#unsacred

[classicartverso]

Elias Chatzoudis - Unsacred

[howlingday]

Jaune: I don't like begging, but we need your help, Cinder.

Cinder: Oh, and what's in it for me?

Jaune: (Sighs) If you do this for us, I'll... I'll do that thing you like.

Cinder: (Blushes pink) Wh... Which of the eight?

Jaune: (Blushing red, Mumbles)

Cinder: (Leans closer) Wh-Which ones?

Jaune: (Gulps) A-All of them?

[rastronomicals]

12:30 PM EDT August 10, 2024:

Unsacred - "Erode" From the album False Light (December 1, 2014)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

[crimeronan]

hEllo this is the Murdertrauma anon! and the princess luz murdertrauma was SO SO SO good i want to yell about it forever!! anyway hi im anon from the other night. NEway your cat. looks like my cat. precious idiot orange baby i want very much to interact with you off anon but like! i know this might be weird so like. smoke signals??? im so sorry! wow! truly!! please feel free to ignore this ENTIRELY or! like post a fucking. Zed, idk, if youd like to take a chance take a chance l m f a o

murdertrauma anon is such a funny signifier omg. welcome back my good buddy murdertrauma! and thank youuuu re the actual murdertrauma 🥰💕🔪🙏

you (and anyone else) are very free to interact with me off anon! i like having conversations 💕 my only caveat/warning is that both my social and my physical batteries are Very fickle, so i'm liable to forget and/or drop out of conversations randomly. if i stop responding i promise it is not a sign that i hate you or am secretly sending negative smoke signals FIDHDBFJDJ. even in my very close friendships and committed life partnerships, i have a tendency to drop in and out of people's lives for days-to-weeks, i am Godawful at consistency

which is all just a long-winded way of saying. yes feel free to interact off anon! and also feel free to interact on anon if you prefer! just don't take silence from me as some kinda coded message if i don't reply -- it literally never is a coded message. (95% of the time it just means i'm in a "sleeping for 20 hours a day" or "physically unable to act like a human being in one-on-one convos" phase.)

[guiltknight-gaming]

Skull & Bones Episode 14: Unsacred Offerings

[ctraceywrites]

I feel like more people need to understand that you can keep your life private. Not everything needs to be on the internet. It's real even if strangers don't know about it.

[indefinite-pitch]

Aiôn Lazura - Pourred

Buy & Support: Aiôn Lazura - Unsacred Screen Temple

[mordere-diem]

"Stay away from anything    that obscures the place it is in.    There are no unsacred places;    there are only sacred places    and desecrated places."

Wendell Berry, How to Be a Poet

[threepandas]

The Vod's List: Part 2

You know the worst part about the Republic standard hazard mask? No, not the "for dealing WITH hazardous materials" one. The "your species can be fully or partially CONSIDERED one, so to interact with the rest of polite society you gotta wear protection so we don't DIE" one. THAT hazard mask. From the set.

Yeah, you the worst part about THAT mask?

It's like someone really, REALLY high up in power DELIBERATELY made the who set as... well, for lack of a better term? Slave-like and uncomfortable as possible. As humiliating as possible. Like they WANTED the people who had to wear it, to suffer and be upset. And like? I KNOW it's probably just some really REALLY out of touch politician? Who's never had to WEAR one of these kriffing things in their karking LIFE?

But come ON! It looks and feels like a MUZZLE.

A BADLY FITTED ONE at that! Like? And don't ask me how I KNOW this? Because the holonet is deep and filled with weird wondrous horrors? Buuuuut... according to CERTAIN individuals. Who HAVE reviewed a VARIETY of muzzles for... personal reasons? And Bones bless! No judgment! According to certain Unnamed Experts of The Field, as it were?

.......these masks kriffing SUCK nifflestones.

Padding is shit. Airflow it terrible. Not customized for individual races AT ALL. Just? Mouth a "hazard"? Cover it. Who CARES if that means the individual kriffing suffocates. Or karking near DROWNS on their own threat or stress response. To say NOTHING of those who have to routinely either use their mouth's "hazard" or have it TRIGGERED by something pressing AGAINST their jaw!

It's a genuinely terrible design! Almost deliberately so. Keeps a lot of people from ever even bothering from leaving their planet's.

Why do I bring this up? Because working at the senate building is stressful. Dealing with sleemo plasbone's who like to shove me around cause I'm in a glorified MUZZLE is stressful. Knowing I recently infected an innocent man is KARKING STRESSFUL!

And you know what the Techganic response to STRESS is?!

