#Despair Decibel

[mercurycft]

𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 — 𝐀𝐖𝐅𝐂

## reader x awfc !!

hi all!! finally releasing this, which is in honour of jonas finally pissing off away from our girls and our team! i hope you enjoy! love always, RGx

warnings: angsty team x management arguments, mentions of mental health!

3.6k words.

“i’m sure the team will be buzzing with joy this evening after tonight’s win, but how are the girls and yourself taking the recent and surprising departure of a lifelong gunner?”

“yeah, as you said we’re all pleased with the result tonight - it was a great match with a good side and i think the score reflects the determination we took onto the pitch with us.” you watch as beth pauses, like she is searching for words that will do her feelings justice. “she was the best of us, not just the team but the best of us and our friends. i think she was and is destined for great things, but life and people unfortunately happened to get in the way. but i’m happy, we’re all, happy for her.”

you've known beth long enough to know when she is lying and it pains you to realise how the tone of her voice drops at the mention of you. it stings momentarily, but you shake it off and allow pride to take over you as the camera pans to the rest of the team taking their victory lap.

you find yourself smiling absentmindedly at your phone, having sat through the entire match with your eyes glued to your phone - watching your girls on the pitch from your home, instead of beside them for the first time in years. your stomach filled with a cocktail of emotions that you can’t seem to process at this very moment. a toxic mixture of sadness and despair, twisted and twined with anger and hatred for what the situation had become.

its been two weeks since your statement went out, three since you made the decision and four since the argument. in an ideal world, it wouldn’t have gone this way - you would’ve stomached your feelings for longer and swallowed your bubbling anger, bit your tongue and carried on as usual. but for some reason, you just couldn’t.

------

1 month ago.

a 3-0 win should be celebrated. it should fill you with joy and overwhelming excitement - but it doesn't. instead, it fills you with nothing but anger and resentment for the club you once loved, you used to love. in place of congratulations and pats on the back, is a lecture. a plethora of critiques and corrections despite the effort and conviction everyone had shown.

you and the rest of the girls stand huddled in a group in the locker room, stood in an agonising silence. your hair is still wet, from the sickly british rain that decided to visit, your face still tinted red and your chest still heaving.

you tune out to jonas' voice, watching absentmindedly as he paces ahead of the group - volume above his usual decibel as he tears into the group, pushing further and further. you don't listen, allowing your mind to wander. no one dares talk back, instead choosing to take his words. you, however, fail to be as nonchalant as them - swallowing the bubble of anger in your throat and biting your tongue to the best of your ability.

your mind is brought back into the tiled room at the snap of your name from the front of the group. you look up to be met with jonas' eyes on you - his eyebrows raised and seemingly awaiting an answer. "what?" you mumble through gritted teeth, eyes locked on his.

"do you care to fill the rest of us in on what is so important besides my feedback right now?"

you shake your head, matched with a sarcastic looking, sickly-sweet smile and lift your hand top gesture towards him. "oh please, carry on."

"i dont appreciate your attitude," he quips back, screwing his facial features together, feining disgust.

"whatever," you scoff, rolling your eyes and peeling yourself away from the bodies beside you - now overly aware of their eyes on you.

"i'm out." pause. "i'm going to leave, and have a glass of wine and celebrate a fucking win." you turn away from them, too busy to take off your kit and instead scrunching your clothes and belongings into your kit bag. "which by the way, is what we should all be doing! instead of standing here taking shit because he didn't like how we were moving on the pitch!"

there was a shift from him, and a deep red tint crept up his neck as he shot daggers at you from across the tiles. “i do everything for this team! maybe once in a while, it would be nice for you to do the same if you think you know better! please, do tell us, what makes you think you have done anything of significance for this team? for arsenal!”

it changed, then. the small shred of sympathy you had, the small shred of guilt - gone. ripped from inside you and splattered across the walls of your home stadium locker room. the girls around you seemed shocked at his words, confused and unsure of what to expect next.

you paused. taking a deep breath and halting your shoving of clothes and shoes into your bag, and turning to face him directly through the sea of red and white kits in front of you.

“what do i do, for this team?” the question sounded almost broken, like you couldn’t actually believe he was playing this card. you searched for the answer deep within yourself for a few seconds, allowing the hurt to build in your throat and fuel the fire burning deep behind your eyes and in the pit of your stomach. your eyes flicked over each of the faces now looking at you and a small smile teased at the corners of your lips as you looked at their concerned expressions.

after a few more moments of silence, you inhaled deeply and began. “i’ve given my life, to this club. to this team. i put in the work, i trained day and night in the academy, until i was enough for the senior team. and when i made it here, i made a difference. i stepped up when kim was out, when leah was out. when laura first moved here, i took her in.” you paused, taking another shaky breath, cautious of the tears held back by nothing more than your water line. “i don’t expect you to give a shit. but whilst you were too busy tearing this team down. katie for her aggression, kim for her captaining style, leah for her rehabilitation, viv for her performance, beth for her drive, lia for training hours and every other fucking player in this building. i was building them back up, i was trying to make this right.”

silence fell over the room, and you shook your head. “im done.” you all but whispered, slinging your bag over your shoulder and moving towards the large doors leading away from the locker room. “i can’t do this anymore, this club is my home - and i will not watch you tear it down.” you shoved the door, a single teare slipping down your cheek the second you heard the door swing back on its latch and close again. you didn't stop to say goodbye to the familiar faces in the building, instead, with your head down and focused on the floor beneath you - you walked straight into the carpark, got into your car and drove home.

as you drove away, the weight of your decision settled in your chest. you couldn't believe it had come to this, that you had walked away from the team you had poured your heart and soul into. all the emotions you had been burying for weeks and weeks on end were now uncontrollable, tears streaming as you contemplated your actions but you knew you couldn't bear to stay in an environment where your efforts were belittled and unappreciated.

after a 40 minute drive, you found solace and refuge in the familiar walls of your apartment. the silence enveloped you as you sank onto the sofa, reaching for your phone. you hestitated in pulling it out of your bag, unsure of what may be waiting for you when you unlock it.

but still, you did, heaving a deep breath when your screen lit up with a message from beth. her words expressing concern and confusion about what had transpired in the locker room. as you read beth's message, a mix of emotions washed over you - relief that someone cared enough to reach out, but also a pang of guilt for leaving without saying a proper goodbye. to her, to any of the girls in the room. you quickly typed out a response, skipping over the details of your motives - instead opting for a light hearted message, apologising for your abrupt exit and apologising for not controlling your temper.

minutes turned into hours as you sat there, staring at your phone, the weight of your actions heavy on your shoulders. you hadn’t moved, still sat in your jacket and kit, boots still tied to your feet. the sound of a familiar notification pinged through the room - like it had been doing on repeat since that first message from beth, and you saw more messages popping up from your now ex-teammates.

------

1 week later - 3 weeks ago.

the days blurred into a week as you settled into a routine without the training sessions, team meetings, and the constant thoughts of upcoming matches that used to consume your time. you found freedom in the quiet moments alone, the weight of expectation now lifted off your shoulders, a sense of liberation starting to bloom within you. you finally felt like a person, not just a player.

you had been speaking to the girls everyday, each of them keeping you up to date on life behind the scenes of the club. the drama and tension seemed to have escalated in your absence, with rumors swirling about disputes between jonas and some of the other players. your decision to leave had sent shockwaves through the team, but it also seemed to have sparked a newfound sense of unity among everyone.

it was a miserable london evening when you got your first unexpected visit, darkness just creeping across the clouds when a knock at the door interrupted your law and order binge.

to your surprise, standing on your doorstep was leah, with a hesitant smile on her face.

a flood of questions and uncertainties raced through your mind as you stood frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to say or how to react to her unexpected visit.

"hey," leah began, her voice soft yet laced with underlying tension. "uh, can I come in?"

you hesitated for a moment, the inner turmoil evident on your face as you considered whether to welcome her inside. finally, you stepped back, wordlessly opening the door wider to allow her entry. leah entered cautiously, taking in the familiar surroundings of your apartment with a mix of nostalgia and apprehension.

there was a palpable tension in the air as you both stood in the living room, the silence stretching between you like a taut wire. you shared the quiet for a second or two before leah spoke up, her words carefully measured. "i know things have been rough lately... for all of us, you especially, i wanted to come here and talk, clear the air maybe?”

you studied her face, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you found was genuine concern etched in the furrow of her brow. with a sigh, you nodded, gesturing towards the couch for her to sit. as she settled on the edge of the cushion, you perched on the arm beside her, like you used to.

"i just... i wanted to say that i'm sorry. sorry for not speaking up before, for not standing by you when things blew up. i let my own fears and doubts cloud my judgment, and i should have been there for you, we all should have been there for you."

her words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the unspoken tension that had plagued your relationship for months. you could sense the sincerity in her voice, the raw vulnerability that she rarely showed to anyone.

“i appreciate it, but it wasn’t your fight, le.”

