again-solved cube back for him to scramble.
“It was quite the puzzling experience,” Logan said.
The gears turned in Virgil’s head as the Rubik’s cube turned in his hand.
“Speaking of which-”
He couldn’t help but laugh and roll his eyes as he threw the cube back at Logan.
god, he’d created a monster.
<><><><><><><>
Janus was enjoying a relaxing moment, sitting in his room, reading some book or another - which one wasn’t terribly important - and was reveling in the small, precious moment of peace he’d been afforded.
“BOO! bs!”
Five minutes. Nearly a record.
“Hello, Remus.”
The green-clad side strode over to him, and pushed a bottle into his hands.
“Got ya shit!”
Janus eyed Remus suspiciously. That is to say, with his normal face.
“The good shit!”
He then turned his attention towards the plastic bottle. Other than the bite marks, it appeared unmodified.
Turning it over, he read the label-
“Conditioner?”
“Yuh-huh!” Remus grinned.
“Unmodified?” A nod.
“Safe for my use? No side effects?”
Remus plopped down on the floor, criss-cross, and considered. “Well, you’ll probably smell good after.”
“Good?”
“Boring. Like strawberries or something, I dunno.”
“You don’t know?”
Remus shrugged. “Didn't read it.”
Janus pulled on the thread. This sounded promising.
“…Why not?”
“Running from Roman,” Remus grinned.
There it was.
“Well, I certainly hope you two had fun,” Janus said with a smirk.
“Meh,” Remus shrugged, picking at… something on the floor Janus didn’t look too closely at.
“Not as fun the video would’ve been, but someone,” Remus said as he flopped down, limbs spread like a starfish, “said there wouldn’t be room on the cake.”
“Which is bullshit!” Remus chirped. “So I made my own!”
“I thought Thomas wasn’t filming today?”
“Ehh, Roman got a bee up his ass about it and did it himself. Roped in Patty Cake and Teach, too!”
And didn’t invite us…
Janus hummed nonchalantly. “I’m surprised the Prince didn’t invite his new bestie.”
“HA!” Remus barked, “He tried, but Virgey got all tied up in knots about it. Not in the fun way either.”
Janus mentally sidestepped Remus’ colorfulness with the ease and agility that came from years of balancing the train-mounted tightrope that is a conversation with the Duke.
“Hmm.”
“Makes sense tho.” Remus shrugged. “He’s probably not ready to come out yet.”
Janus’ thoughts came screeching to a halt as he was mentally flung off the tightrope, face-planting into dumbfoundedness.
Remus, evidently noticing this, looked up at him. “What?”
Janus blinked at him.
“Oh. I thought it was obvious. I mean, have you seen his jacket?”
“I thought-” I was the only one “-he just ‘liked the purple.’ ”
Remus rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. “Ehh. Maybe?”
“But he always hated my spicy ideas - even more than the gruesome ones. Or the scary ones! I should add fingernails…”
Janus re-opened his book, looking at the pages but not seeing a word. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything…”
Remus stuck out his tongue and spat. “Pbthbth, nothing means anything ‘til you connect the dots!”
“You didn’t connect shit,” Janus quipped.
Remus grinned, finishing, “I’ve connected ‘em!”
“Any-gay,” Remus continued, popping up like one of those inflatable attention-grabbers one might see on the edge of a parking lot, “I'm gonna go hunt down a mammal!”
He summoned a set of small knives, their handles the inference of a shape that Janus was unwillingly skilled at spotting, and began to sink out.
Before completely sinking out, however, Remus popped back up to wave at Janus. “Later, Dee!”
“See you at dinner, Remus.”
Remus began whistling as he sank out, absent-mindedly juggling his knives as he left.
Leaving Janus alone, for the moment, with his thoughts.
Thoughts that, admittedly, he found himself needing to gather.
He sat with his book, staring at the black-and-white and thinking about the grey.
While Janus and the anxious side had had their… differences, he knew their similarities ran far deeper than either cared to acknowledge.
But this, to use exactly the right analogy, took the cake.