Drool and STRESS BITING.

My ENTIRE fucking BLOODLINE was literally genetically ENGINEERED to fight in a FUCKING HOLY WAR! With BIOLOGICAL WARFARE. We BITE! We bite A LOT!! We are, in fact, SUPPOSED to bite! It's like the unsacred, technological abomination child of those ancient human tales of the "zombie" and the "ber-serker"!

Stress? Stress means we are in battle. Being attacked. Threatened. Stress means ATTACK. Bite and bite and BITE. Thanks the Bones and Blood, I've never been THAT stresssed. I even had to take a test for it! Anyone with a hair trigger is NOT allowed off planet. I'm considered absurdly calm. Chill.

Doesn't mean I WON'T.

Just that it would take A LOT.

But the drool? THAT is involuntary. Is the prelude you can't escape. The means of SPREAD. Of WARRING against the machines. Organic nanite against technological nanites. Host against host. Spread against spread. Ours was a story of PLAUGES. And it left no unchanged survivors.

I get that. I DO. The horrors of our history, the fear and terrors. The resistance forces who wanted no part in the war. Who tried to escape.

What happened to them.

I REALIZE that... that a single Techganic dropped on pretty much any planet can start a nanite plague that can't be stopped. That the more stressed we get, the more our instincts demand we Spread Ourselfs. The water, the soil, the air. Yeah, we can get DANGEROUS.

But we aren't ANIMALS.

We are not who we used to BE. WHAT we used to be. Show me the planet without blood in its past and I will show you a planet that has wiped its past away.

Which is all well and good...but...

I'M FUCKING DROWNING.

These karking hazard masks are so, SO stupid and I'm trying not to panic. My hands shaking. Because if I panic? I will be stressed. If I am kriff KARKING STRESSED, I will drool FASTER. And there is no room. My karking mask is FULL OF LIQUID AND NOT DRAINING FAST ENOUGH.

I struggle with the latches. They are wet. Because my hands are wet. My neck is wet. EVERYTHING IS WET. The mask doesn't even WORK to contain the "hazard"! My hands can't get a grip on the latches. My lungs are burning for air but I can't... if I try to breath now... I'll just get... just get!

I'm in a side hall.

Would anyone even find me? Oh Stars. I'm going to drown.

Except not. Quick heavy steps down the hallway. Two gaurds spot me after turning a corner, break into a sprint. Once again the Coruscant gaurds are a beacon of calm in my darkest moment. One gently pulling my frantic hands away from my mask so the other can quickly work out how to unlock it.

With a gush, air finally hits my face as the mask unlocks and begins to be pulled away. I sputter. Cough. I think I may be weeping. The hallways is spinning as air finally rushs back in. My front is DRENCHED and I hate it. It's so gross. There was nothing I could DO and I felt like an animal. Feel like a mess.

Every drop of it is deadly. The whole hallway will have to be deep cleaned.

Am I apologizing? I think I'm apologizing.

The gaurds are so nice. Talking in low, reassuring voices as the stay with me. They called a medic. Ask me about my hobbies to distract me. A playful argument on how to "properly" take your Caf. Which local diner is the best.

I am gently bundled off by the medic, once he arrives. Another of the Guard thank Stars. The Senatorial medical team are so... judge-y. The Guard's medical is patient and professional, though the only thing he can offer me to change into is the blacks that the gaurd wear under their armor.

Tell NO ONE... but I feel kinda cool. Look at me~ I'm all holo thriller and mysterious in these. I get to KEEP them too!

Not getting the mask back though.

It nearly killed me. That and my asshole coworker who deliberately stressed me out earlier. He... the Guard ARRESTED him. And... look, I KNOW I shouldn't smile. I shouldn't. His life is probably ruined. But... but the sleemo harrased EVERYBODY. Anybody he thought he could abuse? He DID.

Looks like he finally went too far.

I lay back. Not allowed to lean until the medic is SURE there is no secondary drowning symptoms. I grab the shirt that turned out to be just a touch too small and fold it up, drape it over my eyes. It blocks out the light pretty well. I get comfortable.

As I drift off... I'm unaware that the Vod around me stop bothering to pretend the AREN'T blatantly watching me. That the normally sparsely populated medicenter ISNT damn near full of every Vod not currently on duty. The cheif medical officer himself, carefully collecting what he can from my mask.

A dense crowd of eyes slowly run over black clad limbs.

Looking to THEM. Trusting THEM. Threatened, in need of back up. Look how TIRED she was. How vulnerable. Wearing part their uniform. Like a lover, having stolen their clothes.