“your fights are our fights, you’re one of us, you always have been. you always will be”

you gave her a half smile in response, and moved closer to her on the sofa - opening your arms to her. she mirrored your smile, allowing your arms to wrap around her and hers around you.

after a few moments, you pulled away, looking at her directly. “thank you, for coming round. and for looking after me for all these years. but i think,” you paused, sniffling and turning your attention to the fabric of the sofa below you. “i think its time,”

she nodded along with you, taking a deep breath before smiling at you. “if that’s what you want to do, then do it, and we will support you. i promise.”

“i don’t know how to tell the girls, i haven’t seen any of them since i left. i don’t want them to find out through social media,” you rambled.

“we’re all meeting at mine tomorrow, why dont you come along? i know they want to see you, and i think you deserve a night to relax with us - gunner style.” you share a laugh at her comment, agreeing to see the girls. a small shred of anxiety tore through the depths of your stomach, but you shook it off; determined to do the right thing.

the next day seemed to fly by, seeming to disappear from you as you spent the hours doing odd jobs - attempting to distract yourself from the uneasiness gnawing at your insides.

now, you find yourself outside leah’s flat. she said 7, but you underestimated the traffic at this time in this part of the city - so you’re late, as per usual, and composing of yourself on the door step. after a deep breath, you raise your hand to knock.

once, twice, then the door flies open. a smiley young aussie waiting to greet you, her arms immediately around you and pulling you tight to her frame. “jesus, i missed you,” she whispers into your shoulder. “i missed you too, k.” you pull apart and she grabs your hand, pulling you from the now closed door and into the living area. it’s littered with everyone you know and love.

they greet you like nothing has changed, arms wrapped around you and whispers, comments and remarks of support. you slip into the group like you never left.

after you’ve eaten, and have returned to the living area, you stand up - allowing everyone’s eyes to fall on you. you take a deep breath, smiling at them then looking down at your thumbs. you twiddle them and enterlock your hands as you search for the best way to say it.

“i wanted you to hear it from me, that next week, a statement will be released. a statement explaining my temporary contract termination from arsenal. i love you all, like my family. i don’t want any of you to feel like any of this is your fault, but i just feel like i’m at a different point in my life right now - a point where my views, and the clubs managment’s views no longer align. i can’t jeopardise my mental health, for people who can’t seem to put me, or my friends, first.”

you say it in one, your mouth and words moving faster than your brain can comprehend. you finish with a shallow breath, looking up to the group. they take it well, a few of them shedding tears at the offical loss of their friend and teammate, others hugging you and sharing comforting smiles. you know it needs to happen, but this is the part that kills you. leaving behind your family, your people.

the night draws to an end and you begin saying your goodbyes, promising to keep in touch and arranging plans to meet up soon. as you start making your way out of the room and towards the door, kim pulls you aside. you can’t read her expression, a sickening mixture of sadness and happiness for you.

“i’ll miss you,” she says softly, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “but I know you’re doing what’s best for you. just don’t be a stranger, okay?”

you nod, feeling a lump form in your throat as you hug her tightly one last time before heading out the door.

------

1 week later - 2 weeks ago.

3pm. your phone dings with a notification from the arsenal woman’s football club instagram and app, giving you and thousands of others the news of a new and important post. you hover your finger over the notification, hestitating.

you open it eventually, propping your phone up as the video loads onto the screen. you cringe at the sight of you, expectant of whats to come.

“hi gooners, it’s so nice to sit down and speak to you. this year marks my 15th year at arsenal, if we’re taking it all the way back to my first academy scouting when i was 8. i have nothing my fondness and admiration for this club, these people and this community. to be apart of this team and to watch the growth of woman’s football has been an honour and a pleasure i will forever be grateful for. when i think back on my years here, i have nothing but happy memories. memories of friends, of wins and of losses, of meeting fans and selling out stadiums. some of these things we never believed would be possible, but you, every last one of you, have made it possible. after 15 years of my life dedicated to the game, i think it’s time to take a break. temporarily and indefinitely, i will be taking a step back from the club. thank you all for your unwaivering support, it means the world to me. this is a special club, which remains my home. but my health and wellbeing needs to be my number one priority. thank you.”

you watch as the video comes to an end, and the messages, comments and likes begin. you switch off your phone after a few minutes, tucking it under a cushion on your sofa and resuming your show - tuning out the constant buzzing.

------

present day.

you watch until the live recording of the match ends, you watch all of the post-match interviews, with nothing other than a smile on your face. when the stream finally does end, you feel like you can breathe again, switching to your messages app and drafting a text into the groupchat to congratulate the girls on their win. you press send, then abandon your phone beside you somewhere on the sofa. paying it no mind and you lean back into the comfort of the cushions and pillows surrounding you.

as you sink deeper into the softness, you let out a content sigh, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. you close your eyes and let the sounds of the television fade into the background, relishing in the quiet of your own thoughts.

you dozed off, allowing the safety of sleep to engulf you for a few hours. you lay peacefully until the doorbell rings, jolting you awake. you groan in annoyance, wondering who could possibly be bothering you at this hour. you reach for your phone as you stand, 9pm. reluctantly, you shuffle away from the sofa and make your way to the door, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

as you swing open the door, you are met with a pair of familiar faces that brings an instant smile to your lips. beth and viv, stand on your doorstep with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"surprise!" beth exclaims, holding up a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers. "we come bearing gifts. can we come in?"

you step aside, allowing them to enter, still slightly taken aback by their unexpected visit. they both breeze past the threshold, only stopping for a moment to give you a hug before making themselves at home on your sofa.

“i didn’t know you were back in london, viv!” you exclaim, watching her set the flowers on the counter. “and shouldn’t you be out celebrating?” you ask beth with a laugh, shutting the door and joining them on the sofa.

“there’s no where we would rather be, mijn liefje.”

its the later end of midnight when you all start to tire, spread across the sofa and floor with eyes barely open and focusing on the movie playing.

“do you guys want to just stay here tonight? i don’t wan’t you driving home tired.” you say through a yawn, stretching your back out and turning to look at the both of them cuddled up beside you. both of their eyes closed and chests rising peacefully. you smile to yourself, moving to grab a blanket from the basket beside you and cover them both up. you switch off the tv, turn off the big light and make your way to your bedroom.

it isn’t long before you’re asleep too.

------

the next morning you wake to a persistant buzzing sound, your phone rattling on your bedside table. notifications from twitter and instagram flood your lockscreen, along with messages from the arsenal groupchat and from distant friends.

your eyes are just barely open when you reach for it, giving your eyes a moment to adjust before looking at the screen. you swing yourself off the bed, feet finding the cold of the floor as you pad through the flat until you find beth and viv.

they’re awake, both sharing the same expression as they look at you in the doorway between the two rooms.

you begin to read from your phone. “we can confirm that jonas eidevall has resigned from his position as head coach of our women’s first team and leaves us with immediate effect.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Would yandere emperor feel threatened if the beast reader took care of has a bigger pecs than he has?

0121.

A common rule - by law of the arena and its imperial tyrant fighters were stripped of their name and sense of identity as soon as they became a pawn in his game. The only hopes of regaining even a fraction of their self was to fight and earn a new title to wear by the insatiable crowd and its wicked master. The beast in question had done its all to claim new face, and its place as an opponent retained for champions in the ring. A noble warrior predating its imprisonment in the emperor's roster with the strength and might to prove its worth, and claim what it had lost.

Thought the beast had been given another name - in this time the emperor saw only one title fit as he enters its cage-

Trash.

"Stop it!- Please!"

Hysterical in your hopeless cries, you squirm against the beast's chest as its weighted tongue draws heavy over your cheek. It licks at the drying blood caked into your skin, trying to restore the washed shine it held when you enter to no avail. You wince from the coarse, sandpaper like texture of the invasion muscles, but are unable to swallow the laughter that ruptures from your throat as nuzzle it nuzzles your face with its nose - fur tickling your sensitive flesh.

What lingers of the emperor's decrepit heart falls deeper into despair as your hands sink into the squishy muscle of the beast's pectorals in your attempts to flee. Your face remains pinned to its chest as it holds you down with one arm, cooing - as if hushing a fussy child. In scale to its massive size you did appear as little more than a doll in its large arms. How you ever managed to care for a creature of its mass was beyond you, but its willingness to accept your presence and aid was beneficial.... Most of the time.

"I already told you I have to take another bath after this whether you clean me or not. You're still bleeding, let me bandage the wounds first."

The beast huffs, licking at its minor injures as it shoves your head back down on its chest - nearly suffocating you before you're able to turn to a better agile. If you knew any better it would be the emperor's breasts causing your loss of breath, but for some bizarre reason you refused your place in his bed. Many have tried to kill, and even succeeded to do so in prayer for even a second of his time. You had it readily available at any point, yet you outright rejected his more than generous offers. You belittle him.

