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#Realme Fitness Band
shubhlogy · 1 year
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Maximize Your Realme Band Experience with These 3 Straps Under ₹400, unb...
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enderspawn · 2 years
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I was tryin to fuckin google the lyrics to this one song I like bc I wanted to check if my Blorbo Thoughts to the song were valid and I was struggling so hard, like NOTHING was coming up? even abt the song in general???? and I was like ????? until I reopened Spotify and uh.
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yeah okay that’s fair then
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metalhoops · 1 year
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The place was Chicago. The year was 1990. 
It was early enough into the year that the term ‘1990′ still sounded space aged. It’d been the 80s for as long as Eddie cared to remember. It was late enough in the year that everyone kept telling him winter was over. Nevertheless, he wore the leather jacket he’d ‘borrowed’ from his ex-boyfriend. Spring in Chicago was worse than a million L.A. winters. 
Eddie hated California on principle, but his record label was in Burbank. Despite the band being one of the biggest rising stars in the metal scene, he didn’t have room to get cocky. He’d spent the break between tours last year with his aforementioned ex-boyfriend in his New York apartment. 
The place had been small enough that smoking with the windows open felt like a hotbox session. There was one window in the apartment. It was in the bathroom and only opened an inch if you could get it to open at all. It wasn’t the rockstar life he’d fantasised about back in high school, but he was getting by. 
So how the hell did he end up in Chicago? He was getting there. 
As the filmmaker he’d slept with in Toronto had told him, opening in media res was the best way to hold an audience's attention. Was that what Eddie was doing? Trying to retell the shitshow of his life back to himself? Trying to make sense of it all, make it climax to something meaningful? Maybe. 
Eddie had gotten into the habit of keeping a journal, mostly for lyrics. The band was meant to be recording their third full-length studio album in a matter of months and Eddie only had three songs that were worth anything. To make matters worse, the other two had been concept albums. 
Corroded Coffin’s first and sophomore albums had been different enough that the band hadn’t been boxed into anything. Yes, they were a metal band, but they got their fair share of punks, goths and even a handful of yuppies that’d shown up to their gigs in the past. Hell, their opening act had been a grunge band. It sounded pretentious as fuck, but Eddie wasn’t afraid to transcend genres. The metal scene was changing. They had to learn to change with it.
The nail in his goddamn Corroded Coffin was that the band were known for their concept albums. Their first album Knightmare was a D&D-inspired thrash, metal album. Think Ritchie Blackmore's Rainbow, with a few more homoerotic undertones. Their next album, Dream Dimension was more sci-fi leaning. It told the story of an unnamed group of kids who’d stumbled into another dimension. It was a little more glam metal. Some of the B-sides like ‘My Year’ and ‘Lakeside Interlude’ had been downright shoegaze. One magazine had likened the story to Dream Warriors, which Eddie thought was fitting. 
It wasn’t like Eddie didn’t have ideas for the next album. That was the problem. Eddie did have an idea. He just couldn’t write the damn thing. It was meant to be his magnum opus, the third album that’d stand on its own but also interconnect with the other two. 
He’d call it Daydream. It followed the story of a white-collar guy living the perfect nuclear family life, complete with a white picket fence and a Malibu Barbie, dream house. The thing was, the dude was miserable. He’d spend all his free time daydreaming about adventure and forgotten realms. 
The kicker was halfway through the album the listener would realise the guy was the titular knight from Knightmare. His perfect suburban life was turned upside down when his kid disappeared à la portal to another dimension. It’d be perfect. All Eddie had to do is write it, and that was the damn thing. He couldn’t.  
All his albums were about something. There was always a meaning beneath the meaning. Knightmare? Easy, that was about escapism. Dream Dimension? It was about growing up too fast. Daydream? That was more complicated. 
Daydream was why Eddie needed to write in his journal. It was why he needed to remember that the year was 1990 and that he was in Chicago. 
The thing was, Eddie didn’t remember writing Dream Dimension. There was a 1988 sized hole in his memory between their first and second US tours. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what caused it. In their early days, they were practically paid in 8 Balls and party favours. Eddie always had an addictive personality and getting into anything stronger than weed had been a bad idea.
It wasn’t until his bandmates had an intervention that he’d been able to see the forest through the trees. Realising there was a whole chunk of his life he’d missed out on was petrifying. So, Eddie kept a journal. 
He’d been sober for almost a year. He was practically fucking straight-edge without all the pretentiousness that came with it, but he knew one slip-up was enough to send him spiralling. That was how he ended up in Chicago.
It was the last show of their Dream Dimension tour, and they were in Chicago. Eddie was always lively on stage. Gareth had abandoned one of his drumsticks during a solo only for Eddie to run across the stage, slip and bite the dust with his ankle going one way and the rest of him going another. 
He’d woken up in a hospital with a lump on his ankle the size of a baseball and the uncomfortably familiar feeling of being high off his face on painkillers. 
To answer the question, Daydream was about getting older. It was about being okay with getting older. It was about doing it your own way. Back in the thick of it all, it’d looked like Eddie wasn’t going to make it to thirty. He was trying to be okay with the idea that he might. 
Last year, Jeff got married to a nice girl who’d been their costume designer for their first music video. It’d shaken him in a way he didn’t know how to explain. He was in his mid-twenties, yet suddenly he felt old. Wayne had retired and with Eddie’s help brought a Winnebago. He was probably fishing in Nebraska right now. 
See, the thing about the titular character in Daydream, was that he’d conformed to what life was supposed to be. By the end of the album, he’d have left that life behind for another, one of action and adventure, because Eddie could never understand why Dorothy wanted to leave Oz for fucking Kansas. Fuck Kansas, on principal.
Something about the album wasn’t clicking. Knightmare was leaving his boring life but ultimately, he was alone. Was that what getting older was all about? Being okay with being alone? When you were gay in 1990, it might be. 
After the tour ended he hadn’t wanted to go back to his apartment in Burbank. He hated it there. He’d entertained the idea of heading back to New York but it was depressing. It reminded him of Jack, and how so many of their friends weren’t around anymore. 
When all was said and done, he and Gareth decided to stay in Chicago. He never said it out loud, but Eddie was sure his friend had stuck around to keep an eye on him. 
Sometimes, Eddie just wanted someone to come home to. Maybe that was why he’d had a string of shit boyfriends. If you weren’t picky, people would walk all over you. 
Jack had been the one that’d made Eddie swear off dating. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d rather die alone. His name wasn’t even Jack, it was Corey, but everyone called him Jack. Short for Jacket. Eddie wished he was joking. That should’ve been the first red flag. 
The thing about Corey was he always wore the same goddamn custom-made, leather jacket, all year round. He’d liked having sex in front of his full-length mirror with Eddie always on his knees, which should’ve been at least a yellow flag. He never liked anything gentle. Corey liked the idea of having a rockstar boyfriend more than he actually liked Eddie or monogamy. That was why when Eddie left, he took his jacket. 
He didn’t know why he was still wearing it, but he was. He pulled it on as he hobbled in his moon boot across the street from his and Gareth’s rented apartment to the record store. He hadn’t gone outside in a week, and he was about to start climbing up the goddamn walls. He just needed to go somewhere, and Eddie loved record stores, especially little indie ones. 
Once inside, Eddie noticed the place was practically empty save for the guy behind the counter. They had an eclectic mix of records and zines lining the shelves. Eddie was glad the place was quiet. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted. It wasn’t like they were The Beatles. They could go places but in a big enough crowd, he was sure to turn a few heads. Some days, Eddie just wanted to disappear. 
They had Corroded Coffin records on the display shelf and a couple of magazines with his band's name on the cover, which made pride swell in Eddie’s chest, but he wasn’t here for stroking his ego. He wanted to know what other people were doing and get back in touch with the scene. 
He was busy sifting through the bargain bin when he felt someone slide in beside him. He cringed, almost expecting it to be some over-enthused metal head with a pen and a Corroded Coffin tee shirt, but it was just the dude behind the counter.  
“Sorry, can I squeeze past?” the guy mumbled, a crate of records awkwardly tucked beneath his shoulder.
Eddie did his best to make himself small, his dumbass ankle making a simple task seem like an effort. He didn’t miss the way the man’s free hand brushed over his side as he passed, as though trying to assure Eddie stayed stable. 
“Place sure is quiet,” Eddie observed glancing over at the man.
His jeans were fitted, tight in all the right places. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirt to reveal more of his bicep than Eddie deemed necessary and god his hair. There was something about his hair. Something about him seemed familiar. Eddie really hoped they hadn’t hooked up once. That’d be awkward as hell. 
“Yeah, we usually close around five,” The man replied putting an album on the shelf. 
It was almost six. Shit. 
