#depressive blackened doom

[burninleather]

black metal is funny cuz when I first started I was like "yeah all of its good it all sounds mostly the same anyways" but after a while, I've gotten so picky. when I started I would've been like "yeah this sounds pretty standard and fine" now I'm like "what the FUCK is this alien theme song ass keyboard notes in the background bruh this band fucking sucks" "these vocals sound like dogshit, too blackened death metal sounding for me" "the production quality is too good I can hear the instruments. they must be posers" "where's double bass drums" would've sounded like scrawled ramblings i'd find on the walls of a psychiatric inpatient ward to me a while ago

[abysspersonified]

Genre: Blackened Speed Metal, Blackened Thrash Metal

Link: Here

Genre: Medieval Black Metal, Atmospheric Black Metal

Link: Here

Genre: Stoner Metal, Traditional Doom Metal

Link: Here

Genre: Depressive Black Metal, Atmospheric Black Metal

Link: Here

[tunalad]

[6th of October 2023] make me new

for a while I wanted to expand more on the "funeral trap" sound, so this release pretty much does that

https://tunalad.bandcamp.com/album/make-me-new

https://youtu.be/2HndooQ7yE0

I've noticed whenever I'm posting music on Tumblr that's a lot more personal, I tend to write little to nothing xddd

oh yeah, the painting used here is View of Frederiksværk from Tisvilde Wood

[theparanoid]

Gallhammer - Ill Innocence

(2007, full album)

[Black Metal, Blackened Crust, Doom Metal, Crust Punk, Depressive Black Metal]

[tarminfektion]

It’s so difficult to find someone else with the same music taste as me as I’m a chronic gatekeeper and elitist.

[bodhi-ryuchai]

Setlist

Stars-Of-The-Lid-Ballad-of-Distances-Part-1_Part-2 

Wampyric Solitude - Ghosts of Past Failures (Instrumental Version)

ISIS - Maritime

Crawl - A Broken Lich

MIND PRISONER - Ritual/11-11

Blood Tower - Pillar of Faces/ Flying Ointments

Monovoth - Servants

Suicidal Solitude - Posledné zabudnutie (outro)

Vouna - What Once Was Reprise

BELL WITCH and AERIAL RUIN - Heaven Torn Low II (the toll)/Prelude

Cadavre, Sombre - The Past is a Funeral

XNeZeNX Simmering jasmine_scorching anima (Intro)

[bucknastysbabe]

Hi! New to your page but OBSESSED with your writing for ✨pookie✨(Criston Cole), you truly produce some magic! Was hoping you might be able to write something post start of war where OC (Alicents Daughter, maybe Aemonds twin) is absolutely miserable. Castle vibes are hell, family just busy and angry and any betrothal in the woodworks for her is now put on the back burner. Thinking Criston has a soft spot for her, and shows the curious maiden how to pleasure herself and keep entertained while they all are busy waging war. (Love me some religious guilt as well so maybe they both refuse to do full on PnV?)

Pretty please 🙏🏼

HELLO POOKIE LOVER!!! I HAVE A SHORT DEPRESSING SWEET AND SMUT FOR ✨YOU✨ I'm so glad you enjoy me works, mwah!!!!! Means sm❤️💋

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Foul Red Keep Energy, Criston’s inability to not be a slut syndrome, religious guilt, religious fanaticism, background alicole, manipulation and rationalization, age gap of modern Day legal standards thank you, frottage, pillow humping, plus sized reader, dirty talk, innocence kink

Taglist: @aemondfairy @elaratyrell @elfven-blog @fairysluna @gil-galadaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @peachysunrize @starogeorgina @samthegreenapologist @towriteloveontheirarms @urmomsgirlfriend1 @zaldritzosrose

WC: ~2k

He can’t fuck her, Criston reminded himself. He can strip himself raw and come all over that pretty pale skin and soft tummy of the little princess. He felt like a sick fuck afterward, the knight was positive he was doomed.

He would stand on guard— brooding whether he was just that fucked in the head or perhaps it was the ‘Dornish’ lust in his blood. Fucking the mother, defiling the maiden. His back was raw and scabbed from the flagellant. Begging and shedding tears on the kneeler as he bloodied his back to purge the sin in his fetid heart.

Yet seeing her whimper and come all over his fingers was a sight— a reprieve in the dismal Keep. The way she’d cling to Criston, crying and squirming on his lap as he massaged and suckled on her lovely tits might be worth his inevitable burning in the lowest layer of the seven hells. She was a sad little thing, fearful since Aegon was put upon the throne, how could he not comfort her?

He was expecting to leave soon, regrettably, Harrenhal and more fire and blood were on the horizon. Criston didn’t taste the ashes and choking miasma of death when he was kissing the lovely little princess. She tasted sweet and innocent, too soft for such circumstances. She had a fierce dragon, and Aemond would call her to arms.

He wanted to take her and run. Alas, he had a duty to live and die by the family he swore himself to. It was the only thing Criston cared for. A win, even if his life was the cost. Then his pretty girl could get married and live alright, with no threat of her head getting lopped or dying by dragon fire.

Criston had her in his lap now as he brooded, eyes scanning over documents he wasn’t meant to understand. He was a warrior, not nearly sharp enough to fill Otto Hightower’s shoes. He exhaled, rubbing the soft velvet of her dress. She was curled up, straddling him, soft blonde hair nestled under his jaw.

“Sweetling?” He rasped.

She mumbled sleepily, “Mhm Ser?”

Criston smiled a little, a faint curve of the corners of his lips. She was so precious to him. His little shadow when he was in the keep. Criston wasn’t complaining, he felt more alone than ever and for some reason, the Gods only knew, the young woman adored the knight.

He slipped his fingers through her platinum hair, hand sliding over to gently grip her chin. She looked like her mother and Aegon— big doe eyes, pouty lips. The princess had those purple eyes, they always tried to peer into him. It escaped Criston how his blackened insides didn’t run her off.

“Are you tired, princess?” He asked.

She shrugged, eyes searching his. Plump lips twitched before she asked if he was restless.

Criston’s hand caressed her soft cheek, lips curling up once again. He murmured, “You keep me restless, sweetling.” She made a soft noise, the sound going straight to Criston’s cock. He needed her, now, preferably before the guilt ate at him too much and he’d send the princess away with a guard.

He stood up, lifting her along with him, lips traveling along the pale column of her neck. The darling dressed like a damn septa, her chemise up to her chin. Criston had already untied it early so he could have access for times like now, pressing lush kisses and playful nips as she whimpered.

“You’re such a good girl, always reading, reciting your prayers,” he rambled, laying her down on his bed. The princess whined, arching into his heavier frame.

“I’m not being bad am I?”

Criston was about to open his mouth, hands pushing up her dress, stopping at her plush thighs. His dark eyes studied her lips as she spoke.

The blonde got on her elbows, achingly innocent, that little furrow between her brows tightening. She spoke softly and quietly as if spilling a secret. The princess murmured, “I- I was rereading the passages in the Seven Pointed Star. As long as my maidenhead is intact, I honor the father and maiden by being pure that I’d be safe. Y-you’re just comforting me, teaching me how to be a good wife, while respecting my maidenhead.”

He stared more.

“Right Ser Criston?”

Cole felt his heart ache worse than any wound physically inflicted. The poor thing was rationalizing and he wasn’t going to challenge it. Criston nodded, stroking her soft curls, his other hand up under the velvet of her green dress, stroking her hip, holding back from gripping the abundant flesh.

He spoke gently to the little lamb, lips ghosting her pout, “Yes, that’s it, in uncertain times like this, I wish to make you feel better. We’ll pass this war and you’ll be a sweet little wife. So good and pious, shush now princess.”

If he heard her speak of the faith again he might cry. So Criston flipped her over, undoing her dress. The thick layers, the kirtle— the Marcher could do it with his eyes closed. The Princess kept her chemise on, a farce, Criston would have it shoved up or unbuttoned.

She shivered as he leaned over her frame, pulling her against his clothed cock. Criston groaned, Gods, she was soft and plush. He nuzzled at the nape of her neck, calloused hands rubbing flared hips, whispering, “How you manage to be a light in this dark keep is a miracle.”