The emperor clears his throat, tapping his foot against the stained floor as your eyes fall in his direction. The beast reluctantly releases you as you silently beg for freedom, growling lowly at the authoritive - making a barrel between you with its tailp. Good. You had enough sense to know that when your king is presence such nonsense and attempts to make him jealous would not be tolerated.

"Your highness...."

The emperor clicks his tongues. "Ten minutes. I want you out of here by then or the next time I return it will be with a firing squad."

The emperor turns on his heads and storms away with his head held high, clinging onto the shreds of his dignity till he crumbles at the end of his bed as it shatters in the privacy of his bedroom. He cups his exposed pecs peaking through the silky fabric of his robes and seethes spite through his teeth as he curses your reluctant nature.

"My image is that of a god's! How dare you make me question my worth in this way. I'll have that dredge you favor skinned and turned into my new coat for making me feel this way you awful, cruel human."

Heavy bangs fall on his door as guards crowd around.

"Your highness, is everything alright?!"

The emperor screams through hot, angry tears. "0121... I want 0121's head on a fucking platter and at my door by nightfall!"

"Your highness.... You have made it law that we are to refuse your order if your voice goes over a certain decibel as you are too emotional to think rationally."

"I am your king! Do what I say or I will have you all hanged!"

Soft whispering becomes muffled by the door. The emperor can recognize one of the voices better than the rest.

"The caretaker has agreed to use your chest as a pillow if you spare the beast's head."

The emperor dries his face and pulls his robes to his shoulders as he stands. He races to the door where you stand with your arms folded - dragging you inside his room without warning.

"Order revoked."

[joshsilverseyebrow]

type o negative for Heavy Metal Ink

translation:

BLOODY KISSES FOR YOU (the dark side of life of type o negative)

Type O Negative wants to smash your ears and delight your eyes. The Hardcore Quartet- Singer/Bassist Peter Steele, guitarist Kenny Hickey, keyboardist Josh Silver and drummer Johnny Kelly turn up the decibels, musically and dermagraphically.

Tattoo caught up with the Brooklyn-based band while they were on tour with Danzig. Josh Silver, 32, the most tattooed of the group, was interviewed by phone from Denver about music and ink just before the band hit the stage. Years of slumming in obscurity are the lot of many hardcore bands, and Type O Negative has had its share of poorly paid gigs and even worse press. But in the last few years, more and more bands have broken through, bands like Pantera, Megadeth and Metallica, selling records in record-breaking numbers without becoming commercially dull in terms of sound. Although Type O is still a household name among headbangers, the band has certainly taken flight.

Bloody Kisses is the band's third album, but the first to draw some attention to them. The first album, Slow, Deep and Hard, and an EP with the clever name The Origin of the Feces - a live album that is a parody of a European tour that turned out to be a total disaster - sound harder, but only give a hint of the studio know-how that would be demonstrated on this third album. Bloody Kisses is a dark, almost grueling work with thick guitar solos and gothic church organ music, but it has better melodies and is better produced than many of the swill-and-puke records.

that you can find in every hardcore store. Peter Steele, the singer/songwriter, paints dark clouds over his landscapes and holds them there with his throaty voice, which is somewhat reminiscent of David Bowie in his rock phase, at least when he had terrible stomach aches. Somehow the whole thing sounds good, even if some of the songs are much too long and the sitar-cum-violins are a bit out of place.

The specialty of this singer, who is almost two meters tall, seems to be despair, which he also wants to deliver with a loud, angry knock on the door. Steele writes in the foreword to the CD: The entire work is dedicated with respect to those who felt unconditional love and whose hearts were ripped out in the most tasteless way: Do not build your joy on the actions of others, for what is given can be taken away. No hope = no fear.*

The keyboard player contributes to this: .The first album was written four years ago and came from anger. This one is sad and depressed. The same feelings, just turned inward and given atmosphere." High-profile tours with Nine Inch Nails, Mötley Crüe and Danzig have given Type O the opportunity to record more and more drums. +

melfelle. They'll probably be on the road again this year, this time with hardcore heroes Pantera.

The band's sound is reaching a wider audience mainly through cover versions of Black Sabbath songs on the Nativity in Black: A Tribute to Black Sabbath album, on which Type O can be heard alongside well-known bands from the hardcore scene such as Megadeth, Sepulture, Faith No More and White Zombie. "We've been covering Paranoid for a while, and the guy who produced Nativity in Black really liked it.

But Megadeth already had that on the LP, so he asked us to do another song," Silver recalls. He's been getting tattooed for 15 years, with many of his best pieces being cover-ups, mostly done by Andres Elston at East Side Inc. in Brooklyn. Silver also has his very first tattoo, a classic Grim Reaper inked by the late Brooklyn Bill.

Elston worked on Silver's entire back and left arm, among other things.

The back piece (which took more than 32 hours to complete) is also worthy of at least one love song: a large stained glass window with an angel in front of whom a huge demon comes through the floor, surrounded by demon pillars. Elston covered an old demon that "was created by someone a long time ago."

other things—and magnified the subject, one might almost say, in a touching way.

"For me, my back shows two sides of man, mainly evil, so evil dominates the picture," Silver explains. "It represents human nature." The duality of human nature is also represented on Silver's neck, with two Chinese characters representing love and hate: our two strongest impulses," says Silver.

Mike Perfetto inked Silver's biceps, including the octopus and "Made in New York Graffiti," among other things. On the back of the left bicep are two roses: in memory of my brother who was killed twenty-two years ago," says Silver. That and the Japanese symbol of death come from an "obsession with death because I feel guilty about outliving my brother." Chest pieces by Shotsie Gorman (the ghost) and George Blue (the split-footed, covered skeleton figure) complete the main works on Silver.

Type O Negative already has enough material for a new album, but with Bloody Kisses still packing enough momentum, the band should soon be back on the road across the country.

—Frank Booth

[cooliogirl101]

edward getting invested is hilarious to me bc when i daydream, it’s almost always a contest to make myself cry and feel as much pain as possible. just smashing my blurbos through terrible circumstances and then build them back up

(Big same, anon)

“Why?” She gasped, staring up at his face uncomprehendingly. How many times had she looked at it, studied it from every angle? She’d seen him happy, excited, furious, scared, and yet in this moment, he was utterly blank. A complete stranger to her. “W-We trusted you. I trusted you.”

He leaned in, the knife lodged in her abdomen twisting painfully as he did so.

“I know,” he whispered. “Thank you for that. You’ve been most helpful.”

Despair wracked her and she sank to the floor, even as blood pooled up in her throat, bitter with the taste of betrayal, anger, hurt, so much hurt, god it hurt so bad—

“What the hell is going on with Chen over there?” Jasper demanded under his breath, quietly enough that only a vampire would be able to hear him. He had his head clutched in his hands and was glaring balefully at the corner of the cafeteria.

The subject of his ire, Mia Chen, was sitting at a table by herself, as she always did, gazing distantly out the window and blissfully unaware of the two vampires currently staring at her. In fact, she looked the epitome of peaceful.

Absently, she popped another potato chip into her mouth.

“Shhhhh!” Edward hissed back, at a decibel significantly higher than required for a vampire to hear. Jasper thought uncharitably that he did an uncannily accurate impression of their cranky 80 year old school librarian, and it said something about how distracted Edward was that he didn’t even notice. “This is the good part!”

“I suppose this is the end, then,” he said. Was she imagining the sadness in his voice?

“Yes,” she agreed. With a deep breath, she yanked the knife out of her stomach. “I’m sorry, I never wanted you to see me like this. But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”

With that, she closed her eyes and reached deep inside herself for a power she’d sworn she would never use again. A power that— dang it, that was the last potato chip!

Alice’s quick reflexes (see: kicking Edward under the table) were the only thing that saved the cafeteria table from a gruesome fate that day.

(Mia, opening her locker the next day only to have like 200 bags of chips fall out: ????)

[falling-star-cygnus]

have i mentioned how much i love Vein and Lu Guang hatred for each other?

Dead Link : a link that no longer leads to its desired target webpage; this can occur when the domain been terminated, changed, or renamed

Lu Guang can crash out for a second, as a treat

a Link Click Noragami AU pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.3.5 | pt.4 In Which, The Real Diva Enters

“You know… it gets to a point, Guangguang..”

Irritated kitten grey eyes soften as they meet Qiao Ling’s gunmetal blue. It’s still an odd expression to see on his normally placid face. Well- maybe placid wasn’t the right word.. the god emoted pretty regularly. Just- ah, anybody would look placid next to C- Shi Ái, actually. So maybe he was just politely nonchalant when in company.

Said shinki had his legs thrown over Lu Guang’s lap, back lounged against the armrest. He happens to also be staring at the irate god, brows creased in curiosity and worry. 

“...where you either have to block the number or answer the call…” Qiao Ling finds herself resigned to finishing.

The phone in Lu Guang’s hand starts to vibrate again, only to be immediately silenced by a quick tap of his thumb. Honestly, the girl’s just surprised the phone hadn’t been blown to smithereens under the sheer disdain he was glaring at it with. 

