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oniriquesoleil · 2 years

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[english isn’t my native language so i hope what i wrote would be at least understandable. excuse me for major mistakes i may have made. like taylor swift once said: “at least i’m trying”. also i’ve never posted anything like this here before so i have no idea how to make it look decent. anyway hope you’ll enjoy it!]

library in your university is one of your favorite places (maybe in the whole world but you haven’t seen the abbey library of st. gall in st. gallen yet so it’s too soon to make such assumptions) where you feel the most comfortable. whispers of students gently merge with keyboard clattering, enormous bookshelves surround tables and announce to all gathered that they contain knowledge from past centuries to which by the way they were witnesses, the smell of coffee appears from thermoses and cups to go — you adore this place and come here almost every day just to feel the wave of unconditional love towards something great. more love to this place appears during your study sessions with your friend — akaashi (he studies english literature and writes horrifically good essays with references to japanese literature), osamu (he takes part-time job at the cafe nearby the campus and in the free time writes business plan to achieve his goal — open his own restaurant) and atsumu (he rarely appears in library mostly because he gets easily bored with you hissing at him and giving him glances but when he does appear he taps loudly on the keyboard frantically writing essays which you check later). during these study sessions you share your thoughts on different topics in low voices, laugh in your fists so no one can hear you except for ubiquitous librarian who seems to come just from the movie.

you love all your friends equally however one of them — the loudest, the most predictable in his unpredictability — takes a special place in your heart to which no paths lead except those known only to you.

atsumu is noisy, energetic, active, and somehow you really like it. he can make the worst jokes ever but you still gonna smile at him because of the way he laughs while telling them. he was the one who helped you move new mattress to your dorm room (“you have king size or what?” — “of course no” — “pity” — “why?” — “really want me to say that?” (flirting voice with this damn smile) — “yeah, you right. shut up”); when he got sick, you were in his room, bringing him soup, making tea, changing his sweaty shirts to the dry ones (“you gonna get sick” — “if so, you’re the one to blame. drink it, it’s for your throat” — “thanks. what would I do without you?” — “beg samu? why he is not here by the way?” — “night shift at the cafe. will you stay for a while? please?” — “of course i will, atsumu”); he was the one who was so drunk you had to drag him to his room after the party (“y/n… you are…” — “sh, atsumu, it’s hard to drag you and talk at the same time” — “y/n… why you’re so… nice to me? always? — “we’re friends” — “we can’t be friends” — “rude. why is that?” — “‘cause you’re… y-you… and i am… shit” — “you are not shit, atsumu. not for me. now shut up, i’ll call samu or akaashi, you are too heavy”); he was there for you when you failed one of your exams (“i feel like… like the stupidest person in the whole world” — “you are not, you never was one and never will. your brain is… huge” — “thanks, atsumu” — “i mean… you are really smart. grades can’t defy how smart you are so it’s their fault they can’t accept that you are smarter than them. you’re smiling? good. now let’s buy you something to eat”).

you and atsumu were in the library (samu had a shift in a cafe, akaashi had a date with bokuto whom he had met few days ago). text in front of you was written in such boring tone you couldn’t help but yawn. atsumu noticed that any gently smiled:

— tired? if so, we can go grab a coffee. or go to my place and watch something.

— thanks, but i really need to finish this reading today.

atsumu got visibly upset. he got nothing to do here except waiting for you and looking at students who were busy with their work. his fingers rhythmically tapped on the lid of the laptop, his leg was shaking under the table.

— you know that participation in study session is completely volunteering? — you asked in a low voice.

— so?

— so if you’re bored, you can go. don’t you have a training soon?

— no, not today.

— how so?

— changes in the schedule because of the renovation.

silence fell on you so you got back to reading but the feeling of being attentively examined struck you. goosebumps ran along the entire length of the spine, making you slightly tilt your head. you looked up from reading and looked above the screen. atsumu was still staring at you with his head on his chin.

— what? — your voice sounded slightly irritated.

— how come you’re sitting here in front of the most gorgeous people in the uni and still your nose is in the books?

you laughed and heard vicious cough of the librarian directed towards you.

— maybe because i have a deadline?

— lame.

— you bored?

— kinda.

— then do something that doesn’t include talking to me.

— but…

— atsumu.

— fine!

he spent few seconds looking at the ceiling, bookshelves, table, his hoodie. then he stopped moving — calm before storm, stop before run — and opened a laptop. at first you were surprised that he suddenly found what can keep him busy but reading consumed you to the point you forgot that the smell of musk, cinnamon and heavy perfume didn’t come from the library itself, but from atsumu.

— y/n. — he broke the silence as sharply as his smile split his face.

— what?

— i made a presentation.

— congrats.

— it’s a presentation for you.

you looked at him suspiciously.

— if it’s one of the tiktok trends with the joke “underwear”…

he smirked remembering the videos he had sent you.

— no. there will be no underwear, i promise.