He had an inkling, of course - but it was the sort of thing he pushed to one side, kept out of the way - saving brainspace for more pressing matters. But Remus dredging it up forced it to the forefront - of Janus’ mind, anyway.
In another life, he could imagine approaching him. He could talk with him, discuss what this shared discovery could mean.
But if such a world existed, it was far away from here.
Janus knew, all too well, what vitriol such a discussion could create if it were to be brought up - Now that certain lines had been drawn, and sides chosen.
He snapped his book shut.
Janus would keep this revelation close to the chest - Much like he had kept his own.
For him, it had been a quiet, creeping, subtle thing - not a shocking discovery, or a sudden realization. It simply… appeared. Slowly creeping through his subconscious, until the idea had taken root so firmly as to be impossible to ignore.
Of course, he had ignored it anyway.
Janus stood up and glided over to his bookshelf.
What did it matter? He had no involvement (or interest) in Roman and Virgil’s matchmaker antics - Save, of course, for any little white lies Thomas needed to smooth things over.
And Remus’ not-so-family-friendly jokes weren’t much of a bother anymore… Sometimes, if the mood struck him, he might even join in - Riffing off of whatever fresh nonsense the Duke dragged in.
Those were good times.
But as far as his own interests were concerned…
Well, let’s just say they weren’t anyone else’s business. Even - or perhaps especially - in their debatable absence.
Although, he did find all the various theories and headcanons rather amusing - Janus would even, on occasion, ‘shed’ some light on a choice few…
All the better to play in the shadows, he thought.
But not this - These shadows he would keep for himself.
Janus put his book back onto the shelf, and took a breath, squaring his shoulders.
He would keep the assumptions, bend them, weave them to his purpose.
And as much as he might think about it…
He couldn’t tell them.
Not yet.
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zepskies · 10 months ago
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Stormfront/Liberty would object to any poc at Herogasm lol!
But the idea of Soldier Boy and a modern woc scenario has me in stitches. It's the audacity of what he could say haha
Ah yeah, this Soldier Boy x POC!Reader idea would definitely be set in the present day Boys world. 😅
(Fuck Stormfront and her racist ass ✌🏽)
Oh, we all know SB/Ben has audacity and ignorance in spades. 🙃 My girlfriends and I have a motto:
Live your life with the confidence of a mediocre white man. 😌
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oscconfessions · 8 months ago
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Just watched Modern Objects (and Show's Over) today and god that show is so good.
Objects is hilarious (Spade literally gets kicked in his 'handle' within the first 4 minutes of the episode lol), and Show's Over is heartbreakingly sad (especially the little ending piece), and both are just amazing in general
I might write a Show's Over fic actually it has some good ideas and I like angst so we'll see.
But yeah they're cool :)
- Inkwell Anon (26/10/24)
.
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liketwoswansinbalance · 2 years ago
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Smeared Hearts
Credit to @rosellemoon for this oddly, insanely compelling idea about the fluffy, rainbow Storian. I couldn't help myself, so I took her ideas and ran with them.
Here is the link to the original post.
@heyo-428 @cetastars @harmonyverendez Read this, if you’re still interested in the fluffy pen story!
Note:
I did toy around with the order of Rise’s series of events a little, and included elements of Fall. So, be warned: the continuity is by no means perfect, the tone is intended to be more comedic (and sometimes more modern?) than usual, and I wrote this more for the concept than the plot at first. You could consider it a loose chronological series of vignettes, if that’s easier to understand because it isn’t quite a full story. It cuts from scene to scene. Or, rather, it is a story with a lot of scene breaks. Also, this was kind of an impulse fic, so I didn't start with a plan until a little later, but I did edit.
When Rafal agreed to be named a School Master of the renowned School for Good and Evil, he hadn't expected to become a pet owner, or something of that ilk.
When he initially saw it... it was fluffy and rainbow. Oh, the indignity of it all, of his life. What had he agreed to?
He groaned. The Storian wouldn’t have been his first choice of godlike pens, but he supposed a magical, fluffy pen was better than no magical pen at all.
The Storian drew a heart on Rafal's hand. It was about the size of a coin.
He grimaced.
