#Indian Death Metal

[idiotcoward]

Gutslit - Carnal This is exactly what I want from a Brutal Death Metal album. Just super nasty sick riffs that make you want to bounce. Incredibly guttural and nasty vocals. And a little special sauce that makes this stand out from the million other standard Brutal Death Metal albums. In this case it's just how fucking engaging these riffs are. They're all so fucking danceable. Seems like this would be an awesome band to see live and just mosh for hours to. There's been so much good metal that's come out this year, but don't let this pass you by. I've actually seen some people review this album pretty lowly, to which I say why? Why is this album a 1/5 or a 2/5 when other death metal albums that have much worse production, generic and repetitive riffs, and boring as fuck musical concepts? I think a lot of people just like the 90's shit more cause it's the "classics," but this shit goes just as hard as a lot of those records that came out thirty years ago. Try something new! Maybe you'll be surprised. I think you will.

[lilybug-02]

me vibing to the absolute, most broad spectrum of music humanity can conjure

[drondskaath]

Tetragrammacide | Typho-Tantric Aphorisms from the Arachneophidian Qur'an | 2023

Indian Black Death Metal

Artwork by Orryelle Defenestrate-Bascule

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Voodoopriest  -  Dominate and Kill

[slutneto]

i implore you to read lyrics of the song in question ('dana-dan' by bloody wood)

I hope everyone is aware Dev Patel has a movie in theaters right now where he guts a bunch of Hindutva fascists with an army of trans women to a death metal soundtrack ok good thanks

[thethcministry]

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 48

part 1 | part 47 | ao3

cw: mentions of smoking/sexual activity

Chapter 11

February

For two and a half months, Steve’s life goes perfectly. He didn’t realize how far into a pit he’d fallen until Eddie showed up to help Robin and the kids lift him out, but the difference is jarring. Golden hour sunlight after catching a matinée.

Steve spends two months blinking.

He sloughs off his sadness like a snake shedding skin; spends the winter getting back to being Steve, restocks his favorite hair products and restarts his fitness routines — morning runs through the woods, afternoon pick-up games with Lucas and some of his teammates when the weather doesn’t suck. Weightlifting in the evenings because Eddie says he likes how Steve’s arms look when they get a little big, says it’s more fun to pin him down when he knows it’s just for show.

And he tries new things, too, just because Eddie likes them or because the kids think they're cool. He reads a Vonnegut novel. He eats Indian curry. He even learns a song on guitar.

...Sort of.

Eventually.

(Actually, that whole thing goes pretty horribly and takes for-fucking-ever. Eddie spends an afternoon patiently encouraging him and doing his best not to tease while Steve clumsily moves through a beginner chord progression, and then breaks down wheezing when, after the sixth attempt with no improvement, Steve puts the guitar down in a huff and threatens to demote his pinky finger from his hand if it doesn't start cooperating. Eddie laughs so hard he tips face-first into Steve's crotch, and it takes them a sticky-spitty-sweaty half hour to get back to the lesson.)

Anyway, he likes the way their lives entangle. As easy as weaving his hands through Eddie’s hair.

He gets invited to band practice; he sits in on D&D. Sometimes he watches sports with Wayne when he's got a day off, then he heads out with Eddie for long joyrides through the countryside.

Eddie blasts his metal music when they get out to the backroads, and he talks too loudly over the bass and laughs even louder and rants about nothing and smokes cigarettes while he headbangs to his favorite guitar solos — almost lights his hair on fire on more than one occasion, fucking dumbass — and he does this silly, lewd shit that makes Steve's chest just ache. Makes it clench around the word that's been burning a hole in his tongue since New Year's Eve. Eddie wags his brows and palms himself through his jeans and asks if Steve wants to take another joyride when they get home, and Steve thinks:

God, I love you.

I love you.

How could I not love you?

And really, how could he not? And how much longer can he keep not telling him so? When it feels like the word is going to burst out of his chest Alien-style any second.

When it feels like Eddie's the reason he even has a home to get to.

Slowly — so slowly, hours spent thrifting and bartering and keeping an eye out for free stuff left out on the curb, even more hours sanding and painting and caulking and sweating to death between trips to the hardware store — they redo Steve's whole trailer. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall, they exorcise the haunted tin can. They make it his; they make it theirs.

Eddie injects life into every inch of the space, fills it with weird art and funky lamps and a big, comfy leather couch that he likes to bend Steve over. Comes inside him in every room when they get done working on it as a reward; gasps in Steve's ear about how he always wants to be inside him: in his home, in his body, nestled deep inside his heart. "Keep me right here, baby," he breathes as he fucks Steve against a wall, his left hand gripping Steve's chest while he fills him from behind.

It’s perfect.

It's perfect.

Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts unless Steve asks.

And then, because this godforsaken town and everyone in it are fucking cursed, one day it isn’t anymore.

—

part 49

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[successfulgoddess333]

WHO AM I??

Hi baby

I’m going to talk a little bit about myself

I don’t wanna reveal too much

My face and everything else will remain anonymous for safety and privacy💕

Name:

My name is Honey(yes this is my birth name lol)

You can call me by my name or honeybee

Or even honeycomb

Do NOT call me beehive 😡

Unless it’s related to Beyoncè💕

Age: 23

Topics:

I discuss the void state, Law of assumption,Reality Shifting (I haven’t talked about this yet but will if you need more info)

And All kinds of Manifestation methods

How to talk to Honey!!!