Yet here he was, dimming said light.

She squirmed against his hard cock, panting. Criston would play with her for hours if he could, alas, he didn’t like her to cry. He figured it was time to pose a lesson of sorts. The knight racked his brain, eyes landing on one of those stiff, rounded pillows.

“Sweetling, princess, grab that pillow, you see it don’t you?”

She grabbed it, lavender eyes casting over her shoulder as Criston chuckled nastily. So innocent, his dark heart said. He nosed at her silken shoulder, adjusting her into sitting on the pillow, making sure she was leaning forward a little.

“Criston,” she whined, looking at him again, lips trembling. He loved when the princess got all red, pallid skin blotching. He hummed, almost straddling her from behind, flush to her back and ass.

“This is for when your lord husband might be busy, or you need to relax. Probably good for when you’re with child and…not as spry. When I have to go, you can do this, it’s easy, take it at your pace right now.”

Criston grinned when she whimpered, hips jerking forward. He pressed closer, a hand undoing her chemise further, getting a handful of her ample tit. She moaned, always so sensitive, hips beginning to jerk forward and back. The brunette’s other hand steadied itself on her lower belly, kneading at the layer of flesh.

So fucking soft. Gods, gods, why?

His calloused hand massaged at her breast, the princess whimpering and moving quicker, grinding down onto the pillow, her ass rubbing Criston’s aching cock in the process. He panted against the crook of his shoulder and neck, mouth hanging open. Never did he get so undone without fucking pussy.

Except her.

“Does that feel good Princess?” Criston practically cooed, plucking at a stiff nipple, the Princess gasping wetly, her eyes shut tight. She reached back, one of her trembling hands lacing over Criston’s, mewling for him.

He bit at her neck, lapping after, the sweet gesture of their interlaced fingers sending his possessive streak into overdrive. Criston growled under his breath, rutting now, driving the blonde to move in jerks, biting at her full lips to keep from squealing.

“That’s it, sweetling, keep it up, make yourself feel good,” he rasped, licking and nipping up a racing pulse. She shivered from head to toe, head leaning back onto the knight’s shoulder as she huffed and whined, fucking against the pillow, angling herself to grind against her clit.

“Close, m’close Criston, please,” came her needy pleading, eyes hazy with pleasure as Criston marked her neck up, squeezing her hand as a lifeline. His hips stuttered as he coaxed his baby, no- the princess along.

He rested his cheek against hers, using his hips to guide her along at a breakneck pace. Criston groaned lowly, rasping, “Here we go, can’t sit and grind on your pretty petals for hours, you’ll get too sensitive, y-you’ve got to push it, like this, yeah sweetness, fuck, fuck!”

Criston trailed off as his cock twitched in his breeches, full and swollen and ready to pop. He had half a mind to just take her right there and then. Yet her cries of ecstasy and mewling paralyzed Criston’s dark thoughts.

He’d do this every night, any time, anywhere to get another sick thrill.

“Yes! Yes! Like this- oh g- gods, Ser! Mm, I'm close Ser,” she cried out, a ragdoll for Criston’s delights now. The princess turned to kiss him, a rare gesture, plush lips smacking against his fervently as they grunted and rutted in a frenzy. The Marcher gasped into her wet mouth, feeling like a dog drooling over meat.

Criston needed her to come first, suckling on her fat bottom lip, pressing harder, mumbling desperately sweet things he wouldn’t remember. He begged, “Yes sweetling, I can feel you, let go for me, come on, I'm with you darling, my precious girl.”

It was a muffled shriek and Criston’s pitchy cry as they messily kissed, rutting like animals, the princess spurring Criston on into emptying into his pants with ragged breaths, cursing and shivering. She fared no better, coming apart as pretty as she always did, making sure Criston could almost feel it.

They kissed through the aftershocks, lips all swollen and wet, Criston pulling her atop his body as he laid back onto the bed, lazily stroking the maiden’s back. She was quiet for a moment longer, basking, cheeks adorably flushed. She nuzzled his jaw and cheek like a kitten, sleepily mumbling, “Don’t make me leave yet, please Ser Criston? That was…a lesson…I don't want to be alone.”

He kissed her forehead, muttering some nonsense about giving her some time. Criston couldn't say no. It was more time to spend in fantasy. He could feel that small iron altar of the seven-pointed star awaiting him anyway. What was a few hours more in sin?

“I won’t leave you, my dear,” he lied.

[zedif-y]

…Sometimes, Joel isn’t sure it’s worth it.

It being– well. Him. Which, bloody hell, that just sounds depressing, innit? He’s not– he’s fine, really, in all the ways that matter. Good looking, smart, humble. What’s not to love. He’s fine, great even, so there’s no need for any worrying. No need for that at all.

He just wonders, you know? Everyone does. (Probably.)

But also, he’s phrasing it weird. It’s not that he questions himself, it’s more like… Hm. 

Let’s use a metaphor, all smart-like. Joel thinks of himself as a lot of things: The howling, blood-hungry chase of wolves, the business end of a knife. That razor-sharp feeling of teeth sinking into flesh. A forest fire out of control.

(Yeah, yeah. He’s got issues, whatever.)

That’s not the point. The point is this:

Joel’s more of a hunter than the hunted. At least, that’s what he likes to think– don’t even argue. He knows he’s unhinged, revels in it, thrives in it. Hard to put out a fire without getting burned.

And that. That’s the thing.

Because Joel thinks that sometimes he burns too bright. Like a flame– no, like the sun. A point of pride on a good day, something to hide on the worse ones. Fire doesn’t get to keep things. It burns what it touches, spits out the remains. Charred and blackened and what-have-you.

The thing is he can’t make a home without smelling the faint scent of smoke, ash lingering in the air that makes him cough and wrinkle his nose. He builds a foundation, lays down the plans, thinking maybe, this time–

He’s always wrong. Stupid, stupid. He’s always blummin’ wrong.

The thing about Joel is he’s never held something that didn’t crumble into ash. The thing about Joel is that he doesn’t know when that’s gonna end.

So is it worth it, then? To be his? 

He knows the tight grip of loneliness, the heavy chains of solitude. He knows what it’s like to curl up on the floor with his dogs— don’t you dare laugh— his back screaming at him for the night spent on a cold floor. Loneliness is as familiar to him as bloodlust, but he’d rather rip out his teeth than admit it, swallow his own tongue.

(A thought comes, and it’s stupid– no, really. It’s stupid. Stop asking.)

(Why do people think the moon’s lonely? Joel wonders, a scowl on his lips. The moon’s got like, loads of friends. The stars are right there.)

(You get too close to the sun and your wings melt.)

(Joel tugs at a piece of loose string, and he thinks that maybe the sun just wants a friend.)

(…See, he told you it was stupid.)

Joel doesn’t want to be alone. Alone alone, not regular alone. Nobody does, okay? Sue him, it drove him mad.

Whatever. Whatever.

Joel doesn’t want to be alone, not again, not ever. But he gets close to people and it’s like he can just see them burn, wax pouring down their backs and plummeting to their deaths. He gets close, gets attached, and suddenly everything’s burning all over again, and all he can do is laugh and try to put it out as it sizzles at his fingertips.

Until everyone he loves is swallowed by the sea.

(Maybe a submarine, he thinks, eyes-wide and half-crazed. Maybe that’ll be safe, he should try that next game. He should.)

(Maybe’s better than nothing.)

So yeah, Joel wonders if it’s worth it, having anything at all. He wonders if it’s worth the effort, wonders if it’d hurt less to have nothing to lose– though he already knows the answer, and for goodness sake, he wishes it were different.

Joel sighs. This whole thinking thing is exhausting.

To be his is to burn. To reach out is to doom them. But Joel’s too selfish– too much, too bright, too hungry– not to do it anyway.

…Dammit, this got depressing anyway.

Joel swallows through the lump in his throat, and he reminds himself to breathe.

He’ll keep trying, is what he thinks in the end. He’ll keep trying. ‘Cuz what else can he do? Mope, cry about it? What other choice does he have?

Maybe one day he’ll make something, and he won’t have to see it be destroyed. Maybe one day he’ll go out peacefully.

Maybe one day people will stop making their wings out of stupid, meltable wax–

Yeah, okay. He’s getting sick of this metaphor too.