She trusted them above the natborns. PREFERRED them.

Thoughts began to stir... they wonder...

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

the audacity you have to call arthur cishet when you wear axe body spray

IF THIS WAS YOU ERIS I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE FOR RESENDING IT TO PROTECT ME FROM THE WINE

NOW TUMBLR I ASK YOU ONCE MORE BEFORE I GO FERAL

WHO SEND THE ASK I KNOW IT WAS ONE OF YOU DISCORD MAGGOTS WHO BROUGHT THIS CISHET SHAMING INTO MY INBOX WHO WAS IT HUH WAS IT YOU @zonzolik @samlikeslawnchairs @arkytiorlecter @queermarzipan @aazrael-reaverr @achilles-in-a-blanket-burrito

@falling-raine @styx142 @random-doctor-on-the-internet I KNOW IT WASNT YOU MY LOVES SO DONT TRY TO TAKE THE FALL JUST TO PROTECT ME FROM MY BATERY ACID AND ROTTEN GRAPE FLAVOURED WINE

THIS IS GOING TO BE A MANHUNT IN THE NAME OF CROWLEY AND ALL THAT IS UNSACRED

FOR LOKI, FOR APOPHIS, FOR CROWLEY, FOR THE HONOUR OF THIS FAMILY

[bludhound-a]

any  reverie  abandons  her  in  the  face  of  the  brunette.  another  heartbeat.  another.  unbidden,  her  legs  walk  to  the woman.  light-footed:  skipping  the  first  and  seventh  step  of  her  childhood  stairs.  roused  by  something  buried  within  mina.  something  grotesque:  familiar,  yet  inaccessible.  something  like   fondness.  heavy  as  a  heart,  as  a  forgotten  memory.  ‘  y’didn’t  hear  me?  hmm.  i  could’ve  pinned  you  by  now, mags.  ’  an almost teasing timbre. a  part  of  her   ––  some  part  left  bleeding  at  mina’s  feet,  carved  out  with  her  own  hands  ––  wriggles  and  pulls  at  that  beating  fondness.  you  should  ask,  mina  thinks,  what’s  bothering  her.  but  there  it  remains,  at  her  feet.  beating  and  unheld.  margaret  wouldn’t  reciprocate;   it  would  be  unproductive to ask.   ‘  still  might  ––  teach  you  a  lesson.  i’ll  disappoint  you  and  stay  quiet though.  ’

@bludhound ( mina ) private starter

margaret's not really looking anywhere, not even at the object her stare has settled in. her gaze is far away, and her head is stuck within itself. it's not optimal, to be left alone with her thoughts, but there are days, few and far between, where it's best for her to be away. clear her head. she doesn't hate crowds, tolerates them at worst, and does well around other people. most days. today was just not one of them. but she seemed to come back to herself when a shadow peeked through her peripheral vision, a quick reflex to look with a hand grasping onto the hilt of her pistol. it's not an infected, not within the walls of novac, but it never hurts to be safe. "you're more quiet than usual, mina."

[classicartverso]

Elias Chatzoudis - Unsacred

[howlingday]

5 Minutes in the Life of Headmaster Arc

Jaune: (Into one scroll) Ren, you can make whatever you want! I'll still eat it!

Jaune: (Into another) Huh? I know you didn't invite me to dinner, Headmaster Schnee I wasn't talking to you! (Groans) I'll call you back.

Emerald: Headmaster, General Bree is here to discuss security.

Harriet: (Nods) Headmaster.

Jaune: Good after-

Student: Hey, Headmaster! (Shoves Harriet)

Student: (Shoves Emerald) What's the big idea changing class lengths?!

Jaune: Well, you see-

Junior: (Through the window) Pardon me, but my boys and I need to work on the fountain.

Jaune: The fountain? Why do you need to-?

Shay: (Smashes through the wall) 'Scuse me, Mr. Headmaster, but I'm with Branwen Electrical. We need to change the wiring in Wing B, so I need you to sign this 428 form.

Jaune: Uh, was there a memo on-? WHOA!

Miltia: Like, sorry! Our boss told us that we had to move furniture.

Melanie: Something stupid about taking old ones and replacing them with new ones. We'll just-

Harriet: Hey, I was here first!

Student: We're more important!

Junior: Hold on-!

Shay: Just a minute-!

Emerald: Headmaster-

ENOUGH!

Jaune: All of you, against the wall, in order of arrival! (Huffs) Yes, Specialist Bree, I would love to discuss the important security details for the upcoming festival. Give me ten minutes, and I should be ready.