— fine. what is it?

he turned the laptop towards you and before pressing the space bar said:

— can you please not say anything till the end?

— uhm yeah, sure. now c’mon, i’m intrigued.

atsumu looked in your eyes. you saw nervousness, excitement, hope, anxiety, determination — there were as many emotions in the iris of his eyes as there were shades and you once again thought: “how can he be so multifaceted and not be confused by it?”

atsumu exhaled and pressed the spacebar.

slide one.

we’re friends almost two years now but i have to tell you something really important.

slide two.

i am not a big fan of reading but i love watching you read.

slide three.

when you look at me during the game, i play the best.

slide four.

once i had a fight with samu because he gave you one of his sweatshirts. i was hoping you will wear mine. i still hope actually. you can have one. i can take my hoodie off right now and give it to you if you want.

slide five.

i love making tea for you.

slide six.

sometimes i wonder how can you be so small. your hands are tiny. tiny and fragile. i am just shocked.

slide seven.

last night i had a dream that we kissed. i wish it wasn’t just a dream.

slide eight.

i want to ask you out but i’m afraid that i’m too dumb for you.

slide nine.

would you go on the date with me?

atsumu’s heart was racing in his chest as if it was trying to win the formula one race. he was too afraid to look at you during this presentation so he was starting at the table examining each and every line on its surface. he counted slides… four… six… nine. the end. the silence weighed heavily on his lungs, making it impossible for him to breathe. he felt like someone poured sand into him because of which he couldn’t move even a centimeter and the only way to permanently remove the desert from him was laid in you and in your voice. he was afraid of rejection but hearing it from your lips was a salvation — painful as if his heart was burned out —but a salvation.

— yes.

his eyes sparked with pure joy and excitement so brightly you thought that light from the lamp is unnecessary. atsumu closed the laptop, moved closer to the table so his chest was balked to it and asked:

— really? you want?

— yes, atsumu, i want to go on a date with you.

— when? say when and i will prepare something special for you. when?

— maybe tomorrow? i still need to finish my reading first.

— okay, — he exhaled with wide smile on his face. tomorrow. great! i’ll text you.

he stood up, grabbed laptop and his backpack and rapidly walked past you. you heard his loud steps then silence and then steps again but they were getting louder and louder.

you felt warm touch of his lips on your cheek.

— sorry, i couldn’t resist. see you tomorrow on our first date!

he walked out of the library leaving you alone with your reading.

#haikyuu #miya atsumu #atsumu fluff #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic #timeskip atsumu #atsumu drabble

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boysdontcryboycry · 1 year

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also like i rewatched half the show again and reeeally reaffirms my hatred of steven. like even ignoring all the shit he said in s1 about jonathan's family to his face, and got beat to hell as he deserved, and him letting his friends publicly shame nancy for something she didn't even do, even when he's supposedly "gotten better" and turned into a good boy, he's just such an emotionally stunted manbaby who only thinks about himself and his love life like.

2.02. tina's halloween party. nancy doesn't want to go anymore after learning about the holland's futile attempts to find barb, but steve pressures her to under the guise of being normal, stupid teenagers for a night. the exact same thing he did in s1 after prioritizing how he was gonna get in trouble for the party happening over barb literally being missing.

his girlfriend is sloppy drunk, like he's never seen her act before, on the verge of tears revealing that she's spent the last year blaming herself (and him) for the death of her best friend. but does steven care about that?

no. no he doesn't. he fixates on her feelings for him. he ignores absolutely everything else she says and abandons her, drunk and alone and crying in the bathroom at a party. he hadn't seen jonathan's arrival at that point, he would've only seen him as he brushed past him on his way out the front door. and then has the gall to snipe about her "other boyfriend" taking her home like he didn't literally storm off!!!!!

and then s4, after he supposedly moved on in s3, he lets a basic stranger, who knows nothing about either of them btw, nudge him into being fixated on nancy again. and as well as that, he is obsessed with robin's love life, which she expresses she doesn't give a shit about right now and she doesn't get why he does.

there are more important things happening right now, markedly the life-or-death mission they are embarking on and the self-sacrifice being planned by one of their friends and the very end of the world as they know it. does steven listen this time?

no. he stops nancy on their time-sensitive trek to tell her he's still in love with her and that he wants to have six kids and travel the country in an rv with her. for all his talk about him finally crawling forwards after she metaphorically knocked him on the head, he literally is crawling backwards right now. pathetically, i might add, because nancy clearly isn't into it.

at least i can be happy in the knowledge that, even though she may have checked him out once or twice this season, nancy does not want him st@ncy bones thank you and good night

#i genuinely am st*ve's number one hater i genuinely hope that bitch dies next season!