The three had just been playing a mobile game, and it had been nice, until… 

..bzzz… ….bzz…

“Lu Guang.” this was getting ridiculous.  

This had been going on for nearly a half hour.

The siblings share a look. Former siblings, Qiao Ling forcibly corrects herself, and ignores the clench in her chest. 

The god inhales deeply, and holds it in his own chest as he swipes out of the game. The girl’s own phone notifies her of the second party disconnecting, much to Shi Ái’s despair. 

“Was that necessary!?” he cries, sitting up as Lu Guang leans over the armrest to grab a pillow from the floor, “If you didn’t want to play anymore you could’ve just-”

The pillow comes up to his face.

“-given me the pho-”

And then he screams .

Qiao Ling and Shi Ái flinch back at the muffled, yet guttural, anguish imbued in such a sound, the shinki falling to the floor in his shock. It cuts off after a second or two, but both of them are completely struck dumb, unable to do more than stare as their fair friend’s shoulders heave.

It's a new feeling for her! Ah.. but probably not for Shi Ái.

The god doesn’t raise his head from the pillow.

“Uh.. heh.. Guangguang…? Buddy?” Shi Ái ventures slowly, nervously reaching for his god, “Everything okay…?”

Lu Guang whirs into motion before the hand can make contact, somehow completely stone faced as if he hadn't just broken his decibel record, and answers the phone as soon as it starts ringing again.

“What. ”

…she’s never been more grateful to hear that tone directed at someone else. 

Lu Guang only used his ‘god voice’ when- A: he needed to command attention, B: he needed to summon Shi Ái’s shinki form, or C: he got too frustrated to keep a lid on it.

In other words? Lu Guang did. Not. Use. It. Often.

“Is everything okay?” Qiao Ling whispers to the shinki, who had scooched to be somewhat by her side- though still on the floor.

“I have no idea.” 

“Who is he calling?”

“I think it’s the same guy from last week?”

“He’s been ignoring this guy for a week? ”

Again, Qiao Ling ponders, why not just block the number? It had to be easier than constantly declining calls. Especially if said caller was so insistent… 

“What a cold greeting~” a new, silky voice suddenly sluices through the air. 

A man, with silky looking red hair tied in a braid, is standing behind their couch. Right behind Lu Guang. He had a sleazy sort of smile on his face, oozing false charm and a sort of… predatory satisfaction. A cat stalking a canary. Though under it all… 

Wait a second.

Qiao Ling tilts her head. 

And then realizes.

“That’s the guy that shot me!”

thump! 

Ah- well, at least she was in a chair. Shi Ái steadies her dozing body as her soul slips out, and gently settles it… her…? He gently settles her against the armrest, in a way that ensures maximum comfort when she deigned to return. Sweet boy.

The redhead is looking at Qiao Ling with even wider eyes, his smile unfaltering even as a murderous aura surrounds her fair friend. There’s a hint of recognition swimming in those valentine irises. 

“Ah~” he intones, tilting his head to glance a smirk at Lu Guang, “My apologies, sweetie. I recognize you now.”

Shi Ái bristles next to her, obviously displeased at the leering he directs at his two companions. Qiao Ling is no different. Despite all the swagger and lazy confidence this weirdo is displaying, he was still- in fact- a weirdo. With a stilted accent.

And he was hovering far too close to her introverted friend.

“If it’s any consolation, I took you to the hospital. And footed the bill in full, no less.”

The pale haired god scoffs on her behalf, and for a second it looks like he might cut into the conversation- or at least redirect it, but the redhead abruptly pockets his phone and switches languages.

“... .. …. … .. ., Siming .”

It sounds like it could be English, save for the name, but Qiao Ling had honestly forgotten her lessons as soon as she graduated. She never really had any plans to leave this town, after all, so why hold onto it? Translation apps existed.

Lu Guang was the one who hoarded information, not her.

Though from the looks of it, whatever this redhead had said was as unsettling as his smile.

“This is the guy you told me not to answer calls from?” Shi Ái, bless his heart, pipes up- as obliviously confused as he’s always been. Qiao Ling face palms.

The redhead, that shot her, puts a dramatic hand on his chest- silly and unbothered as he drums his other fingers on his hip, “Oh? I'm wounded , Siming . Now why would you tell your regalia not to talk to me?”

Privately, the girl thought it was a bit odd that this guy was only referring to her fair friend by his godly name. Lu Guang only huffs. 

"I wonder."

"And here I thought we were friends~"

“As if ,” he nods to both herself and his shinki, before side-eyeing the man again, “This is Xiao Wei- yggrfh!”

Xiao Wei-something clamps a hand harshly over the god's mouth- as quick as a viper- and suddenly all pretenses of civility fly out the window. The regalia is immediately on his feet, and Qiao Ling is pretty sure the only thing stopping him from swinging is the limited space between her face and his elbow.

“Well that’s a scary look~” he muses, unaffected by the pale god squirming under his palm, “Relax~ You two may call me Vein.”

The redhead- or Vein- sends Lu Guang a warning look, and releases his mouth with a slimy grin. Almost immediately afterwards, the fair god is on his feet and scrubbing at his face with the back of his wrist.

“Or, if you prefer my title, Xiao Sheng .” Another god, then. Figures.

“Why are you here, ” Lu Guang asks, as he's somewhat unwillingly pushed behind the siblings .

“ How are you here?” the regalia tacks on, the culprit of said pushing.

“When are you leaving? ” ...she felt left out!

Vein simply laughs- or he tries to- but the sound is weak and tainted with an awkward strain. His arms cross, pristinely painted nails tapping at the crooks, and then turns around.

It’s uncomfortably quiet after the fact, tinged with judgment and impatience, but maybe that's what spurs Vein into holding up the back of a photo.

“My regalia… is missing.”

The look in his eyes is dangerous, as he looks over his shoulder, and it's honed completely on Lu Guang.

"I don't suppose you know anything about that?"

[sleepyphobzz]

Wrote this while feeling existential last night:

Do you ever feel like the world is crashing down on you? Like everythings against you? I feel like nothing around me is real but me. Im too real and thats why everything comes crashing down on me, trying to help me shut up yet it just keeps making me louder, screams of my agony filling every good, decent, or at least quite noise. Taking over every moment, when my thoughts get a little too loud, it makes those buildings tremble and shake and fall down. All in the same direction, at me in the middle of it all. They thought they could help. I know. But the blood curdling screams are much louder than my whispers of despair. They climb up the scale of decibels, praying to be heard. Yet, finally, they shut up. After bleeding to death. Never getting to be heard, never to be seen, never to ever be mentioned aloud. The horrid things they said, and suggested, just because they were in pain. A large, the largest, weight crushing them. Its the worst feeling. I'd know.

[werewolvesspillingink]

hungry crumbs of the parts i once was

are begging for forgiveness to an unresponsive god

there are deafening decibels of an inner earthquake

with a stained virtue my bleeding ears can hear only the heartbreaks

my watery eyes filled with despair have resigned

as all the fates i could have had, signing their resignation, have aligned

i wear the pain of the world as a dirty cloak

clamouring intruders are gossiping about how my cloth in filthy hatred is soaked

the moon sparked a merciful smile at my wounds

as my soul spiralled from my chest, stepping into haunting, unholy grounds

all this pain is now gone, swallowed by greedy ghosts

inpatient grim rippers arrived to my door

futile attempts to keep the shattering lock from breaking are done,

but the nothingness successfully established itself to my very core

i never reached far enough to touch them - the hopes for forgiveness before i was eternally gone

[ersaersa-ersaelectronics]

Smoke Detector Batteries: Hogwarts' Hidden Guards of Muggle Homes

Picture this: It’s 3 a.m. in the Hogwarts kitchens. Dobby’s stirring a cauldron of treacle tart when—whoosh—a rogue flame licks the edge, sending a wisp of smoke curling toward the ceiling. Suddenly, a small, round device erupts into a shriek loud enough to wake Filch (and his cat). Dobby yelps, dropping his spoon. “Dobby’s sorry! Dobby forgot to check the Muggle Fire-Watcher’s Core!”

That “Core”? It’s no phoenix feather or dragon heartstring. It’s a smoke detector battery—the unsung magic keeping Muggles (and forgetful house-elves) from becoming toast. Let’s peek under the invisibility cloak at these tiny lifesavers.

What Is a Smoke Detector, Anyway? (Spoiler: Not Just a Noisy Gnome)

Muggles call it a “smoke detector.” We know it as a Portable Flamel’s Fire-Watcher—a compact charmed disc that stands guard, day and night, like a mini Dementor detector (but for fires, not despair). Here’s the spell breakdown:

Sensor Charms: Most use either Optical Sight (a tiny “Alohomora” for smoke particles—sees slow, smoldering fires like a neglected dragon egg) or Ionization Whisper (detects fast flames, like a Quidditch Bludger on fire).