But like– he can’t help but think, you know, about that fall. About Icarus, and how he laughed as he fell into the sea. People say he was happy, even in the face of death, even as his wings burned and turned into soot.

A joy worth losing. A friend worth dying for. A home worth its destruction.

Tentatively, he lets himself think: That maybe, at the very least, that’s what it means to be his.

The thought makes him relax. (If only for now.)

…He hopes so. He really, really does.

[bridgetotheskyyy]

chapter six.

masterlist

Chapter summary: Things have finally come to a head for you, but you might just have an opportunity to redeem yourself and save your family from certain doom. Somehow. Someway.

Chapter warnings: depression, suicidal ideation, nightmares, violence, lots of angst

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: sorry for the long wait! 1) I prefer to post on ao3, and the most recent chapters are up on there (so make sure you check!) and 2) lots of horrible personal stuff happened to me (my mom passed). But here it is! Chp 6!

Read on ao3 here:

“It’s beautiful,” Gaara says.

You have to agree; your village and his melt together in an alien harmony. The sandcastle buildings of the Oasis and the domed structures of the Sand marry to create something entirely new, the village now towering over the cliff side like a utopia. 

You chuckle, tip your hat lower, courtesy of Gaara, to avoid the wind that tries to kiss sand onto your face. “It is.”

“We’ll build together,” Gaara says. His hand fans at your waist.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

You turn to see your child, arms overflowing with flowers. 

“I picked some flowers for you!”

You kneel with a smile. “That’s so sweet of you!”

Your child giggles as they pick a flower out of the bunch — white with elongated petals. Your child fixes it in your hair and you return the favor with a kiss to their plushy cheek.

“My family …” Gaara admires the two of you as you bring your child into your arms and hold them there. 

You blush. My family.

You turn back to your child, who is putting more flowers in your hair, and laugh. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No!” they say. 

On and on, until your hair is overwhelmed with flowers.

You smile, take one out, and — and drop it.

The flower falls to the ground, overridden with poison.

“What …?” You turn back to your child.

“Mommy …?” they say. Their mouth falls open, and a river of black poison pours out.

“No!” You gasp. “Gaara —!”

The skies over the village are blood red, the buildings and structures reduced to blackened ruins. Gaara coughs and spits blood into your face.

“How could you?” he says. “How could you —!” 

You flinched away. The cold floor lay under your palm. A few seconds and you sank into the tar of reality: it was a dream. A nightmare.

One of many — and each one you had upon falling into sleep had been more horrific than the last. You dreamed of Hideo, too; in one he shook you by your shoulders, shook sense into you, imploring you to live and fight to live, fight to stay alive, to love. In another he waited in the old gardens the two of you had once leisured in, telling you he couldn’t wait for you to join him. Give up. Succumb. 

The Hideo in your mind was a two-faced demon, and you had long since lost confidence in which to listen to.

You propped yourself up. Your cot was by the side of you, yet you’d woken up on the floor. At some point during your sleep, you must’ve tumbled off of it, too cold and numb to notice and be thrown from sleep. 

You didn’t know how long it had been; your only indication of time passing had been the food offered to you at regular intervals. Second only to the medical nin who had once come to collect your urine, ostensibly to confirm the legitimacy of your pregnancy — and had never returned. You were often sick, and as much as this strengthened your hope of pregnancy, you were frail, barely alive, but clinging to life. 

You took note of your surroundings. It wasn’t horribly uncomfortable, the cell you had been sequestered in. But you knew any and all comforts you enjoyed here were simply because Gaara was nowhere heartless enough to risk you losing a child — if you had one. He would never have you killed despite how much you craved death. 

The sun had blown out, and all the light in the world was gone.

You looked down at the broken necklace on the floor. Kankuro had broken it in half, and you had broken it further, desperate to find just a drop left. Dead in seconds. If true, you would be able to put an end to all of this. Just a drop … But there had been nothing. 

The one time I want to use it and there’s nothing. Nothing for me. The irony.

And then there was the second piece of jewelry bestowed upon you: your mother’s ring, snug and secure around your finger. It seemed a mockery to you now. A fatuous representation of your childish dreams. What a fool I was — am.

Situating yourself on the bed against the wall, you caressed your stomach, mindlessly cooing to what you hoped was a filling womb.

“I’m sorry …” You whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough …”

You hugged your knees to your chest. What was happening now? Did Father know where you were? What was happening? Why had no one come?

The quiet blared loud in your ears. You rested your cheek on your knees, turned to face the wall. Your sleep had been short-lived, cut short by the poignancy of nightmares. You closed your eyes.

If you could just rest a bit longer, something would happen. You could sleep until the world ended. You could …

You could …

A great, metallic churn.

You awoke. You faced the door with furrowed brows. Another churn. Someone was opening it.

You sat up. It was probably your feeding time, but it would be something. Anything to disturb the monotony of this nightmare.

The door cracked open — flew open. A feminine groan. Someone crossed the threshold.

You looked up, leaned forward with a frown to discern.

“… Matsuri?”

Matsuri turned to you before letting out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re okay! Come on, (Y/n).” She blinked. “Is it all right if I call you that?”

“What do you mean?” Your voice was rasped from lack of use as Matsuri strode toward your bed. “What’s going on?”

Matsuri hastened you to your feet. “We have to move quickly; Lady Temari sent me. Come now —“

“Wait a minute!” You cried, taking Matsuri by the shoulders. “What’s happening?” A chill down your spine. Father. “Where’s Gaara?”

“Listen to me,” Matsuri said. “We don’t have much time.” She retrieved something from her pouch. A pill. “Take this. It’ll give you some strength.”

“But —“

“Take it. Please.”

You accepted it with a weak nod. You slipped it between your chapped lips and swallowed it. 

“There’s been a battle and we’re losing,” Matsuri said as the pill worked down your throat. “We have to get you out of the village and leave immediately —“

“Where’s Gaara?”

Matsuri let out a stressed breath through her nose. “He’s been poisoned by your father.”

Horror froze you. 

“Nothing at the Sunagakure greenhouse contains antibiotics strong enough to cure him.” Matsuri went on. “That Red Spine of yours really did a number on him. We can only keep it at bay, but he will die if we don’t hurry!”

Matsuri tugged you, and you went with her through the door to the dingy prison hall. The pill returned to you an iota of your previous strength, and while Matsuri did most of the heavy lifting, shouldering your weight, you were able to pick up the slack and scuttle along with her.

“What about Temari and Kankuro?” You asked hastily. “Are they okay?”

“Lord Kankuro’s stayed behind to fight off Boutoku’s forces, but we’re being overwhelmed,” Matsuri said, leading you down another hallway bereft of people. “Your father’s united some of the smaller villages into a full scale attack on us. He’s promised them all a part of the oasis if they can help him claim Suna.”

Your legs weren’t carrying you fast enough, dragging you behind Matsuri. “But, Temari,” You said desperately. “What about Temari?”

“You’ll see.”

Sand dragged past your feet as the two of you ran through the empty place. You flinched at the sound above — explosions.

“Come on!” Matsuri took your hand. “It’s okay.”

She led you to the entrance. She threw the doors open to lead you out of the prison.

And into hell.

Sunagakure burned. Fire blazed with the windstorm as people ran to and fro, blurring in your vision. Screams mingled with whistles in the air as Matsuri tugged you into the decrepit streets, buildings burned black and fed the fires fiercer. 

The sounds of knives clanged as shinobi fought adjacent to the two of you. You recognized an oasis emblem atop one’s headband as they clashed with a Sand shinobi. Matsuri tugged you close to avoid flying debris. She led you past a bridge — 

A giant crack. You looked up to see the bridge overhead collapsing —

“Look out!”

Matsuri pushed you out of the way, and you tumbled. Matsuri ducked and rolled out of the way as the bridge collapsed onto the street. Your ankle burned — you cried out as fire caught the hem of your pants. You poured and patted sand on it to put yourself out before turning back to Matsuri, just in time to see her coming toward you.

“C’mon.” Matsuri brought you to your feet, and the two of you kept moving.

The scenes overwhelmed you in their horror. You tried to block them out, running to keep up with Matsuri. She led you down an alley.