Just dm me any questions I don’t take asks anymore so if you have any questions just feel free to dm me

Ethnicity/Nationality

My mom is Afro Peruvian, Indian,and Haitian

My dad is Jamaican

Sooo

I’m black hehe🤟🏾

I don’t do these I’m super private it’s soooo weird omg

What do I like??

Music food animals

Did I say music because

MUSIC!!!!!!

My favorite artists

I love all kinds of music

Even death metal occasionally

I like Harry Styles,Kid Cudi,Lady Gaga The Beatles,Ice Spice and many moreeeee

I also love movies

Literally almost any kind

But anyways

Let’s talk about something more interesting!!

Now that you know me(kind of)

I want you to know about this technique I discovered

It’s not new at all

In fact ppl on here have already talked about it I’m just late

As usual 😔

Anywayyyyyy

There’s a technique I want you all to try

It’s called the

“Wim hof breathing”

Method

No methods are needed But if you really want one

Then here you go pookie

(Found this on a website but it won’t let me copy the link😔)

WIM HOF BREATHING METHOD

Find a comfortable position.

Breathe in deeply through the nose or mouth and through the belly to the chest. Then let the breath go unforced.

Exhale through the mouth, then immediately breathe in again.

Take 30–40 such breaths in short bursts.

Take one final, deep inhalation then let the air out and stop inhaling. Hold the breath until you feel the urge to breathe again.

Inhale very deeply to full capacity and hold for 15 seconds, then let it go. This completes the first round.

Repeat the whole process, steps #2-6, 3-4 times.

After completion take time to meditate and enjoy the state of deep relaxation

After the very last step you should be a deep trance like state you should be really relaxed

I recommend that you let your next subliminal play

Which should be

Either a theta or epilson wave track or pink noise

Make sure your desired subliminal that plays after is Not a guided meditation you wanna still be in a trance

Start affirming in that point

And don’t stop

Just feel how relaxed you are feel that powerless body but powerful mind

Your body is at ease your soul and mind collide in such ways that allows you to breathe freely without any stress no harm

In the void state

Your main goal should be getting peace

Because if you’re entering just affirm

You’ll likely put it on a pedestal you’ll get frustrated and give up

It is not a wish granter bitch

It’s you

Baby you are powerful

Baby you are pretty

Baby you can tap in the void

And make the bring the 4D to your 3D and make it your home

Don’t use the void as a wish granter

Use it for peace

Don’t treat the 3D like the enemy

Treat it like a friend

After all it exists the way it does because of your assumptions

Whether you say this is hard or this is easy

Sugar, you’re right either way

Because if you assume something then that’s how it’ll be

If you think you’re pretty you’re pretty

But if you think you’re broke

Then you’re broke

If you think you’re rich

Then you’re rich baby

You could have wings

Superpowers

Be the biggest singer or rapper in the world

Star in the next Dune Movie

Be best friends with Ariana Grande

Be a Scientist

Be smarter than Albert Einstein(I mean was he actually super intelligent if he lacked common sense)

You could be get a bigger butt!!

I mean didn’t necessarily have a pancake ass

But I definitely didn’t have a Nicki Minaj

BUT I DO NOW!!!!

And bestie you can too!

Plastic surgery who???

Do we look like a Kardashian-Jenner?? I think the f not🙄

The void is our plastic surgeon

You wanna a smaller nose?

Got it

Tig ole biddies?

Got it

Nicki Minaj butt?

Got it

Floor length hair?

Got it?

Whatever you want to change about yourself

Got it!

And for the last time babies

You ALWAYS ENTER THE VOID EVERYTIME YOU SLEEP

Mentally just be

Physically sleep

In that moment baby

Forget the 3D and its fuck ass bob

Because the 3Ds not your enemy but its your puppet

You’re a ventriloquist CONTROL THAT MF

The 4D is you

The void is you

Quit saying what you can’t do babe

You CAN BECAUSE YOU ALREADY DID AND YOU STILL DO

“HoNEy I StiLL didNT gET inTO tHe vOiD”

YES YOU DID!!!!!!

You did it

You just didn’t know

Bro the void is just recognizing you’re asleep

And getting in contact with your mind

Which is where you already go when you go to sleep

So ha

Billie

There’s your answer

When we fall asleep

That’s where we go

The mf Void State

The only thing your cute ass has to do baby

Is just be aware

When Neville Goddard says just “BE”

Bitch just BE

That’s it

Be aware

Like that SpongeBob episode

“Be the crane”

Be the Void

It’s just you love

So why you stressing

Why complicate something YOU created?!

Baby girl make it make sense

Own your power bitch

I love you My darlings

Month is almost over

Bring me my success stories

Or I’ll be your sleep paralysis demon 😈

(Just kidding)

Or am I;)

NOW BITCH LOOK!!!!

YAYYYY

Imma keep pressuring you to listen to this(NOTE YOU DO NOT NEED SUBLIMINALS)

But I like this one🫠

Wrong emoji

I can’t find that cute one at the moment I’m rushing cuz I wanna eat my burger!

SLADE:

https://youtu.be/oKU8YIicYQg?feature=shared

THIS

because it’s soooo peaceful

Slade is the best

BYE BITCH GO GET THAT DREAM LIFE NOW!!!

I love you ⭐️💕

[glorious-spoon]

hello!! happy tuesday!! requesting 💛 💗💜 for buddie :)

thank you!! 💛 - reunion kiss/relief

The Indiana Jones Thing [On AO3] 2.3K words | buddie | near death experience | first kiss

-

The horizon dips and sways in Buck's field of vision, salt stinging his eyes and lips. His whole world is shades of blue: the ocean around him and the cloudless sky overhead, the white sun beating down. His skin from the shoulders up feels hot and stiff with sunburn, but everything else is cold. Even in the middle of the day, the ocean is so fucking cold.

