#Brass Token

[gebo4482]

The Chant - Launch Trailer | PS5 Games

Website / Steam

[cinematografieliebhaber]

The Chant beginnt auf einem spirituellen Rückzugsort, auf einer abgelegenen Insel, auf der eine Vielzahl prismatischer Schrecken entfesselt wurde, nachdem ein Gruppengesangsritual schrecklich schiefgelaufen ist und ein Portal zu einer Alptraumdimension namens The Gloom geöffnet wurde. Die Dimension ernährt sich von negativer Energie und beginnt die Gamer*innen und die anderen in den Wahnsinn zu treiben.

[savingcontent]

It's your spiritual nightmare as The Chant is out for PC, PlayStation 5, and Xbox Series X|S today

It’s your spiritual nightmare as The Chant is out for PC, PlayStation 5, and Xbox Series X|S today

(more…)

[thesplintering]

Supernatural Horror Game “The Chant” Now on Xbox, PS5, PC

Supernatural Horror Game “The Chant” Now on Xbox, PS5, PC | #gaming #horror #Xbox #PlayStation #PCgaming

Glory Island isn’t nearly as much fun as it sounds. On Thursday, game publisher Prime Matter released The Chant for PS5, SeXbox and PC. Developed by Brass Token, The Chant is a horror action adventure game with a psychedelic undertone and set in the supernatural environment of Glory Island. Here’s the official breakdown of The Chant from Prime Matter followed by a launch trailer: It’s time…

[epic-song-lyrics-showdown]

Epic Song Lyrics Round 1, Wave 3, Poll 5

“I've got a river running right into you / I've got a blood trail, red in the blue / Something you say or something you do / The taste of the divine”

-The Summoning, Sleep Token

“And what is this leaking affecting my eye? / Does the oil that is dripping mean this is a cry? / Will I ever be something with feelings to hide? / Or am I just a boiler with nothing inside?”

-Brass Goggles, Steam Powered Giraffe

The Summoning-Sleep Token

Time Stamp: 5:47-6:08

Propaganda:

Honestly, this whole album fucks me up ngl

Brass Goggles-Steam Powered Giraffe

Time Stamp: 1:35-1:51

Propaganda:

My ideal gender would be robot and this part is very fun to sing and sound devastated

Check out the other polls in this wave here.

[erienstrf]

✨ BRASS BIRMINGHAM COMPONENTS ✨♥️

✨ Links:  Erien Strf

❤ Follow my work: Instagram · Twitter . Artstation . TikTok

🌈 Supporting me: Redbubble . Ko-Fi

🔸Ask me about commissions

[onlinesikhstore]

Rare Antique Brass Sikh Guru Nanak Sat Kartar Nanakshahi Good Luck Gift Token T1

Rare Antique Brass Sikh Guru Nanak Sat Kartar Nanakshahi Good Luck Gift Token T1

Bala Mardana Baba Nanak

Token Coin as shown in the photos.

Type: Hindu Token

Period: Not Known - used item

Country/Region of Manufacture: India

[achromatophoric]

Enid: Hey Willa! Do you play Street Fighter?

Wednesday: Yes. I would never miss the opportunity.

Enid: *gasps* You do? How about Mortal Kombat?

Wednesday: I find it preferable, if not ideal.

Enid: *excited* No way! And Killer Instinct?

Wednesday: Obviously. Do I appear to lack conviction?

Enid: King of Fighters? Darkstalkers?? Fatal Fury???

Wednesday: An aspiration. Last Thursday night. Technically, but they were resuscitated.

Enid: OMG! We are totes going to that ancient arcade tonight.

That evening Wednesday enters Jericho’s retro arcade, where she is greeted by a squealing Enid.

Enid: *excitedly waving a tube of tokens* Willa! Are you ready to get your game— uh. What’re those for?

Wedsnesday: *wearing brass knuckles and dragging a steel chain* This… does not appear to be a coliseum.

[bloodyquillink-blog]

I had a thought…

This is going to be based off of the audio roleplays from @yuurivoice on youtube with his OC Auron and listener/lover Rook.

I was listening to The Night Does Not Belong To God by Sleep Token. Something about the piano in the beginning just fits the scene so well.

Imagine:

Listener(Rook) is taken by some enemies of Auron’s. Probably very old enemies that he believed were dead or at least disbanded.

They beat the shit out of Rook and send photos of the aftermath to Auron in a nice little package (for visualization purposes, remember when Seth, Alphonse and Boo got the box of Jessie’s hair? Yeah, kinda like that.)

Auron gets his gang together because he is seeing red, almost as if the blood he’ll spill has already gotten into his eyes.

He storms into whatever warehouse or building Rook is in.

He finds the rest of the gang that had kidnapped you but can’t find the leader of them. He’ll handle that later, he supposes.

Auron finds Rook laying on the ground, still tied to a chair. They’re knocked out and bleeding.

His gang frees Rook and he carries them out in his arms, whispering reassurance between every command he sends his team.

At a very fancy hospital, Rook wakes up. Laying on a hospital bed and watching Auron. His elbows on his knees, he’s hunched over and lost in thought. That is, until Rook speaks.

“Hey, hero…”

Auron confesses how afraid he was, trying to make it sound more like anger instead of fear. He explains that he couldn’t find the leader.

“You have some work to do” Rook says.

With their working and less sore arm, the pull out brass knuckles that Auron had gifted them (a sign of trust in his eyes, giving Rook an idea of just how cruel he can be behind the scenes). I almost want to imagine that Rook had fashioned this into a necklace they could tuck into their shirt so it wouldn’t arouse suspicious but idk.

Auron takes the brass knuckles. He silently kisses Rook on the head and caresses their cheek.

“My hands… are going to look much bloodier when I come back. The streets… will be even dirtier than before. My love for you is like a bullet. Nothing stands in its way… and if it tries to…” he doesn’t need to finish his sentence.

Auron leaves, slipping the knuckles on and telling a few of his people to keep watch. He puts his hair up and gets to work.

He comes back hours later to find you sleeping peacefully.

Your injuries, though tended to, are still red and irritated. You’ll be out of work for a bit.