Eddie hated when people did that. They treated him differently because his name was in the papers. Everyone wanted something from him, and they thought doing favours was a good way to win him over. It wasn’t. The guy could clearly see something shift in Eddie. 
“It’s no big deal. I have to stay an hour late to replace the stock, plus my roommate has a girl over, so I’d rather be here,” The boy laughed, shooting a look at Eddie over his shoulder, a stray strand of his perfect goddamn hair falling in his face. 
The boy paused, teeth worrying away at his lower lip, his hand falling to his hip as his eyes searched Eddie's face. 
“Do I know you from somewhere?” He asked. 
And there it was. Sometimes people did that. They played dumb about who he was before making a big goddamn deal out of it. Eddie suddenly wanted to crawl back to his apartment and spend another month in isolation. 
The boy snapped his fingers in triumph.
“Munson,” He practically shouted and holy fucking shit, that wasn’t what Eddie expected. 
No one knew his last name, not his real one. Everyone changed their names when they got famous. He’d gone for something simple, Eddie Emerson, it had some alliteration, just like Corroded Coffin. It wasn’t too far from his real name but not even the die-hards knew him as Munson. 
Then Eddie remembered. 
This guy was Steve goddamn Harrington. He didn’t remember many people from high school, but he remembered Steve. 
“Harrington,” Eddie breathed in disbelief. To his surprise, Steve screwed up his nose. 
“Unfortunately,” He admitted and stuck out a hand expectantly. Eddie leaned down and clasped Steve’s hand. From what he remembered of Steve, the guy had never been this friendly. 
“Nice to re-meet you I guess. I’d like to think I’ve changed a little in over five years.” He had, Eddie didn’t know how to explain how he knew, he just did. It was something about the way the boy held himself. 
“What brings you to Chicago?” He asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that one of Eddie’s records was sitting on the shelf beside him. Honestly, it was a breath of fresh air to find someone who didn’t know who he was. He could keep the charade up a little bit longer. 
“Oh you know, work stuff,” Eddie answered vaguely, toying with his hair. 
That was something he did when he was flirting and holy shit, he needed to squash that right goddamn now. He wasn’t looking to date anybody, and he remembered Steve being very straight in high school. He needed to save himself from another heartbreak. 
“You live in Chicago now?” Eddie asked. The‘ because you didn’t seem like the type to ever leave’ was implied. 
“Yeah. Rob, my roommate, she practically dragged me here. We’ve been attached at the hip since I graduated. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else I wanted to be,” Steve answered. 
A little detail about the statement screamed for Eddie’s attention. 
“The same roommate that has a girl over?” He pressed and watch Steve fold his arms over his chest, all huffy indignation locked and loaded, begging for Eddie to choose his next words wisely. 
“The same,” he confirmed. Now that Eddie knew, he noticed they were selling a couple of queer zines. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Steve might just be progressive. 
“I thought you were meant to be the lady's man, Steve,” Eddie tried hoping that was enough to make Steve’s defences fall. To his surprise, Steve snorted and shook his head. 
“Like I said, lots changed since high school. My luck in the dating department couldn’t be worse,” he admitted as he returned to stacking the shelves. 
Eddie watched the planes of his back move beneath his shirt, wanting to push himself against him, to feel what it was like for Steve to move beneath him.
He really needed to get a hold of himself. 
“Couldn’t be worse than my luck,” Eddie rebutted offhandedly. 
Steve shook his head and shot Eddie another glance over his shoulder. He inhaled deeply as though preparing to tell a long story. Eddie leaned against the shelf to show Steve he was all ears. 
“Last month, I went on a date with a girl and she asked me if she could call me by her ex-boyfriend’s name,” Steve began. 
Eddie screwed up his nose in response. 
“Worse still, I was so shocked she’d asked, I just agreed to it.” It was Eddie’s turn to snort. 
“Stevie, you didn’t.” 
Stevie. Goddamn Stevie. Don’t do this to yourself, Munson. Pet names are one step away from a full-blown crush. 
“I did. Do I look like a ‘Juan’ to you?” Steve asked honestly. The question had Eddie doubled over in stitches. 
“Alright, alright. That’s pretty bad, but that’s one bad date,” Eddie reasoned. 
“Dude, I wasn’t finished. The girl before that realised she was a lesbian, while on a date with me. Which is like... the third time that’s happened,” Steve admitted.
Eddie’s hand had betrayed him and returned to toy with a strand of his hair. He hid behind it as he tried to mask a laugh. This guy did have shit luck. 
“You’re a lesbian magnet,” Eddie reasoned watching as Steve hid behind his hands. 
“And the time before that, I thought I was getting somewhere with a guy. We’d been on three dates before he told me he had a wife.” 
Steve made the next confession a little quieter than the others, a little more reserved. Eddie felt the hairs on his arm stand on end. Steve had changed since high school.
“Once I hooked up with a guy who’d only give me head if I sang to him while he did it,” Eddie admitted, feeling the need to get Steve off the defensive and add to the pity party. He watched the boy’s features shift.
“Oh wow, that’s bad. You should’ve pretended to be tone-deaf,” Steve reasoned, once more proving he had no idea what Eddie did for a living. 
“See I was torn between that and singing La Cucaracha at the top of my lungs.” Steve snorted, honest to god snorted.  
The two lapsed into silence but it was a comfortable one. Steve smoothed down his hair five times within the space of a minute before taking a deep breath. 
Eddie knew what was coming. He wasn’t dumb, but a part of him would always be trapped back in high school. It kept screaming there was no way a popular kid like Steve would talk to a loser like him. He thought he’d buried that part of himself, yet here it was, rising from the dead. 
“Do you want to get a drink?” 
And there it was. Eddie didn’t mean to cringe, but Steve caught it, his hands stuffed themselves into the too-tight back pockets of his jeans. 
“Or not,” He muttered averting his gaze. 
“No. It’s not that. I... I don’t drink.” 
There you go Gareth. He was responsible enough to look after himself. 
“I could do dinner though,” Eddie tried to throw Steve a bone. 
Eddie waited for Steve to throw up one of the red flags he’d gotten used to seeing with all the men he’d dated or hooked up with. Eddie would say he didn’t drink, and they’d give him a funny look or mutter something about him being a killjoy. 
“There’s a place that does a wicked deep-dish pizza not far from here. You said you weren’t from Chicago, right? You’ve gotta have the pizza, it’s a rite of passage,” Steve ploughed on.
“Sure,” He muttered trying not to look as surprised as he felt. 
He watched Steve buzz around the record store, shutting up shop and then extending a hand shyly to Eddie. Right, his stupid goddamn leg. At least it gave him an excuse to get up close and personal with Steve in the street and not draw too much attention. 
The two made the short walk to the pizzeria at a plodding pace, talking about nothing in particular. 
“What happened to your leg?” Steve asked as they slid into the booth. 
“Slid on a drumstick and took a nosedive off a stage,” Eddie admitted. He wasn’t going to outright lie to Steve. 
“Ouch,” Steve mumbled, passing the menu over to Eddie. 
“So, you still do band stuff? I remember that high school talent show,” Steve noted, and Eddie cringed, letting his head drop to the table. 
“I really wish you didn’t,” He chuckled before confirming,
“Yeah, I still do band stuff,” as he raised his head and chanced a glance at Steve. 
“Cool,” was all he said before they shifted the subject. 
They were swapping stories about best friends, roommates, shared high-school trauma and generally flirting when a figure approached their booth. It was a kid, who couldn’t be older than fifteen with a shaved head and a battle jacket. He reminded Eddie of himself at that age. He knew what was coming.
“You’re Eddie Emerson, right? From Corroded Coffin,” the kid asked, his hands shaking. He watched as a furrow appeared on Steve’s brow before his jaw dropped. So Steve wasn’t totally clueless. 
“One and only. You want me to sign something for you?” Eddie asked, having gone through this song and dance a million times before. He tried to be nice, after all, it was a kid, but sometimes he got tired of always having to be on. 
To make matters worse it happened in front of Steve. Something about people coming up to him always sat wrong with other guys he’d been with. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or ego that did it, but he knew if he ran into a fan on a date, the rest of the night typically went sideways. 
He signed the back of a napkin as he listened to the kid rattle off praise for their music. He talked about his favourite songs and lyrics. Eddie wished he knew what to say, wished he knew how to take a compliment but he didn’t. To his surprise, he heard Steve speak. 
“Hey, did you make this?” Steve asked indicating the kid's battle jacket, forcing him to come up for air.
“Yeah, all on my own.”
The kid blinked and ran his hand over a couple of the hand-sewn patches. Steve obviously knew nothing about the scene because if you didn’t make your own jacket people would call you a poser. It was a nice shout though because he watched the kid light up. 
“Even the safety pins?” Steve asked curiously.