“Where are we going?” You sobbed.

“There’s a cavern we keep for emergencies to ensure the safety of the Kazekage.” Matsuri hastened you through the underground of the village.

The two of you were freed from the horrors of above, but the silence was both relieving and even worse than the screams ringing in your ears. Matsuri lead you down farther until a space opened up, and you saw:

Temari, holding an unconscious Gaara in her lap. Temari’s sobs mingled with yours.

“Oh, gods,” You said, coming forward.

The cavern was dark save for the cracks letting in light from above, the color of flames.

Temari looked up at you; her clothes were tattered, her ponytails ragged and messy. She glared up at you and you froze, choosing not to come any closer. 

What have I done …

“Kankuro once told me …” Temari began, voice watery. “He once told me your so-called oasis can heal people.” Temari straightened. “Well, here’s your chance to prove yourself. If you really love my brother, take us there. Save him.”

The cavern gave way to secret tunnels, leading past the main gates of Sunagakure. You begged Temari to listen about how your father must have done something to you, but she said they would address it on the way.

Temari lugged Gaara over her shoulder all by herself, shirking your weak offers of help, before passing him to Matsuri. She gripped her fan strapped to her back and opened it three times bigger than it was when folded, and before you knew it, the four of you were in the air. 

You flew over burning streets in the Sand, eerily resonant of one of your nightmares. Ninja the size of ants did battle as citizens were shuffled away to whatever safety was left for them.

Am I still dreaming? You wondered as a building collapsed under the weight of its fire.

“Wait — what about Kankuro?” You asked. “And Baki?”

“Baki trained us all. I have faith in him. As for …” Temari’s expression grew pained. “There’s nothing we can do; he’s going to hold down the fort until we come back.” She eyed Gaara. “I can’t lose two brothers …”

It was long before the smoke lessened and stopped burning through your nose and down your throat. It was long before the horrible silence was broken but only by Gaara’s wracked breathing. Temari turned to you, eyeing you with harsh appraisal, making you crumble.

“Come here.”

Temari examined you. She performed — what were they called? — hand signs, the speed of the motions blurring her fingers. 

“Release!” she said.

You felt a tightness loosen around you, like a series of ropes had loosened around your middle. You let out a relieved breath. 

“Whatever you were trying to say before,” Temari said. “Say it now.”

You nodded, your eyes flickering from her to Gaara. And … you told her everything. The poison and the plan, your father’s letters and Chuuyou’s betrayal, how you had gone back and forth in trying to tell them the truth, doing the best you could to wait it out until you understood your father’s intentions — until it was too late. 

All the while, Matsuri continued administering some sort of pseudo antidote to Gaara, keeping him stable by dripping it into his mouth.

“We’re running out,” Matsuri said as Gaara rasped and twitched. “We need to find this oasis now.”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Temari said. “Gaara’s strong; he’ll make it …”

“Let me do that,” You begged Matsuri. “Please.”

Matsuri smiled weakly and gave you the drip. You shifted Gaara’s head in your lap and searched his face. He was even paler than usual. Blots of purple etched his face. His eyes opened and closed, as though he were trying to achieve consciousness, only to be dragged under each time. Look what my father’s done to him …

“What I don’t understand,” Temari began, furrowed gaze straight ahead, “is how Gaara couldn’t have noticed …”

“I told him I was just nervous about things that have happened,” You said while administering the drip. “He told me about the anti-Kazekage groups causing him trouble and I made it seem like that was what was bothering me.” 

“He trusted you, you mean?” Temari’s hands clenched into fists. “He didn’t think you would lie to him?”

You bowed your head in shame. You worried your soot-covered hands again and again. “Temari, how long was I gone? Just what in the hell happened?”

Temari glared out into the desert. The rolling sand dunes were contradictorily peaceful in comparison to the capital from which you had all come. The sun was dropping fast, leaving the heavens a deep plum. You knew there was a part of Temari still refusing to believe your story; she could not have been swindled for so long. You came beside her, yet she refused to look at you. 

Just as you were about to beg her to speak, she did: “Right after they took you, Gaara said he wanted to speak with your father,” Temari released a frustrated sigh. “He wanted to try to end things as peacefully as possible. Neither of us cared about that, of course, but he insisted. So, a day later, we went to him together. With backup. Kankuro’s men and about a hundred of our own were there just in case Boutoku tried anything. Boutoku said he had no idea about any assassination plan and said he wanted to shake Gaara’s hand. Of course he didn’t. Boutoku blew a gasket. Called him a spoiled, disrespectful brat not worthy of the title of Kazekage. There was chaos after that, and when Gaara tried to calm everyone down, Boutoku struck Gaara with poison hidden under his sleeve. Things just derailed from there.”

“Gods, Father, you didn’t …” You placed your hand over Gaara’s forehead. Feverishly hot. Desert heat, you lied to yourself. “Gaara …” I’m so sorry.

“He killed Joseki and most of Suna’s council as well,” Temari added. 

“What?” You said.

“I don’t know about Ikanago, though,” Temari said sardonically. “That fucking broken hip might’ve just saved her life.”

“How many days has it been?” You asked.

“Two.” 

Your stomach dropped. Two days? Just two days? Your imprisonment had been an eternity — but, you realized, so much of it had been spent jostled between reality and dreams, miserable and expecting death.

“Give or take a few hours,” Temari continued. “But who’s counting?”

“Boutoku’s risen an opposition made up anti-Kazekage groups to take on the village along with villages he’d made pacts with,” Matsuri said.

You processed this: it took him longer coming to Suna than it had taken you. And those long stretches of time where he occupied the palace, where no one knew what he was doing, ostensibly taking breakfast in bed … He would have been watched though, surely? Unless Gaara wouldn’t allow it. A show of trust usurping strategy.

Oh, Gaara …

“Just how positive are you that this oasis even has powers?” Temari asked brusquely. 

You wiped sweat from Gaara’s forehead. “Not totally.”

“For your sake, I hope it is.” Temari swept her hand and her fan served in a new direction. She swung back at you. “Was it all fake? All of it?”

You faced her. “None of it. I swear.” No matter what, you felt sure and true about this. “I fell in love with Gaara — with everyone. That’s why I couldn’t do it. I tried to tell him myself … I just couldn’t.”

“The jutsu placed on you kept you tongue tied,” Matsuri said soothingly. “He must’ve had it done before you came here, probably when you were asleep. You couldn’t have known.”

“I still could’ve said something,” You said. But what? You remembered trying to say your father had done something to you, but you had failed in that as well. Father had covered all of his bases should you fail him. “I was so afraid and overwhelmed with everything that had happened — I didn’t think you’d believe me if I couldn’t tell you everything.”

“Yeah?” Temari had not been thawed by your guilt. “And what about this so-called pregnancy of yours?”

You looked up. “What do you mean? You … We still don’t know?”

“We were never able to confirm it,” Temari said. “Coups have a tendency to be distracting, if you can believe that.”

The wind whistled in your ears. Gaara groaned, sinking his head deeper into your lap. 

“I really do believe it, Temari,” You said. “I think I’m pregnant. And I want to fight for my family.”

Temari tensed.

“My real family.”

Temari swerved her fan again, the sand underneath picking up at the gust. She sighed. “Whatever. I don’t care how you chose to view things. Just … do your part.”

You nodded, recognizing that as good as you were going to get. 

“I’m so sorry about Chuuyou,” You said to Matsuri. “He made a clone of you. This whole time, he was framing you.”

Matsuri smiled sardonically. “He must’ve disguised himself as me — a ninja trick,” she added as you tilted your head at her, confused. “To everyone else, he would’ve looked just like me.”

“Wouldn’t that incriminate you, too?” Temari said. “How was he so sure it would just be Gaara who would look bad?”

“I think he took the risk,” You said. “With him fainting at the party and all, that would just be another incident. And it would make Gaara appear incompetent as a leader.”

“And incendiate the anti-Kazekage leagues,” Matsuri said. She caressed your shoulder. “Oh, (Y/n), it’s okay.” She looked down at Gaara. “I … was sad to find out Gaara had to marry. I’ve … had feelings for him for a long time, but I was prepared to do whatever was good for him. I never would have betrayed the sand, especially not Gaara.”