Auron sits right where he was before he left. By your bed. However now, he looks at you. He watches your breathing, listens to the small noises you make. The only sound is the light fixtures buzzing.

He slips off the brass knuckles and wipes his hands off.

His bruised hands gently brush your hair. The cracks in his skin sting, but he ignores it. There are higher priorities. Auron stays, ignoring his discomfort being in such a stale environment.

He replays the beating he dished out over and over in his head until you come back to the forefront of his mind.

He temporarily forgets his cruelty, exchanging the thoughts for those of you. Every moment he has seen of you.

This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. If anyone else knows about you, then perhaps he should pay them a visit too.

He plans as you sleep.

[grievous-writes]

"Mimic" - Part One - Ramattra x Reader

Welp, I think this one is gonna be more then a one shot XD

You were one of the most single-handedly annoying Humans Ramattra had to endure, and given all of Humanity was on his knives’ edge, that was saying something. He had his mission, his war, his duty to all Omnic kind, and you as a Talon agent were making this muddled - A Human who was an ally, even if it was hesitantly so. 

Those who worked with the organization were a colorful bunch, some fatalistic and grim, and then others were like you with your flashy attitude and manic personality. Sombra and you were in that same vein, snarky and short, but you were different enough to stand out from the hacker by coming to Ramattra on your downtime. Where Sombra’s RnR was spent on her various data collections and pulling threads behind a monitor, you spent your time pestering the Omnic leader.

Your particular flavor of pestering Ramattra was your vocal mimicry, hence your code name “Mimic”. You loved to use his voice against him.

Ramatraa read your file, he knew it was a Blackwatch raid on your small town that caused you to loathe the sham that was Overwatch, and you had to survive a traumatic childhood by mimicking everything around you. You could be disguised as anything, from a dog limping down the street to a trash bin dumped over on the side of the road, and through this unique skill you would steal food for other orphaned kids in your town … or you’d pilfer heavy munitions for rebel cells. You were a survivor, durable and capable, and slightly insane. You had to be if you kept pestering him so often. 

You caught him several times when he was leaving meetings with the other Talon top-brass, appointed his escort to and from his ship, and would poke and poke and poke:

“So, got any plans to make people suffer as you have suffered today?” You asked with half of your voice being your own, and the other more embolden part being his tone repeated back to him. Uncanny. 

He tried to ignore you, walking onward as you trailed behind; sights set forward to his docked ship. 

“Oh come on, don’t leave me hanging!” Your smile was too wide for his taste.

He growled. “Surely you must have some task other than to bother me, Human.” 

“Oh, ouch, are we back to that sort of name calling, Omnic?” You frowned with a mischievous eye roll. “Come on, give me something to work with besides your broody mode. A laugh, a joke!”

“You are a joke.” Was his quick spitted response, and he felt rather juvenile after letting it out.

“Again, ouch.” You chuckled and he watched from the edge of his vision as your smile faded ever so. “How about this then - When you’re in a better mood, and if you have free time, come find me?”

Ramattra paused in mid step and snapped his head down to look at you. “And why would I seek you out?” 

“Cause I’m charming and fun to be around.” Your smile grew in full force; hands on your hips and head held high.Cocky and confident. 

The Omnic aimed to give another quick retort, a quick bit of his words, but he faltered. That’s what you wanted from him, banter and conversation - You were collecting more of his voice. And for what end? You were using him, just as how he was using you. 

“Enough of you, Mimic.” Ramattra’s tone was deep, level, and it made your stomach churn. His red glowing gaze was intense and you felt your grin falter once more. “Be gone and find your sport elsewhere. I have no interest in mingling with the likes of you.” 

“Likes of me? W-What’s that-?”

“You are an adventitious tool for Talon and nothing more. You are barely subpar above the hacker and sniper, nowhere near important enough to be mentioned by your leaders, and your only real task is playing babysitter to someone who could crush your skull in with a flex of my palm. It is trivial and a token task given to placate someone as desperate as you.” The Omic turned away from you and kept walking to the ramp of his waiting vessel, leaving you in your spot. 

Your feet refused to move and you couldn’t find any words. 

“Keep that in mind when you try to talk to me as if we are equals.” Was Ramattra’s last comment as he ducked out of sight, and you stood frozen as his ship flew away into the early evening’s orange sky. - - -

The last meeting with the Omnic got to the ears of Reaper, with some deck crew tattle-telling on you, and the masked man gave you a mouthful of not so passive threats to back down … and a new assignment that would take you away from Talon’s HQ for sometime. Talon couldn’t risk pissing off Null Sector, not for the amusement of a mid-range agent like yourself.

You were assigned to the ass end of nowhere, at a monitoring station high in the mountains of the western United States, where Talon was piggybacking off official comms channels around the world. You were set in charge of a small team that was meant to monitor air traffic and report anything useful. You were essentially tossed to the side, put in time out, and your skills and true talents left unused for months.

To anyone else, they’d have probably been pissed off and brooding about the new job, but you had been discarded before many times, lonely and forgotten, that this was a walk in the park. You had learned to mimic contentment, to fabricate joy, and masterfully masked your hurt emotions with diligence to your task. This was all first nature to you, with the founding blocks of your skills set by a little kid who had to fake it till they made it. You remembered a time where you had to literally mimic the sound of a dying bunny to lure in a starving cat, a fine meal you caught with your bare hands; just barely above the age of ten. 

You were so alone, so sad, and scared.

In all your bravado and flashy facade, you had thought that maybe Ramattra would understand what it meant to feel alone; given his situation. You couldn’t imagine the weight on his shoulders, his task was unique to him alone, but you could still sympathize. And you dared that maybe, just maybe, you told yourself, if you could make him “smile” there was hope that neither of you would be so lonely.

But alas, he pushed you away. Red tape was laid out and you were officially told to back off.

That didn’t stop you however from using the monitoring station to your own ends.

You had your own hacking subroutines that Sombra didn’t have access to, your own unique flavor of single mimicking, and you easily tapped into Null Sector and Talon communications. You at first used your connection to pinpoint where joint operations were held, then you would figure out who was in command and leading the missions, and eventually you got access to an area’s security system and watched the battles from the comfort of your desk via CCTVs. And unabashedly, you were keen on watching Ramattra work out in the field. 

