#SECT

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

[froggycakes]

GUYS

GUYS

I MET ANDY HURLEY AT THE SECT SHOW LAST NIGHT

[ask-the-sect]

"hehe! sorry guys.. but try to clean up a little "

"DAMN BITCH ,YOU LIVE LIKE THIS!?"

[psychicvoidtale]

Sam: the goat

[nemrut]

“Taylor's had plenty of friends, and believes in, and understands, trusting and relying on those friends--Aisha stood by her even in the depths of her madness as Khepri, Lisa and Rachel worked to help her and understand her as best they could even when communication was impossible for her, Parian and Foil willing came under her control when she needed them. Taylor firmly believes in the value and power of friendship, to the point where how she treated and parted with her friends was a deep regret she had. But that doesn't really change her perspective on Unity, because that was forged in the flames of the apocalypse, wherein even the impending annihilation of Mankind across all Earths couldn't make people get over themselves, work together, etc. A dozen different factions turned on each other in the midst of the end of the world, people kept secrets and lied to the very end, and perhaps most importantly--even those who did work together in the face of impossible odds couldn't actually do anything. Many Parahumans did work together against Scion, for example, and broadly speaking, they spent a week dying without accomplishing anything of note. Making progress required dominating and destroying everything in her way, and the fact that her friendships endured even when the world didn't and remained strong even when the world was ending is important, it's true, it's something she's held close to her heart for twelve long years--but it doesn't change that fact, either. And even then, well...when it came down to it, as Lisa complained, Taylor did things her way(....)

(...)Simply put, Taylor believes that friendship is an amazing, priceless thing. She believes that extending a hand of friendship, in the right place and the right time, can save someone and change their life and that it's valuable beyond words, and that the bonds of that friendship can be unbreakable, that they can hold someone up even when all else seems lost, and survive when nothing else does. She believes in love and devotion and holding on. What she doesn't believe is that people will put aside their differences and work together if the world started ending, or that it would necessarily matter even if they did. Sort of like how Taylor loved her father and believed he loved her and believed in the value of that love--but didn't believe that going to her father would, say, resolve any of the problems that she was having with her bullies, which, to be fair, it didn't. She believes in love and while she doubted her feelings for Brian, she wished she could have loved him and that that love would have be enough--but deep down, she knew it wasn't. She believes in friendship and holds onto it forever, but couldn't rely on that in the end, either. Because deep down she knows--or, at least, 'knows'--that the way to effectuate change in the world is to dominate and destroy everything in her path, because that's the only thing that ever did. TL;DR: Taylor was born to be a 90s Magical Girl, but was taught to be a 90s Supervillain.”

Ryuugi about Taylor Hebert from Worm

[peterborough-scapes]

Something to brighten this rainy day

The Northern Crescent (Phyciodes cocyta) butterfly on a Lanceleaf coreopsis (Coreopsis lanceolata) flower ©2023 Ken Oliver

[sushimango]

OC owner: TatemKaylee on Cara

[omegaremix]

Omega Radio for July 22, 2024; #381.

Abrams: “Pale Moonlight”

Burn It Down: “A Ghost Untied”

Bleed: “Killing Time”

Navre: “Late Night Drive”

Frail Body: “Devotion”

Sedona Crystal Bitch: “Smoke And Mirrors”

Monolord: “Bastard Sun”

Belzebong: “Goat Smoking Blues”

Wormsand: “Carrions”Smote: “The Opinion Of The Lamb”

Mascara: “Eleven The Fair”

Swarmer: “Foremast”

Tribunal: “Without Answer”

Seizures: “Of Indigo And Seven Crows”

Sect: “Lovers Of Live”

Eternal Red: “Recreate / Mutate”

Killer, The: “Holy Mother Of Street Wars”

Henret: “Funeral Pyre”

Rile: “Climb Out” + “Stone Tapes”

Locrian: “Utopias”

Hangman’s Chair: “An Ode To Breakdown”

Rosetta: “So Warm A Solitude”

Imminence: “Continuum”

So Hideous: “Yesteryear”

Sunrot & Bryan Funck & Emily McWilliams: “Gutter”

Emma Ruth Rundle & Thou: “The Valley”

Seasons Worn: “The Rose Chamber”

Deluxe metalcore, sludge, doom, and stoner.

[geographerdose]

I just realized:

My chart ruler the Moon and the planet aspecting it via opposition (Mercury)

Have a Libra degree,

And an Aries degree,

Respectively.

I think this is interesting because those signs oppose each other

And I already have that Virgo/Pisces axis activated with my Mercury/Moon placed there

The way this has played out for me in real life is having polarized feelings toward both Libra/Aries

But not so much with Virgo/Pisces which can again bring in the relevance of degrees in astrology

Alright this is just my theory:

There’s nothing wrong with Libras but I personally seem to run into trouble with them due to placements in my chart

I think it’s because Venus rules Libra and the most harmful aspect in my chart is that to my Venus (and Jupiter)

You would think I would feel the same way about Taurus right? Since Venus also rules Taurus

But contrare!