Eddie watched as the kid launched into a story of every little pin and stitch in the jacket, turning his attention away from Eddie, and giving him space to catch his breath. It was nice. He felt like Steve had seen him.
After another few minutes, the kid’s dad came to collect him and Eddie felt his body sag against the diner booth. 
“You get that all the time?” Steve asked, his foot nudging Eddie’s under the table. 
“You wouldn’t believe it,” He grumbled scrubbing his face. Steve nudged his foot again, giving him a goofy grin. 
“At least he liked your stuff,” He proposed. 
“I’m guessing it’s not your thing,” Eddie reasoned. He wasn’t one for stereotypes, but he really didn’t look like the typical Corroded Coffin fan. 
“I’m not too picky when it comes to music. I just listen to top forty stuff.” Eddie shot him a disbelieving look.  
“Dude you work in a record store,” he laughed and Steve shrugged.
“Among other things. I just got the job to hang out with Robin. She works there too. She only took the job to try and peddle her girlfriend Nancy’s zines. Sometimes I write the sports section because Nancy, Robin and Jonathan don’t know anything about sports.” Eddie rested his head in the palm of his hand, listening attentively. 
“Wait, is that the same Nancy that you dated back in high school?” He asked, trying to sound scandalised, glad to have a break from the rock star bullshit. 
“Like you said, lesbian magnet,” Steve grumbled, mirroring Eddie’s gesture, resting his head in his hand. 
“What are you actually doing in town?” Steve asked, more curious than nosy. 
“Trying to run away from writing our third album,” Eddie spoke. 
It’d been the first time he admitted it out loud. He didn’t talk about his music until he thought it was worth something, but Steve was a good listener. To Eddie’s surprise, he found himself spilling his guts to Steve. He told him all about the third album, about the goddamn symbolism, and the way things just weren’t clicking. 
“Why don’t you give him a reason to stay?” Steve asked when Eddie finished his monologue, as though it was the simplest solution in the world. 
“I mean, Dorothy doesn’t go back to Kansas because she doesn’t like Oz, she misses home. She misses her family. You want your knight guy to stay in fantasy land? Give him someone to stay for,” Steve proposed, and it was like the final puzzle piece sliding into place. It was brilliant.
“Stevie, I could kiss you,” Eddie spoke.
“Is that a promise?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.
“Let’s get out of here and find out.”
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ghouljams · 4 months
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And of course, Witch does notice him. She probably kind of hates him at first for always disrupting her prayers with his languid, confident footsteps as he enters her house under the guise of asking for a very specific remedy. She hates the way her stomach twists every time she sees his rugged face. She hates the way her mind goes blank for a second when his soft, yet commanding voice echoes in her ears.
And she despises how she can’t help but silently gush at every single one of his gifts. How she always puts them in places she just knows she will always see them, and how comforting their sight is. How she feels her gaze soften even just a little bit when he breathes a sigh of relief as she bandages his wounds an massages his sore muscles. How her shoulders suddenly feel heavy with worry every time he tells her he is about to leave for another expedition, barely managing to steel her voice when she tells him to come back in one piece (after all, it’s always a nightmare to rummage through the heavy northern snow to find the ingredients needed to take care of big injuries). How she immediately goes to ask the Gods to watch over him, her hands clutching the necklace he once gifted her.
And, most of all, she loathes the way she loves him, her mind distracting her with many thoughts of him when she has to tend to her duties. She is down bad, and he is too. It’s only a matter of time before they both crumble in each other’s arms under the delectable tension these feelings weave in between them.
Just a little headcanon. Mii is inspired. We love characters who can fit in multiple AUs.
Mii do you wanna just take over for me because holy shit. I literally sat up and rolled my shoulders let's fucking go, I gotta write some fic, I'm inspired but I don't think I can match that because GOD. The mutual pining.
There are small things you do to prepare for men to come home. There are big things too, of course, you bind winds with your staff, you ask the gods for protection, you bless the wives with their husband's safe return. But the small things... You change out the furs you wear, return the silky pelts to their usual hanging place so you don't seem too fond of the man that gifted them. The same with your buckles, your brooches, your necklace. You twist a thin silver band around your finger, like a branch from a willow tree it always strikes you as too delicate to come from a viking. There's no filigree to it, not stones, no patterns, it's simple and well loved.
You do these small things because you loathe the man they represent. He's a distraction from your duties, he clouds your judgement, pulls the spirits from you. He watches you with such bare affection in his eyes that you wonder how it would be to be his wife. How it would feel to wake up every morning to those hands cradling you. Only to have him leave you, the same way he always does.
The gods whisper to you as you sit in front of their alter. Dissonant, clouded by the spirits that guard their realm. Chills wrack your body, your mind far away, drifting through the different planes searching for some new prophecy or vision that might keep your man somewhere closer. (They come to you in dreams, and tell you of new lands, new people, force you on to the elders and tell them to send out a party. You'll never be free of this awful wanting.)
The spirits pull your head back, arch your back painfully to look at the intruder in your temple. "You're always in such a rush to get back here," They tell him, voices overlapping, "is she really so special to you?"
"Of course," Price breathes, his shoulders heaving to compensate for his run to the temple from the shore. His feet carrying his heavy body to stand behind you, what are a few steps when you're at the end of them? He watches as you jerk forward and spit henbane seeds from your mouth, coughing and sucking in breaths to shake the trance. He crouches, his hands reaching for your shaking form. Völva don't live long if there's no one to care for them. It's the spirits, the elders say, no living creature can hold the dead without joining them a little each time.
Your fingers scrape the floor, nails digging into the wood and furs that surround the alter. Hands touch your back, familiar enough to make you shiver and tip your head to look at the man you always send so far away from you.
"Welcome back," He tells you, his voice so soft it feels like a blow. You look away from him, fix your eyes on the carved wood of Freyja's statue.
"I should be telling you that."
Price hums, his hands leave you. It's freezing without their warmth. You're frozen without his warmth, doomed to this until it takes you the way it takes every völva. Stuck, until Hel calls you home. You hate this man, you shouldn't love him the way you do. He shouldn't entertain your affections the way he does. He shouldn't encourage them.
"I brought you something." His furs rustle behind you as you collect yourself. You hear the leather cord of a pouch open and you sit up with a sigh. When he doesn't follow up or press anything into your hands you turn to ask him what he's brought. He presses a berry against your lips and like a fool you take it. It's a slightly bitter burst on your tongue, crushed gently by your teeth into something almost sweet. You eye the pouch in his hands, the bright red and orange berries inside. You feel yourself soften a little, smiling when you meet his affectionate stare.
"Rowan berries," You half ask, your voice feels lighter, gentler, "Thank you." It sticks like a knife in his chest. Something so simple makes you look at him like that, like coming home. Gods what he wouldn't do for you.
He's never seen you use any of his other gifts, doesn't even know if you've kept them. Price had thought something edible would go over well, easier to make sure you were satisfied with it. You reach for another berry out of the bag, the thin strip of silver around your finger glinting in the firelight. His ring. The first thing he'd gifted you, when he'd been overcome by the need to have any foothold in your life. You look up at him through your lashes, pop another red berry in your mouth with a questioning hum.
"Are you alright?" You ask, deft fingers reaching to inspect him, "You're not injured are you?" The concern in your voice might kill a weaker man, surely no one can hold up under your care. Not when you look at them like that.
"No," Price chokes out, gritting his teeth as your fingers brush his skin, "No injuries to report, we've got a healer now so-"
"You don't need me?" You smile when you say it, like a joke, but there's sorrow in your eyes. Price can't stop himself from cupping your face, your soft skin under his rough hand is intoxicating. It makes his heart clench painfully. Can't you see he's trying to ease your burden? Are you truly so wrapped up in völva that you've lost sight of any other value you might have?
"What would I do without you sweetheart?" He whispers. There's a pain in your eyes he can't name. It hurts to see you turn away from his hand. To see you smooth your hands over your dress as you stand, offer him your hand to help him up. You smile, some mask closing off your eyes from him.
"Well, we might as well go and greet the men," You pull on your duties like a well worn cloak, more völva than person when you pluck your staff from the ground, "do our jobs for the elders."
It's a reminder to both of you. The spirits aren't the only ones that keep their eyes on you. Price nods, and follows you out of the temple, pressing the pouch into your hands as he goes.
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alyakthedorklord · 8 months
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Ectoplasm = The Primordial Soup
I have Thoughts/Headcanons about the Infinite Realms I want to put down somewhere
The concept of Infinity is really really interesting on a metaphysical sense and to have a REALM titled after it? I want to know MORE. What is it? Is it purgatory? An end? A beginning? A funhouse mirror? Or all these possibilities in one, as it is truly Infinite?