You watched how dominating Ramattra was on the field, and was fascinated with how precise his attacks were. His defensiveness was calculated, his offense ruthless, and he would annihilate his enemies with efficacy. You couldn’t help but find yourself mimicking his voice and actions in the comfort of your room, playing out fighting along his side and working out in your head how you could aid the Omic in battle. You found yourself roleplaying as well, making fake conversations back and forth with his voice and your own in your throat. Silly things, funny things, a side of Ramattra you were making up in your spare time. 

You imagined him congratulating you on a task well done, complimenting you on your fighting style, and after a few close calls in combat, finally him taking that offer on spending time with you. But in reality, you were talking to yourself, sitting in a barely lit room and dreaming of something that would never come to be. It was pathetic. The solitary time in the mountains was getting to you, and you knew that there was a line between boredom and obsession. 

On the morning you set out to end the little spy network on Ramattra’s missions, you noticed something interesting stirring in the signals codding. The Omnic and a few other Talon agents were set out on a stealth mission to steal a payload out from Overewatch’s nose, and where Sombra was there to hack her way through doors and watch through the building’s cameras, you caught signs of another person’s work doing the same thing you were doing. They were mimicking Sombra’s signal and watching everything she was doing. You watched from a third eye position as Sombra’s attacks were being counter blanched, no doubt by someone in Overwatch, but you couldn’t act - Or else you’d be found out. It was one thing to have a little network insight like you had, and another thing to be found out. 

You could get into real trouble, like the sort that left a bullet in your brain knowing Talon, but as you watched the mission go to shit, as you saw Ramattra’s shield being beaten down again and again, all thoughts for self preservation fell away. 

“Fuck it.” You snarled under your breath and got to work. Your signal turned onto the Overwatch line and began to attack it from the preverbal backdoor in a sparking battle; counter-acting every move it tried to do, by acting as stray code within its own network. You began to cause internal damage into the Overwatch hacker’s routine, mimicking your way in and out of its trappings to have the program destroy its own code.  

The actions caught Sombra’s attention as she was trying to open a door for escape, a weird glare set to her features. “What the-?!”

“Sombra, the door!” Reaper shouted out between shotgun blasts.

“Yeah yeah, I’m getting there - Finally!” She barked back with a sudden smirk as the doors flew open. 

“What took so long?” Widowmaker asked through the commlink, snipping off targets from above.

“Eh, someone in Overwatch was being fancy. But - …” Sombra stood up and dashed through the door; leaving her remark unfinished. The others followed behind her, with Ramattra pulling in the rear as he used his tanky tactics to cover the retreat. 

Reaper hummed and looked to Windowmaker, who had joined the escape from the shadows of a corner and a glare was set to her cold, blue features. 

You watched the interactions going down, heard every word, and both you and Sombra knew that; she knew you were watching and listening now. The hacker was the closest thing you had to a “friend” within Talon, and you knew while she’d try to not toss you under the bus, she might not have the choice; self preservation. But you couldn’t help but feel sudden burning guilt as Reaper and Widowmarker set their eyes onto Sombra. They had their suspicions on her already, you knew that after the failed assassination a few months back, and this could be the perfect opportunity to get her. And by “get”, they could easily kill her if they wanted. 

You couldn’t hide. Your shame of spying on Ramattra was meager compared to seeing Somrba get shot down. Your own self preservation was tossed out the window in a foolish flick of our comm into their joined link. 

“Welcome to Talon Airlines, this is Mimic, and I’ll be your pilot this evening!” Your voice mimicked that of a cherry commercial pilot, masterfull masking your nervousness. The group took a collective halt, stunned for a moment, but none of you had time to talk or argue. “If you could kindly get going? I can’t copy their single for too much longer and Sombra needs to get out of there before the whole compound goes into lock down.” 

Wordlessly the team booked it for the exit, with Sombra leading the way to freedom as you battled on; holding the line. You managed to lock and close doors behind the fleeing troupe, blocking Overwatch agents from getting to them at every turn. You watched as the Talon transporter came flying down to pick up the team, with Ramattra taking a quick glance at a security camera. You watched his crimson glow lingered into the feed, and even as he ducked out of sight and into the safety of the ship, you could feel the red flare burned into your gaze; with no amount of blinking being rid of the speckles in your eyesight. 

You were so fucked.

---

Ramattra stood to one side of the debriefing room, silent and arms crossed, and he was impressed by how you held your ground while Reaper drilled into you. You didn’t flinch, didn’t show emotion. But it couldn’t last; you were only Human, after all. Sombra was brought in as well, the two of you getting an earful, but the masked-man’s ire was majorly on you. Rightfully so, of course. 

You were spying on special operations of some of Talon’s highest ranking agents, and that would've gotten any other soldier a death sentence. Your only saving grace was that you never recovered what you saw. And with Sombra’s input, it was understood your system was nearly flawless. The hacker would have improved things here and there, a few tweaks into your algorithm, but it was enough passive praise to get Reaper to cool down. 

And then there was Doomfist. He was as quiet as Ramattra during the entire interrogation, and only spoke after Reaper had stepped back from your person. Reaper was the gun and Doomfist was the person who could’ve pulled the preverbal trigger.

“Agent Mimic.” Akande began, his baritone voice calm as he was reading over a datapad. Ramattra recognized the passing words on the pad as your personal file, specifically the disciplinary record section. It was a clean slate. 

“Yes, Sir?” You asked at full attention. 

“I shall make this simple.” Doomfist put down the datapad onto a nearby table and began to walk his way around the room, slowly making it to your side. Ramattra was reading your vitals and while you were keeping collected on the outside, your heart rate was steadily rising. “While you have been a loyal soldier to Talon’s cause, and resourceful tool, and have skills I’d hate to see wasted … You’ve made yourself a loose thread, one that has no damaging repercussions if I decide to have you removed. Do you understand?” 

You nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” Doomfist’s large gauntlet, with its golden fingers and heavy metal, was delicately laid upon your thinly padded shoulder. He held firm and Ramattra could see in your hardened stare a small spike of emotion breaking through. 

Fear. 

Ramattra could feel his system whirr alive from within his chest cavity, a fan kicking in to dispel a heat he hadn’t felt till that moment. 

“Very good.” Doomsift gave your shoulder a pat before he moved the heavy hand from your body, and your heart race quickened at the lack of his touch. Silent as the night, the tall Human walked back to the head of the table and sat down in a blackened swivel large chair. He sighed and closed his eyes, thinking. 

Reaper shifted his weight from side to side, waiting.

Sombra’s sharp eyes were fixated on Mimic, then onto Ramattra for a brief moment. 

“Ramattra.” Doomfist spoke and his golden gaze shifted to the Omnic. “If Agent Mimic was in your charge, how would you proceed with discipline?” 

Your eyes shifted to him, your fear growing cold in your once bright eyes that teased him with his own voice months ago, and Ramattra’s fan kicked up a level in intensity. You were breaking, as any Human would do in time. There was something undeniably egotistically uplifting at knowing your fate was dependent on his word; something cruel and bitter. Mondatta’s words of compassion echoed within Ramattra’s mind, a failure of a lesson, and it was one he swore never to head again. 

And yet. 

Ramattra uncrossed his arms and reached for his staff, with long metal fingers curling about the weapon’s shaft as he hummed a thought. “Were this left to me? This tool is still usable, even in such a blunder.” 

Your eyes never moved off Ramattra as he continued. “Agent Sombra has given her account on how Mimic’s network was undetectable, to herself and to Overwatch until the big reveal. With some reworking, and with proper guidance, this tool can be repurposed.”

Doomfist hummed deeply. “To be repurposed, a novel idea. And if I were to offer Mimic into your service?” 

The Omnic didn’t trust Doomfist as far as he could throw him. This was a trick. “I would decline.”

“I see.” Doomfist sighed. The tone was set and Mimic’s fate was sealed.

Unless Ramattra acted quickly. But did he want to? It was no secret you were using your network to watch him, an unspoken thing said in the report and after a quick dissection of your data. Why were you watching him? What did you want? Were you seeking the thrill of an obtuse fetish? Trying to gather information on Ramattra that could bring him down? Were you secretly working on the derivative of Talon? There were too many questions.

And thankfully for you, Ramattra wanted answers. 

“However,” Ramatta took a step forward, using some of his massive form to block you from Doomfist’s gaze. Your heart was accelerating at every passing second and there was a mild thrill for Ramattra in your panic. “If Mimic was to choose to transfer to my retinue, I would see this repurposing done. Personally.” 

“You believe they have a choice?” Doomfist raised a singular handsome brow. 

“I do. They can either accept the transfer,” Ramattra and everyone turned their attention to you, and he watched as you swallowed hard. “Or they die. There is no use in vague threats over their life now. They understand … don’t you, Agent Mimic?”

Your throat was so dry that it burned like a sunburn. You rolled your tongue behind closed teeth, trying to find some saliva for reprieve, but there was none. There was only one answer you could give. 

---

And that is how you ended up as the only Human in service of Null Sector, a Talon lesion for Ramattra’s personal use; half hacker and half confidant. Ramattra used your mimicry to every advantage, both in the physical sense and in data collection. You were given quarters deep within the recesses of his primary base, where the sun barely showed and work was grueling. But you were at least alive. You would adapt to your new life (for however long it lasted), as you had so long ago as a child. You swore to yourself to thrive, to make yourself useful, and to survive no matter what suffering the world would toss upon you. 

And of course, you wouldn’t let your flare fade away, not all the way at least. You just had to go about it differently then you had before. The first rule change was to not piss off Ramattra. The second was to not get caught.

So when you felt the need to speak to yourself, you did so in your room. You couldn’t hold back those ticks for sassy conversation. Using his voice, however meager and in private, provided some aspect that you still had free will in your new life. 

“Did you think me forgiving?” You asked yourself in Ramattra’s voice. 

“No, Sir.” You responded with a smile. “I think you are a dick.” 

“You dare?!” Ramatra’’s voice scoffed in your throat. “You’ll pay for that, little one.” 

“Oh, little one~? Don’t make a promise you can’t keep …” You blinked at that and felt your face flush. That came out of nowhere, and it was extremely unhealthy. Creepy and gross, even. You cleared your throat and reached for a cup of water, sipped it to soothe the ache from copying Ramattra’s deeper voice. 

“I’m fucking weird.” You chuckled at yourself nervously and got back to work, typing away at a report.

Meanwhile, from across the base, a solitary Omnic was in his workshop with an array of monitors before him. 

Ramattra knew your first task when setting up your room would be to weed out any listening devices and cameras, all which you found with ease … save one. But it’s location he kept to himself, for now.

You weren’t the only one who was capable of mimicking.

[deviousnumbers]

001 | Late At Night Or Early In The Morning

@pleinsdemuses

Street lights twinkled up above, the asphalt below was cracked and jagged rocks jutted out into Alfie's back. Fading in and out of consciousness, each blink to darkness growing slower and longer, Alfie's thoughts were swimming lazily through his mind.

Thief. The other had called him- his assailant. And the other had been right. They had dueled with magics but Alfie, to his surprise, had been bested... perhaps he was outmatched.

And now he suffered the consequences of the assault, the taste of copper in his mouth. A long gash across his left forearm, still bleeding, panged and throbbed with pain, keeping him from falling into unconsciousness. This paired with the coughing, the sputtering, from the blood which filled his mouth, leaking from his split lips.

He was badly hurt and immobilized, worried his leg might be broken as he was unable to move it. Alfie could do no more but clutch in his right hand his token: a brass ring bequeathed to him by his father. This was the item through which he could channel his magics, yet it was useless to him now.

He could neither move nor speak, but the assailant had made one fatal mistake: he'd left Alfie half-alive. That would be enough. He vowed that if he lived to see daylight... he would get his revenge along with those spellbooks the assailant had recovered from him.