Why couldn't the pen have chosen a more tasteful mark? A crown, or an ace of spades perhaps. Even an abstract scribble would have been fine, preferable even.
When the Storian drew his brother's heart, Rhian had laughed at its tickle, and the Storian had taken his response as a sign that it was welcome to snuggle up with Rhian every night, beside him in bed like a beloved pet.
Rafal slept alone.
Rafal had lost all faith in the Storian.
The irritating pen knocked things from tables. It beat Rafal's dish-breaking record within a week. And, it mussed up his hair, and shed all over his robes, slacks, and jackets. If any comparison could be drawn, it was most like a recalcitrant cat, an everlasting thorn in his side.
He couldn't face his students covered in feathery scraps of rainbow fur! The Nevers would ridicule him.
Invest in a lint brush, he noted to himself. That would settle it.
And shave that pen to boot. Not that he could. The little devil was fast, and would punish him for high treason.
Rhian wouldn't mind, he told himself. But, his brother loved that worthless thing. Of course he would mind. The Storian was practically Rhian's child. Rhian's baby talk drove Rafal up the wall. He was so mawkish and cuddly with it, as if it weren't already a combination dust magnet and feather duster that aggravated allergies.
No way would anyone ever see him petting the thing. It was an object, not even a living object, just unusually sentient. It was a patently false imitation of a real animal.
Rafal’s Stymphs were far superior to the pen, and they obeyed him and his commands as any good pets ought to do. Though, he considered the Stymphs more akin to his faithful soldiers, pledged to serve his eternal cause of Evil than well… pets, or whatever the pen was to Rhian.
Lately, Rhian was becoming obsessed with the Storian, and it worried Rafal.
At least he wouldn't have to worry about Rhian getting attached, only to catch it belly-up, and be forced to fly to the nearest pet store and cosmetic apothecary to replace it with a magic-surgery-modified duplicate before Rhian saw. Getting the last fish to look identical had been one hell of a sleepless night he’d spent in a race to preserve Rhian’s feelings. He’d stayed up to ensure the new pet was in place, and had to bury the old one at the crack of dawn while Rhian was still asleep.
But, with a pen, that couldn't happen. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, he knew the worst had happened far too many times. Rhian tended to kill things with too much love. It was absolutely sickening. He'd overfed goldfish in the past, almost the Wish Fish too, if Rafal hadn't put an immediate stop to it, and he had overwatered various hydrophilic plants from humid, tropical climates.
Rhian didn't have the best track record when it came to pets. Or self-preservation for that matter. He’d struck up conversations with strangers left and right.
A pen could be good for him. It had no expiration date. It didn't even have a mortal life, so no matter how incompetent Rhian was, he couldn't kill it. No responsibility aside from keeping it entertained, no risk of accidentally killing it, something to distract him from Rafal's own wrongdoings. The pen could prove useful in that regard. Yes, he could live with it, he decided.
Then again, maybe the right question to ask was whether it had feelings. Could he insult the pen? And what would happen if he did? He was sure Rhian would be none too pleased. But what about the Storian itself?
Rafal eyed the heart on the back of his hand. It was glaringly obvious and far too… sentimental. He had to do something about it. Scrubbing vigorously hadn't worked. He'd only succeeded in scrubbing the skin of his hand red, raw, and dry.
Rhian had haughtily told him he needed moisturizer.
Rafal snapped back that he knew. “Go bother someone else with your fussiness, Rhian!”
In the end, he'd bought black, supple, leather gloves, fitting of his look. They molded to his skin perfectly, and they didn't clash with his typical mode of dress.
Rhian accused him of being needlessly "edgy." Well, there was just no satisfying him, was there?
But, Rhian was a squeamish fussbudget, and his opinion held no weight here. So, Rafal wore the gloves. And soon, the years turned to decades, decades turned into a century, and the Woods kept living.
Rafal wore his gloves every day without fail—until he needed the additional dexterity that could only be afforded by flesh and bone fingers while drowning in the sea amid Night Crawlers.
He tore off the gloves, and in his haste, flashed the rainbow-inked heart at James, James who began to snicker at the thing like it was the most contemptible mark in the world.