You smiled at her.

“And now I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help his fiancée,” Matsuri continued. “This is your mission now.”

My mission. You covered her hand with yours.��She’s right. Even if the oasis can’t heal him, I have to somehow. I can’t let it all come crashing down because of Father.

Gaara winced in his sleep before he was wracked with coughs. A blink and you were there parting his lips and administering the “antidote” to him. 

“We have to hurry,” Matsuri said, determined. 

“I know,” Temari hissed and whipped her hand for more speed.

The four of you flew on. It had taken you only a full day to go from the Oasis to the sand, but how quickly would you get there via Temari’s fan? Matsuri fed you another food pill so you could continue caring for the one who truly needed the attention. Gaara’s condition fluctuated: dangerously hot to alarmingly cold, and you didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not. You removed his trench coat to keep him cooler, but you had to watch the squeeze bottle deplete, warning you of the little time you had left.

“Lord Kazekage is strong,” Matsuri said. “This isn’t the first time his life has been threatened in such a way.”

And to pass the time she began to tell you about his run in one the organization called the Akatsuki, his kidnap, his technical death and Chiyo’s sacrifice. By the end of it, you felt nearly as sick as him. Oh, Gaara …

The sun sank into the horizon, leaving the sky bruise-blue. Night encroached, and the lack of sun agitated you. Matsuri supplied a light from her pocket so you could always monitor Gaara’s face.

“I see it!” Temari said.

You sprouted up. Unmistakable: the slight hint of buildings hazed by the billowing sand. 

Sandcastles. 

You were almost home. 

A sand dune burst below you —

“Look out!” Matsuri cried.

Temari swerved in time. She aimed for another dune and landed behind it for shelter. You and Temari peaked over its uppermost curve.

Shinobi emerged from the sand, weapons at the ready and charging right for the four of you. 

“Fuck!” Temari hissed.

“We’re being attacked.” Matsuri helped you in dragging Gaara from the fan.

“Hide! Both of you!” Temari said with gritted teeth, frantically hand-waving the two of you away. “I’ll take care of this!”

“What if you need help?” Matsuri asked.

“You kidding?” Temari turned back with a smirk. “I’ve been wanting an opportunity to smack the crap out of something.”

And it can’t be me, at least not anymore. 

“Or kill. Whatever comes first. Just get both of them away from here!” Temari collected her fan and abandoned the safety of the dune’s hump. She stormed into the desert. You looked over the hill of it to see the shinobi closing in — Oasis shinobi, waiting for her.

“Who dares attempt to invade the Oasis village?” one of them roared.

“We have Lord Boutoku’s daughter with us, you idiots!” Temari barked. “Let us pass!”

“Lady (Y/n) is no longer welcome beyond our walls,” another shouted. 

“Lady (Y/n) —?”

You gasped, spun around, clutching Gaara’s lifeless body closer to you. 

Someone was poking out from another sand dune, and for a second you saw Chuuyou hiding there — with his face mask covering all but his eyes, his soft tones hiding his traitorous ambitions — only for you to realize this was someone new.

“Get behind me!” Matsuri charged in front of you to act as a shield and brandished a knife.

“Lady (Y/n)!” A man rose from the dune, sand slipping off of him. His garb was similar to Chuuyou’s, but this man was much younger. “Surely, my eyes deceive me!” 

“You know this guy?” Matsuri shot a look over her shoulder at you.

“I don’t know …” You clung to Gaara. “No.”

“Listen to me, please, Lady (Y/n),” the man said. “You cannot make it that way; the village is completely forbidden to you now! I can get you through to the other side, but you must trust me!” 

“But …” You looked past the dune behind you to Temari.

She engaged in combat with the other ninja, defending and dodging and dishing blows. A trio of kunai flew her way to impale her, but she jumped away in the nick of time and to allow herself space from her assailants. 

“Don’t fuck with me!” Temari spread her fan open and swung — 

A windstorm spilled from her fan, blowing sand away from nearby dunes. Men were blown back in the sudden cyclone, crying out, some grasping on to anything to avoid being propelled into the air. 

“More will come, Lady (Y/n), once they know you are here!” the man said. “Please, there isn’t much time!”

“This could be a trick, (Y/n),” Matsuri advised. 

You were caught between two worlds. But he’s not wrong; Temari can’t fight them all.

The man genuflected, knees bent, hand on his chest. “I swear on my soul and the spirit of the oasis. I am a friend.” 

Gaara shook with another series of coughs at your side, reminding you of the empty drip in your pocket. 

Doubt consumed you. If I’m wrong, Temari will probably struggle to be able to fight him at close range. But we can’t stay out in the open either. 

“We don’t have a choice,” You murmured to Matsuri, who was still guarding you without moving an inch. You peaked over the dune. “Temari, c’mon!” You shouted over the wind.

She glanced over her shoulder at you before looking back at the ninja that’d been blown away. She jumped, phasing out, before landing right beside you. She glared at the man adjacent to you and Matsuri. 

You readjusted Gaara on your shoulder. “We’re going with him.”

Temari eyed you crookedly. 

“I’m sure,” You affirmed, and, realizing your place, added, “This isn’t a trick. He claims to be a friend and — and we can’t stay out here.”

Temari’s glare did not wane, but she seemed to be considering that fact as much as you were. She sighed before clipping her fan shut. 

“I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I believed the desert to be playing tricks on me, with its many mirages … But you’re really here, aren’t you?”

The shinobi — who called himself Kota — stopped walking to marvel at you. He had led the four of you down a set of cavernous tunnels. You and Temari carried Gaara, one arm over either of your shoulders. And Temari’s superior, deceptive strength was such that Gaara’s feet barely ever touched the ground.

“Who are you?” You swung a question back at him. 

Kota resumed walking while the four of you brought up the rear. “I am a part of a small resistance, working to take back the Oasis from the hands of your father,” he explained. “When he abandoned the village for the Sand, we knew it was our chance.”

“And you’re the leader of this group?” You asked, following.

“Oh no, not me.” Kota chuckled, as though that were a ridiculous notion. “We follow the Lady Hahaoya.”

You furrowed your brows. That name … Why did it seem familiar?

Kota led the four of you to a room crowded by other shinobi. Maps with red-inked scribbles littered the walls and a wide, round table was at the room’s center, spotlighted by a harsh white light shining down on it.

“Kota!” one of them welcomed with arms wide. “You’ve come back! And —“ He paused upon seeing you and an unconscious Gaara. And with a disbelieving laugh: “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me …”

“Is that the Kazekage?”

“That’s Lady (Y/n)!”

“Lady (Y/n)? Really?”

The crowd opened up so you could see who stood at its center.

It was a woman. An older woman with elegant lines denoting her age. Her hair piled on top of her head in a messy, hastily clipped bun. She turned to you.

Your eyes rounded. Shock dropped your stomach. It couldn’t be …

She smiled at you. “Hello, little one.” 

You had forgotten her name, but how could you forget her voice? The same voice that had sung you to sleep so many nights … 

“Hahaoya?” You gaped. “It’s — it’s you?”

“Yes.” She came toward. “It is, in fact, me.” 

“You — you never told me you were a ninja!”

“What’s happening here?” Temari said, growing possessive of Gaara as Hahaoya came nearer. “Who is she?”

“She used to care for me,” You explained. “Before my father banished her.” 

“This group is run by your ex-nanny?”

“I’m sure you’re all very confused, but this is not the time for discussion about my previous work. We must aid the Kazekage.” Hahaoya said, inching toward Temari. When she relaxed, Hahaoya helped Gaara to the table. She sat him down, where he groaned painfully and she swung her head. “I need help over here!”

The others came to examine him, crowding him. Some left and returned brandishing water and cold towels. 

“He’s in bad shape,” Kota said overhead. “But he will not die here.”

“He’s been poisoned,” You told Hahaoya.

“By our desert plant, no doubt,” Hahaoya said with narrowed eyes. She patted Gaara with a cold, rolled towel, blotting away the clamminess accumulating over his skin. “Boutoku, you’ve become such a devil …”

“Hahaoya, I have to get him to the oasis so it can heal him,” You said imploringly. “Please, tell me there’s a way to get there.”