The clicking of heels on pavement echoed in the distance from somewhere. Hope. Alfie thought as the world around him swirled into a mess of white streaking starlight and the orange hues of street lights.

[jpitha]

Between The Black and Grey 39

First / Previous / Next

Northern seemed to know where she was going, so Fen and Zhe just trailed behind, following.

"Northern?" Zhe said, her smaller legs moving quickly to keep up and trying not to pant. "How do you know where to go?"

"I have my ways" Northern's eyes twinkled, and then she chuckled. "That way being, 'I've been here before'."

"So you don't have some kind of secret AI network that you can tap into to learn things about everywhere you go?" Fen smiles as she ribs Northern gently.

"Oh we do. Here we are." Northern stops in front of a cafe. Small metal tables and chairs are set up peeking into the main walkway of the promenade and they spill back into the shop. It looks old and comfortable. The interior is done up in wood colors (Fen can't tell if it's real or artificial), warm yellow light, and it a few degrees warmer than the promenade. Northern steps up to the bar, and reaches into a pocket. She takes out a small coin and taps it onto the bar.

"One moment please!" The barista is a K'laxi, with reddish brown fur, a tangle of earrings on both ears, and - Fen cranes her neck slightly - a piercing on her tail. A ring that goes through the end and jangles slightly as she moves about. She finishes pulling the espresso shot, pours it into a tiny porcelain cup and slides it over to a human standing at the other end in a uniform. "Here you go Will."

"Thanks Olen, I wouldn't have been able to make it through my shift otherwise!" He downs the coffee in one shot and places it back on the bar with a Star note under it. Olen scoops up the money, places the cup in the sink and turns to face Northern. "Now then, what can-"

Before she can finish, Northern slides the coin over to the K'laxi. Fen finally gets a good look at the coin. It's silver, with a bit of bronze or brass in the middle. Written all over it is a script Fen has never seen, and...a map? It looks like a map of a continent, but Fen doesn't recognize the location. The barista places her hand over the coin and slides it out of sight quickly. Her eyes flick up to the other patrons. The shop isn't very busy now, just two or three people sitting, lost in their pads.

"You know, you don't have to use a token anymore. I haven't ever seen one. I only knew to accept it because Yaren told me." She takes out a key - a real, notched, metal key on the end of a long piece of wood with the word 'toilet' written in marker on it. She hands the wood and key to Northern. "People just use the passcode these days."

Northern takes the key and nods. "Yeah, well, maybe I like to do things the old fashioned way. Keeps the old ways alive." Without saying anything she looks at Fen and Zhe and jerks her head towards the back.

In the back of the shop are three doors. Two of them are toilets - multi species of course - and the third, between them just says "maintenance." Northern takes the key and sticks it into a lock on the middle door. It twists and the door unlocks with a satisfying clack. Northern opens the door and the three of them step through.

They enter what for all appearances looks like a maintenance room. It's filled with boxes of coffee supplies, cleaning supplies, mops, brooms and a bag of laundered towels. Northern closes and locks the door behind them, and then walks to the other end. She stares at the wall a moment and slides a pile of boxes out of the way, revealing another door. This one has the word 'basement' scrawled on it in indelible marker, above another word faded with time, and in another script that Fen can't read. Northern uses the key again and this door unlocks, like the first. Nodding to herself, she places the key on a shelf near the door and steps through.

Now, they're in a hallway. Dimly lit and without decoration, it's all plating and metal. When Northern closes the door behind them, the clack of the latch is loud and brash.

They head down the hall, their boots thumping on the deck. They walk quite a ways, with no other doors in sight, the lighting dim and dingy.

After entirely too long in Fen's opinion they come across another door. This one, circular, and much older than the first. Northern touches the pad next to it and is irises open silently.

Now, they're in a hall. Fen looks around. This looks awfully like the halls on Spyglass. "Northern? Why does this hall look like a Starjumper?"

Northern grins. "Because it is, Fen. Good eye. Picaresque was built of a K'laxi research station and a human Starjumper. They needed more living space right away and used the Starjumper to expand. I heard that the wormhole generators are still in here, somewhere, but I'd be surprised to learn that was true. Imagine a space station linking around!"

A little further down the hall, and there is another door. This one is decorated in hand drawn flowers and vines, and written on it is the word 'basement' Northern touches the pad, and as they door opens, Fen and Zhe are assaulted by noise.

Fen didn't know what to expect, but she didn't expect this. It was crowded, it was noisy, it was full of people. Where the promenade was quiet and sleepy, the basement was loud and full. Northern pushed ahead through the crowd, her height giving her an advantage. Zhe grabbed Fen's shoulder, and Fen took off after her, threading her way.

This basement was far larger than the one where she met Northern, yet it had a similar feel. There were stands set up with people offering all kinds of things for sale, food vendors selling all manner of treats - the smell was nearly overwhelming - and people of all different kinds. Fen saw more different people in the basement than anywhere else. There was a Gren selling drinks, a K'laxi who was making jewelry while another stood watch over the wares for sale, and an Innari selling... weapons? Fen stopped.

"Ah! My friend! See anything that catches your eye? I carry firearms for all body plans and can modify to suit." His iridescent feathers flashed in the spotlights he had set up overhead, shining down on the weapons chained to a large metal bar. Fen's eye was drawn to a pistol. It was of human make, so large and imposing and grey.

"What's this pistol?"

"You have quite a practiced eye. It's quite rare. It's a human sidearm from pre contact. When this weapon was new, humanity knew of no other species. And yet! It still operates with common ammunition and as you can see is in excellent condition." The Innari picked up the weapon with two hands, and handed it - butt first - to Fen. She toggled the eject, and the magazine slid out. It was empty of course, but Fen placed it down on the counter anyway. She cycled the action and peered inside. The barrell was immaculate, the rifling clear and clean. The switches and toggles were all smooth and the weapon smelled of oil. If it really was more than a thousand years old, it didn't show it.

Fen placed it back on the counter. "I like it. How much?"

"Seven thousand Stars." The Innari didn't even have the decency to hesitate when he spoke the price.