"Thought you were Evil. Eh, Master?" James taunted.
"Shut up. It's-it's Rhian’s,” Rafal lied, stuttering through his embarrassment. No need to explain a fluffy pen of all things to James. He'd only think Rafal a dolt.
The heart was so cloyingly sweet, but it still made him feel vulnerable when it was seen, out in the open.
Astonishingly, James’ previously murderous expression softened and its matching intent evaporated. "Guess you wear your heart on your sleeve then. Like the Good do, or as close to Good as you can get, huh? Wouldn't mind saving me then, wouldja?"
Rafal gave the heart a sidelong glance. “Fine,” he muttered unaffected with marked disdain.
In the end, neither of them made it to the underwater prison of Monrovia, which contained the infamous Saders, but no matter. They were both out alive, albeit drenched.
Suspended aloft, ever an eye, the pen bore witness to a stalemate between the School Master brothers and the Pirate Captain.
The Pirate Captain loped forward. “So, you've got a pen that draws maudlin hearts?” he drawled.
"Yes,” Rafal said through gritted teeth. The leather of his gloves was cracked and split by this point, and creaked when he held a staunch grip. He’d formed fists, but he held himself back. The man didn't deserve a blow to the jaw, yet.
Off to the side, James winced, and drew a great step back to distance himself from his sorcerer friend.
Ferret-boy lolloped into the fray. “Yer magical pen does what?” he piped up, as if he'd been deaf to the Pirate Captain's question.
Him on the other hand—he had it coming for him. Rafal bristled, clenching and unclenching his fist instinctually. His dispassionate gaze morphed into a glare.
“It be drawing that craven, girlish thing on ya hand? Gotta be stark raving mad fer that to ’appen,” Ferret-boy quipped again.
Rhian stiffened, face heating.
Rafal defended, “It's not stupid, fussy, or effeminate. Even if it is, it's my only tie to Rhian at the moment, and I, for one, would prefer to keep it, along with my immortality, if you'll excuse me, pests.” He nodded at James, and turned to leave.
The Pirate Captain lunged for the pen without warning.
The Storian darted away, answering with a sugary jingle. Then, it coiled like a spring, launched, and jabbed the Pirate Captain viciously in the chest.
"Oof," the bested Pirate Captain breathed, clutching his torso.
A true pity that it hadn’t drawn blood, Rafal carped internally.
Self-satisfied, the pen twirled in the air, and flew back to the brothers. It curled up in Rhian's waiting hands like an overgrown, weaselly, color-dyed rodent, its noodly form like a piece of rope gone limp.
Rhian headed back to the School, safely cradling the pen.
Rafal stayed back on the dock to deal with the pirates, and give James a proper send-off.
Rhian had never taken an interest in women’s undergarments until now, but he was desperate.
He had already sifted through the Beautification classroom’s storage, and had come up with nothing. So, now, he was knee-deep in Dean Mayberry’s dresser drawers that he’d pulled out entirely, and he found himself rifling through her delicates at an alarming rate.
He soon chanced upon what he was searching for, and fished out a pair of airy, white gloves trimmed in lace that she’d worn to a recent soirée. He pressed his lips together grimly. They would have to do. Hopefully, Rafal would be distracted anyway. His new attire could divert Rafal’s attention.
He reasoned to himself that a smudge meant nothing, and hummed to himself nervously. It couldn’t be covering up duplicity. That would be Evil.
He wasn’t Evil.
He buttoned the gauzy, eggshell white gloves up high with their glossy, pearl buttons. Then, he went on his usual rounds over the School grounds, pretending nothing was wrong.
Rhian should have known his brother would first set his eyes on his hands. His glove-covered hands.
As Rafal flew overhead, approaching the School's clearing, he roughly tugged on his gloves again. Then, he saw something had gone wrong as he glanced down at Rhian from afar.
Rhian clearly had a new, downy, swan-feather outfit, a cloak of pure, shining spun-gold, and something else. Something new. He was wearing dainty, white gloves.
Rafal caught sight of another, unsubtle change through the tower window. He was horrified to find that Rhian had apparently commissioned a golden cage for the Storian while he was gone.