The Pacific Ocean is one of the warmest oceans in the world, second only to the Indian Ocean. He read that somewhere, but he can't remember where, or what got him on the topic in the first place. It might have been Chris, or it might have been one of his insomnia-induced late-night Wikipedia binges in those shaken weeks after the tsunami.

It doesn't feel warm. Not right now. His clothes cling damply to him—t-shirt, uniform pants, his boots long-since kicked off and lost to the depths. He doesn't know how long he's been out here, or how much daylight he has left. How much daylight they have left to search for him, if anyone is even looking.

They're looking for him. He believes that. He does.

It's just—he's been treading water for a long time.

Perspective is strange from the water. The waves move him, breaking against his face, blurring his vision, but all he can really see from this angle is the vast blue ceiling of the sky. Birds, sometimes, high and fast-moving. Contrails, even higher than that, sunlight glinting on metal, streaks of vapor spreading out behind. He has a crazy, futile urge to wave his arms and scream every time one passes overhead, like someone's going to spot him from a jet forty thousand feet in the air.

All he can do is keep swimming. The water slips around his arms as he moves, a steady repetitive motion that's as slow as he can make it without actually sinking. Frog kicking to conserve his energy. He's a strong swimmer, always has been. He can do this. They're out here looking for him—he knows it. That means it's his job to stay alive long enough for them to find him.

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming," he mumbles, a cracked, rasping singsong, and the sound of his own voice startles him so badly that he loses the rhythm of his strokes for a moment and goes under. When he finally surfaces again, sputtering, there's a low, rising rumble, the waves around him getting choppier.

Tsunami, he thinks vaguely. But it wouldn't feel like this. Out on the open ocean, tsunamis are fast-moving but barely perceptible on the surface. It's only when they move into the shallow waters closer to shore that the devastation starts. Flooded streets. Toppled cars. A small, precious body clutched in Buck's arms, or falling away into the water with devastating finality.

The rumbling is getting closer. Buck spins clumsily and blinks for a few moments, wondering if it's just a mirage that's about to blur and vanish into the punishing brilliance of the sun on the water. But it stays, and it gets closer: the sleek white shape of a patrol boat cutting through the water toward him, U. S. COAST GUARD printed across his hull.

Buck starts laughing, ragged and breathless. Maybe he's crying, too, or maybe that's just the saltwater stinging his eyes. The sound of the engine vibrates in his chest, in his ears, as someone in a wetsuit drops into the water and starts swimming toward him with long, smooth strokes, RFD towing behind him. For a wild instant, Buck thinks it might be Eddie, but of course when the man gets close enough to make out any detail, he's a stranger. Older, weather-beaten face, no-nonsense expression.

"Alright, Firefighter Buckley," he says as soon as he's close enough, and it's the best thing, the best thing, Buck has heard in hours. "I'm gonna push this floatation device to you, and I want you to grab it and hold on. Got it? Can you do that for me?"

"Y-y-yeah." Buck's teeth are chattering now. He doesn't know if it's cold or adrenaline or both; a wave of weakness washes through him. "I kn-n-now the d-drill."

The RFD bobs through the water toward him. He grabs at it, clutching it to his chest with such force that he goes under again for a second.

God, it's a relief to let his legs go loose, to feel the buoy hold him up, to have his survival dependent on something else besides his own body and stubbornness.

The guardsman waits until his grip is secure to start towing him back toward the boat. After that, it's all a confused blur of harnesses and hands and the sudden chill of the air as his body leaves the water, sopping wet clothes clinging.

He nearly collapses when his feet hit the deck, the abused muscles in his legs cramping and twanging. His arms feel like two chunks of concrete dangling from his shoulders. Two guardsmen catch him before he can collapse—the man from the water, and a woman who's enough shorter that Buck has to tilt at an awkward angle to lean on her shoulder. Someone wraps a thermal blanket around his shoulders, and he's guided stumbling and clumsy to a padded bench. He blinks, squinting in the sunlight—it's past the arch of the sky, heading toward the western horizon now. It was early morning when the boat broke up and he went into the water.

"H-how l-l-long was I—was I out there?" he manages through chattering teeth.

"It's sixteen forty-five now," the woman says. "Took us a while to pinpoint your location. You're a strong swimmer, Firefighter Buckley. Good thing, too."

More than nine hours. Closer to ten. He's not sure it felt that long. Time sort of stopped having any real meaning out in the water, but he feels every minute of that time now. "Ju-just Buck. Is f-fine."

"Buck." She actually smiles. "Your team is going to be glad to hear that you're alright. Now I have a few questions, just to see how you're feeling. Are you up for that? Someone's getting some dry clothes for you right now."

He nods. His neck feels heavy, and his muscles are throbbing, and the shivering is worse now, even with the blanket. He stumbles through the assessment, and must reassure her that at the very least he's not about to drop dead on her watch, because after that he's released to change into a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that are several inches too short for him but blissfully dry. After that, he huddles back into the thermal blanket and watches the horizon skid by as the boat makes a wide, looping turn. It looks different from this angle. Bigger. He can see more of the world from above the water than he could when he was trying not to drown, and there's a metaphor in that, maybe.

That's the last thought he remembers having before sleep catches him and drags him under.