Fanon-wise, especially in crossovers, the ghost zone/infinite realms is a truly infinite realm that connects to every universe out there. It serves as the Main Realm of the Dead, the sea in which all the other realms of the dead are floating in, right? When Danny is written as the King of this Realm, he is often placed at the top of the chain of command, above hades/hell/whatever demon or deity the author sees fit. The crown and ring literally grant (quoted from the show) “infinite power,” so Ghost King Danny is OP for a Canon Reason.
We are also using the fact that its a ghosts obsession that keeps them on that plane. Its their obsession that powers them, they are so attached to this one thing that the ectoplasm around them forms into what they want. Aka, power of belief. Belief is what makes the ghosts exist, and the concepts exist, and as we often see in writing, the many religions that the realms of the dead belong to.
(Edit: We see this in the wide array of personalized powers each ghost has, in thier wildly different appearances, every haunt and island tailored to them.)
With all these powers gathered in one place, what is the REASON that the infinite realms is as it is?
What if the infinite realms, and ectoplasm itself, is the primordial soup? What if every universe is formed first from a being of the infinite realms? What if the beings that created those worlds are just… primordial ecto entities. Playing in the sand. Over time growing in strength and detail until they became Gods of their own worlds, seperate from the infinite realms even as these worlds were born from it? All that remains are doors into their dollhouses, windows into their dreams, and the belief of the souls they made came back through and made more gods, more spirits. Souls come through those doors, back into the cycle.
This would explain why Danny Phantom Ghosts are different from traditional/normal ghosts in whatever crossover your using. Because they are ghosts, but they’re more akin to itty bitty primordial spirits.
The rivers of the dead, the Styx, the Nile, souls they travel back through the infinite realms before reentering the cycle or dropping off at thier final destination. But sometimes, as a soul is traveling, and their connection to something is strong enough, and their will is strong enough, they catch hold of primordial soup/ectoplasm, create a body of it, and escape the cycle of Life and Death. They become mini gods of their own obsession.
This ALSO explains ghost king by right of conquest and the head canon that ghosts bond by fighting! Not only are they basically indestructible, but the power of your will and strength of your character is a DIRECT link to how powerful you become. Winning in a fight demonstrates your stronger connection to the fabric of reality and your hold on your own existence. The flavor of that connection really helps Ghosts figure each other out.
Also, to become an Infinite Realms Ghost you have to be the kind of stubborn bastard who looks at the fabric of reality itself and goes “Actually? You work for ME now. Lets go.” They are all confrontational assholes.
The primordials don’t explain Shit to the tiny spirits so they go, “ah. I ghost. This is Ghost zone. This is normal afterlife.” And they don’t know that this is a place of creation, because all they know is that this is a place of death. But they make islands and lairs and domains of which they control, thier own Miniature World they are god of. They collect weaker spirits, who fit thier aesthetic and fill out their worlds. (Uniform/crowd ghosts often band together to form a group identity, acting as a support system for those who might fade easier. And definitely not Ease of Animation. Im putting lore here, yep. Main Character Syndrome is a Health Benefit/Status symbol in the infinite realms.
Anyways, eventually the secret of what exactly the infinite realms are is hidden away.
But as King, and Ancient of Space…
Danny is in charge of organizing all these universes. These galaxies, these tiny works of art.
He is so excited for when he’s old enough to make his own.
Im sure ill be editing this when I have energy for anything other than a stream of consciousness.
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bramblesse · 7 months
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Faeries 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊
allegedly we get a new occult every fourth gamepack and i'm cross at people arguing that faeries would be too much like spellcasters so here's my manifesto of content that would make it worthwhile. feel free to pass this on to the nearest eaxis snoop. if you are the eaxis snoop, please read carefully and take notes. 🍄🌱
all the tuning for the 'erratic' trait built-in to every faerie's personality from the jump — laughing or crying at seemingly inappropriate times, combustive fits of rage, a playful moodlet that won't kill them for being quirky or random, etc.
not only speaking to plants but singing to them — and loudly!
either far more attentive or far more neglectful of infant, toddler and child sims. [historically fae parenting mileage may vary, they are either the worst or the best! see: changelings!]
spontaneous dancing, with or without music, and lots of it.
tampering with food such as milk for an awful rotten surprise.
higher likelihood of something being stolen by them. toys, trinkets, decorations, other sims... [i have never read a tale about a faerie who wasn't casing a joint! they like shiny objects!]
faerie bargains! they have special interactions for bargaining and haggling with human sims for things in their inventory.
bestowing gifts and curses interactions. existential gifts like longer lifespans or giving human sims green thumbs or blessing a sim with an unexpected fortune. curses that involve having human sims mindlessly going around in circles, dancing to exhaustion, having all their crops never grow to fruition, etc.
grilled cheese want replaced by a want to eat cake.
other sims find them instantly attractive and more charismatic, even more charismatic than normal sims who have high charisma skill. [listen the everything about fae tells me they are v cunning.]
an affinity for all music and boosted skill level when learning to play an instrument. [it would be nice to have a lute, flute or harp added to the game but could easily be put in a bands or medieval pack.]
setting traps everywhere but particularly in forests with trees surrounded by toadstools that trap human sims in their realm. imagine a new death type from a faerie ring object...
exceptional at locating the garbage your normal sims can find whenever they go digging. [a faerie troupe whisking by during a faerie hunt is p commonly depicted in art and literature so their ability to track things down is probably wild.]
rather than incessant need to exercise, they have an incessant need to sunbathe and/or moonbathe.
insects and animals are drawn to them and easily convinced to do their bidding without any training — for instance, they can set bees upon their enemies. [unrelated, sort of, but we need bee and butterfly spawners in build mode!!!]
a court system that is a hybrid of groups from get together and the packs in werewolves. seelie, unseelie. spring, summer, autumn, winter. day, night. it really doesn't matter. let us decide what each court represents and place our faeries accordingly!
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somnambulic-thing · 7 months
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Siren Song
been sitting on that draft for ages. Eddie x afab metal vocalist!reader not really proofread, E18+ CW: concert setting, heavy pining, he comes in his pants :3
Words: 782
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And what do you do after graduating highschool when all you want to do is play your fingers raw on the guitar or get your ass kicked in moshpits while your eardrums got blown into the stratosphere?
You move to the city and try to get by doing jobs that not fully annihilate your dignity and dedicate every free minute to the music.
And while Eddie had hoped to find a crowd where he wouldn't stand out like a fucking lighthouse on fire, he didn't expect to be welcomed in the scene with such open, heavily tattooed arms.
He gets invited to shit all the time, soon he has to choose between this concert or that house wrecking party on the same night and four months in, he gives notice to his three shitty jobs because that one dude he met at that grindcore show two weeks ago remembered he as looking for something in the business and called around for him to let him know about that free position as stagehand at that venue that fit almost 3000 people and was notorious for picking newcomer bands as support acts who quickly became established names in the local scene and past their borders.
The job is hard but the crew starts to feel like a family very soon. Eddie would have never dreamed of finding a job that made him want to hang around on his days off.
Eddie had spent hours convincing Jeff to move here too after graduation and the time has finally come. He’s now sharing a space with his best friend and they can finally make music together again and that has to be celebrated.
The lineup this Saturday consists of bands he’s never heard of but his colleagues insisted he would enjoy the show and since Eddie gets an employee discount on drinks and wants to show Jeff his domain and introduce him to a few people. So they head out to the venue in high spirits.
They sit at the bar with some of Eddie’s 'new' friends when the opener begins. The intro is a long instrumental thing that starts with low and slow notes on the guitar that then give way to distortion, almost like static and Eddie is already zoning out of the conversation. It’s engaging, almost like a finger that curls in a heavy rhythm to lure him in, calling for him to join the crowd. He asks Jeff if he wants to check out the band, but Jeff is good where he is so Eddie slips off the bar stool and makes his way towards the stage.
The moody angry mystic sound urges him to move faster, to step fully into this moment, into the realms of sound, and command him to surrender to this sonic adventure. It’s like a fucking siren song and then he rounds the corner and backlit in bright white floodlights out of the fog emerges his siren. You.
He’s starting to push through the crowd when your voice hits him like a gut punch and god how badly he wants you to knock him out. Every hair on his body is pointing towards you, pointing him the way home and in his hurry he bumps shoulders and collides with elbows but he barely feels it and it all fades away when he finally reaches the stage.
He’s front and center now and it takes all of his willpower to not keep going, to not hoist himself up and lie down to your feet. And as if you knew of his dilemma, you come to the edge of the stage, you lean in on your crowd, voice swelling, louder and louder and suddenly you are so close so close so close and he will surely die if your eyes will meet him but oh what a way to go on from this life.