Seemingly, Rhian now tended to it even more regularly, as if he were sure it would grant him a favor, like a genie or a magical creature of that sort would, once caught and released for a wish in exchange for its freedom.
How childish could his brother get?
The moment Rafal's boots hit the windowsill, he peeled off his leather gloves, and noticed that for once, from just minimal friction, the interference of the glove’s coarse fibers, the seawater and his sweat, his heart had smeared.
His heart looked more scrawled than deftly inked. It was a messy blur of rainbow splotches on his pale skin. It didn’t look right, smeared like a stain, an iridescent oil spill, formless and hazy, like liquified beetle wings and mercury.
It was supposed to be as permanent a mark as one from a branding iron. It was a fixed tattoo! It couldn't just be wiped clean away!
Rafal blinked, rubbing at his eyes, trying to clear his tainted vision.
The smudge stubbornly remained.
Something had gone wrong while he was gone. Something sinister.
Rafal stepped into the tower chamber, legging it over the windowsill. He did not observe the cloaked, vampiric man fleeing the scene, memento mori etched on his skin.
Rafal reasoned these circumstances out to himself slowly: Rhian had probably figured that because Rafal never took off his gloves, except in the dark, at night, to sleep, that he'd never notice anything was amiss. But something was. Something grave enough to compel Rhian to cover it up, to erase his mistake.
Their bond had been besmirched by something. By someone. A stranger Rhian had opened his heart to. But was their bond broken?
The implications sank in. If it was broken, he could now be killed.
Rhian flung open the door, and greeted Rafal with cheer, yet he seemed wary.
Uncharacteristically, Rafal reached out to Rhian for a hug, and used the rare moment of closeness to yank Rhian's glove off.
The seams burst with the amount of force he applied and the pearl buttons popped off, catapulted in all directions, clattering to the floor, bouncing and rolling between the stone tiles into every last crack and crevice.
Rhian gasped and tried to shove his hand into a pocket.
Rafal trapped him by the wrist.
Beheld, as sure as day, was a bloodred V slashed in ink, like a scar of rouge in Rhian’s disfigured, melted, rainbow heart stamped around it.
Rhian's hand turned gelid, clammy, and slick in Rafal’s grip.
Someone had replaced him, Rafal concluded, without a word.
Rhian did not even try to offer excuses. It would be too humiliating to explain how he’d let Vulcan violate him during one of their dinners. He blushed at the candlelit memory.
Rafal dropped Rhian’s wrist. “Woe are we,” he sniped bitterly.
Rhian’s eyes welled with tears, but Rafal wouldn’t look at him.
Rafal couldn’t look at Rhian.
In fact, both brothers had fallen silent as the pen scratched away, swishing back and forth like a pendulum.
Rafal glared at the fluffy pen that shivered and flounced and puffed itself up like a fox's tail in the breeze. From across the room he could sense the pen's swift movements as it whisked through the air.
Wisps of shed fluff floated in the sunlight filtering through the silver curtains in spotlit shafts.
He felt the swoosh of the pen's fluff.
It twitched like it was winking at him, and slunk towards his legs like a cat. The pen twined itself around his legs in greeting. For several rounds, it wound itself around him.
He stood uncomprehendingly until his rage got the best of him. He extricated himself from the pen, and couldn’t bring himself to care about brushing the fluff from his slacks.
Rafal jumped out the window, to fly off, and figure things out for himself. The crisp air stroked his bare hands for once, and the sharp wind ripped away the excess fluff, battering his clothes and rippling cloak.
Now, he had to keep his heart in sight at all times, until he reversed this curse. No matter if anyone thought anything while his heart was exposed. They could all go to Hell for all he cared. He was doing this for Rhian.
And to save his own lost heart as well.
He flew away at full throttle, landed, and set off at a brisk pace, slamming into a boy with golden curls, grey eyes, and a cherub-like face. The exact sort of fellow Rhian would crush on!
“Who are you? Are you the V?” Rafal demanded.