Alarm Hex: When smoke hits, it blasts an 85-decibel shriek—loud enough to rival Peeves’ cackling. It’s not being rude; it’s yelling, “Wake up! The Floo Network’s on fire!”

Magic Source: And the star? The battery. Without it, your Fire-Watcher’s just a useless hunk of metal—like a wand with no core.

Why Smoke Detector Batteries Are Like… Well, Magic

Ever tried using a broken wand? It sputters, fizzles, and fails when you need it most. Same with Muggles who skimp on smoke detector batteries. These aren’t your average “lumos” batteries—they’re enchanted cores built to last.

The “Wand Cores” of Smoke Detector Batteries

Lithium: The Phoenix Feather of Batteries Like Fawkes’ tail feathers, lithium batteries are legendary. They last 5–10 years (longer than a Hogwarts term!) and laugh at temperature swings—even in a drafty castle attic or a sweltering greenhouse. Perfect for Muggles who forget to “charge their wands” (looking at you, Ron).

Alkaline: The Unicorn Hair Workhorses Reliable, common, and a bit more “everyday magic.” Alkaline batteries last 3–5 years—like a good unicorn hair wand: steady, but needs replacing before it fades. Great for Muggles with a “check twice a year” habit (pro tip: set a reminder for when the Hogwarts Express departs!).

How to “Recharge” Your Fire-Watcher (No Wand Needed)

Even the best magic fades. Here’s how to swap out a dead battery—Muggle-style (no Reparo required):

Grab Your Tools: A sturdy step stool (no flying carpets—Muggles aren’t allowed!), gloves (to avoid “battery corrosion hexes”), and a fresh battery (check the label—most need AA, 9V, or CR123A, like choosing the right wand length).

Dismantle the Watcher: Twist the detector off the ceiling (gently! It’s not a Snitch—no yanking).

Extract the Old Core: Pop out the dead battery. If it’s corroded? Use a vinegar-dipped cotton swab (Muggle “cleaning charm”) to wipe the terminals.

Insert the New Core: Match the + and – symbols (like aligning a wand’s core with your hand). Get it wrong, and the detector will “chirp” like a wounded Pygmy Puff.

Test the Charm: Press the “test” button. If it shrieks? Success! If not? Try again—even Dumbledore messed up a spell or two.

When Your Fire-Watcher Gets “Grumpy” (Troubleshooting Chirps)

That tiny “chirp-chirp” at 2 a.m.? It’s not a poltergeist—it’s your detector saying, “Help! My magic’s fading!”

Low Battery: Swap it out (see above). Duh.

Dust Bunnies: Muggles call it “dust”; we call it “lost pixie dust.” Blow it out with compressed air (or a Wingardium Leviosa for the ambitious).

Old Age: If your detector’s over 10 years old? Retire it. Even magic wanes—time for a new Fire-Watcher.

The Big Picture: Why These Tiny Cores Matter

In the wizarding world, we rely on spells and phoenixes. Muggles? They rely on these tiny batteries. Think of them as Dobby’s Secret Mission: small, unassuming, but saving lives when no one’s watching.

So next time you hear that “chirp,” don’t curse the Muggles’ noise. Grab a battery, swap it out, and thank your lucky stars (or house-elves) for the magic of smoke detector batteries.

P.S. If you ever visit Hogwarts? Check the kitchens—Dobby’s got a Fire-Watcher with a lithium core. He says it’s “better than any Aguamenti spell… for Muggles, anyway.” 😉

[noahsbookhoard]

📚August 2024 Book Review (Part 3/4)📚

I am so late on these posts, this is a disaster. Long weeks, lack of Internet data and a newfound interest in House M.D. will be my doom.

4:48 Psychosis by Sarah Kane

The last, short play of Sarah Kane, relating in a loose dialogue between a doctor and their patient - or maybe between the patient and herself - relating her pain and struggle, shortly before she took her own life.

I knew Sarah Kane from her Theseus play (if it doesn't speak of a tormented mind I don't know what could). But this play, has dark and desperate as it is, it was mostly sad. It felt like a cry for pain and anger and despair that came to late for anyone to hear.

I can't really find much to say because it feels wring to analyse the literary qualities or comment on the pacing of what felt so much like a scream in the void. This is raw emotions in sharp words and it's as beautiful as it is sad.

It has to be read not summarised but tread carefully if you are not in a right mental place.

The Moth Keeper by K O'Neill

Anya is her village's Moth Keeper, responsible to protect the moth that make her community thrive by making the Night Lily bloom every year. Every night, when her village awakes, she goes to shepherd the moth to safety and bring them back to the village before sunrise. But it is a lonesome job and it burdens Anya. When she leaves to see what life is like in the sun, the moths are left alone and her village in peril.

It's a story about community, responsibility but also about knowing your worth as a person and finding your place. Anya will have to learn both that you can't abandon your duty when it is vital to your community AND that it's okay to ask for help when the task becomes to much. That her worth is not defined by how much her village needs her so admitting you need a break is okay. It is done with great poetry and imagery.

It takes place is a desert with gorgeous art and earth tones color that I love so much. The characters have beautiful designs range from bipedal animals to anthropomorphic with animals traits (I especially love the owl Keeper of stories) and I liked how you can feel the presence of a long and deep culture in the cloths, the traditions, the stories...

Anya encompasses what lot of people feel in recent years, burnout, loneliness, worthlessness. The pression of performing, whether someone put it on us or we create it ourselves is getting heavier and heavier in our societies so I feel everyone needs to hear that they can share the burden, that they have a community to support them if they look for it and that it's okay not to be in work mode 24/7 to feel like you are doing enough.

A cute tale but a very important one, with beautiful art, I cannot recommend it enough for every ages. I need to read the Tea Dragon Society so much now!

Space Opera by Catherynne M Valente

After years of war, the different species of the galaxy hold every years a singing contest design to vent out competitiveness and create unity within the already competing species but also to determine if newly discovered sentient species are sentient enough to deserve a place in the alliance. Not this is Humanity's turn to prove their worth or be destroyed: Decibel Jones and the Absolutes Zeroes, a one-hit-wonder long separated band, have only one chance to dazzle the galaxy.

From the pitch I was expecting glitters, music reference and a lot of humor. Well there is definitely that, but there's is also some ruthless competition and absolutely devastating backstories for the Absolute Zeroes and I wasn't expecting this book to hit so hard in the feels.

The story comes back to how the glam rock (emphasis on glam) band was formed, the three members (Decibel Jones, Oort St. Ultraviolet and Mira Wonderful Star, you can't make this up) finding instant fame and failing to keep it. Since Mira died and Decibel blame himself for it they both moved on, Oort especially whi know has a family. They are out of practice, out of synch and they have only a few days to write a Metagalatic Grnad Prix worthy song and they are at the bottom of their self confidence. This leads to some raw emotions and longing that felt deeper by their contrast with the more absurd comedy aspects.

In terms of humor it's The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy with more glitter, there's some reflection on the absurduty universe as a whole ("Life is beautiful and life is stupid"), there's alien species of improbable forms with absolutely wild singing act... Unfortunately, the number of alien species was a bit overwhelming to me, I would be able only three months after to name or describe any of them.

This is not a feel-good comedy but it's really fun and I loved it nonetheless, the feelings that surprised me as much (maybe even more) than the ones I was expecting. It is extremely niche and a bit slow (I heard some say overwritten) at times but deeply enjoyable if you like glamrock and THGTTG.

Les Cinq by Mathieu Rochelle

The Five, a group of outlaws wandering the Kingdom of Irsinth meet a young girl, the only survivor of a plague that decimated her village like so many others across the land. In the meantime General Hiver is using all his resources to find those bandits that everyone think untraceable. In a neighbouring kingdom, a skilled assassin is sent to play a part on a conspiracy against Ursinth. Those people are meant to meet, but what links them and this terrible disease known as the Calamity?

I have always been a fan of medieval fantasy, this is the genre that got me hooked in reading. I however have never really read much grim dark but since the author is a friend of a friend I gave it a go!

At least I knew to expect morally grey characters, blood, and violence but what I really liked was the political aspects, the intermingling of subplots that lead every characters to meet and set begrudging alliance to defeat the real hidden threat to all the land. The characters have clashing personalities and that makes for interesting interactions. The girl, Tige, is the only one that felt a little out of characters from time to time.

The universe is nice although a little bit coventional for a medieval fantasy. It has some pacing issues around the middle and some elements kept throwing me out of the story (cigarettes in a medieval fantasy setting, a 15 year old girl drinking for the first and downing five glasses of whiskey like it's orange juice)

But overall I had a good time! It has not convinced me to read more dark fantasy but it was a nice change of pace from what I read recently.

[gurukulabotanicalsanctuary]

Musings from a Rewilding Retreat

Editor's Note: From April 2024, Gurukula Botanical Sanctuary has been hosting Rewilding Retreats every month. The intention behind these programs is to come together as a learning community which is concerned about the state of the world and wishes to collectively enquire into and engage with this time of crisis. The cornerstone being- rewilding - of the land, and also of ourselves. Participants from a recent retreat share their experiences. Illustrations by Diya Haneena.