-

He wakes to footsteps, the sound of voices. All of the sounds feel louder and closer now, and when he finally drags his eyes open, they're docking. It's nearly sunset, the waves reflecting shifting shades of red and gold. It's pretty, he thinks sleepily. Even if it did just try to kill him. Again.

Shouts. Footsteps on the deck. Then hands on his shoulders, gentle but firm, and Buck blinks up at Bobby.

"Hey, Cap," he mumbles.

"Hey, kid." Those might actually be tears in Bobby's eyes, but he's smiling all the same. "Glad to see you're alright."

"Glad those Navy SEAL tryouts actually paid off," says Chim from behind him, and he's beaming too, unabashedly teary-eyed. "You just saved me from having to make one of the worst phone calls of my life, my friend."

"They wouldn't make you notify Maddie," Buck mumbles. "Against regulation."

"Yeah, and I bet you can name the line and letter," Chim says, as Bobby sinks down and wraps an arm around Buck's shoulders, squeezing tight. Buck leans against him. His skin feels itchy and sore from dried salt and sunburn, but at least he's not shivering anymore. Bobby's here, and Chim. He squints past them, but no other familiar faces appear.

"Hen and Eddie are in the other boat," Bobby says, before he can even ask. "They should be here any minute."

"And you are about to be read the riot act, make no mistake about it."

"Wasn't on purpose."

"Yeah, I know." Chim reaches across Bobby to scruff Buck's salt-sticky hair. "Just the worst luck known to mankind. You've got to be down at least three of those nine lives at this point."

The guardsman who examined him reappears over Chim's shoulder as they bump to a halt next to the dock. "Just a few more minutes, gentlemen. We already called it in; the ambulance will meet us there."

"I'm fine," Buck says, more for form's sake than because he thinks it'll get him off the hook here. "Just tired."

Chim scoffs loudly, and Bobby says, "You're going to the hospital, don't fight me on it."

"Okay," Buck yawns.

He closes his eyes again, not quite sleeping so much as drifting, vaguely aware of the warmth and weight of Bobby's arm, the bustle around him. Then he's being coaxed to his feet, muscles screaming all the way. He tilts heavily into Bobby as Chim steadies him from the other side and they shuffle their way off the boat. Bobby delivers him into the hands of the paramedics, and Buck is sitting on the edge of the ambulance bay while his lungs and pulse are examined for a second time, when he hears a ragged voice shouting his name.

"Oh," Buck says, squinting in the dimming sunset. The lights are on around the dock, making it plenty bright enough for him to make out the tall, dark-haired figure sprinting across the lot toward them.

"Buck," Eddie shouts again, and then again, softer, as he stumbles to a halt in front of him. "Buck."

"Hey, Eddie," Buck mumbles. He blinks a couple of times, but his eyes are having some trouble focusing. Eddie's face blurs before him, then settles. Wind-burnt cheeks, wide, wet, beautiful eyes. Chest heaving like he's been sprinting a lot farther than across the parking lot. "Sorry."

Eddie swears under his breath and steps closer as the paramedic lifts her stethoscope away with a deep sigh.

"I'll give you two a moment," she says.

"I'm sorry," Buck says again, and Eddie says, "Fuck, Jesus Christ, don't be sorry," and heaves him into a hug. It's tight enough to be uncomfortable, as sore as he is, but Eddie is warm and breathing quick against his hair as his hands pat over Buck's back like he's checking for injuries and then just clutch at him, and Buck thinks he could probably happily stay here forever.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he mumbles.

A slightly crazed-sounding laugh escapes Eddie. His cheek scrapes against Buck's, warm, uncomfortably scratchy against his sunburn, and then he turns his head just enough to press his lips to Buck's cheekbone, bruising, barely even a kiss. It does something funny to Buck's insides all the same. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm okay."

"I thought you were dead." It's shaky this time. He's pretty sure Eddie is crying. He thinks he might be, too. Exhaustion and relief and the way Eddie is holding onto him like he can't stand to let go.

The kiss, too. That kiss, just now, that was barely a kiss.

"Eddie, hey." Clumsily, he reaches up. His shoulders ache, his arms feel like lead, but he manages to catch Eddie by the arms. "I'm okay."

Eddie nods against him. Then he kisses Buck's cheek again. This time it's softer, almost delicate; this time, it feels deliberate.

"Are we gonna do the Indiana Jones thing here?" Buck murmurs. "Because I'd be cool with that. For the record. If we are."

Eddie lets out a shaky laugh, which is what he was going for, and finally releases him. He keeps a hand on Buck's shoulder, thumb just brushing the side of his neck, the same way he's always held onto Buck. Over his shoulder, Buck can see Hen approaching, but she hangs back.

"Since when have you seen Indiana Jones?" he asks.

"Blame Chim."

"Okay."

"So," Buck stutters, and it's not the cold now, or exhaustion. This is just nerves. "So—so if you—do you want—?"

Eddie breathes out a quiet laugh. His thumb moves carefully against Buck's skin. And they're doing this, apparently, after everything: right here, on the tailgate of an ambulance with half of their family and a couple of mildly impatient first responders looking on. Buck will be embarrassed about that later, probably.

Right now, though, Eddie says, "Yeah, Buck, of course I do," in that fond quiet voice that Buck loves so much. Right now, Eddie leans down again to kiss Buck a third time, carefully, right on the lips.

It lingers sweetly for a moment. A few yards away, Chim wolf-whistles and Hen starts laughing, but Eddie doesn't pull back until Buck is light-headed and breathless and smiling like a dope.