The music grows impatient, signals a nearing release and you stomp your foot on the monitor box right in front of him. Heavy black boots stomping the rhythm of the song right in front of his face and he will break his neck looking up at you like that, like he was witnessing the return of a goddess and missing one second of it would doom him for eternity. Oh, the way your music moves through you as if it’s an extension of your body and have his fucking jeans always been so tight?
You throw him around like he’s lost at sea and he can’t but mourn the air leaving your throat going to waste; he wants to inhale what touched your vocal cords, wants to live on the ether that fuels your voice.
And then you throw back your head, strobe light exploding like a violent halo around you and you scream like you’re made out of thunder and lightning and Eddie comes in his pants before that fucking song is even over.
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soundtrack inspiration for the music !!!not for the actual people!!! for those who care
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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 5 months
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The Divine Feminine II - Welcome to Hell (Sneak Peek)
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Guuuuuys I was supposed to post this for Halloween but could not finish it since I had a busy weekend and then a busy workday today! However, here is a sneak peek! Hopefully I can finish writing it in the next few days and post it all!
Read: The Divine Feminine** - Amidst his sadness after his wife leaves the Underworld, Hades (Harry) encounters a human woman who brings him to his knees.
No warnings for the sneak peek:)
WC: 1.1k
“You’re everything.” He mumbled against her ear and she tangled their fingers together, “Wish you could be with me forever.” He sighed.
This made her smile. Y/N had never really felt like she had a place in the world. She had always struggled to fit in, to find a place in it where she felt like belonged completely, maybe she wasn’t meant for this earth? But she had no idea what Harry’s world was like. She was curious, but she also realized that in order to be down there she’d have to die and she didn’t want to die. Not yet at least. There were so many things that she still wanted to do and experience…like tornado chase, travel to Europe, or see her favorite band live at least once. As much as she had grown to love him, he was Hades. He transcended time, he was the god of the underworld. He was the ruler of the afterlife, the highest judge in the universe, at the end of their life every single being answered to him for the way they’d spent their time. He was justice. He was vengeance. He was a god. It baffled her that a being as simple and fragile as her could even catch his eye.
“You shouldn’t think so highly of me, love.” He spoke quietly and she smiled.
“And why not?” She inquired.
“You’ll make me too arrogant.” 
“As if you needed any help with that.” She quipped with a grin and he swatted the side of her thigh quickly and she giggled. "You should stop hearing my thoughts." she reminded him.
“I want to show you my world. Everything that I can offer you whenever you’re ready to join me.” He said, completely ignoring her little reminder because of course he was going to continue reading her thoughts.
“What if I’m old and gray by then?” She questioned and he squeezed her tighter.
“I can become old and gray too or restore you to whatever age you desire to be.” He said and she hummed.
“That’s fascinating.”
“It is.” He agreed, “You know, there’s…a spell that can grant you temporary immortality. I could learn more about it and perform it on you, that way you can see everything there is to see.”
“Hmmm… a vacation to hell? Sounds nice.” She said teasingly and he chuckled and kissed her bare shoulder.
“S’paradise too, you know?” He said.
“I thought that was Olympus.”
“No, that’s where most of the other deities live.” He explained and she hummed in understanding.
“Is it dangerous? The spell?” She asked.
“I don’t know, I’ll have to consult Hecate, she’s one of the goddesses that also dwells in the underworld. That’s her area. We can weigh out the pros and cons together.”
“Alright, it’s worth looking into I think.” She decided, “And what about your wife? The first day of Autumn is just two days away.” She pointed out and he hummed.
“I’ll talk to her. Tell her about you. I think she’ll be glad that I’ve found someone other than her to keep me happy.” 
***********
Every time Persephone made her descent back to the realm of the Underworld Hades would throw a bash for her. It was an absolute lavish feast and everyone was a huge part of it, Admittedly, Hades had been very distracted with his favorite, little human so he only had two days to plan this feast whereas before he encountered Y/N, he’d begin planning at least a month in advance.  As soon as Hades arrived back in his realm one of his fellow deities conjured themselves.
“Are we having the feast or not?” Thanatos asked.
“Yes. I know I’ve been gone a lot-”
“Don’t worry, we’ve got it. The dead remain dead, all is in order.” He assured his friend and Hades smiled.
“Thank you.”
“You deserve this. You never have your fun.” He said and Hades chuckled.
“Let’s ummm, make this feast more intimate, yeah?”
“Alright.”
“And ummm, let’s search through Elysium and the Meadows for some musicians. Just the better ones.” Hades said and Thanatos nodded.
“Nyx and Erebos did start setting up the great hall in their home a few days ago.”
“And your brother?”
“Wandering about the world. After you were gone more than a week he also took a leave. We shouldn’t count on him for any of this.” Thanatos said of Hypnos.
“Alright, fair enough.” Hades chuckled.
“I must tell you, Persephone is a bit…unsettled.” Thanatos warned. 
“Why?”
“Hecate overheard Eros bragging about “striking the ruler of the underworld with his arrow to fall in love with a human”. Boastful little prick…” he huffed and Hades sighed, “Ever eager to gossip, Hecate mentioned this to Persephone, or so I’ve been told by Hermes.” Thanatos explained.
“Unbelievable.”
“I told them it was just Eros being a prick. We all know how bitter he still is over Persephone’s rejection all those millennia ago…” 
“Can I be honest?” Hades said and Thanatos nodded.
“Of course.”
“He’s not just being a boastful prick…I think he succeeded.” Thanatos was shocked to hear this. 
Anyone who knew the pair knew that the one with an unwavering and undying devotion in this marriage was Hades. He never even thought to gaze upon another being. And anyone who knew Persephone knew that despite her mostly pleasant and benevolent manner, she had inherited the jealously and wrath of her father, Zeus. She could be cold and senseless in her wrath. Hades knew this and it worried him for Y/N.
“If what you say is true then your human is in danger.” Thanatos said solemnly.
**********
Hades had been unsettled after his conversation with Thanatos. He had mentioned to Y/N that he would be rather busy until Persephone’s return and she fully understood this, but he needed someone to protect her from any possible attacks that his wife might hurl at the unsuspecting and fragile human who had his heart. 
Typically he would call on his own wife or Hecate when something or something required the utmost protection, but these two were the ones who’d been consorting all summer long and likely had turned against him to some extent. Persephone was reasonable, maybe he could convince her to not harm Y/N. But what worried him was that she was all alone on earth without anyone there to guard her. Hades wasn’t all that excellent in his practice of spells, but he did find himself at his altar, performing a spell for Soteria - the spirit of deliverance and protection - for Y/N. Being Hades, the spirit realm was always more susceptible to his wishes. And it gave him peace to know that his offering was accepted. 
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tennessoui · 3 months
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Congratulations on getting into grad school!!! YAY! 🎉 Same anon who read through all the KUSWK tags backwards lol. I almost never read incomplete fics because my adhd could never handle, but I ended up reading a more perfect union and just... 🥹🥹🥹 I now just need Vos to show up and for Anakin to throw the biggest hissy fit in the entire galactic realm while padme makes the am I a joke to you face (sorry padme) I am refreshing your ao3 page approximately once every 8 seconds not even kidding
ahhh thank you for taking a chance on this wip!! i am not where i want to be on the progress, but hey, it's the holidays--i still want to get this finished in december, so i'm doing a lot of writing on my phone during family time lol - here's a little bit of the beginning of the next chapter, ft. a lot of anakin being pissy but unable to understand why he's so upset
Padmé’s frown deepens. Her eyes are kind still and soft, but she looks confused and wary in her confusion. “Perhaps…” she says this carefully, drawing out the syllables like she is wrestling with herself already. She rests her hand on Anakin’s chest and takes several steps closer until she must peer up at him from under her eyelashes. “Perhaps it is for the better.” “What.” “Not that Master Kenobi is apparently—upset with you,” she is quick to add, splaying her fingers out and stroking down his skin. She has started to wear her wedding band. It flashes bright silver in the morning light. It had been her mother’s, thank the Force that they’d given Padmé a set of heirloom rings, given that Anakin had had no idea where to go for that sort of thing. Nor the funds to purchase them. He hadn’t even known what sort of jewelry Padmé preferred to wear, gold or silver. Apparently these things are important. “He has locked—” “The Jedi Council has given you leave to be my husband openly,” Padmé interrupts. Her voice is laced with steel, impatience hardening into something like ire. “You could move here, you should move here! I’m sorry that Master Kenobi’s actions have hurt you, and you will need to clear the air with him, make sure his upset was temporary. I know how…important he is to you—but perhaps we can look at this situation as for the better. The impetus you needed to make this change.” Anakin blinks rapidly, head spinning. His caf had been too strong this morning—he’d been unused to Padmé’s machine, added too many grounds or used the wrong setting. “Move here?” he repeats, eyebrows furrowing automatically.  “You already spend at least half your nights on Coruscant here,” Padmé points out, her tone level but with some strange and unrecognizable note to it. “I am simply asking for a wife’s due—that you spend all your nights with me.” “I…you know I spend most of my time aboard star destroyers, angel,” Anakin looks away, cutting his eyes to that damned vase behind the damned couch.