Fen scoffed. "It's worth two, maybe. If you can provide the provenance of its age. It could be a replica."

"You wound me, human!" The Innari's feathers all puffed out, and they clacked their beak in irritation. "To imply that I would sell a replica here. Do you know what would happen to my reputation if I did? I cannot believe you would even imply that this... this piece of art was a replica. Still, I must move merchandise. I would be willing to let this particular piece go for five thousand Stars."

"Thirty three hundred, and you'll include a box of ammunition." Fen's eyes locked with the Innari.

It felt like the noise of the basement faded away for just a moment as they stared. The Innari tried to match Fen's stare, but nobody stares like a human. Those close, binocular eyes are built for it. "Fine."

Fen took out her Pad and transferred the money. After a moment the Innari verified the transaction, unlocked the gun and handed it to her. Reaching under the table between them, he also placed a heavy box that rattled as he set it down. "If anyone asks where I got it from, I don't remember"

The gun seller nodded. "Now go, I need to make some sales to recover from this loss I have been subjected to."

Fen slid the pistol into the band of her pants and held onto the box of shells as she wandered around, looking for Northern and Fen. She finally found them in a back corner, near a K'laxi selling fried treats. Zhe was munching on one while Northern was arguing with a human.

"You are telling me that there isn't a single person on Picaresque that is willing to pilot?"

"I'm telling you there are no AIs on Picaresque." She crossed her arms and held fast.

Northern pleaded. "Come on, we're in the basement. We're outside of Imperial jurisdiction."

"And I don't care if we're on a Gren Warfinder. There are no AIs here."

Zhe finished her treat and tossed the stick into a cup that was on the fried food vendor's counter for the purpose. "Where were you Fen?"

Fen took out her prize. "Check it out, I bought a pistol. Supposedly it's pre-contact which makes it nearly a thousand years old." She handed it to Zhe.

Zhe took it, and her arms drooped as Fen let go. "This is heavy!" She turned it over and stared at it. "It smells... oily too."

Fen nodded. "That's the gun oil. It keeps it from corroding."

Northern's attention was caught by their conversation. She looked at the gun. "That's a replica."

Fen swore. "Of course it is. I'm glad I got a deal then. How do you know?"

Northern pointed at a lever by the trigger. "The safety lever is all wrong. I hope you didn't pay more than a couple thousand Stars for that."

Fen said nothing, but scowled. Zhe handed the pistol back. "It's a very nice replica at least."

The person behind the counter that was arguing with Northern noticed. "How did you know about that pistol?" She was around the same height as Northern, with closely cropped black hair. She was curvy and strongly built and looked like she could scoop up Fen and Zhe on each arm.

"I remember when they were standard issue. If you didn't keep them immaculately clean they would jam at the worst possible time. Ancestors, I must have printed tens of thousands of replacement parts."

The woman narrows her eyes. "Where were you stationed?"

Northern raises an eyebrow. "All over-" she gestures at the pistol "-but when that gun was new? I ran Parvati-Sol."

The woman's eyes widened. "Ears are everywhere. Keep your voice down." She looked at Northern, Zhe and Fen again. "Dammit. I can't say no to a vet." Her eyes flashed blue for just a moment. "Okay, I put-"

The conversation was interrupted by a rippling thump, and the deck undulated and rocked beneath their feet. There was a moment of surprised silents and then an alarm screamed overhead. Action Stations. The noise of the alarm broke the spell and it was pandemonium. People started streaming towards the exits, vendors abandoning their stalls. The woman grabbed Northern. "Come with me! We have to get out of here."

Zhe looked around at the mess. "What happening."

"It's an Action Stations alarm." Fen's voice was nearly a whisper. "We're under attack."

[lou-struck]

High Score

 Leviathan x reader

~You take Levi to a human world arcade, where he is ready to show off his skills. 

W.C: 2.1K

*This was kinda hard to finish since this was like mid-mental breakdown. But I got this done and I am so proud of myself for doing it.

The summer heat of the human world is a welcome sensation on your skin as you drag a slightly sweaty Avatar of Envy down the sidewalk. As a notorious shut-in, Levi doesn't do well in the sun, and although you had only stepped out of the portal Barbatos had prepared for the two of you two blocks ago, he is already out of breath.

Suddenly, the Demon digs his feet into the pavement, preventing the two of you from moving forward. "MC?" pants, trying and failing to hide his exhaustion 'A-are we almost there?"

You see the familiar half-lit neon sign just a few doors away, "We are so close Levi. I promise it will be nice and cool inside; we can get something to drink and enjoy the Air conditioning."

"Air Conditioning," he repeats in an eager whisper and picks his head up with newfound strength. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's get to the arcade."

His orange and purple eyes are sparkling with determination as you walk the rest of the way to the old-school arcade, where you promised to show him all your favorite classic machines. The red-bricked building looks just the same as before you were magically whisked away to the Devildom those many months ago; the only difference on the outside is a touch-up of fire engine red paint on the double wooden doors. 

Pulling open the faded brass door handles, you are met with a strong gust of air conditioning. This second wind hugs you like an old friend as you walk towards the mantra of beeps and boops the retro arcade machines are playing.

"What do you think?" you ask, playfully bumping into Levi's shoulder. "Does this place meet your expectations?" 

"Uhh yeah," he exclaims, looking at the rows and rows of games. "This place is so cool Mc. It looks like the arcade in the manga, 'Help! I've been sucked into a game, and the Gorilla King kidnapped me instead of the Princess.'" 

How he manages to say such a long title in one breath never ceases to amaze you. But the title gives you a pretty good idea of what game he should try first. 

"How about we start with Donkey Kong?" you laugh, reaching into the pocket of your shorts and pulling out a large sandwich bag full of tokens. You toy with the zipper and take out two, one for him and one for you. "Each machine in here only needs one credit, so I think we will be set to play all day without having to get more."

He carefully takes the coin from your hand but doesn't put it into the slot right away. "A-actually you should play first, Mc," he mumbles shyly, stepping back from the temptations on the screen.

"I'll do my best, but I haven't played this in a while," you say, slipping your own token into the slot. "The theme song blares from the old yet well-maintained speakers as the text 'L E V E L 1' flashes across the screen.