“Instructions for living a life.

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.”

― Mary Oliver, Sometimes

"From the keen privilege of being hosted by the community at Gurukula, it was immediately clear that the project was not only a rare and intentional rewilding of plants and of the forest. Rather, every radical care had been taken to counter any commodification of the decades of process or the ongoing result. Even the community was not commodified, akin to the false intimacies of liberalism. Rather, people were invited in as much to learn from, as to learn and, build solidarities with. Not spoon fed wisdom or preached to. The conversation felt as ongoing as the continual rain, as uninterrupted as the green because it wasn’t necessarily happening through chats. I learnt walking as wonder, conversation as care, presence as attention and listening and laughing as belonging. 

This grown and green imagination was, to me, as beautiful (if not more) than the vaulting rainforest architecture coaxed back from tea plantation land. It was not an inattentive afforestation  in the classical sense of savarna depoliticised environmental conservation. Rather, community, caste and indigeneity had been reckoned with long before that vocabulary was utilised by those interested in conservation and questions of ecology. To be in Gurukula was to be suffused with the radical as an instinctive response to the foliage and to the land. I even felt a sort of political grief at how apparent it was that it was rare, maybe even endemic.

I took away from Gurukula, in some wonder, that I could, in fact, do presence – noun as it is. Surrounded by orchids, stories, monsoon clouds, canopies and generations of solidarities I realised presence is actually a verb. A verb that allowed me to dwell more on the grasslands, ground orchids and touch-me-nots than on deservedness and self-worthiness. A verb that managed to vanquish despair. What, indeed, was I going to do with my one wild and precious life? As Lobo asked us, quoting Mary Oliver. It was precious and wild, for a time at least, at Gurukula. Precious, wild and present.

The past is unpredictable and I'm still learning what I will do with the memories and purpose imbued from Gurukula. Supi’s words, that the purpose at Gurukula is loosely defined, the rewilding and plants as a location for purpose…stayed with me. What I have carried with me is for me to cook and to politicise. I hope to share more laughs with the community someday." - Ilavarsi

"A visit to GBS had been overdue, and I chose Rewilding Retreats (peak monsoon edition) to visit the place (against Ashwin’s advice) because I wanted to see it pour in the Western Ghats for myself. 

I didn’t really expect much else from it and decided to visit with an open mind. Yes, I’ve long wanted to be able to break out of my inner world and be in touch with my senses again, to rediscover my sense of wonder, but I didn’t let that become an expectation. 

It was great to finally see GBS and the things you hear about that happen there. 

For me though, I’d never heard so many cicadas before. Where does their energy come from? They’re truly small, singing at such decibels persistently would demand a great deal of energy. A battery the size of a cicada’s body cannot sustain those sounds for very long, so how are they able to? 

Rational dissections of natural beauty aside, I truly enjoyed the darkness and the quiet. I’m quite sensitive to light and noise, and when in the city, use thick blankets for curtains and cotton ear plugs as a sleeping aid. Neither of those were needed at GBS. 

It may be possible to block out the noise in many places, but there’s very few places left that offer true darkness. I think I miss that a lot about GBS. To go to bed tired, fall asleep in the lap of absolute darkness, wake up in the middle of the night to the sounds of a thousand raindrops crashing on your roof, and fall back asleep again." - Mandeep

"When I first heard the name Gurukula Botanical Sanctuary, it made me instantly think of these botanical gardens. One learns about it from EVS textbooks and nothing beyond that, but the profound meaning for the name was only made known to me on the last day of our retreat which I will talk about later. 

I went for the retreat not knowing much about the sanctuary beforehand but with the curiosity to explore this haven for western ghat’ flora and to understand the idea of rewilding.The word ‘retreat’, also hinted at a possible reflective journey helping me find myself which I was hoping for. And I must admit that I did find a piece of myself, maybe not in the way I envisaged. I believe it to be true that each one of us attending the retreat did find something meaningful and profound while we were there. 

As soon as we arrived, the Kerala monsoons welcomed us with open arms (and very wet feet). The whole time we were there , we got the chance to meander through the lush greenery, our feet sinking into the moist earth and this in itself was an experience that generated some sort of connectedness within me. During the whole time there , you will not just be re-introduced to the interconnectedness of nature and us and be discussing about its extent, but you will really get the feeling of being part of that interconnectedness and the depth of it. 

The retreat is very mindfully curated and it doesn’t overwhelm or overload you. Rather it makes you feel like having more time in the day. One underlying thought and a key takeaway I had while I was whiling away there was that the forest doesn’t rush, and neither should we. Every breath, every moment is a lesson in patience and presence. It’s like nature’s way of saying, “Chill out, Yo tiny girl. You’re part of something bigger.” 

I felt that the sanctuary isn’t just a place; it’s a living, breathing entity that invites you to rediscover your place in the world. And the retreat turned out to be not just a reflection to me, it was a whole lot of unlearnings and “aha” moments, a big scoop of new learnings, a blend of awe and a pinch of reflections as well, making one a little more in tune with the heartbeat of the Earth. 

Each session (discussions and experiential alike) was a grounding experience, teaching me to be present and attuned to the natural rhythms around me 

Community living at the sanctuary was a beautiful symphony of shared meals, laughter, and stories. 

Another thing I cherish from the experience was the interaction with the gardeners and the experts from the tribal communities #.Their wisdom and traditions are like a living, breathing library of nature’s secrets. 

And according to them , the most difficult subject to ever master is the forest (and nature) in itself. Being there, just in that small piece of land and feeling so overwhelmed by the vastness of what all it entails, I will have to agree with them. The Rewilding Retreat gives you that opportunity to study the biggest subject we could ever have.

So, now coming back to the name of the Sanctuary which struck me as the most profound. According to the guardians and stewards of the sanctuary , it is named Gurukula to hint at the idea that nature itself is the ultimate teacher. All we need to do is step outside and be open to its lessons. Every leaf, every creature, and every breath of wind whispered lessons of resilience, balance, and interconnectedness. And this made me feel a small peace that as long as I look up to nature to teach me, I carry a piece of Gurukula Botanical Sanctuary with me. " - Rose

[meowww-ffxiv]

It's a shame that most goggles clipped real bad for Liios but he does actually wear them whenever he goes into combat as a machinist.

In general, he does take exceptional care to protect himself -- goggles, handcrafted aetheric ear-cuffs that neutralized noises louder than a certain decibel, heatproof belts and gloves. His equipment were all designed to die quiet deaths if they ever shorted out rather than exploded. The battery chambers in the Automaton Queen had cores that would activate on a simple, automatic switch when their compartment received damage to release a cooling liquid that would kill the entire battery rows rather than let them overheat and blow shrapnels everywhere because Liios knew he'd be sending her to stand next to melee-range comrades.

The Automaton Queen was indeed priceless, but still. Liios would rather spend another century scraping back parts for a new one than have her kill someone he didn't mean to. Or himself.

It wasn't just his tech that he was careful with. He'd always been a certified worrier. Going into cold country? Lip balm, head cover, eat a hearty meal. Buff out that dent on your helmet right NOW or so help me, here I'll do it myself, we don't want it to be stuck on your head when we need to get it off. Liios once spotted a morbol from down a cliff and went back to the nearest town to pack an extra wand AND some antidotes.

It made him late to the trip, but who was begging him for an Esuna later? Huh? Huh? Yeah, that's right. And the other team that got scattered and lost had access to the antidotes.

Back during HW when they were going on the road trip, Liios told Alphinaud that he might get blisters. Alphinaud said, "Thank you but I will be fine." *got blisters on his feet* And Liios just silently passed him a salve at dinner without saying anything.

This was one of the reasons why the Scions got so scared whenever Liios keeled over. He seemed so careful, both with himself and with the people around him. So when he collapsed from one thing or another, or got sick for that matter, Alisaie really REALLY felt the kick of "We did everything right and it still came to this" despair.

But that WAS the truth, and one she knew and still had a hell of a struggle with. You could do everything right, everything good in the world, and still die a fucked up pointless death. Tesleen haunted her, and Liios's ailing health was like hot coals on a wound.

[honorhearted]

Benjamin surged forward as she did, his heart thundering in his ears at every parry and thrust from her lashing tongue. His breath felt tight and thin in his lungs, and matching her heated stare with his own, he tried not to crumble beneath the sight of her wet, molten eyes, wobbly chin, and visible despair. This was all his doing. Just as before, he'd hurt her -- again and again.

Her next words, however, served to agitate rather than mollify.

"You're not right for me?" he echoed, scoffing under his breath. "By society's rules, I suppose you're right: we are not suited, because I am from far lowlier birth. But our incompatibility does not stem from strife nor pain. We had neither of those things until we chose to lie to one another."

Predestined...

Benjamin huffed again, his head shaking along with each word. "So you've chosen to give up?" he asked. "Your father is no longer here, Pen -- begging your pardon -- so why must you live up to his requirements and his alone? Don't you realize that some things are worth fighting for? Are worth defying convention?"