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hobiebrownbrowser · 8 months
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🖤Chapter -2🖤. ⚠️ Angst. Lots of it⚠️
Cheating Hobie Brown x Robotic-Spider FEMreader
Summary: A spider has bit you, The spider slowly absorbing your life. In a last feeble attempt to survive you harbor your life in a heartless android body.
Time Tumble: The Problem to an end.
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You remember it so clearly, your brain was slowly rotting at the scenes that replayed. The girl, That girl who he'd had his eyes on every damn second the band was together. She was a new bandmate from "his" realm.
How could you be so blind? Of course he wanted someone he could see all the time. Of course he wanted someone he could feel the warmth in, Feel loved in, Feel pain in. She had everything you've always wanted.
"A heart." A pulse is what you wanted, you wanted to be human again. You wanted everything he wanted. You wanted to feel special.
You thought nothing of her, delusions pushing the thought past with such a low tendency.
Oh how you felt so repulsive, lying to yourself just to try and stay with something that could never love you. You hate him of course you do, but that hate was always filled with love, disgust and anger.
You were angry that he lied to you, disgusted at the fact that he could've broken up with you. Why do you still love him? Why do you still hold on to a string that was bound to snap? You'd laugh at the thought, it was funny, Terrifyingly pushing an unstable reaction from you.
Your insanity was splitting, You'd quit the HQ just to feel the utter spite of not seeing "his" face. His figure was burned into your skull, often making you cry out for him. You knew he couldn't hear you anyway, slowly dying while he webbed another persons heart.
In the end you cut everyone he knew off, Sure they could just come to your dimension. Why not play a game of hide and seek? Your life felt like a board of chess, The ground under you not making a single sound of noise once you'd completely fallen from planet earth.
The city you lived in became utter destruction. You just watched, the motivation of being an alternate spider-person fading away from your mind. You sometimes forget you were the culprit for the city falling into disrepair.
The bags under your eyes resemble nothing but darkness. You still felt cold, pitiful on how one man could make you fall apart so easily. The joy you felt had deafened, your heart bleeding the blackest of blood.
You wanted revenge, wanting him to reap what he sowed. You know he probably didn't care, neither did you. Not anymore at least. You hate everything that falls into your hands, only for it to fuck you over in the end.
You were nothing but a tool for the spider society, It was their fault. If they didn't recruit you, you would've never met him. You would never have met his friends, His kind of species.
I was never meant to fit in, I was never meant to even be here.
"What was I made for?"
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Part 1
Don't look at me like that. I'm depressed atm.
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playasmo · 1 year
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OH MY GOD THE OBEY ME BROTHERS AS FATHERS ARE SO OSGSKSVE
Could you do the Side characters?? The children's name Headcanons??
how the obey me “side characters” would name their children
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“how the obey me side characters would name their children”—minus luke
;;thank you for requesting, anon! i’m so glad you enjoyed my last headcanons. and also thank all of you for the reblogs and likes,,, never expected my blog to suddenly blow up like that !! <3
disclaimer: i’m making these for fun! tell me which names you liked the most. this is not proofread yet
reminder:requests are open, but i only do headcanons at the moment! p.s: i’m currently writing something related to asmo <3
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diavolo;
It's only reasonable to give diavolo's child a name fit for a monarch since they will play a highly significant role in the devildom’s society. they will be welcomed into the world with high expectations on their shoulders
If it’s a boy, he would choose..rufus, which means red-haired king, a perfect name for an heir. For a secondborn, he would choose teivel, which means devil
If it’s a girl, he would choose..diana which means divine. another similar name, but with different meaning, is arcadia which means place of peace and contentment—after all, his main goal is to bring harmony among the three realms.
barbatos;
he chose the names based on their meaning but to also to express his values and duties.
If it’s a boy, he would choose..mayhem which means "chaos" or "permanent injury." he always claims that he chose the name because it is related to space and time—but it is actually a tribute to his favorite metal band. he also likes bensik which means "loyal, faithful person."
If it’s a girl, he would choose..maeyna which means "helper, supporter." He also likes sybilla which means "prophecy teller," "timekeeper," or "oracle."
 solomon;
he is the only human here, but despite that, he refuses to choose a basic name for his baby. He is a wizard, he is bound to be creative
If it’s a boy, he would choose..menelik which means "son of the wise"—fun fact, menelik was king solomon’s son according to the medieval ethiopian book. he also likes kesem which means "magic" or "sorcery" in hebrew.
If it’s a girl, he would choose..tafathe which means "distillation," a method used in chemistry and potion making—it’s also name the name of king solomon's daughter according the Bible. he would also like miriam which means "gift of love" or "beloved." he chose it because he would never wants his child to feel unloved or lonely like he occasionally does.
simeon;
a baby is always a joy, especially when it is his child. he would undoubtedly choose a joyful, holy name fit for an angel
If it’s a boy, he would choose..sachiel which means "covering of God." he is a soldier of the lord after all. he also likes asher which means "miracle."
If it’s a girl, he would choose..rachael which means "one with purity," “ewe" or “lamb”. he also likes eden, which means "paradis," "place of pleasure and delight." the name has a strong connection to the bible.
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theresattrpgforthat · 6 months
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I feel like this may have been asked before but: recommendations for a D&D player looking to branch out into other games (no genre preference) but with the caveat that they want to keep using most of their weirdly shaped dice? Systems that utilize just one type of dice (Shadowrun, WoD, etc.) are scary.
THEME: All The Dice
Hello friend! You are somewhat correct in that I've made recommendations similar to this before, so keep an eye on the rec list at the bottom. This is the first time however, that I'm specifically looking for games that use most of the polyhedral dice. I hope you find something that fits your taste in this list!
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Shattered: A Grimdark RPG, by Never Dark Enough.
Shattered is a self-contained tabletop RPG that is built on a unique die system providing players with a tangible sense of growth. Inhabit one of eight distinct races and explore the dangerous post-apocalyptic world of Feneryss.
Millennia ago, millions sacrificed themselves in a ritual to the dark god, Ragnarok. The blood rite failed and rebounded on the planet, capsizing entire tectonic plates, replacing once plentiful oceans with molten rock, and calling down catastrophic storms to ravage what remained.
If you want gritty fantasy, steampunk and horror, Shattered might be for you. There’s biological mutations, vampires, gunpowder, sentient fungi… and more! Shattered’s game system is pretty crunch-heavy, giving your player different dice to roll depending on the rating of their character’s skills. There’s also plenty of rules for attacks, reactions, damage reduction, and other conditions that may pop up in combat, such as disease. If you want to pull in a lot of the granularity that existed in D&D, but you also like the idea of rolling multiple dice for any given attack, you might want to check out Shattered.
24XX: The Last Order, by S.A. Young.
After the Fae Courts were ravaged by a primordial evil known as The Dark Well, they went to seek out help from the Realm of Man. Sadly, many centuries have gone by since this many Fae have been in the Realm of Man. Modern and strange, the only ones that can help fight back the evil are fledgling mages. Now Fae and mages join forces to form The Last Order.
24XX games exist on a solid skeleton, even if it’s only a few bare bones. Your players will use d6’s, d4’s, d8’s and occasionally d10’s, while you, the GM, will use a d20 for the random roll tables that exist in pretty much every iteration of this game. I find 24XX games to be quick and easy to teach, as well as either affordable or free. They’re also reminiscent of the OSR style of play, so learning 24XX might be the first step into a much larger world of OSR games. The Last Order focuses on a world of faerie magic, warped by a primordial evil, so if you want to include a familiar feeling of fantasy along with your bundle of polyhedral dice, this game might be worth checking out. (If you want a different genre, just check out the abundance of titles under the 24XX tag on itch.io)
Children of the Apocalypse, by Happy Monster Press.
In the ruins of an ancient city, a band of treasure hunters seeks ancient artifacts to fuel the creations of a powerful Tinker Mage.  Armies trade musket fire across rolling hills as pikemen brace to receive a charge of monstrous shock troops.  An assassin in the service of the Goddess of Death and Disease sets a gunpowder charge beneath the foundations of a rival church.  A wizard faces down a psion in an arcane duel for possession of a trove of ancient texts.  All these adventures and more are daily occurrences in the world of Children of the Apocalypse, a post-apocalyptic fantasy setting for Savage Worlds.