You grab hold of the red plastic joystick and place your other hand just over the jump button. Mario's little legs manage to leap over barrel after barrel as he makes his little pixelated self up the ramps. You may be rusty, but muscle memory is working well for you. Within two minutes, you make it to the top of the platform without losing any of your lives. You look to Levi with a smile of victory.

"You're the GOAT Mc," he cheers, leaning over your shoulder to look at the screen, watching in fascination as Donkey Kong swipes the Princess over his shoulder and carries her further up the tower for you to chase. 

"I don't remember this part," you murmur, trying to familiarize yourself with the next level. As you move, sentient little fireballs that begin to chase after you. Moving your joystick, you try to gain enough speed to jump over the flames, only to set yourself on fire. 

Apparently, you can't jump over them like the barrels from the last level.

Oh shoot," you hiss, watching as Mario falls to the ground and a little halo appears above his head before the screen resets. 

"You're good; you still have two lives left." he encourages with clenched fists.  

"We got this," you say brightly, moving the joystick once more. You only manage to make it a few steps before accidentally running into the little fireball that was chilling on the blue ladder above you, making you lose yet another life. "No, no, we're good." You sigh, gritting your teeth. You are brought to the bottom of the ladder, and you manage to avoid the fireballs as you try to collect the support blocks that are holding up the structure. 

"Keep going Mc; now's the time to take down the Boss," he says, watching as you remove the fifth support on the gorilla's platform. "Just as you are about to cross over to the last one, you fall down the gap you had created and lose your final life. 

"That was fun, how about you give it a try." you suggest, "Do you still have the token I gave you?"

"But, you were so close." Levi cries, taking the loss much harder than you are. "Wait, what are those?" he points to the list of high scores that flash on your screen once the 'Game Over' screen fades away with curiosity. 

"Those are the machine's high scores." You explain, "If you do well, you can put your name on the board for everyone to see."

"So these are my rivals." he breathes, his hand twitching in anticipation as he takes his token and slides it into the machine. 

As the screen once again comes to life, you feel a shift in the air. A competitive energy radiates off of Leviathan as he grips the joystick. Although he has only seen you do the basics, he expertly navigates the first stage, leaping over barrels and climbing ladders without a hint of hesitation. 

With the first half of the level cleared you are brought to the next phase, where you met your demise only minutes earlier. But Levi looks at the screen as if it is nothing more than a challenge and jumps in fearlessly, collecting vintage landlines, parasols, and support beams until the platform disappears.

With the first level being cleared in the blink of an eye, you realize that the two of you will definitely be here for a while. 

"You're really good at this," You say, placing a hand on his shoulder. You notice how he seems to lean into your touch, and he spares you a glance as the screen transitions to the start of Level Two.

"Could you stay there?" he asks with a shaky voice. The screen in front of him does little to hide the glow on his face. If he wasn't holding on to the joystick, you know he would try to hide his blushing cheeks with his hands. "You might be my good luck charm or whatever normies say."

You only laugh and give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I can do that. I promise I won't leave your side."

"T-thank you Mc." he murmurs softly, "I want to get that high score."

The thing with the Donkey Kong arcade game is that each level gets longer, faster, and more challenging. You have never even seen what lies beyond the end of level two, so this is all new territory for the both of you. 

But Levi never falters, staring at the screen with amber eyes filled with determination. Even with a few strands of his purple hair covering his face, he seems comfortable. You are so focused on watching his features that you don't realize that he has successfully cleared level two just as easily as the first. 

And what neither of you realize is that a small crowd of arcade onlookers are watching your screen from behind you. 

The barrels in level three zoom across the screen at an uncomfortably fast pace, but Levi just jumps over them as if they were nothing. A part of you wonders if his skills are just a result of his inhuman reflexes, but after seeing how winded the Otaku got walking down the street to the arcade, you push that through from your head. 

"Woah, is that guy even human?" one of the onlookers gasps as Levi clears level 3 without breaking a sweat. "I've never seen anyone get this far without taking any damage." You turn around to see that quite a large group of about twenty-five to thirty people are watching your screen in fascination.

The shy Demon's breath hitches; he doesn't usually play games in front of a live crowd, but you stop him from turning around and seeing just how large the crowd is.

"You got this Levi. Don't worry about them; they are just watching you."

"Live?" he murmurs with wide eyes. Despite his efforts to hide it, he trembles slightly. "I'm a shut-in for a reason; all this attention makes my stomach feel like it's tying itself in knots."

"Just think of it as a live stream." you encourage brightly. "If you focus on the game, you won't be able to see them at all."

"An IRL livestream?" he repeats, a small smile appearing on his face. "I can work with that."

"I knew you could." You grin, giving him a little peck on the cheek for good luck. He lets go of the joystick briefly to touch his cheek, trying to savor the sweet sensation of your lips. 

"Look out!" One of the onlookers shouts as a barrel comes towards the in-game avatar. The next level had started.

 Levi's hands fly back to the machine and he avoids the obstacle in the nick of time. "Oh, my Diavolo, that was close." He mumbles just loud enough for you to hear. He turns his attention fully back to the screen and starts running up the ramp. 

"Too close," you sigh as the crowd behind him only seems to grow in number and tenacity as they react to every little movement on the screen. The idea of flustering him with something as simple as a peck on the cheek is flattering beyond words, and you smile devilishly, planning to use this little method to distract him during your game nights.

"He's almost there." someone yells as Levi reaches the final platform. The Fireballs flicker menacingly, creeping across the screen, but they are no match for Levi's inhuman gaming reflexes. He climbs, collects, and leaps as if he were the one inside the game fighting for his life, holding the joystick as if it were his lifeline. 

Aside from the machine, not a sound can be heard in the bustling arcade as everyone watches Levi grab the last support beam. 

DK crashes to the ground, and the crowd erupts in cheers. Levi shyly looks over his shoulder to see just how many humans were cheering him on. He looks nervous, but this is one of the first times the Avatar of Envy has been so openly praised in a public setting. For once, he doesn't have to worry about not being as strong as Beel, as flashy as Mammon, or as put-together and OP as Lucifer. Today, he gets to be Leviathan, and people like him for it. 