Eddie looks pretty dopey himself: soft-eyed, a little stunned, even though he's the one who started this. Buck leans up for another kiss, and doesn't break it even when his shoulders and neck cramp into painful knots at the movement. He must make a noise, because Eddie pulls back a moment later. He doesn't go far, though. His hand is still warm on Buck's nape.

"Buck," he says.

"Yeah," Buck sighs, trying not to pout. "You're riding with me in the ambulance, though, right?"

"Obviously. And you're coming home with me after."

"Obviously," Buck repeats. He tilts his chin up for another kiss, even though it hurts, and Eddie lets him.

[trashmouth-richie]

Alright, babe. Let's do Angsty, and your words are: crunch and parking lot

xo -Amanda

@curiositydooropened you asked for angst and bby i’m delivering hot and ready in 30 minutes or less, like surfer boys pizza or a real horny boyfriend. 🍆💦

18+ HEAVY ANGST, upside down themes, s1 canon events with reader thrown into the mix. you’re dating eddie! yay!

<650 words

send me a prompt! from this post :)

A strong western wind bristled the leaves.

Wrestling colors of burnt persimmon and chestnut hues around in a whimsical swirl of a colorful tornado. Some stuck to the inky wet of the grass from the early morning rain. Others found their way like Magellan to a faraway land (a nearby leaf pile) or maybe into the yard of a lucky kid able to rake enough of them up to earn a few dimes in the pockets of their Levi’s. 

It was chilly for the unusual Indian Summer Hawkins was experiencing this fall. As if winter broke through the endless seams of  the late humid summer, demanding to be felt, to be seen.

Could you do that? Be seen? 

You heard the screech of the ailing boy nights before. The squeal of tires from the police station. His mother—you presumed, frantically called his name into the town, like a lone wolf howling into the harvest moon hung sky. 

Yet, the boy remained missing. 

Would you be missed…like the Byers’ boy? Who would call for you? Would he?

Flyers went up, crunching beneath the metallic thump of a steel staple. Into telephone posts, poked through cork boards around the school with colorful tacs. Taped to pay phones and called across radio stations. 

Eddie had assured you that he had probably run away, typical for kids that age who didn’t get what they wanted. But you felt something. Heard things in the night while curled into his chest. It spoke to you. Begged you to look for It.. 

Barbara Holland went missing. Last seen at a party of Harrington’s that you heard him loudly strutting around the hallways about to impress the quiet, pretty freshman girl. 

Again, you told your boyfriend of your worries. Cried to him about the lack of sleep you’d been getting, the nightmarish creatures you’d seen when your eyes were closed. He pulled you into him, forefinger hooked under your jaw, and like a fish on a line, you succumbed to him. It was hard not to when somebody loved you the way Eddie did. 

Had it been days? You couldn’t be sure. 

Street lights flickered. They always did at Eddie’s— it was normal. But maybe you should have been more self-aware. Maybe you would have noticed It. 

Long spindly arms clawed at your coat as you ran, bony fingers hooked into the belt around your waist, pulling you back, further and further towards the opening at the base of a tree. 

You fought, clawed at dirt and muck and shit to escape its clutches. Badly bleeding, injured, breaths away from death— until you weren’t. Until you were somehow nestled beneath foliage— safe, hiding, alone. 

The treeline behind the trailer park was where you laid. Unable to make a sound, caked with dried blood, colored dark on your body, the sharp stink of infection and decay permeated the chilly air, and you knew it was from you. 

Would he know how much you loved him? How proud of him you were for sticking up for kids who needed it?

You’d miss his smile, his dimples, that giddy dorky laugh he couldn’t hide when you tickled his sides. The way butterflies swarmed in your stomach when he kissed you.

Would he miss you…cry for you?

You lie in wait watching the leaves scatter across the dirt parking lot. Body cold and broken, blood trickling to the earth. Time ticking down to what could possibly be your inevitable end. 

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Reference: 5 Symbols

for your next poem/story (pt. 2)

BA

For the Ancient Egyptians, the Ba was the symbolic representation of the soul.

It takes the form of a small bird with the head of a human being.

Could fly between its owner and the Gods for as long as the body was intact.

The Ba is twinned with the Ka.

If the Ba represented the soul, then the Ka was the “life-force,” the spark of life that animated the body and whose departure resulted in death.

The Ka was sustained with offerings of food and drink, although it was the “ka” or spirit of the food and drink that was consumed.

In the Afterlife, the Ba and the Ka would be reunited to form one single entity.

BECKONING CAT

A friendly little statuette with a warm welcome found all over Japan and China.

What the cat is doing with his paws carries a secret message.

The cute little Maneki Neko or beckoning cat is ubiquitous in Japan and China where he appears in both homes and offices.

Can be seen in Oriental restaurants all over the world and is for many people the ultimate symbol of prosperity and good luck.

Comes in different colors, each of which signifies a different meaning:

For example, a red cat will protect from illness, and

a black one will ward off evil.

The position of the paws also carries a message:

With the right paw raised the cat will bring money and happiness to home and workplace.

A cat raising its left paw will attract new customers for a business.

And a cat with both paws raised hits the jackpot; both home and business will be happy and profitable, attracting good luck, friends, prosperity, and new clients.

This cat is also the symbol of the small Buddhist temple in Tokyo, where the original incident that shot the cat to fame is said to have happened:

Originally the temple was a lowly place, whose impoverished priest would regularly share what little food he had with his pet cat.