Savage Worlds uses different size dice for different skills, which is why I’ve recommended it as a D&D substitute in the past. But what it also has going for it is a broad community of players and game designers such as Happy Monster Press, with various settings available all for the same rules system. Children of the Apocalypse combines mythology with an apocalypse, with fantastical civilizations rising from the ashes of the old world. The biggest downside to games such as this is that you’ll likely also need the Savage Worlds Adventure Edition in order to play the game.
Old Gods of Appalachia, by Monte Cook Games.
In the mountains of Central Appalachia, blood runs as deep as these hollers and just as dark. Since before our kind wandered into these hills, hearts of unknowable hunger and madness have slumbered beneath them.
These are the oldest mountains in the world. How dare we think we can break the skin of a god and dig out its heart without also calling blood and darkness?
Venture into the dark, eerie past of an alternate Appalachia and enjoy a fluid, story-based roleplaying experience with an intuitive, concept-driven character generation system that gives you limitless options. With loads of lore, dozens of creatures and NPCs, and two complete adventures to launch your campaign, the Old Gods of Appalachia Roleplaying Game has everything you need to experience your own stories of horror, hardship, and heart in this immersive, narrative, and deeply chilling setting.
The Cypher System primarily uses a d20 and d6’s, with d10s and d100s used occasionally. I’ve run games such as Numenera for many a former D&D player, and it was quite easy for folks to put together a character concept, even if the rules were a bit of a shift. Old Gods of Appalachia is one of Monte Cook’s newest games using the Cypher System, and it’s cultivated a great amount of acclaim due to its link to the podcast of the same name. If your group wants to keep rolling a bunch of weird dice and also wants a link to a popular, well-loved piece of media to inspire their stories, them I definitely recommend this game.
I am Furious, by Brabblemark Press.
I Am Furious (Pink) is a dramatic tabletop roleplaying game that takes you through the events of one terrible day and then—reborn with the power of a goddess—retraces your story so you can unleash vengeance or bestow mercy on those who did you wrong.
At its most fantastic, the game may resemble a big-budget superhero franchise, where you transform into a black-winged Fury with a glowing blade and strike down your enemies. However, to reach that peak you start with smaller scenes like escaping a prison, avenging a murder, restoring a lost treasure, or more realistic play exploring the darker sides of your family, romantic, business, or other relationships.
This is a really unique game that I stumbled onto when I was browsing through the latest releases on Itch. It carries many of the same elements of sci-fi and superhero settings, giving your characters impressive powers that are linked to a goddess specifically in a way that allows them to carry out vengeance. It’s designed to tell personal stories, and requires each player to have at least one of each polyhedral dice. The full game is $5 but there is a bare-bones and dyslexic-friendly version that you can download for free if you want a taste before you put your money on it. If you like games of resistance and personal catharsis, you might want to check out I am Furious.
Recs Posts to Check Out
Tactical Combat Games
Fuck Wizards of the Coast
D&D-Level Crunch and Structure
Character Customization
Echoes of D&D
Games I’ve Recommended in the Past
Lex Arcana, by Archeron Games.
Kids on Bikes, by Hunters Entertainment.
Mausritter, by Losing Games
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tobermoriansass · 1 month
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When I say moral worldbuilding, what I am trying to address is the part of the story that speaks out of every shadow and silence—subtext, you might say, or context. It is a part of the story that is often cluttered when we attempt to get at it in the first pass. We fill it with nonsense explanations. Oh, he had a bad childhood. Oh, she got attacked in college. Oh, their dad abandoned them to take up breakdancing. These explanations are not part of the moral worldbuilding of the story. They belong only to the realm of event. They do not add meaning. Only information.
Moral worldbuilding comes at the layer below event. The layer that speaks to what these events mean in the life of the character and the life of the world unfolding. The layer that situates events in an order traced out by lines of causation that might run invisibly through the circumstances of characters but which link up solidly and tightly, creating a weave of story.
In Sense and Sensibility, a series of unfortunate inheritances give the novel its inciting incident: Mr. Dashwood’s first wife, a wealthy heiress, left her only son an inheritance that could not be diverted to any other cause, which fine, great. Mr. Dashwood was the heir to his wealthy uncle, and he was counting on this inheritance to set up his second wife and their three daughters in comfort. However, the uncle died and left all of his money to the first son, yet again, diverting inheritance in such a way as to limit its utility profoundly. Again, fine, okay. Mr. Dashwood then plans to work and build up a savings for his wife and daughters, yet he is struck ill very shortly after his uncle dies, and he must leave his wife and children in the care of his oldest son, from whom he extracts a promise to look after them. This would be fine except, yet again, there is an intervention in the person of Fanny Dashwood, wife of the aforementioned son, who, yes, you guessed it, diverts the money and estate away from Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters.
What does this have to do with moral worldbuilding? Well, you see, in our time, we’d just sue for the inheritance, right? There would be laws about this sort of thing. But in Austen’s time and in the setting of Sense and Sensibility, a daughter has very little expectation of such an inheritance. This becomes more pressing when we realize that without a substantial dowry, these well-bred but now impoverished young women have very few marriage prospects. And if they have very few marriage prospects, then, what is society going to do with them? The social world then becomes a great pressure upon these women and upon the events of the narrative. Also, how are they going to feed themselves? In the opening chapters of Sense and Sensibility, we watch a family get robbed of their house and home, and we feel, if we are canny, a growing sense of dread because we know how precarious it is out there for unattached women without fortune.
Because it is Austen, we are treated to that dread with a sense of wry irony. Fanny Dashwood is a total heel, but Mrs. Dashwood sees through her. Everyone sees through her actions, including Fanny herself, and so when Mrs. Dashwood, in a fit of pique, uproots the family from their estate and moves to a small cottage rented from a relation, she is giving Fanny Dashwood exactly what many of us would like to have given her. Yet, the result of that action—Elinor, the oldest daughter, chastises her mother gently—is that now they have even more greatly reduced circumstances.
Austen makes the values of her world legible to the reader through the consequences of her characters’ actions. We feel very acutely the narrow band of possibilities for her characters growing even narrower with each successive incident. The events of the novel come out of the moral understructure of the world. Only in this place with these laws made up from these values could give rise to this particular matrix of circumstances. If it seems arbitrary, it is only because the viewer or the reader is out of phase with moral structure of the world and must be brought down to the level of the world itself in order understand it.
I think this accounts for a lot of frustration with novels from the past or set in the past. But not just novels of course—films, plays, and tv shows, as well. The contemporary reader suffers from narcissism of the present, which impedes access to what Lionel Trilling called the “hum and buzz of implication” that comprises manners themselves. It is hard for a narcissistic reader to appreciate why Anna didn’t just divorce her husband because to us divorce is just a drop in the bucket. Divorce means nothing now. Yet, it did then. And I would argue that in some contexts, it still means something today.
I should say here that I am speaking of a particular (yet pervasive) mode of contemporary fiction called the cinematic mode, which I came to understand through the work of the critic Marco Bellardi. He tells us that the cinematic mode involves retrograde intermediation of cinema forms and technique into prose fiction. Less technically, he theorizes that this involves fiction that mimics the time signature of cinema, meaning a constant present-ness that itself results in a flattened narrative relief. To try to make it even less technical, let us say for the duration of this talk that a cinematic fiction is a fiction whose background (exposition, interiority, and discursive material) and narrative foreground (the “present action”) are compressed into a single narrative unit, largely resulting in an intensely “present” forward action. The critic Fredric Jameson, working independently of Bellardi, came to a similar conclusion about realism and its rise, and he located one of the crests of realism as coalescing around constant presentism. To me, Jameson and Bellardi are describing the same phenomenon, the constant profusion of the present, which mimics the ever-present-ness and flat narrative relief of cinema itself.
I believe that this flattened narrative relief has consequences for the moral worldbuilding of a story. After all, if one does away with exposition (which is often where the story world can think most directly about itself) and shows only the character falling endlessly through the void of the present, with past and future rising and dissolving instantaneously, one is also doing away with the ready-made instrument of moral worldbuilding itself. A world composed only of present action has no history, and if one has no history, one has no culture, and without the overarching and determining structures of culture, there is only the free-standing edifice of so-called free-will. I suppose this is what Jameson means when he describes this kind of fiction as existential fiction. But for me, it manifests in a different way, which is to say that when I read contemporary fiction now, I sometimes wonder what any of it means. Our fiction is dominated by Event and Situation, but without any orienting or organizing schemas to give it all any meaning. Or else, even the non-event is elevated to the status of Event and given meaning. All of which seems to be a commentary on how…non-meaningful life is out in the great concourse of mass subjectivity in which everyone is a protagonist and no one is a protagonist.
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Danny’s Bedroom👻🛏️
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Made my own version of Danny' bedroom. I dug the blue and whites he had and the overall mellow, normal teen vibe it had with the little bits of space and sci fi with the pictures and ships. For mine I decided to push that even further along with the other stuff hes into!!!
