golden orb-weaver

mostly my ramblings. you may notice that i like to sidetrack. and write. a lot.

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home reality , the reality which holds the absolute most emotional- and sentimental value to me, so i won’t be sharing much of this one, if at all. if i do end up posting anything about it best believe i’ll take the post down in ~3 business days. it is known.

original fantasy dr , realm of eddania, 995 CE. the star-born and prophesied crown princess mirileth of terabithia (yes yes, i was obsessed with bridge to terabithia as a child. although i think it’s worth noting that this dr has virtually nothing to do with either the book or the movie. just liked the name). i get to be fluent in eddāra, which is basically just jrr tolkien’s elvish and grrm’s high valyrian topped with some romance and swedish influences and gibberish brain-farts. but i’m not a linguist. i did however craft a small dictionary of like 20 words that i just commingle in my cr to create full-ish sentences (and probably break most if not all grammar rules in the meantime but oh well <3) there’s also panfu quests sprinkled here and there #real ones get it

wallachia , historical dr largely taking place in the southern parts of 1450s romania (as yes, i’ve absolutely made it my personal mission to ((somehow, somewhere)) spot the mythologised vlad tepeș at least …. once …. in my lifetime). will probably live in oltenia, although this may change. i also added supernatural elements, because i can. this is purely a self-indulgent dr where i get to reconnect with my almost-forgotten romanian roots inherited from my mom’s side. not much is scripted other than me being an artisan weaving carpets and hand painting traditional plates for a living, and living near a bee farm (unlimited access to honey). i also want to befriend some bears. there’ll be strigoi, and ghost stories told true, and sânziene, and forest witches with prophetic visions. i need elements of mystery and unbridled peculiarities in every dr.

uma casa portuguesa , inspired by the song of the same name, as well tidbits from the novel ’the master and margarita’ by michail bulgakov. if this reality were a movie, it would’ve probably been directed by a wes anderson and éric rohmer love-child. 1976, portugal. the setting? a hostel-adjacent building, which functions as a dwelling for travellers, the comers-and-goers, the artists, the obsédées, the peculiars, the serious, the insane, and the magicians. there’s a cat, and probably an attic poltergeist, & definitely a wine cellar at the very least. i (a traveller from sweden and a self-confessed artist & violinist) reside in room 301, and have the pleasure of meeting and dining with each new guest as i learn all of their wonderous intrigues and could’ve-been secrets. the power of an observer.

in-between , my waiting room …. which i don’t call my waiting room …. because i personally dislike using the label waiting room for a reality of mine …. but to each their own idc !!!!!!!!!! realised i needed one when the thought of literally any one of my drs made me absolutely neurotic. the in-between is a wilderness where time holds no dominion and i get to read as many books as my heart desires. i also have dragon eggs and unlimited access to content of my drs. i have my priorities, as you can tell.

fisherman’s daughter dr , set in norway as a tribute to my norwegian heritage. i’m mr worldwide if mr worldwide was also a time traveller …. because yes this dr is mostly nausea-inducing boat rides during horrible weather conditions, but it is also time travelling in all of its glory.

𑜷 a wild place.

om du vandrar över morgondaggens vidsträckta ängar, förbi edrasils spegelblanka sjö till öster och myrens kala ek till väster, finner du ett nordligt, nalkande skogsbryn. låt skogen välkomna dig och låt den göra det tills dess de skygga djuren bliva behjärtade, ovetandes människans grymhet; tills dess du möter de gamla gudarna, ty de finns där än.

i skogens hjärta kan du träffa terabitias linklädda prinsessa, vilandes på mossans mjuka bädd; hennes hår likt ringlande trädrötter och hennes ögon som brokig bark. hon betraktar sitt stilla, men ack så levande, rike ikring sig.

moder naturs knoppar har sedan länge brustit, hennes gamla höljen ett vinterminne blott. i dessa tider äro de gungande grenarna över prinsessans huvud utsirade med grönska och småkryp; ett täcke till trädkrona så tjockt ihopsnärjad, att enbart små, rörliga glimtar av tindrande smaragder uppenbarar sig bland rötter och jordmån. här, bland böljande ormbunkar och vävande spindlar och rutinerade skogsandar har prinsessan sin hemliga fristad. ett smultronställe.

att kalla prinsessans gömställe för ett smultronställe skulle i den främmandes öron låta felaktigt och nästintill lustigt, då det varken växer smultron eller andra sorters söta bär bland barren och mossan. men det terabitiska språket är starkt där det narniska språket fallerar. och ett smultronställe behöver inte ha smultron eller syltbär, utan enbart ett tillgängligt rum och en potentiell hyresgäst.