Hahaoya raised her head, her expression dire. “Boutoku’s locked it away from all of us. No one’s been able to access it.” She examined you. “But you are his flesh and blood; perhaps you can.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are Boutoku’s daughter,” Hahaoya said. “None of us are permitted through, but there is likely no such requirement for you. And I doubt your father instilled one.” There was a cold pause. “He likely did not think you would make it this far. But you have the blood of the first village head running through your veins. If anyone can get those gates to open, you can.”

Canyon gates rose high and wide around you. Water streamed from the gate to the ground and past your feet in narrow streams. A rarity.

Gaara was situated on a cot to keep him comfortable. The scowl previously permanent on his face was gone, and he lay peacefully there. You disliked the idea of him out here, victim to the elements, most of all the heat. But Temari and Matsuri flanked his sides, along with Hahaoya and Kota. 

You stood ahead of them, at the front of the gates. You raised your head to them. They were engraved with the emblem of the village at their center. Father infiltrated your memory. In happier times, he told you about the legacy of the oasis, its importance to the family line and village. How far he had fallen. 

Footsteps. You did not need to know Hahaoya now stood beside you. “This is as far as we can take you.” Even while delivering the most depressing news, there was a lull in her voice to remind you of the one that had carried you into dreams as a young girl. “I would be lying if I said I knew how it works.”

“Father wouldn’t ever share that information with anyone,” You murmured, eyes fixed on the gates embedded in the vast canyon. Except Hideo, maybe. Father’s precious son. His sun child. In another, perhaps better world, Hideo would be alive and would know full well what you didn’t. It was a strange, acidic irony that in no universe would Father ever tell you, dead son or no. 

“The others aligned with Boutoku will wonder where you all went soon enough,” Kota said softly. “They may suspect us of being here — you must find a way to open these gates yourself and quickly.”

“But I don’t …” You looked over your shoulder at Gaara’s frail form. Frustration bit at you. “I — I don’t know!” 

“Figure it out!” Temari hissed. “We don’t know how much time he has!”

“Feel for the truth inside of you, little one,” Hahaoya advised gently. She touched a ginger hand to your shoulder. “You can do it.”

You approached the gate. You placed your hands on the canyon walls. The jagged edges threatened to bite and scratch at your open palms as you moved your hands. And … A pull. An invisible rope wrapped around and tugging you at your gut. Physically, you jerked forward.

“I — I feel something …” You said.

“Good, little one. Very good!” Hahaoya urged.

You closed your eyes, and you ran hands over the rocky surface, searching for signs, fighting to align yourself with them.

Come on … Come  on  … Please —

Blood …!

You popped your eyes open with a gasp, flinching hands away.

“What is it?” Hahaoya asked.

“It — spoke to me,” You said. “It — it wants blood.” You overcame the shock and placed your hand on the rock again. You waited. Blood … The voice wasn’t unpleasant as it echoed throughout your mind. Blood … “It wants my blood,” You added.

“Proof of your lineage,” Hahaoya said. “Your bloodline. Do it, child!”

You turned, and she was there, handing you a knife.

“Use this kunai to cut yourself,” she said. “Don’t fear the pain, love. It is inconsequential when compared to the pain you may prevent.”

You took it gingerly; you had never purposely injured yourself before. You held the kunai’s tip over your palm with a trembling hand.

Your gaze flickered to Gaara, lifeless and poisoned. And needing you. What was one little cut to what he was enduring — had already endured?

You hardened yourself. Closing your eyes, you swept the kunai harshly over your palm. You winced. You opened your eyes, hoping the cut had dug deep enough, and saw red river into the numerous lines of your palm. 

 “Here.” You presented your hand. You bit into the edge of your tongue to fight against the horrible sting.

Silence. Nothing happened. Until the gates rumbled. A slot from the gate’s bottom slid aside, and from it crawled a scorpion. 

“Oh, of course —“ Temari started.

“Hush!” Kota ordered.

It crawled toward you, poisonous tail held high in the air. It halted at your feet, armored head bobbing expectantly. 

Instinct took over, and you knelt down to the creature, bestowing your hand. The scorpion bent its head to the blood pooling in your palm, inspecting, tasting — 

And the world shook. You stumbled, nearly falling over your bent knees.

“An earthquake?” Matsuri said, clutching the side of Gaara’s cot.

The rope came again to tug at your center, as though secure around the nexus of your soul. You felt oddly supported, stable as the ground thrashed and rumbled around you.

You looked down — and saw through your hands. Through them. Your legs, too, were fading, your thighs next —

“(Y/n)!” Temari cried.

“What’s happening —?” Matsuri cried.

You thought of all you could do. You stood on feet growing increasingly more transparent and went to Gaara. You slotted an invisible hand past Matsuri to grasp at his hand. 

Your torso faded, your chest. You felt light. You were light. Weightless and not at all of this world, with only Gaara’s hand to anchor you to it. And in a spiral of wind and clouds, both you and Gaara vanished from the group.

[sociopathicghost]

Heavy Metal

Speed Metal

Thrash Metal

Power Metal

Death Metal

Melodic Death Metal

Technical Death Metal

Brutal Death Metal

Slam Death Metal

Black Metal

First Wave of Black Metal (Blackened Thrash Metal)

True Norwegian Black Metal

Depressive Suicidal Black Metal

Symphonic Black Metal

Post Black Metal

Atmospheric Black Metal

Pagan Metal

Viking Metal

Folk Metal

Symphonic Metal

Gothic Metal

Glam Metal

Hair Metal

Doom Metal

Funeral Doom Metal

Stoner Doom Metal

Groove Metal

Industrial Metal

Modern Metal

Neoclassical Metal

New Wave Of British Heavy Metal

Post Metal

Progressive Metal

Avantgarde Metal

Sludge

Djent

Drone

Kawaii Metal

Pirate Metal

Nu Metal

Neue Deutsche Härte

Math Metal

Crossover

Grindcore

Goregrind

Porngrind/Shitgrind (Yes, those are a thing)

Deathgrind

Powerviolence

Hardcore

Metalcore

Deathcore

Post Hardcore

Mathcore

INFO:

The audacity of some people to say that metal is limited and is the "same thing" when it's not. It has more subgenres than any other music genre lmao. Do your research.

More research (into bands and albums).

[arysguide]

Part 1: Ary's favourite releases of 2023

Before you ask, yes I know that Mitski and Sufjan Stevens released albums this year! I'm gonna go ahead and assume they're already on a lot of other people's lists! However, if you think I'm missing out on YOUR favourite album of 2023, let me know. If you're thinking: "63 albums isn't that many, I wish there were more" - you're in luck because there's a Part 2. Part 2 has a different (more pop? upbeat? accessible?) vibe. Don't think too hard about it...

The chart isn't ranked, just arranged in a way that looked nice to me. Metal, hardcore, rap, emo, skramz, bedroom pop and more!!!

Here are Bandcamp links to all of the albums (for those not on BC there's a YouTube or Spotify link). Honestly I'm never quite sure what genre something is, but there's a lot of metal in any case.