NASA posters and decor, Ship and shuttle model display, the telescope, alien decor, action figures with Star Wars, Star Trek, Guardians of the Galaxy and even a cute Final Space Mooncake plushy(they actually have that u should look it up super cute!!!), hanging solar system, Northern Lights Calendar cover, sci- fi posters, u name it! I wanted the room to SCREAM space kid!!!👨‍🚀🛰🌌☄️👽👾
Fun fact. His blanket and curtains r glow in the dark, along with the other stickers throughout the room!!!🌟🌠💫
Awhile back I helped @a-sterling-rose find some ideas for her cool Astronomy club room by showing her some decor ideas like that astronaut space projector on his nightstand, I decided to adapt it to his bedroom since it fits so well!👨‍🚀
For books, I added a lot of space and sci fi-related books, like the Time Machine, The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Cleopatra in space and Star Wars and Star Trek. I also gave him tons of DC Marvel and IDW comics like Spiderman, superman, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, TMNT, Transformers:MTMTE(Tucker also has that, shows how they're into similar things), Invincible and Ghost Rider. Danny Phantom was based on superheroes like Spiderman so I thought it'd be fitting to incorporate that, especially since many of the superheroes have space and sci-fi themes🦸‍♂️🦸‍♀️
He also has some books related with ghosts, the infinite realms and life and death. I can imagine he'd try to figure out that whole situation with being a ghost and all👻 I can imagine Sam suggested those.
I'm also DEF on board with the Danny is Trans headcanon, added that "Jupiter is Trans" as a fun Pride flag, a Trans colored planet on his bulletin board and in his book selection, has a book called "I Am J" by Cris Beam which is also about a young trans boy and going through that journey🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️
Fun fact, the plants in Danny's Among Ua plant pot are called "ghost plants"👻
I also added a poster of that band Danny liked in the show, Dumpty Humpty!!!🥚🎸🤘
Kept the blue but went with lighter grayer blues to five off his mellow shy, vibes. Also added a lot more colors like green for the whole Phantom connection and make the decor stand out better🎨.
For the record he doesn't always have ecto covered clothes hanging in his room, he just de-transformed too soon lolXD.👻👻👻
Here's my other rooms:
Sam🦇
Tucker💡
Jazz🌼
What do u think? I'd love to know💖
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space-writes · 2 months
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hello (again) writeblr! i decided to make a new intro that has all my current wips on it, since i have way more than when i first started out on here.
about me
I go by Space, my pronouns are they/he, and I’m in my third decade of existence, which is absolutely wild. I’ve been writing for most of it, so I like to think I’m pretty decent
I write mostly fantasy and erotica (sometimes at the same time), both original and fanfiction, and all of it's queer
You can find my work on my AO3 here, crossposted to my neocities here, and under my snippets tag
I’m open to tag and ask games, and my inbox is currently open to anything as well. I don’t always reply the fastest, but I’ll get to it eventually! (I don’t take part in chain asks, so please don’t send me them)
I use obsidian.md for all my writing, and it’s my favourite notes app ever, so I also talk about that occasionally. The tag for it is here, and I’m hoping to write some more showcases/tutorials this year!
my main goal is to actually finish some damn books and also to inflict my OC brainrot upon people. so far the second one is the only thing that’s actually happened, but i live in hope
My current wips are Chronicles of Valloroth (Renegade Prince being book one), Obedience, Obsession, and claws—summaries and links for all four are under the cut!
this is my writing sideblog, you can find my main @thespacelizard, and i follow/like from there
current wips
Chronicles of Valloroth
⚔ Genre: Fantasy Adventure
⚔ Features: Queer cast, found family, A Whole Entire Dragon, magical mishaps, The Mere Concept of Doing The Right Thing, a grumpy assassin, a sparkly mercenary, knock-off tieflings, a handsome prince (he’s gay), more banter than your average dungeons and dragons campaign
⚔ Status: Book One: First draft completed, re-drafting in-progress || Books Two & Three: outlined
⚔ One Sentence Summary (Book One): A runaway prince seeks freedom in a new world and must find a way to convince a rag-tag group to defeat an ancient dragon, all whilst he is being hunted by a band of mercenaries and an infamous assassin.
⚔ Series Tag: valloroth blogging
claws
🩸 Genre: Queer Horror
🩸 Features: teacher/student relationship (university edition), toxic romance, gender fuckery, broken identity, demonology, murder, self-harm, obsession, stalking, infidelity, a lot of blood, pact-based magic system, corruption, jealousy, eldritch entities, love is a wound, body horror, attempted suicide, and a little bit of arachnophilia
🩸 Status: First draft complete!
🩸 One Sentence Summary: A young student’s obsession with his demonology teacher sparks a twisted romance that draws him to the limits of his humanity—and into the web of an eldritch horror.
🩸 Series Tag: wip: claws
Obedience
💜 Genre: Erotic Romance, D&D fanfiction (original characters, Forgotten Realms setting & loose 5E ruleset)
💜 Features: a variety of BDSM scenarios, one closed off wizard dom, one enthusiastic nerdy sub, weird uses for dnd spells, a painful amount of pining, somehow; worldbuilding, emotional slow burn, as much self indulgence as I can possibly fit in a fanfic series
💜 Status: Arcs 1-3 are complete (read on AO3 here, or my neocities here). The first book of Arc 4, The Perils of Wanting is currently in edits. The second book of Arc 4, as yet untitled, is on its second draft.
💜 One Sentence Summary: A D/s M/M series featuring two wizard boys, the kinky magic they get up to, and the feelings they definitely don’t have for each other.
💜 Series Tag: obedience fic blogging (it began on my main, so the tag there has more snippets)
Obsession
🕷 Genre: War of the Spider Queen/Forgotten Realms fanfiction, also Erotica, Horror and a smidge of Dark Romance
🕷 Features: OC/canon, a nightmare transmasc wizard boy, obsession, stalking, jealousy, violent impulses, dubious consent, possessiveness, evil gender dysphoria, incest, gore, the inherent horror of Having a Body, and occasionally actual school things happening at Sorcere
🕷 Status: Ongoing serial, which you can read on AO3 here, or my neocities here
🕷 One Sentence Summary: Pharaun Mizzrym is everything to Vizaeth Thaezyr. He’ll do anything for him—even if Pharaun doesn’t know it yet.
🕷 Series Tag: obsession fic blogging (it also began on my main, so check the tag there for additional content!)
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alexanderlightweight · 10 months
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Wednesday again! Alec walks into faerie by accident, someone/something helps him get back and he visits often but after something happened at the institute with his parents, the people/creatures of fearie don't let him come back
here we go! i hope you enjoy. This verse called tethers of fate
i hope you enjoy! it took a bit to figure out where i wanted to with this but here it is!
lumine
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There is a toddler in the between, as if the veil isn’t sure whether or not he can safely cross over, but the unseelies watch and sing for the babe as he toddles in the shadows of a fairy circle and giggles in delight. There is angel blood in him and it sings fiercely to the unseelie who coo and croon and try to coax the child over to their side.  It doesn’t quite work, but the child becomes a bit more visible.
The babe leaves when the magic fades and the unseelies who bore witness quickly forget about it, finding new things to interest them.
Until it happens, again and again.
“This isn’t an accident.” Arawn himself finally says, having appeared armed to the teeth and with a glower as he stares at the fairy ring. “The child is being placed in the ring deliberately and tethered. This is an experiment.”
Before anyone can react to that, Arawn himself reaches through the veil and snags the babe by the back of their nape and then pulls them out, like a bedraggled kitten. 
He’s an adorable little thing, wearing odd clothes for a tiny baby and there is a metal band around his wrist that Arawn scowls out and then he draws his most deadly sword and very casually, cuts the bracelet off.  There is a strange popping, tugging noise as the realm fluctuates around them and then, there is a completely solid and healthy baby sitting on Arawn’s foot. A tiny mouth wobbles and Arawn blinks as small hands grasp his boot and hold on, the child looking up with determination before offering a shy, sad smile.
It’s without a plan that Arawn uses the vines to scoop him up and into his own arms and leaves come out to wipe away the snot and tears before blowing off into the forest. There is a strange magic to Arawn’s little prince and he tugs on a dark curl teasingly, amused when little fingers grab his own with an impressive strength.
“Do you already have a name, little shadow?” Arawn asks as he rests a finger against the babe’s forehead. 
A small thumb is jammed in a tiny mouth and there is a little nod before a warbled, “Awec” slips through.
“Precious Alexander,” Arawn murmurs as the magic of names clicks into place, “a princely and fitting enough name, for now.”
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yes valentine was using alec in an experiment. he is also not prepared for maryse's fury (valentine loses a hand and an eye and maryse as one of his top generals).
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