Jaune: Both of you, you are students at the one and only New Beacon Academy to become Huntresses of the highest calibre. A change in scheduling should be nothing compared to what you'll experience in the real world. If you would like, Deputy Headmistress Sustrai can explain how the recent low testing scores and increased delinquent activities among your peers are related to the change in class attendance. My apologies if the change has caused any discomfort for you.

Jaune: Sir, once you have explained the purpose of your repairs on the fountain, you may have my permission to work on it, but only after you have explained and if you agree to do it AFTER the last class ends at 4PM.

Jaune: Mr. Shay, give me the form, and I will sign it AFTER I have fully read both it AND any pertinent memo regarding this.

Jaune: AND FINALLY, I appreciate the initiative of your company, but furniture is to be moved around ONLY between graduation and initiation. Please inform your employer of these terms, and to look at New Beacon ordinance 2-79G.

Jaune: NOW ALL OF YOU GET OUT! (They leave, Sighs) Oh... Is it lunchtime yet?

Emerald: (Giggles) No, breakfast was only an hour ago, sir.

[apoemaday]

How to Be a Poet

by Wendell Berry

(to remind myself) I  Make a place to sit down. Sit down. Be quiet. You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill—more of each than you have—inspiration, work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity. Any readers who like your poems, doubt their judgment. II Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric wire. Communicate slowly. Live a three-dimensioned life; stay away from screens. Stay away from anything that obscures the place it is in. There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places. III Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it. Of the little words that come out of the silence, like prayers prayed back to the one who prays, make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came.

[spadesofgrass]

Who Can In Battle Confer The Crown

1220 | No warnings Fandom: Crimes of Passion (book 2) Premise: A retelling of the scene from Book 2, Ch 5 when the family discovers Nadja's murder.

Even the holy light from the dripping gold in the foyer could not heal the festering wound that enclosed all of them inside.

It was like a hug, refusing to be released. Accusations flew around the room in between wads of spit. Curses used with reckless abandon, right in front of a nameless God in search of a son. The Crown was displayed in a glass case whose key only Viktoria carried in her pocket.

Nora watched the matriarch weave through her children coiled in their own little legions, putting them down like an eagle feeding on carrion. They’d come back even more alive and she would have to shut them up even more.

A fight had broken out between Lydea and Trystan. Sebastyan watched, wishing to have his hands clean of blood - following Vasili as the latter led by example. The question hung in the air. A woman died, yes, but whose side were they all on? Nadja Zoric was an exemplar at her field - however nobody stopped to grieve her. A few words of pity were said to perhaps, cleanse the air of the corpse’s putrid smell, but nothing more.

However there was some concern.

This was no auspicious sign for a coronation. The family forced the blood of their enemies into their veins, much like any Empire, but this? A death? The very idea of it? The murder was an impure stain. No doubt Viktoria watched over Trystan more. Killing was unsacred. Killing disrupted the natural order - a vicious, never-ending cycle, a do ut des. A sentiment regifted.

The question was left unanswered, but there were sides. Abstaining would mean living Godless - an idea not even Emika and Kasper dared to think about. Viktoria’s children sought out protection from her; a free life under her control as they could do whatever they pleased. Bas turned to Vasili, his eyes searching for something. Are we together? Vasili was busy searching for Marguerite. A lump of doubt gathered at Bas’s throat, before he swallowed it. Astrid flew through them like a bird, starting little fires and laughing at herself for being clever about it. Trystan was at the center of the pyre, begging to see some life in Lydea while using the same tongue to affirm the sacrifice. Surprise befell the firstborn daughter, as her Mother seemed to be insistent on Trystan’s innocence. A part of Lydea wanted to shout treason. Another part of her knew she would be cursed if she were to bite the hand that fed her.

“All of you are behaving like starved animals!” Viktoria shouted in English and Nora sat right up, anticipating something for her. She’d stayed quiet for the most part - she did not have a dog in this fight, rather a whimpering snake with a broken fang, leaking poison everywhere. She was a little relieved at the sight of Viktoria’s firm, ring-bearing hand on Trystan’s shoulder. “Is this how we treat our guests? With a monkey house?”