Row 1

Lauren Bousfield - Salesforce [digital hardcore]

Dead Times - Dead Times [harsh noise extreme metal]

Danny Brown - Quaranta [rap/hiphop]

Underdark - Managed Decline [post black metal]

Boris & Uniform - Bright New Disease [psychedelic heavy metal]

PUPIL SLICER - BLOSSOM [blackened mathcore]

Sanguisugabogg - Homicidal Ecstasy [death metal]

Row 2

Full of Hell & Primitive Man - Suffocating Hallucination [death metal/grindcore]

Radeloos//Ziedend - Doodsverachting [blackened crust]

Agriculture - Agriculture [ecstatic black metal]

Victory Over the Sun - Dance You Monster To My Soft Song! [progressive black metal]

fog lake - midnight society [bedroom pop]

Bell Witch - Future's Shadow Part 1: The Clandestine Gate [funeral doom]

Krallice - Mass Cathexis 2 - The Kinetic Infinite [progressive black metal]

Row 3

Svalbard - The Weight Of The Mask [postmetal]

Terzij de Horde & Ggu:ll - Van Grond [vitalistic black metal]

portrayal of guilt - Devil Music [blackened post-hardcore]

SAINT VEHK - Practice​/​Doubt I&II [occult death industrial]

Sightless Pit - Lockstep Bloodwar [dub/power electronics]

Designer Violence - We Gave Peace A Chance [electropunk]

geronimostilton - The Vampyre [skramz]

Row 4

Chat Pile & Nerver - Brothers in Christ [sludgey death metal]

Afsky - Om hundrede år [depressive black metal]

Full of Hell & Gasp - FOH/Gasp (Split) [death metal/grindcore]

Solar Temple - The Great Star Above Provides [blackgaze]

Fluisteraars - De Kronieken Van Het Verdwenen Kasteel - II - Nergena [atmospheric black metal]

Fluisteraars - De Kronieken van het Verdwenen Kasteel - I - Harslo [atmospheric black metal]

Andre 3000 - New Blue Sun [spiritual flute jazz]

Row 5

Aesop Rock - Integrated Tech Solutions [rap/hiphop]

Blood Incantation - Luminescent Bridge [cosmic death metal]

Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter (fka LINGUA IGNOTA) - SAVED! [experimental gospel metal]

Spetterpoep - Stoelgang Van Zaken [coprogrind/grindcore]

Gnaw Their Tongues - The Cessation Of Suffering [blackened drone metal]

JPEGMAFIA & Danny Brown - SCARING THE HOES [rap/hiphop]

The Lemon Twigs - Everything Harmony [70s inspired rock]

Row 6

Old Nick - "The Truest Spell" [dungeon synth/raw black metal]

Armand Hammer - We Buy Diabetic Test Strips [rap/hiphop]

Liturgy - 93696 [transcendental black metal]

Helena Hauff - fabric presents Helena Hauff [hardcore techno]

That Same Street ⁻ Electric Angel [skramz]

That Same Street - Endgame [skramz]

the scary jokes - Retinal Bloom [dream pop]

Row 7

Bull of Apis Bull of Bronze - The Fractal Ouroboros [occult black metal]

Katie Dey - never falter hero girl [hyperpop]

Full of Hell & Nothing - When No Birds Sang [grindcore/shoegaze]

All Men Unto Me - Chemical Transit [classical/doom metal]

RXK Nephew - Till I'm Dead [rap/hiphop]

Panopticon - The Rime of Memory [rabm/black metal]

Yaeji - With A Hammer [electronic]

Row 8

DRAIN - LIVING PROOF [punk/hardcore]

909 Worldwide - Hardcore Will Never Die, and Neither Will You [happy hardcore/rave]

lobsterfight, gingerbee, Cicadahead, godfuck - a lobster, bee, & cicada walk into a bar and find god [skramz]

GingerBee - Our Skies Smile [skramz/5th wave emo]

Curta'n Wall - Siege Ubsessed! [dungeon synth/raw black metal]

GEZEBELLE GABURGABLY - Gaburger [alt pop]

crisis sigil - God Cum Poltergeist [cybergrind]

Row 9

Lamp Of Murmuur - Saturnian Bloodstorm [black metal]

Crystalline Thunderbolts - Blessed Hands Touch The Ophanim Under The Golden Rainbows [experimental black metal]

Tomb Mold - The Enduring Spirit [black/death metal]

FIRE TOOLZ - I am upset because I see something that is not there. [electro-industrial/experimental]

Angel Electronics - ULTRA PARADISE [happy post-hardcore]

Vylet Pony - Carousel (An Examination of the Shadow, Creekflow, and its Life as an Afterthought) [electronic]

Ada Rook - Rookie's Bustle [electronic]

This post took forever to make. Again if you have any thoughts on it please tell me!!!! And share widely with your friends :)

Love, Ary

[runthepockets]

Anime that Metal bands definitely should have concept albums about by now:

Berserk (blantant and endless Brutal Death Metal potential)

Hellsing (Prime Blackened Death subject matter)

Gantz (Bone crushing Tech Death at its finest)

Parasyte (see above)

Vinland Saga (Classic Blackened-Doom Metal)

Naoki Urasawa's Monster (or at least Johan Liebert) (Prime Depressive Black Metal)

[flanneljammies]

2023 Best Metal Records

Outstanding

Nameless Mist - Lifeless (Fólkvangr) Solo catchy Depressive Suicidal Black Metal from North Carolina.

Lunar Tombfields - An Arrow to the Sun (self-released) Doomy black metal from France.

Milanku - At Dawn (Folivora) Epic blackgaze from Montreal.

Very Good

WuW - L'Orchaostre (Pelagic) French post-metal.

Bereft - The Great Emptiness (self-released) Epic doom celebrating a fallen brother.

Varhara - Voidflower (These Hands Melt) Blistering blackgaze from Saint Petersburg.

Saver -From Ember And Rust (Pelagic) Post-metal from Oslo.

Ragana -Desolation's Flower (The Flenser) Blackened post-screamo from Oakland.

Liturgy - 93696 (Thrill Jockey) Still bewildering and barely black metal at this point. Glitches and orchestrations galore.

Nothing/Full of Hell - When No Birds Sang (Closed Casket Activities) Shoegaze and grindcore collide on this collab.

Also Good (but probably only for genre diehards and true fans)

Wreathe - The Land Is Not An Idle God (Persistent Vision)

Venns - Team Sports (Zegema Beach)

Falaise - After All This Time (Flowing Downward)

Svalbard - The Weight Of The Mask (Nuclear Blast)

Seltsame Erden - Gedankentempeln (Canti Eretici)

Rutile - Virtuous Season (Canti Eretici)

Lethvm - Winterreise (self-released)

Godflesh - Purge (Avalanche)

[tunalad]

[17th of April 2024] tvnalad - clouds to shield the shame

yet another funeral trap

https://tunalad.bandcamp.com/album/clouds-to-shield-the-shame

https://youtu.be/DLhv2kyG-AI

The painting used here is Louis Eysen's "Oil study (clouds)"

[doomedandstoned]

VIGIL Offer Roaring Catharsis on EP ‘...And The Void Stared Back’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Nothing is worse than the emotional burden of hurt, loss, betrayal, and grief. It is often overwhelming, consuming thoughts and giving rise to depression and physical distress that can last for months, years, even a lifetime. Music comes as a welcome respite, as it not only identifies with our pain but offers an outlet for mourning, insight, perhaps even healing.

Thus, death-doom was born, a melding of death metal with doom metal that began with groundbreaking acts such as Paradise Lost, My Dying Bride, Katatonia, and Draconian in the 1990s and continues strong well into the second decade of the new century. A hallmark of this style is slowed down tempos, gruff vocals, double kick drumming, and plaintive guitars, with the genre expanding into melodic realms as well. To onlookers it may seem harsh, morose, even distasteful. However, to those in the throes of misery it can come as a welcome salve to the soul.

Today, we introduce you to the grim New Hampshire blackened death-doom crew VIGIL, which rose from the ashes of another Kingston area band: Onera.

Justin Christian (bass, guitar) and Craig Simas (guitar, synth) have aimed not only for a heavier direction than their previous project, but also something "beautiful and emotional." Dave Petillo (vox), Joe Davis (bass), and Brandon Phinney (drums) round out the formidable ensemble on the band's debut EP, '...And The Void Stared Back' (2024), which Doomed & Stoned is premiering.

"One of the original building blocks of Vigil was to be as heavy as we could," the band says, "This led to the decision to have two bass players. As the songs started to take shape and each member was putting their own touches to the arrangements, we realized quickly that we succeeded in our goal. Combining that with our love for post-rock, thrash, and progressive metal, Vigil is a showpiece for all our influences filtered through our ears, hands, and emotions. We take the listener down a dark road of sorrow and anger."

The four-track affair begins strong with one of my favorites of the record, "Descend To Extinction" -- a song that puts our mortality into perspective.

You must all face The truth of life We end in spite Of our strife All must pay A toll sometime Let our being Be a moment in time

A sanguine guitar lead greets, interlaced with dire growls personifying our great common enemy: Death. Juxtaposed to this is a melodic chorus with appealing vocal harmonies that address the cold, hard reality of human suffering. At 4:22 there is some arresting riffwork that harkens back to the metal glory days of the '80s. It feels as if the rushing winds of Fate are sweeping us away. The song closes with a return to the dissonant rhythms and the bittersweet riff of the start.