The boy looked confused, and narrowed his eyes, fuming. “Name's Midas," he gruffed, putting up a front. “Who're you?” He stabbed a finger at Rafal's chest.
“Your worst fears,” threatened Rafal placidly.
Midas’ eyes widened.
Rafal shot back up the silver tower, and hurtled through the window, Midas in tow, grasped in his iron grip over the starchy fabric of the boy’s shirt. Coolly, he tossed aside a squirming Midas, who scudded across the room, aided by his sorcery, and left the boy for a moment, vowing to deal with him later.
He turned to Rhian, who stood agape, next.
Rafal marched deeper into the stone chamber, snatched Rhian's wrist, and dangled his limp hand in front of their faces. “What's this?” he said quietly, menacingly, pressing down on Rhian’s pulse.
He dragged Rhian up to the Storian, and released him.
Rhian stumbled forward, only managing to stay upright with Rafal’s firm hold on his shoulder.
“WHAT'S THIS?” Rafal shouted at the trembling pen, now thrusting his own outstretched, ink-stained hand at the pen.
The Storian, previously backed up against a bookcase, leapt into its cage, and rattled around. It cowered at the back of the cage, against the golden bars.
“This can't be what I think it is. I love him,” Rafal assured the pen feverishly. He sank to his knees in desperation, casting his gaze up at the pen.
Rhian dropped to the floor with him, and looked pleadingly at his pet.
Long and sinuous, the pen performed a twist in midair with a light jingle, as if considering the chastened School Masters before it, contemplating their tale. It moved with broad brushstrokes, white streaks of erasure, fine, gossamer threads spinning through the air, weaving around the brothers’ forearms.
The hearts vanished off their hands.
Rafal flinched, and shielded Rhian.
Rhian quivered, his heart throbbing against Rafal's own pounding rib cage. He gripped Rafal's upper arms, bracing himself behind his brother for the worst, for his precious pet to turn on him.
Yet the pen forgave.
It hovered over their hands, and drew new hearts, the same as it had done a century before.
Note:
I'd love to know your reactions and thoughts, or if anyone laughed. What specific parts got a rise out of anyone? Did I manage to shock anyone, with anything? I’d love to know what. Feel free to comment anything and ask any questions if there’s confusion.
I hope everything’s up to par. Did anything (specific or not) feel out of character? I didn’t check the books, and I sort of forgot what Hook’s, the Pirate Captain’s, and Midas’ dialogue sound like. If anyone catches any inaccuracies, feel free to let me know. Also, if there's anything else wrong grammatically, or in terms of clarity, please tell me.
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inanimate-bahsanity · 24 days ago
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📄 Welcome, Map! 🧃
📎 Names: Map, Maverick, Rikki, Melanie, Benni
📎 Pronouns: He/She/Silly
📎 Gender: Bigender
📎 Orientation: Biromantic asexual
📎 Source: Map from Modern Objects
📎 Age: 23
📎 Faceclaims:
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📎 Roles: Optimism holder, impulse holder, archivist, playmate
📎 Source memories:
- Was dating Spade
- Maverick came out as bigender to her friends, and they were all very accepting
- Was a big movie buff!
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spadelovesnachos · 7 months ago
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Spade, with how much you love nachos, would you marry them or smth if you could?(i can make a nacho alive if yes.)
....uhm
Y'know. I would say yes. But-
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I don't think my boyfriend would approve of me adding any more people into this polycule relationship.
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kotnaur · 6 months ago
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Cough cough
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roughmoon24 · 5 months ago
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Day 3 - 7
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theenpcbracket · 2 years ago
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The TTRPG NPC Tournament Semifinals (Round 4): Mary Byram vs. HE
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Images are in the order of the poll! Image ID included, click to see the full image please!
More about each NPC below the cut!
Character 1
Name: Mary Byram Party: Ambiscade Gang Relationship to party: Coworker, divorcee
What makes them the best NPC: Mary Byram is living proof that the song “No Children” by The Mountain Goats doesn’t just have to be about romantic relationships gone wrong. She’s a bright red tiefling rogue with a storied past, currently working for a guild called the Thinfingers alongside one of the party members. Previously, she worked with a tiefling rights movement called Hellflame, but something happened there that she doesn’t really talk about. She’s still passionate about both the movement and the group, though.