A wave of no’s. Somehow she’d silenced everyone back into their childhood selves, despite not birthing half of them. Bas’s retaliation dissolved into a meek sniff of superiority, only to be silenced by Vasili. Trystan had blended away from the family, from their mother’s prying grasp, into a bleak afterthought. Everyone’s attention was on Lydea and her hands as the conversation shifted to the hour of the murder - as if to ask where she’d stuffed the weapon, tauntingly. Astrid was caged into a corner, the song and lie taped shut. Emika and Kasper were pried apart in different directions - their gaze, rather fixated on Mother than the other. Marguerite looked easily distracted, her focus shifting back and forth as if she was never really there to begin with. Viktoria pushed her children even further, cursing them in Drakovian - something about honour and shame.

“The Royal Guard have done nothing these few days. I am ashamed of sharing my presence with you in this room.” Viktoria declared, “Lydea! I thought we taught you a thing or two about hospitality. Have you not showed our guests to their rooms?”

“I thought — I thought Trystan would — already have—”

“And is Trystan also the Captain of the Royal Guard, in addition to his betrothal to the Crown? This is some new information I am hearing.”

“I will assign them rooms rightaway.”

“Welcome them. Isn’t it your duty? Must I ask you to do everything?” the Queen turned to Nora, sending a small nod her way. An acknowledgement. The barest. “We will convene later in the evening to discuss this. In the meantime, Miss Rose - is it?”

“Um—”

“I will have you look over this —” Viktoria gestured at the air, “The problem is dire and you happen to have some expertise that might aid us. The choice is left to you. Please feel free to enjoy your stay at the Palace in the meantime.”

Establishing impermanence. Trystan’s eyes darted to Nora’s. Stay, stay, stay.

“I will need help, yeah. I’m willing to offer my services for however long I plan to stay.”

“Help shall be arranged.”

Outcries. Viktoria silenced all of them with a hand - one that held the key. “Please resume your day-to-day activities until we get further information. Panic is not necessary. Leaving home is not encouraged. If you do leave, I will be disappointed at your cowardice. Now. About work.”

The Queen’s senior advisor added - “We are on lockdown, but the Secretariat sessions today are to be carried out as per usual. You will be under surveillance. Thank you.”

“Say a prayer, all of you. Let this cursed wind pass through and leave us be.” Viktoria chided. “That will be all.”

The Queen waited, anticipating something. It was Bas who reached out first, gently patting Vasili on his shoulder. Emika and Kasper found their way back to each other, searching consolation in each other’s eyes. Astrid sung a small prayer; her quippy chatters dead on her tongue that spoke in eulogies instead. Trystan glanced at Lydea - an understanding? They didn’t hold each other’s gaze for long. Marguerite appeared somewhere in the middle, seemingly attached to Trystan’s hip.

Their voices all sounded like a chorus of dying animals- with deep pus-filled wounds, croaking for water and mercy. Viktoria had planned to take aback her blessing, but this made her only wish to delay it instead. What a sight - everyone at the palm of her hands. A glance at Nora and the “guests” as if to say - Forgive them for their massacres, they are always this naive and ill-bred.

Her chariot of advisors led her back to her chambers. Everyone’s attention turned to Nora next. Will she feed them? Will she beat them mercilessly? Whose side was she on?

“I suppose I will get started soon. Panic is — as Her Majesty requested — is not required. It is extremely tragic what happened to Ms. Zoric.”

More?

“I promise I’ll get to work, get you answers and ease your concerns. As soon as I can.”

No. No. What about the fodder? Who are you betting on? Who are you going to be?

Nora fell silent.

“That will be all.”

__

A/N: I really wanted to rewrite this scene for the chaos it is and not from a specific point of view. The title is taken from Hymn to Victoria (Nike) from the Orphic Hymns.

Tagging: @gmsrrn98 @coffeewithcutcaffeine @lilyoffandoms @steadycattaco

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Sunrise over the Sandia Mountains, viewed from the Bosque, Bernalillo Co, NM. Photo: Robert Betchel (Oct 29, 2023). (Robert Scott Horton)

* * * *

How to Be a Poet (to remind myself)

Wendell Berry

Make a place to sit down.

Sit down. Be quiet.

You must depend upon affection, reading, knowledge, skill—more of each than you have—inspiration, work, growing older, patience, for patience joins time to eternity. Any readers who like your poems, doubt their judgment.

ii

Breathe with unconditional breath the unconditioned air. Shun electric wire. Communicate slowly. Live a three-dimensioned life; stay away from screens. Stay away from anything that obscures the place it is in. There are no unsacred places; there are only sacred places and desecrated places.

iii

Accept what comes from silence. Make the best you can of it. Of the little words that come out of the silence, like prayers prayed back to the one who prays, make a poem that does not disturb the silence from which it came.

—The selected poems of Wendell Berry