Penelope seemed tragically resigned. Her voice was low, the decibels barely audible as she spoke, and once she gave her final plea, Benjamin nearly laughed.

"You couldn't bear it?" he repeated, stunned. "So, I must bear it then? I must keep quiet about how I feel, because...what, exactly? How is my silence beneficial to us in any way?"

Penelope turned away from him, her body quivering despite the warm, ethereal sunlight spilling around her frame through the window. The vibrant halo made Benjamin squint -- sometimes, it truly was painful to gaze upon her -- and his chest tightened with her every word.

“Even so, my heart burns for you, Benjamin Tallmadge. Not anyone else.”

It suddenly felt difficult to breathe. Emotion closed up his throat, making it impossible to speak, and with a fumbling hand, Benjamin drew the door closed behind him with a soft, and final click.

His heart thudded in his ears in a frantic thrum-thrum-thrum, and suddenly he was approaching her on swift feet, his pulse manic and jittery with every step. If Penelope wished to speak, he did not allow it -- no, he took her face between his hands and guided her mouth harshly into his, pleading and begging through his lips and tongue as he drank of her with mounting desperation.

Need me, love me -- no one else. To hell with the consequences.

“What? No, no, that’s not—" She cuts herself off. Was it true? Had she only reached out for him because she was trying to fill the void that had been left behind? No, she thinks. No, because when she had met Ben, she hadn’t even thought of Colin. If anything, she'd been thinking about Eloise, but not Colin.

Ben had that way about him, she'd found, the kind of energy that made the rest of the world fall away whenever she looked at him. And when he looked back at her? The floor beneath her feet disappeared, too. From the moment he had spoken to her, Pen hadn’t thought about how the man she’d loved unrequited for years would never love her in return. When they walked side by side to the library, talking about their hearts' desires, Colin had not crossed her mind. Even when she'd returned home, alone and fluttering, her mind had only been on Ben. All she had cared about was Ben, and his smile, and his eyes. And more recently, his lips and his heart.

"How is it not true? Explain that to me, then, because clearly I do not understand." She looked up him, matching the energy in his tone. She was not angry, not with him, at least. Pen thought she knew the way the world worked, had been so confident based on the things she'd witnessed from her perch on the wall, but evidently she had been wrong. "You said it yourself, you should have moved on with your life, because your mind is logical even if your heart says otherwise. I'm not right for you. I-I will only bring strife and pain when you deserve nothing but happiness."

"I do not claim to know what's in your future, Ben, but I claim to know what's in mine. My life has been written out for me since before I was born; my decisions, my fates are already predestined. There are probably journals in my father's study that draw out my life better than I ever could. And yet I yearn for more. Foolishly and hopelessly, I yearn for more.

"So, don't," Shaking her head, her voice is dangerously low. A desperate plea for mercy as her heart continued to crumble in on itself. “Please, do not tell me that your heart may still have a place for me in it. Do not give me hope that you could love me, Ben, I could not bear it.”

She turned to face the window, hoping her tears might lessen if she were not facing the root of all her heartache. But even as she turned, she could not seem to control the words that spilled forth.

“I do not deserve your attention, let alone your affections. Not after everything I have done. After everything I have said. Even so, my heart burns for you, Benjamin Tallmadge. Not anyone else.”

She’s not entirely sure if her words fall upon deaf ears, or if the misery of the moment swallows them whole, but for the first time in months, her heart feels a little lighter. Perhaps it would be better if she’d said it to an empty room, if by the time such revelations reached her lips, he had already departed. Her heart clenched and she didn’t dare turn around. She wasn’t ready to face an empty doorframe, the phantom of what could've been. She couldn't bear to face the reality of the consequences she had brought upon herself. Not yet.

[gargarismo-blog1]

ATAVISTIA  Announce New EP Inane Ducam To Be Released On July 19, 2024

Fresh off of their recent European tour with SKÁLMÖLD and SEVEN SPIRES, Vancouver-based blackened symphonic metal outfit ATAVISTIA will release their new EP Inane Ducam (translates to 'I Will Lead Into Nothingness') on July 19, 2024. Featuring new guitarist Elia Baghbaniyan and bassist/vocalist Spencer Budworth, Inane Ducam  seeks to explore different genres and styles while still maintaining the core ATAVISTIA sound.

Band founder Mattias Sippola comments "'Inane Ducam' was an experimental writing process - lower tuning, the debut of Spencer’s fierce low growls, and tempos reaching close to 300BPM. During the Winter months of 2023, Vancouver experienced extremely dark, cold, and gloomy days which is an antidote to creating music like this."

Listen to the album's first single "Timeless Despair" here: 

Past praise for ATAVISTIA:

"'Cosmic Warfare' is a rollicking ride through metal’s propensity for duality as the quartet show off their skill at fist-banging harshness on one end and melodic layered density on the other."- Decibel Magazine

"ATAVISTIA have always managed to sound massive, but little more. Now, we have the massive aesthetic wedded to actual songs, nestled within an album composed with structure and discipline. The result is impressive. Scarily, there is still room to improve. Whereas before I wrote these guys off as cheap WINTERSUN knock-offs, they have now brought themselves whisper-close to their heroes. If Jari doesn’t get his act together, his band could be overtaken soon. Perhaps they have been already."- Angry Metal Guy ATAVISTIA is: 

Mattias Sippola - Guitars/Vocals Elia Baghbaniyan - Guitar Spencer Budworth - Bass & Vocals Max Sepulveda - Drums

Connect With ATAVISTIA:

Facebook: facebook.com/OfficialAtavistia Instagram: instagram.com/Atavistia Twitter: twitter.com/atavistia Website: atavistia.com Spotify: open.spotify.com/artist/1QoL6PD6QyjdsxvTBacepq Bandcamp: atavistia.bandcamp.com Youtube: youtube.com/channel/UCwQWMCiFZL1duPSdbdjGyCg

[blam-marie]

Four Liars (in space)

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If I go to sleep right now, I’ll have four hours of rest before I need to be up.

The ventilation was making that noise again. A sort of metallic VWOOMP VWOOMP VWOOMP reminiscent of one of these big helicopters that had ferried Chuck around in basic training. He remembered being sick in one of those helicopters. Good times.

Nearby, Johnson was snoring loudly. Chuck could hear him straight through his thirty-decibel noise reduction custom earplugs, as if the other man was laying right next to him and not two whole bunks away. But at least Johnson’s snoring was constant, and somewhat on a rhythm. On a good night, Chuck could almost manage to ignore it. He just had to pretend hard enough that it was just… the soothing sound of waves on the sea or something. If the sea sounded a little bit like a rusted lawnmower.

Which, you know, maybe it did! It wasn’t like Chuck had ever seen the sea in person. Any sea. Did different seas sound differently? He should ask Bee. She would probably know. Or he could even go and seek out the answer in person one day. Maybe. It was something to consider for the bucket list.

Anyway, Johnson’s snoring was fine. It was fine! A little annoying, maybe, but Chuck could handle it.

Bouchard, on the other hand, kept taking deep, irregular whistling breaths. He would stop breathing for a few seconds, then release all of his air with a short, disgusting, wet nose-cough sound that drove Chuck straight up the wall. Bouchard had the bunk right on top of his, and sometimes, he fantasized about climbing up there and smothering him with his own military-standard crappy pillow. With the noises he made at night, no one would suspect Chuck, right? They might think that Bouchard had just finally given up the ghost on his own. Well, one could hope.

Although a suspicious, night-time death in the dormitories would create a lot of paperwork and presumably Chuck would be the one who would have to deal with it, so that might not be such a good idea after all.

In the middle of the room, Evans tossed and turned, as usual. The three rows of bunk beds were barely an arm length apart, and the man was so tall that he’d once managed to actually spin 90 degrees and kick Chuck in his sleep. The only silver lining of that incident was that it had given Chuck a good reason to show up to work sleep deprived the following morning. Everyone figured that Evans’ baby skin was probably sensitive to something in the fabric of the sheets and that’s why he wiggled around so much, but command was yet to do anything about it. Past evidence suggested that they probably never would. It wasn’t like comfort was of any great importance here.

Chuck checked his watch then clenched his eyes shut in despair. The tiny glow in the dark screen indicated that it was some time past one AM, which meant that if he got to sleep right then he might still get four hours of sleep before the morning shift. Then the day crowd would rotate into the room and someone else would be using his assigned bunk for the next eight hours, followed by someone else until it was his turn again.

Maybe he should just stop thinking so hard about sleep — maybe if he thought about literally anything else, sleep would just magically come, like it seemed to do for other people. His best friend, Bee, kept telling him that she just laid down at night and closed her eyes and sleep came within five minutes for her. In his opinion, she was probably lying. There was no way that sleep just ‘came’ within five minutes. There must have been a trick. She said she just stopped thinking. Who just stops thinking? Thinking was a constant background process in the machine that he called his brain and sure, there were tricks to make that process take less energy or attention but there wasn’t a way to stop it. So either Bee was trying to describe something else (likely), or she really was programmed differently than he was (also likely). Or she just straight-up temporarily died every night (not very likely, although she would make one terrifying vampire).