Our bard lovingly calls her “Mare-Bear.” She hates this. She’s a day drinker. She’s exhausted always. She cares so much but will never admit it unless under duress. I think she genuinely thinks that god cursed her by metaphorically putting her in a get-along shirt with our rogue PC. Their dynamic allowed our party to coin the term “Coworker Divorce” except they’re literally not allowed to actually get rid of each other. She is also constantly saddled with the skater-pilled rogue who was also submitted to the bracket, so she’s usually outnumbered when it comes to harebrained schemes. She’s largely anti-antics, but is down for some antics if she's in control of them. She’s a mastermind and usually gives the help bonus action either by telling people what they fucked up or by telling them NOT to fuck something up. She deserves a break she’ll simply never get.
Quote: "Thoughts?" -the warlock, asking Mary about a proposed plan. "...More than you. Apparently." -Mary
To learn more about Mary, check out the extra propaganda in her tag here!
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Character 2
Name: HE Party: The Misdemeanor Mateys Relationship to party: Businessman, aggravating party stalker, final boss
What makes them the best NPC: Mysterious tiny man with static for a head, and the loudest screechiest voice you can imagine (DM once blew out their vocal chords because of him). Levitates and teleports at will, and can pop objects in and out of existence. Runs a business granting magical favors. Originally tried to hire the party to help his business but the group said "fuck no". Now regularly pops in to nag, cause trouble, or play meme songs on a calliope, and occasionally provides useful information. HE controls an alternate dimension called the Mercantile Pile full of items from different times and places, including lots of modern-day technology (unlike the D&D campaign setting). He can be summoned by writing out his name. His calling card is a 7 of Spades, which he can also use to influence the world & cast spells remotely. HE mainly wears business suits & suspenders, but has also appeared in a hazmat suit (riding a tricycle), turtleneck sweater and thigh holster, wetsuit with suspenders painted on, sequin jacket with '69' on the back, peacock burlesque, and nurse drag outfit. He once killed 20 guards with a snap of his fingers. He also destroyed a walkman with a flamethrower. Implied to be the father of the ultra-powerful kid whose primary pastime is handing out enchanted "friendship nuggets" [chicken]. His #1 business competitor is Michael's Wonder Emporium. Eventually turns out to be one of the most central characters to the story.
Quote: "STAY OFF MY THRONE!"
"You're going to call me when you need me!"
To learn more about HE, check out the extra propaganda in his tag here!
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theant755 · 7 months ago
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25 Nights Of Navidad Day 11: Spade of Aces
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I did a switcheroo of “Ace of Spades”, featuring Spade from Modern Objects. The dude LOVES nachos.
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thekavseklabs · 1 year ago
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What are some of your characters' favorite hobbies?
Oo ok
Spades: He paints and draws very often, has a longstanding love of makeup, fashion, climbing, parkour, and of course, card tricks and other such slight of hand things.
Vynathr: He draws as well, but he reads much more often, and does greatly enjoy studying astronomy and mapping the stars, as well as magic in every form he can get his hands on, but especially varieties that include a physical component such as geometry or specific movements.
C: They aren't 'allowed' to have hobbies, but when they are, they like to create abstract sculpture and architecture, and collect music boxes and other small items which create music (whether instruments, speakers, or otherwise).
3: Aside from their primary activities which are, to them, incredibly enjoyable rather than just a 'job', they also enjoy pencil sketching, carving, tailoring, creating little concoctions or medicines even if they themself cant take them, and pretty much anything that requires an intense amount of precision and meticulousness.
Imnakit: Much like his child, he enjoys meticulous, lengthy tasks, but does prefer more relaxation than they do, especially embroidery, cooking, gardening, and managing or rearranging his library and religious texts even when it's not necessary to do so. He also likes to line up his small religious figurines and objects in different patterns and write about their historical relation to each other as a mental exercise, like a dignified and study focused equivalent to a modern individual lining up superhero figures and making up a story. Autistic as hell
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