Next comes the "Words of a Dying Man". Rainy repeated chords set the stage and are soon contrasted with contemplative picking, spacey synthesizer, and dark octaves on the piano. This is accompanied by gnarling vocals and that both snarl and whisper. Emphatic bass and drums shake us awake from this dream state, and downtuned guitars embrace a return to reality.

After this, we're visited by "Erosion of the Soul". Gut-wrenching black metal vocals are reminscent of Enslaved and the tension increases with strumming chord progressions, tremeloes, and aggressive drumming. You can really feel the rumble of the dual basses here.

The pain you gave me rots inside I cannot tell you I can't believe The hatred still living blind I can't let it breed inside Spirits live fighting Right inside my head

"Convulse Ways From A World Beyond" finishes us off with a wild hailstorm of drumming, chugging groove rhythms, and flashes of dissonance, interrupted by some doomy moments on guitar that are genuinely moving. Twin guitars offer sorrowful strains that intersect and contrast. Solitary bass lines usher us to the EP's closing moments.

Vigil's ...And The Void Stared Back is available on compact disc, with singles available for download (get 'em here). Stick it on a playlist with Serpentine Path, Heavy Death, and Hooded Menace, and Marche Funèbre.

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[17magpiesinatrenchcoat]

oh yeah, the short story I wrote when I was 14 lol

it’s not very good but here💀

realising that this was the last time I wrote something is not a nice feeling. I didn’t even realise it’s been so long, holy shit, like i knew it had been a while but I didn’t realise it was literal YEARS now that’s just sort of depressing, especially since well.. I still can’t do better than 14 year old me now and she’s probably better bc I have not practiced in years smh💀💀

I wish I knew how to be a writer, it would be so amazing to get my stories out in the world, but I’m just so lazy ☹️☹️☹️ if any of y’all got any tips on how to get into it well. You know where to find me

anyways here (cw for death/suicide I think, idk what 14 year old me was cooking)

Candle

`At first, it was only an ember.

It was near the end of the Great War that they found her. Cold and trembling, crumpled in the ruins of her scorched village, a lone survivor. She was the only ember of life in a ruined land.

The kingdom set up camp among the blackened stones, wary of the stranger. They could not afford to let their guard down, because even the tiniest spark can start a fire. However, the princess did not heed their warnings, and went to talk to the stranger. The girl reminded the princess of a candle in the night, hopelessly shining, doomed to eventually burn out, fated to never see any light apart from her own. She could not help but pity her, this pathetic little ember, soon to burn out. The princess thought she had already seen it all, ravaging fires and thunderous floods, so what could a tiny, blackened ember do to hurt her?

She held out her hand to the candle, beckoning to a shining future. She might as well blow a little air on a dying spark, keep it burning for a little while longer, a good deed for the day. It wouldn’t affect her in the long run. Or so she thought.

Then, it was a spark.

The candle hid in the shadows of the palace, too afraid to talk to anyone higher than her. Amongst the glittering scarlet tapestries and golden sunrises, she was a moth amongst butterflies, draped in beige rags. She prayed to the moon and stars to forget, to no avail. She glared out from under black veils at the butterflies, half-hoping that one would someday give her some sort of reassurance, that everything would eventually be alright, but the only thing she got from them was judgemental glares and mistrusting whispers. Who was this little moth to enter their lair? In the middle of a war against her, no less? She felt their eyes boring into the back of her head as she sulked through the corridors. She scowled at them from her corner of shadows. It was one of their own who brought her here, so why couldn’t they blame her instead? She felt a spark of spite flickering in her chest. It wasn’t fair. None of it was.

Somewhere, a spark was struck.

Then, it was a flicker.

The candle slammed open the doors of the princess’s lair. She glared out at the princess from her scraggly veil of hair, her face twisted into a vicious scowl,

“Why did you bring me here? Don’t you know how the others treat me? Won’t you do anything?”

The interruption caused the princess to snap the nail she was busy pruning. She scowled towards the intruder, before realising who she was.

How curious.

It was the ember she had rescued a couple weeks ago. She somehow looked even worse for wear, with her clothes that were barely more than stray rags sewn together, and eye bags so dark she looked half-dead. But her spirit was completely unscathed, apparently. The princess felt a smile tug at her lips. Who did this candle think she was, harassing the very person who spared her? Who could take it away in an instant? It was the most absurdly idiotic thing the candle could do. The princess decided that she liked her.

She smiled a sickly sweet grin, her eyes boring into the candle.. “So you want to fit in?” she trilled to the candle. “You want to be loved?

The candle scowled again, but she could not hide the longing gaze in her eyes.

“I guess.”

“Well,” warbled the princess, her grin widening, “There is no easy way for it. But, a way some outsiders in the past have found that their place in this sad world is theatre. People will not care about who you are if you are too busy pretending to be someone else.”

The candle did not bother hiding her longing any more. “How do I do it? How do I make that my place?

The princess’s grin was now so wide she looked more monster than human. “For that, my dear,” she said, as her eyes shined, “You need to learn how to dance.”

And so, the candle did.

Then, it was a flare.

With the princess as her mentor, the candle slowly learned the art of theatre. She did not understand why the princess was helping her, but she was grateful, because though she picked up the techniques easily, she would not have been able to do so without help. She danced through the days, some she was a princess in glittering golden robes, some she was a villainess, clad in deep violet, slung elegantly across her throne. She found her new stunt was to light a ruby red torch and fling it hand to hand as while elegantly gliding across the stage as her audience screamed. She loved her new life more than a flame loved the fuel, but it was not enough. While the butterflies may have loved to see her on stage, they still were mistrusting. She would never be one of them; to them, she was still the sad little moth who the princess had rescued to keep up appearances. She’d never really be accepted. Whether the princess had lied or she just hadn’t known, the candle couldn’t be certain. She was right, in a way; they accepted her when she was pretending to be someone else, as momentary entertainment, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

And, despite her own warnings, the spark slowly grew to a flicker.

Then, it was a blaze.

The candle continued to dance in the glory of the stage, but she could no longer find any small solace from it. She watched the butterflies’ eyes follow her, dead, unfeeling. They didn’t care if she lived or died. They only cared about the characters she played. Without them, she was nothing to them. The flame of hatred grew.

There was a recital that night. The candle refused to come. She crouched sleeplessly in her room, staring out at the barren landscape, dead-eyed.

She watched the dark turn to bright emotionlessly. She was still waiting. Only when the sun was so high that it was obscured from view, did she hear the knock at her door.

“Where were you?”

It was the princess. Her chartreuse eyes glared into the candle. “We were all waiting for you.”

The candle stared at her. “You lied.”

The princess stumbled back. “What are you talking about?

“You said that they’d accept me if I did what you said. They don’t. They only see me as momentary entertainment. When I’m away from the stage, I am once again an outsider.”

The princess hissed, like a flame being put out. “How was I supposed to know that? For all I could see, that was the truth. Stop being so ungrateful.”

The candle whipped away from her and glared out the window at the blackened landscape. So, the princess was just like them after all. She made up her mind.

“Leave.” She commanded, without turning around. “I never want to see your face again.”

Then, it was an inferno.

That night, the candle returned to her dreaded stage, for the last time.

She glared out at their cheering faces, disgusted. These were the same people who shunned her in the hallways. She was nothing to them. Even her one and only ally turned out to be no different. She was going down, and they were all coming with her.

It was time to pull her favourite stunt.

She lit a bright ruby torch as the crowd cheered. She swirled around and around with it, cradling it in her arms, only this time, she didn’t stop. The crowd screamed in terror as the candle hurled the torch into the crowd and it lit up in flames, roaring and tumbling onwards. The doors were sealed; there was no escape. The candle gazed blankly as her tormentors perished.

Because of them, she had become the very thing they feared she was.

She held onto this thought as her world crumbled around her, beautiful and terrible. She felt it all at once, and crumpled to the floor in unbearable anguish. But it didn’t matter. None of it did. Soon, she would turn to ash, just like her first and last allies on that fateful day, and none of it would matter. She would finally be free.

What a pity, that candle.