 Chuck flipped his pillow to the cold side and started thinking about filling forms. That was a safe and boring topic, right? Boring was good, boring meant that his brain might slow down.

Forty excruciating minutes later, Chuck checked his watch again and almost screamed. He was still not sleeping, and now he’d reminded himself of how annoyed he was that the ventilation filters were listed on the equipment request form and not the maintenance order, even though changing them was part of the maintenance team’s duties. Which meant that every time they needed new filters they would have to ask him to edit the equipment forms for them, and then the equipment supervisor would be pissed that Chuck had messed with his files. Which Chuck wouldn’t have to do if that asshole just picked up his goddamn comm every once in a while and updated his files himself!

 Blasted ventilation. Blasted maintenance team. Blasted god damned bunker and blasted god damned cold war.

Chuck flipped his pillow again and turned to face the wall, pulling his scratchy woollen blanket up to his face. He very sternly told himself to not think about the war, because that was a sure way to stay awake for the rest of the night and he did not need that. Besides, he wasn’t worried about the war. He wasn’t!

Worrying about the war was a responsibility for other people. For all the good that did, since the cold war wasn’t even about Castula. Their neighbour, The Free Radiant Empire of Elunar (F.R.E.E.), had somehow managed to piss off New Vakalos, and now the two giant powers were threatening each other with world-destroying weapons. What did that have to do with Castula? Chuck didn’t know, but somehow by virtue of being allied with FREE, they were now also in danger of dying via rocket to the face. It was kind of unfair. Still, not exactly a problem that he, specifically, could do anything about. And he didn’t like worrying about stuff that he had no impact on.

His problems were more in the range of filling badly designed forms about ventilation filters. He had suggested a change to the forms, but everything took months to be processed around here, and also no one was very inclined to listen to a lone sergeant that looked like death warmed over. Chuck knew that it would considerably help his career if he was less sleep-deprived, but that wouldn’t happen as long as he had to sleep in a bunker dorm room with five other soldiers that snored, farted, and / or had undiagnosed sleep apnea.

Chuck glared at the bottom of Bouchard’s bunk as the seconds ticked by agonizingly slowly. The ventilation clanged again. That was new.

When he had first seen this bunk room, it had seemed to him like a silent tomb. Eighty feet underground, on the lowest floor of a state-of-the-art military facility, it was a room about the same size as his grandmother’s bathroom in which someone had shoved enough beds for six people. The walls felt heavy, the ceiling was low, and it was pretty much impossible to forget all of the tens of thousands of pounds of rock, steel and concrete sitting right on top of his head. Back then, the ventilation had run smoothly, and the corridors were still empty of the beehive of human activity that their sheer size promised. The bunk room was enclosed in a perfectly claustrophobic silence that promised an equal chance of the best sleep of his life or a panic attack.

But then Bouchard, his future personal nemesis, had poked his head into the room behind him. Upon seeing the poster on the wall warning them about “enemy agents subverting them via sexual promiscuity”, he’d let out a noise between a snort and a braying laugh. Chuck had not known peace since.

He’d tried everything. Meditation. Reiki. Over-the-counter sleeping aids. What had come the closer to working was Johnson’s grandmother’s “sleepytime tea”, but while it made Chuck’s body immensely tired and relaxed, his brain still felt like it was hooked up to a car battery. The contrast between a dead-tired body and an overly active mind made for a profoundly unpleasant experience. The obvious next step should have been professional sleeping aids, but the bunker’s heartless on-site doctor refused to prescribe them to him, on the pretext that Chuck might get addicted. Figured. You get one measly footnote on your medical file about a history of substance abuse — not even his own, mind you! A relative getting too enthusiastic about self-medicating their chronic pain, which as far as he was concerned seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do! — and suddenly nobody wanted to prescribe anyone anything for the next three to four generations.

It was all such bull. Getting a bit too reliant on sleeping aids still seemed like a much better solution than hitting his head with a baseball bat just so his brain would stop, which he was four seconds away from doing, but alas. As long as the insomnia didn’t impact his performance, the higher-ups didn’t see it as a problem. And Chuck was too much of a professional to let it impact his performance, so it seemed that he was trapped in a hell of his own making for at least the foreseeable future.

Nearby, one of the sleeping soldiers mumbled something and turned over. Chuck checked his watch. If he fell asleep now, he would get three hours of rest. He could function on three hours, right?

[cosmogenous]

i need clothes that actually fit but black friday shopping might kill my chill vibes and make me despair at the state of consumerism & late stage capitalism... where is an inexpensive place u can shop w ethical business practices where there is a decibel limit and no one sneaking up on me and brushing against me...?

i wish i had the time to learn to make my own clothes.

[sasorikigai]

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || In inexplicable fever of his newfound life, the consuming desire to live intensely and intently, to create something strong and great had profoundly impacted in the rebuilding of the new Shirai Ryu. With his untimely death that split his heart with a serrating despair of ice, Scorpion dwelled in the caustic infliction of wrath and vengeance which burrowed and latched itself to the manipulated mind and heart. With Quan Chi's wicked machinations, his ire and bitter sorrow only grew exponentially, with every wound inflicted to his still-human soul until the hatred hardened into a lump, desperate to penetrate his still-functioning conscience. Once destructive grief of the intangible wraith, with all tenebrous shadow and gripping tendrils of hellfire, now sings the perseverance and persistence of Grandmaster Hasashi's being even as lethargy and exhaustion beckons him to sink into unconsciousness.

"You fight with the current of precious time. The insect's poison corrodes, the hellfire within me erupts, becoming violent," his chest bruises hard beneath the roaring pyre of the Netherrealm's desolate terrain, and Hanzo's voice barely breaks beyond the decibel of whisper as low baritone of his voice scratches. He could feel the wreck of stone beneath him creak under their combined weight, which may have once crowned the Necromancer in lavishing grandiosity, but now, only metallic tang of bitterness remains in pools, with crumbling jagged rock formations abandoned and split in shame in its former glory. And temple grounds writhe in their own funereal fire, as if decapitated heads weeping the goop of coagulated crimson.

"You have my permission. The Shirai Ryu will attack at any sight of intruders. This oath of allegiance will bypass their hostility towards you." The faltering amber of his eyes descend, pointing his blooded garment as his feet struggle to plant solidly against the barren earth.

His burning flames dance and claim Hanzo in the heat and excruciating pain of reality, remaining enchanted and untamed, seem to paint the effulgent view of the Shirai Ryu Grounds; the autumn foliage lavish like the fire itself which they wield, with all of its intensity, warmth, and strength. Now serving as the solemn refuge of the Earthrealm stronghold as warriors gather in conglomerate. The fire flames deep within his belly, and Hanzo grits his teeth in stubborn defiance. He may be unconscious and stagnant, unchallenged by unpredictable flares of the poison as his harsher, fervid embers continue to carry his breath. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

@soulforfeit continued from here (x)

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || If Hanzo's being were a crimson ocean stretched endlessly across time, then his grief would be its salt; inseparable from his body and soul, dissolved into every wave of his movement. Even as a mortal, it's as if he'd always been an ancient artisan, hundreds of years worn, weaving his guilt and sorrow thread by thread into the fabric of his breath. His being would fray, his skin peeling away as if being pulled away, as if this - this weaving of sorrow as filament of his everburning hellfire - was the last thing holding him together as each of its stitch becomes his wound. He unravels, even as the unpredictable world continues to gallop on.

His expression pulls taut as he vehemently challenges Scorpion's words; Hanzo's perseverance and D'vorah's mercurial poison enervating his vigor, leaving him simultaneously in his place, in the quagmire of motionlessness. "I am not weak. Nothing is going to unravel me into ashes and dust. Noth-," bound by his duty even as the talons of the poison continue to be an overwhelming force, Hanzo's defiance tinges in his baritone. Yet, his body refuses his command as he folds over, even more - his bones whimpering, the steady vehemence of his warmth dwindling.

"I cannot afford weakness. Vulnerability is something I can dismiss soon." He once longed the impermanence of his existence, for it meant he'd unite with his dear Harumi and Satoshi, but he could not relinquish his existence in this world and allow Kronika's disarray and disintegration to devour everything. Reforged in the redemptive effulgence of his fire, he would protect the rebuilt Shirai Ryu, along with Earthrealm's inhabitants. He could not allow himself to simply blur and float through the ache - half-here, half lost.

"Do not dare to tell me that means I am dying. This stillness is still survival. This numbness... is how I bleed quietly. Help me chase this numb, distant feeling." Hanzo still floats through the ache, as his breathing threatens to become a ghost in his own ribs. He doesn't know when the wave will rise, then suddenly pull him under. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||