I adore the f*ck out of Taurus moons mannn, just Taurus energy in general as long as they like me too

Taurus suns will always despise me though 🤷🏻‍♀️ [leo sun square mars Taurus probably why]

Mars does more constructive shit at night for me as a night charter and because it’s placed in Taurus, I think that is why I tend to get along better with them moreso than Libra

My point being:

The rulers of the degrees are important bc those are also houses (ex-Libra 4th house still has a maltreated ruler like the libra degree on a planet does)

Natives with harsh aspects from malefic contrary to sect (Saturn opposition night chart// Mars opposition day chart) are going to probably have troubles with the harmed planets’ signs it rules (Jupiter being opposed by Mars? Jupiter is being mistreated—so Possibly with Sag and Pisces)

Back to my point of having polarized opinions on Libra/Aries?

I think it comes down to sect—Aries is associated with malefic of sect in favor whereas Libra is associated with malefic contrary to sect

But to be clear:

I love Aries

Also though maybe I don’t get along with Libras bc I’m actually extremely Libra-like myself and cannot stand to see it in others, lmao. Bc my chart ruler does have a Libra degree so I’m probably blind to how I really am 🤷🏻‍♀️

Thanks for listening to my nonsense-ical babbling if you made it this far.

I think the point of the story is:

Aspects in your chart can determine your affinity for certain signs as well as if you guys get along. And the sect can determine who you’ll get along with better.

Obviously each person is unique and has more to them than one sign,

But like I have noticed a pattern in my life of running into issues with certain signs.

I have Jupiter opposing Saturn in a night chart too and can confirm that at least 3 Sag-heavy men have broken my f*cking heart but that doesn’t even seem relevant cause it’s like join the f*cking club amirite.

[agentfascinateur]

"Allies for Armageddon"...

Israel first became central to evangelical eschatology four centuries ago, when Protestant theologians, especially those of a millenarian bent, seized upon very specific passages about the end times.

...

And then, if the prophets were right, some pretty unpleasant things would happen: A false messiah known as the Antichrist would take over Jerusalem and install himself as the savior before inaugurating the Tribulation, a seven-year period of death and destruction, with most Jews perishing. Finally, Jesus would return to Earth, overthrowing the pretender and inaugurating a thousand-year reign of peace on Earth. By the 1970s and '80s, a growing number of prominent evangelicals, including Falwell, made trips to Israel, eager to get in on the ground floor of the coming apocalypse. At first, the Israelis paid them little mind, but Prime Minister Menachem Begin quickly realized that the religious right had become increasingly influential in Ronald Reagan’s Republican Party.

So to arrive at a biblical moment, these lunatics meanwhile sacrifice the blood of tens of thousands at the altar of religion.

It all rather sounds very pagan to me.

[al-jadwal]

From the Worst Sects

Ḥarb (b. Ismāʿīl al-Kirmānī) informed me: I asked (Imām) Aḥmad about al-Khawārij? أَخْبَرَنَا حَرْبٌ، قَالَ: سَأَلْتُ أَحْمَدَ، عَنِ الْخَوَارِجِ؟ He said: "They are an evil people; I do not know of any people on earth worse than them.” قَالَ: شر قومٍ، ما أعلم في الأرض قوماً شَرًّا مِنْهُمْ، Ibn al-Qūdāmah al-Maqdisī, al-Muntakhab man ʿilal al-Khallāl 1/259 #164 ابن قدامة المقدسي، المنتخب من علل الخلال ١/٢٥٩ #١٦٤ https://shamela.ws/book/26075/225 Telegram: https://t.me/aljadwal Tumblr: https://al-jadwal.tumblr.com

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

[kit8888]

Ruslana Korshunova, a model born in 1987, became widely known as the face of the Vera Wang and Nina Ricci brands. Died under unclear circumstances. On June 28, 2008, 4 days before her 21st birthday, Korshunova fell from the window of her apartment on the ninth floor and died.Police ruled it a suicide, but no suicide note was found. according to the statements of all her relatives, friends and acquaintances, it could have been murder. It was said that shortly before this she had returned from a fashion show in Paris and was “on top of the world.” A British television producer believed that Korshunova’s suicide was related to the personal growth trainings of the Rose of the World organization, which the model attended for three months. Experts found no traces of foreign skin under her nails. Korshunova’s mother did not believe in her daughter’s suicide.

click

[ask-the-sect]

//SCARS

[psychicvoidtale]

Look at him

[aokuro-san]

Hello everyone… This is an experiment.

Note 1: After my talk with @iwanttofuckereh69 (which I tagged because you expressly asked me to) and some more talks about it with other users, the truth is that I wanted to share my work here. So these days I've been trying to translate some of my horror stories to share, of course, during the spooky season, haha.

I hope you like them (and if not, then we'll pretend none of this ever happened).

Note 2: "Belmont and the Scarecrow" was the story that got me out of the hole of inability to write that high school left me with. At that time it was 2019 and I couldn't find a job (in fact, I still can't find one to this day), so I tried to go back to what I think I'm good at and I enjoy.