One day some Samurai were passing and noticed this cat, who had one paw raised as though to say hello. The warriors stopped, intrigued by the beckoning cat, and went into the temple just as a horrendous rain storm started.

They believed that paying attention to the cat’s invitation had prevented them being struck by lightning. Thereafter, the fortunes of the priest, the temple, and of course the cat, started to change for the better.

BULLA

This is a special charm or amulet that was given to Roman children when they were born.

A sealed locket, the bulla (“bubble” or “knob”) contained magical spells specific to the child in question, such as symbols of protection, or wishes for wealth.

Was constructed of different materials depending on the wealth of the family:

leather for the poorest families and gold or

other precious metals for the wealthiest.

Roman boys put aside their bullae when they reached puberty, and the object was offered to the Gods. Girls wore theirs until the eve of their wedding.

In either case it was considered that the bulla belonged to the child, as part and parcel of their personality.

It is the origin of the name of the Papal Bull, the special edict that hails from the Vatican, which is fastened with an oval seal of the same shape as the bulla.

CALUMET

For the Plains Indians, the pipe, also called the calumet, is one of the most important and recognizable symbols.

Although it is sometimes referred to as the Peace Pipe, shared ceremonially as part of a unifying ritual, the pipe was just as valid a symbol during times of war.

The tobacco used in the pipe is also a powerful magical substance originally intended for ritual use only.

The smoke rising from the pipe signifies a prayer traveling toward the Gods and symbolizes the sacred breath, source of all life.

The fire that lights the pipe symbolizes the Sun and the male element.

The pipe itself is equivalent to the prayer that is offered up from it.

Considered so important that in Native American tradition it is described as though it were a person, and each of its components has the name of a body part.

In addition, the bowl is described as an altar, and the stem, the passage of the breath extending from the human body.

CANDLE

Symbolizes light in the darkness in a way that a light bulb simply cannot do.

It represents the element of fire as a benevolent force.

Made even more powerful if the candle is made of wax, a substance made by a magical creature, the bee.

The colors of candles are significant in magical practices:

For example, pink is said to attract love.

Black candles are used in dark magic.

Source ⚜ More: On Symbols ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[talonabraxas]

THE 7-RUNGED LADDER OF THE MYSTERIES

A symbol of progressive advancement from a lower to a higher sphere, which is common to Freemasonry and to many, if not all, of the Ancient Mysteries. In each, generally, as in Freemasonry, the number of steps was seven.

LADDER, BRAHMANICAL

The symbolic ladder used in the Mysteries of Brahma has seven steps, symbolic of the seven worlds of the Indian universe. The lowest is the Earth; the second, the World of Coexistence; the third, Heaven; the fourth, the Middle World, or intermediate region between the lower and the upper worlds; the fifth, the World of Births, in which souls are born again; the sixth, the Mansion of the Blessed; and the seventh, or topmost round, the Sphere of Truth, the abode of Brahma, who is himself a symbol of the sun.

LADDER, QABALISTIC

The ladder of the Qabalists consists of the ten Sephirot, or Emanations, of Deity. The steps are in an ascending series: Kingdom, Foundation, Splendor, Firmness, Beauty, Justice, Mercy, Intelligence, Wisdom, and the Crown. This ladder forms the exception to the usual number of seven steps or rounds;

LADDER, MITHRAITIC

In the Persian Mysteries of Mithras, there is a ladder of seven rounds, the passage through them being symbolical of the soul's approach to perfection. These rounds are called gates, and in allusion to them, the candidate is made to pass through seven dark and winding caverns, which process is called the ascent of the ladder of perfection. Each of these caverns is representative of a world, or a state of existence, through which the soul must pass in its progress from the first world to the last, the World of Truth. The seven steps are further symbolized by the seven planets and the seven metals. Thus, beginning at the bottom, we have Saturn represented by lead, Venus by copper, Jupiter by tin, Mercury by qiucksilver, Mars by iron, the Moon by silver, and the Sun by gold; the whole being a symbol of the sidereal progress of the sun through the universe.

LADDER OF IZADOSH

This ladder, belonging to the advanced Degrees of Freemasonry, consists of the seven following steps, beginning at the bottom: Justice, Equity, Kindliness, Good Faith, Labor, Patience, and Intelligence or Wisdom. Its supports are love of God and love of our neighbor, and their totality constitute a symbolism of the devoir or duty of Knighthood and Freemasonry, the fulfillment of which is necessary to make a Perfect Knight and Perfect Freemason.

LADDER, ROSICRUCIAN

Among the symbols of the Rosicrucians is a ladder of seven steps standing on a globe of the earth, with an open Bible, Square and Compass resting on top. Between each of the steps is one of the following letters, beginning from the bottom: I. N. R. I. F. S. C., being the initials of Iesus, Nazarenus, Rex, Iudaeorum, Fides, Spes, Caritas. These words suggesting Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, Faith, Hope, Charity. But a more recondite or hidden meaning is sometimes given to the first four letters (INRI - All of Nature is Renewed by Fire).

LADDER, SCANDINAVIAN

Doctor Oliver refers the symbolic ladder used in the Gothic Mysteries to the Yggrasil, or sacred ashtree. It retains the idea of an ascent from a lower to a higher sphere, which was common to all the mystical ladder systems. At its root lies the dragon of death; at its top are the eagle and hawk, the symbols of life.