It puts a real smile on his face, even as the crowd thins and the arcade populace goes to play games of their own. 

"Levi, look, you got the high score on the machine," you exclaim, pointing at the blinking Number One spot on the machine. Your interjection was a welcome, distracting him from thinking any more about his perceived shortcomings or petty comparisons. 

The other scores look so much smaller than his, and a proud smile appears on the Demon's face as he types in the first three letters of his name. 

L.E.V

"Should I start calling you Lev now?" you tease watching the cute way his brow furrows as he tries to figure out what nickname he should put instead. 

He turns to look at you, accidentally pressing the submit button in the process. "No, I didn't mean to do that. Why am I so embarrassing?" he puts his head in his hands and stares at the score sheet. 

Reaching into your bag, you pull out another token for him, "Now you'll just have to beat your own high score."

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[psycheophiuchus]

Discover this exclusive piece from my New 2024 Collection (on my Etsy).

With this necklace, I draw inspiration from the "Lover's Eye" jewelry that was popular in the 19th century. Between the 1790s and 1830s, just before and during the Regency era, a unique trend emerged in the United Kingdom: a piece of jewelry featuring a miniature painting of the eye of a loved one. This could typically be a brooch, ring, locket, bracelet, or even a small keepsake box—a cherished memento worn close to the heart while awaiting the return of a beloved person. In affluent circles, both men and women would exchange such tokens.

The ribbon is an imitation of a red, gold and yellow Klimt motif, the red beads are made of glass and the frame is made of gilded brass. The choker is adjustable to fit your measurements, with a clasp that includes a small chain to adjust the size and height of the pendant.

To ensure the necklace’s protection, it is carefully shipped in a jewelry box, wrapped in tissue paper, placed in a solid case, and packaged in sturdy cardboard.

Feel free to contact me if you have any questions.

[yesbothways]

"I do think that the selection of Walz is kind of - to me it feels like a watershed moment. It does feel like a generational shift. And by that I mean the generation of the kinds of the politics that the Democratic party is starting to practice now is a real departure from what has been practiced in years past. Sometimes one of the things that I have to communicate when I'm on the inside, when I'm talking to other elected officials or other people in the party is a generational shift doesn't just mean that you're electing younger people. Like there's a reason why young people were so supportive of Senator Sanders in 2020, why he had the most amount of youth support when there were a lot of - plenty of candidates that were younger than him. There's a reason why young people elected and supported Senator Ed Marky in Massachusetts over younger candidates and options. Because I think and something that i've heard from a lot of other elected officials before is that young voters are far more substantive than I think elected officials are used to us being in the past. It's - you know, I think a lot elected officials have dealt with this, I don't know if it was a stereotype or their experience of young people being apathetic or uninvolved. And if anything right now, I feel like when - sometimes when people don't vote, it's not because they're uninformed. It's actually cause they're very informed, and maybe they don't like their options or maybe they're unhappy with something. But they are very keyed in and informed about what's going on. And now what I'm also sensing is like there is an enormous substance to the youth vote. They want to know about what's happening to end the war in Ghaza. They want to know about what policy commitments we're going to make to stop the climate crisis. They want to know what we're going to do to guarantee health care to every American. They want to know what we're going to do about the skyrocketing costs of college education and student debt. And - you know. That includes tons of other issues, as well. So I'm really excited, because at least part of what I've experienced is that - and what I've also said the last time I went live - is that one of the concerns that I've really had is the influence of this kind of professional, consultant class that is not as rooted in community and in brass tacks organizing as I think, you know, a party should be. And I think what we are seeing, slowly but surely, is a return to the Democratic party's actual roots - of a populist working class party that we saw and by the way had huge majorities and were able to sustain huge majorities in the 20th century, in the early and mid 20th century. I am looking forward to a Democratic party that is moving past the kind of 90's era triangulation politics and getting back to our roots of being FDR Democrats, of being populist working class democrats, labor Democrats with the added integration of a modern intersectional lens that is aware of racial rights, that is aware of women's rights, that's aware of and fights for Civil and LGBT rights and integrates the material identity values. Not just superficial - we're not talking about tokenism, we're not talking about just pure representation politics. I think people are just so much more aware that this is so much more about being the first but it's about embodying what a first means, which means fighting for the people and places that we come from. And I think Tim Walz does that. And I think that Kamala Harris does that. - AOC link to Youtube video

[mickmeasley]

I stopped caring about Helluva Boss a long time ago (like anyone with taste would) but it did inspire me to think about what I'd do better and how, and because of that I've done quite a few redesigns, which seems to be a common thing with -i won't say fans- but people who followed helluva boss for however long they could tolerate it.

In particular I was really pissed off (again, like anyone with taste would be) at the human design for Stolas in that one episode of Helluva Boss and generally unsatisfied with how unrealistically twinkish most of the human designs for Blitzo were so I did my own take on both of them, going for a wonky nick cave/super hans-esque visage for blitzo and something more appropriately DILFy for Stolas.

like lets be real blitzo spent his 20s smoking, boozing, partying and schmoozing and doesn't seem like the type to have a great self care routine, he would NOT look like a perfectly preserved twink with no wrinkles or hair recession at 35 no way no how, and stolas has been stressed and worn down from like the day he was born even at his (very stupid retcon of an) age of 35 he'd probably have greyed just a little maybe idk

as for their outfits, blitzo totally wears shit like orphaned suit blazers, snakeskin belts, and skinny black jeans (not pictured are his middle-finger sole jeffery west cowboy boots) and i've always headcanoned the weird skull thing he wears on his neck as a bolo tie because western rock'n'roll-y stuff like that feels up his alley.

Stolas, in place of the generic steampunk goth cosplay store shit his official human design wears, is of course wearing a brass button navy blazer, grey wool pants, and a silk ascot (plus some bracelets a token gay little earing) because theres no way he's not old-money-WASP-coded as fuck and I think it does well to illustrate his economic and cultural distance from Blitzo. Costume design, people, It says things.