I participated in two contests, and this was the only one of the two that published me in an online Mexican magazine dedicated to folk horror. It is not a story that requires much to understand, it is short, and it is perfect to start, since it was also my new start in the profession.

Note 3: Although I also warn you that I am not a NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKER and I have translated it as best I could and with the tools that the Internet provides me. So if you see any errors, don't hesitate to tell me and I will change it^^

@kiramoran @obsidieneyes

(I'm also tagging you because well, you seemed interested too… If not, sorry for the inconvenience, ignore it!)

Anyway… Let's start with the experiment.

"Where is that thing?"

"Has anyone seen him there?"

"No! Stop yelling, you'll scare him"

"Come out, you mangy rat, come out!"

The adults were so focused on looking for the scarecrow that they did not notice the gutted dog on the side of the cornfield. It was Pierre, Mr. Fantin's German shepherd, and still alive, he looked with his crossed eyes in the light of Belmont's lantern.

The animal's intestines rested on the semi-disturbed earth, and a path of blood -very typical of a Perrault fairy tale- was lost inside the terrain.

Not so far away, the boy heard the corallines singing. They were waiting for the men by the bonfire: kneeling, naked and with their hair combed crazy. Five minutes had passed since three in the morning and the nerves were beginning to surface not only in them, but in all the inhabitants of Troumbé. And Belmont, who was only a boy of ten years, he felt that tension on his skin like sewing needles.

Driven by curiosity, but above all by responsibility, the boy went deeper into the cornfield.

It was the height of summer and sweat and mosquitoes attacked his face in equal measure. He was dressed entirely in corduroy and had a hard time moving among the tall, dry and spindly stalks of corn; slapping left and right, guided by the drops of blood that illuminated the ground.

The scarecrow had fled at two in the morning, an hour before the party. And, like Pierre before he died, he had belonged to M. Fantin for six long months. In fact, Belmont and the other kids of Troumbé had seen him countless times in that same corn field. And always, always, he had a big smile sewn into his sack mask.

The moment Belmont and his father heard that he had escaped, the boy was surprised (before reaching the cornfield, they had traveled through a large part of the forest, the town, and the lake). But not as much as when he found, after walking what seemed like an eternity, the creature crouched among the stalks, sobbing in the most silent way that could exist and illuminated by his flashlight.

Noticing the light, the scarecrow moved slowly and agonizingly and raised its old cloth-hooded head. Part of his jacket had torn and a big, splendid blue eye was staring at him. And around his eye, Belmont noticed that he had clusters of milky flesh, covered with freckles, eyebrows and eyelashes. His smile had disappeared and only a tear remained descending to the ground of the cornfield.

"Please, help me," the scarecrow then said, as soft as a whisper. "Please help.".

The boy cringed, in disbelief, watching the being kneel with its hands covered in blood.

"Help me," he repeated.

Suddenly, the adults' voices felt closer, which made them both shiver.

"Please," he repeated again, again on the verge of tears.

The boy shook his head, looking for where to look (not to the enormous eye of that scarecrow).

"No I can not", finally he answered.

"Please help."

"HEY, IT'S HERE!".

And then the rest of the flashlights illuminated them. The scarecrow tried to flee shouting a plaintive "HELP!", but the adults pounced on him like wild beasts on his prey. They almost crushed poor little Belmont who, in an attempt not to die under the command of a big farmer, fell on his back and hit his butt on the ground and blood.

The adults lifted the being into the air, grabbing its arms, legs and head, without any gentleness. In the struggle, the sack mask tore a little more, revealing slippery strands of hair, the color of straw. And between unbearable screams and useless strength, the inhabitants of Troumbé began to walk towards the bonfire.

Belmont, who had heard his father calling him, got up and walked after them, watching the flames of the campfire—finally alive and hungry—waiting for them. The corallines also rose, increasing the power of their spectral song. Between the small gaps left by the adults, Belmont was able to see their naked bodies painted with pig's blood. And to the rest of the children of Troumbé, praying to the goodness of the spider goddess.

"No, please no!", he cried the scarecrow, already too close to the bonfire. Belmont smelled his fear almost as much as fire. However, the adults did not think twice before throwing it into the sun.

"This year there will be a harvest!", the murderers cried, amidst the lustful screeches of the corallines. "This year there will be a harvest! This year there will be a harvest!".

The victim, writhing in the embers, tried again to escape his death. But a man, dressed in leather and with javelin in hand, stuck his spear into the scarecrow's neck, forcing him to stay. And then he smiled, just as his Troumbé companions did.

The black smoke was beginning to cover everything and the joy could not be more welcome. The men began to sing (it was, of course, the hymn of the spider goddess), and the corallines began to float, convulsing with pleasant faces.

"Come, son," said Belmont's father to Belmont. The boy took his hand, hypnotized by the black flames that covered the charred scarecrow.

"Are we sure we're doing the right thing?" he asked the fire, but it was his father who answered.

"Shut up and keep singing," he ordered her in a stern voice. Belmont could feel his gaze—the angry gaze of someone whose faith you question—on her cheek. And, like every child who loved and feared his father like he did, he continued singing.