LADDER, THEOLOGICAL

The symbolic ladder of the Masonic Mysteries refers to the ladder seen by Jacob in his vision, and consists, like all symbolical ladders, of seven rounds, alluding to the four cardinal and the three theological virtues: Temperance, Fortitude, Prudence, Justice, Faith, Hope, and Charity

LADDER, JACOB'S

While sleeping one night on the bare earth and a stone for his pillow, Jacob beheld the vision of a ladder, whose foot rested on the earth and whose top reached to heaven. Angels were continually ascending and descending upon it, and promised him the blessing of a numerous and happy posterity. This ladder, so remarkable in the history of the Jewish people, finds its analogue in all the ancient initiations. It is certain that the ladder as a symbol of moral and intellectual progress existed almost universally in antiquity, presenting itself either as a succession of steps, of gates, of Degrees, or in some other modified form. The number of the steps varied; although the favorite one appears to have been seven, in reference, apparently, to the mystical character almost everywhere given to that number. - An Encyclopedia of Freemasonary and its Kindred Sciences by Albert C. Mackey MD

[asexualbookbird]

August feels. Blurry. The Thursday of the year. Of the summer? IT feels like the year. I managed to fill out my entire Summer Bingo Board for the library. I haven't heard back about winning any prizes, but I had fun and that's what counts. Bingo made me branch out of my comfort zone which was really neat. Can't say I'll do it more often, a comfort zone is comfortable, but I do enjoy reading something Different every now and then. Did some crafty things this month, which has been a lot of fun, and I've been Smart and Wise and started on holiday gifts so I'm not scrambling in December. It's called personal growth~

The Bone Season: Tenth Anniversary Edition by Samantha Shannon ⭐⭐ - I'm salty about this. Yes, it's an improvement, but it still sucks. The world and magic is so neat, but we're stuck with a plot Like That. Made me do an actual full review on goodreads and on tumblr if you want all the details.

The Bone Season by Samantha Shannon ⭐⭐- I kept my original rating because honestly I felt the same as I did years ago. It's worse than the updated version, but it's the core of the novel that needs changing. Props to this one at least for making Paige asexual. I do not want to see this book on ace book lists ever again.

The Adventure Zone: The Suffering Game by The McElroys and Carey Pietsch ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐- One of the best installments so far. The art is AMAZING, I love the meta they're doing with Griffin and The Hunger, it was a little rushed and I'm bummed we aren't getting a full adaptation of The Stolen Century, but this is still right up there with Petals to the Metal for me!

The Hollow Places by T Kingfisher ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - T Kingfisher has never written a bad novel to me, but this one did take me longer than her others to really click. The audio narrator had some inflections that didn't work for my brain, but once they went through the door, things got Weird and picked up. These two made so many stupid decisions, but it still felt in character! Big Stan Pines energy coming from that uncle.

Frostbite: How Refrigeration Changed Our Food, Our Planet, and Ourselves by Nicola Twilley ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - For book bingo! Got me a square for Read Nonfiction, Read Something About The Environment, and Read Something You Found from Book Page (a magazine advertising new and upcoming books). AND it had a local connection. I learned a lot, it was really neat and didn't feel like I was reading a textbook. It was very engaging, and has me looking at grocery stores differently. It was hard to find, though, because Frostbite is a very common name in the urban fantasy romance genre.

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - Oof. Very heavy, very creepy, very GOOD. Did not expect the many graphic dog deaths, but that was on me. Technically I WAS warned, my brain just didn't register "SGJ dogs are not safe" as "The dog dies in this one". The audio narrator was very good, but I had to listen to the opening a couple times to really get everything to click. It might've been easier had I" read it myself, but the cadence of the narrator really added to the story.

The Last Heir to Blackwood Library by Hester Fox ⭐ - Wow when was the last time I had a true one star read. (Actually not too long ago. It was The Novice.) This wanted so badly to be The Haunting of Hill House, but if you want another book like Hill House, just read Starling House. We missed what actually happened in the book because the main character was losing her memory. If you want that, go read Harrow the Ninth. This was a mess and I hated it.

On that note, I need to read something to recharge my faith in books, so MURDERBOT TIME! That's my only reading plan for September, but now I'm feeling Rushed because the year is almost over and I still have about half of my reading goals list left. Whoops. I'd also like to at least attempt some of the Swordtember prompts, if not do all of them. That looks like a lot of fun! So! Onward we go!

[tragedycoded]

Hellooooooooooooooo!

Can you tell us everything behind the places in Doom Metal Love Story : Fort Cano, Fort Sarras, the American Great Plains and so on?

Inspiration, do they exist (or similar places) and all ?

Also, bells ring when they ring, 1873 is a great year.

Thank you 💗

Gioia my love! Hi! Thank you for the question! I sure hope my rambling response makes sense I haven't had coffee yet LOL.

(Note to people who aren't familiar with DMLS or with me: I'm discussing an alternate-history start of a Weird Western novel, but I do touch on U.S. Army activity in American Indian territory during the 1870s. I am not ignoring or erasing the U.S. genocide of American Indians by creating an alt-history where that does not happen.)

Let's Go

The extent of my initial worldbuilding was "What if the U.S. didn't have territory past the Mississippi River?" + drawing on an absolutely cursed save file from when I was playing Crusader Kings II and Spain got wiped off the map in the 12th or 13th century.

(I don't think the Aztecs actually invaded Europe in that playthrough but it got real weird real fast.)

Things That Happened Before Sullivan Was Born

The United States had two gold rushes that I was specifically concerned with. The Georgia gold rush started in 1829, and is the reason most of the characters (Buck, the Hustons, the retired miners Royston gambles with) are from Georgia and tend to travel in groups.

There was another gold rush in California in the 1840s--it's my understanding that without that, America never would have gained an advantage on the world financial stage. That land would still belong to the 100 or so tribes native to that area, so unless France sent Catholic missions, there was no Spain to do it.

Everyone but the U.S. is thriving in this setting LOL.

(Everything east of the highlighted states belongs to the U.S. in this shitty timeline. The highlighted states are the ones that are considered part of the Great Plains.)

Since I have the U.S. no longer possessing territory west of the Mississippi River, I had to change some dates of the Louisiana Purchase--in real life, the U.S. acquired a huge chunk of land from France in 1803. I had this occur later, and I've been handwaving a lot; my memory is dogshit, and I'm not smart enough to sort out what the long-term effect of Spain not conquering the Aztec Empire would have been, other than "The Aztecs survived and native tribes have a better relationship with France than the U.S."

The Military Situation

So the land the Army is occupying in DMLS belongs to the native tribes. The previous mission of "settle and expand the territory" became "evacuate all U.S. citizens still in the area and keep a presence on the plains so it won't be a huge surprise if France tries to invade the U.S. again."

The two forts that appear in DMLS are based on Fort Leavenworth (Sarras) and Fort Reno (Cano) but because of all the screwing around I've done, they aren't as well-supplied or fortified or populated as they were in our 1873-1874. This kind of gets touched on in a flashback in a Hofer POV chapter--getting sent to Fort Sarras feels like a death sentence, but it's the last stint Sullivan and Hofer have to do before they both retire.

(Sullivan and Hofer would have stayed at Fort Sarras until 1876 and then fucked off back home to Philadelphia if everything in the book hadn't happened. That's about when I see things really popping off with France.)

Fort Sarras does not have a federal penitentiary like Leavenworth does; that might have been the plan thirty years earlier but that's shot by the time Sullivan and Hofer transfer in. In real life, Fort Leavenworth is the oldest permanent settlement in the state of Kansas, and thousands of settlers and natives passed through on their way west every year.

Fort Reno technically didn't exist until July 1874--it was a temporary camp set up before the Red River War. Fort Cano was established for similar reasons (fighting with the locals) but about six months earlier. If Fort Sill, Fort Smith, or any of the other local forts made appearances in the novel I would have given them new names.

Fort Reno also does not have railroad access like Fort Cano does. That strongly ties in with some of the shit happening in Book 2 and 3. I can already see having to put a note in a foreword that says something like "I know there was no Fort Reno or railroad in June 1874 let me cook."

Minus the Alt-History Bullshit

If I were writing a proper historical novel and not alt-history, Sullivan wouldn't have been at Fort Reno--the 10th Cavalry was posted at Fort Sill, which is on the opposite side of Oklahoma (then called the Indian Territory), and they were sent to the Texas Panhandle with a few other companies to fight in the Red River War, which involved killing natives and forcing the survivors back to Fort Sill to be sent to a reservation.

So Royston would have been "saving" Sullivan from that scenario.

The alt-history was just me being high and writing alone in my room and trying to set up for a Bad Ending scenario, which had Sullivan and Royston surviving the events in the City--Royston calls out what would have happened in Hofer's last 1874 chapter. The City would have given them new bodies--Sullivan couldn't have survived the injuries he sustained, he had about fifteen minutes left. So it dumped them in a new timeline.

The "punchline" of all my shitty worldbuilding would have been that they ended up in our timeline in Book 2, and they still had to deal with the Hustons and Powell on top of not knowing shit about the political situation they were spat into.

But Sullivan had to lose Hofer in order for that scenario to happen. And he's already made it v clear to me how he feels about that. He's OK living in a timeline that's shittier for his country if it means there's less genocide and no me killing his best friend.

Post-Script

After I have the surgery I need to have to treat my trigeminal neuralgia I intend to take a field trip out to Fort Reno to see just how fucked Sullivan and Hofer were in the Bad Ending. I've been in this cursed-ass state for over a year and started DMLS in September 2023 and I have done zero novel-related sightseeing.

[morbidology]

On the 23rd of May, 1996, a man was walking along a wooded canal bank on old U.S. 27 in Clewiston, Palm Beach County, Florida. As he was scouring the area for scrap metal and cans, he came across a seemingly discarded maroon and white Indian or Mexican style blanket and a woman’s black and white sweater.

As he got closer to the blanket and sweater, it became apparent that there was a deceased baby girl wrapped up inside of it. She was estimated to be around 3 to 5-weeks-old and was either white or Hispanic. She had black or dark brown hair but due to decomposition, it couldn’t be determined what colour her eyes were. An autopsy concluded that the baby girl had a fractured mandible and maxilla and that she had either died of accidental or intentional injuries.

It was announced that the death was being investigated as a murder, as forensic experts attempted to identify the baby since. However, since the body was so decomposed, fingerprints couldn’t be lifted. Footprints could be lifted and investigators compared the footprints to hundreds of footprints of missing children that were available at hospitals. Unfortunately, none were a match.

The identity of "Baby Belle" still remains a mystery today.

[emperorofnowhereland]

Non-white metal bands to consider:

The Hu (Mongolian folk metal band)

Tenggr Cavalry (technically from China, but similar style to The Hu)

Ningen Isu (Japanese folk metal)

Bloodywood (Indian folk metal)

Chthonic (Chinese death metal)

Nini Music (Taiwanese folk metal)