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ourwillsaregardeners · 1 year

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Macbeth

- Well, the bad news is the list of named plants is supershort:

- chesnuts

- primrose

- corn (not American corn, but old world grains (I think))

- rhubarb

- senna

Chestnuts would be a decent tree option, a cheap too if you can grow from either chestnuts (seeds) or hardwood cuttings. Primroses are a nice springtime flower, and could bring some yellow/white color. Corn/grains are also dead-easy to grow from seeds. Rhubarb is sold as bareroot plants in late winter/early spring in my area in superstores, and would be producing a crop in a few years if I’ve understood what I’ve seen on Gardener’s World about them. Senna is mentioned alongside rhubarb as a laxative/curative by Macbeth; I would advise holding off on growing it until you’ve done extensive research, both on how it might grow in your climate and if it might interact via contact with any of your medications.

As you can see, the pickings are pretty paltry BUT, the good news is that some scholars think that the famous witches’ spell (double bubble, and all that) contains several folk names for plants and herbal medicines. Using this site I’ve come up with some plants that would be suitable for a casual gardener’s Witches Brew Garden:

-Toad entrails = Toadflax, Linaria vulgaris

- Fillet of a fenny snake = Yarrow, Achillea millefolium; Bistort/Snakeroot, Bistorta officinalis; Plantains/Fleaworts, Plantago genus (lots of common weeds fall under these names)

- Eye of newt = mustard seeds

- Toe of frog = Bulbous buttercup, Ranunculus bulbosus

- Wool of bat = holly leaves

- Tongue of dog = Houndstounge, Cynoglossum officinale

- Adder’s fork = Dog’s tooth violet, Erythronium

- Blind-worm’s sting = Poppies, Papaver somniferum

- Lizard’s leg = Ivy (choose one that that is not listed as invasive in your area)

- Scale of dragon = Tarragon, Artemisia dracunculus (or Tagetes lucida if you want to grow from seed)

- Liver of blaspheming Jew (yikes) = Mugwort, Artemisia vulgaris

- Gall of Goat = Honeysuckle, Lonicera sempervirens (or your areas natural honeysuckle species; definitely do not plant amur honeysuckle); St. John’s Wort, Hypericum perforatum

- Slips of yew = Yew, Taxus baccata (or local species)

- Finger of birth-strangled babe = Cinqefoil, Potentilla genus

- Tiger’s Chaudron = Lady’s mantle, Alchemilla mollis

- Owlet’s wing = garlic or ginger

Personally, I have two plastic cauldrons that I am planning to use for some Macbeth gardens.

#shakespeare #Shakespeare Garden #macbeth #fair warning that the witches brew plants are not my own research #i DID try to find some sourcebooks instead of relying on this website but I Don't Have that Kind of Money

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

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Thursday 10 August 1837

7 ¾

11 55

the flags wet – damp morning with small rain F57 ½° at 8 ¾ - sent off at 8 ¾ my note written and dated last night to ‘Charles Priestley Esquire’ compliments – should be glad to see him in the course of tomorrow (i.e. today) if convenient to him; if not, beg him to name the nest earliest time that may suit him – ready in an hour – making memoranda – went downstairs at 9 – A- had Mr. Horner – breakfast at 9 5 with Mr. Gray and sat talking till 10 about the Russian railroad to Moscow (from St. P-) and the colosseum and the Adelaide gallery in London (Mr. G- partly did the artificial water and boat sailing on it) – then planning about the east tower cellaring etc. to be lighted (if light so wanted) by flat-roofed passages under the terrace – then in the wine cellar – had the inner door cased – then on coming out (1 port 1 migma and 1 marsala) had Mr. Garlick, surgeon (H-x) to apply for standage for 2 gigs and if the hotel tenant preferred it stable room for one horse – out about – out then at 11 ¼ – John Booth came back from taking the empty barrels and my note to Mr. Charles Priestley and brought note back – Mr. CP- will be here at 10 on Saturday morning if possible – Letter from Mr. Watson for Messrs. Gray, York, for A- Mr. Jonathan G- from home or A- letters would have been answered sooner – no letter therefore had been written to Mr. W. Priestley but they would claim the money due (£540) and if WP- did not pay the money Messrs. G- would threaten him with a chancery suit – brought the letter in to A- sat talking it over till near 1 – agreed that Mrs. AW- had better write her own instructions to Messrs. G- to proceed as they proposed and to receive the annuity for her in future – I wrote A- copy of what her aunt should write A-‘s pony being galled with the girth and unable to bear the saddle, A- and I set off to walk to Cliff hill (George to follow by and by with the other pony and walk back himself) at 2 ¾ - walked with her to beyond Hardcastle’s (Roydelands) and left her there at 3 23 walked leisurely back – stopt some while at Hipperholme quarry in returning – and a little while at the Listerwick engine pit and wheel-race – the pentrough put up – the head wheelwright promised that all should be ready for Joseph Manns’ going on with the engine pit the end of the next month – 19th August instead of 1 June!!! – home about 4 ½ - with Mr. Gray planning about the glacis on the east side of farmyard and house – then with Sam Booth and Jack Green planting out 2 fine young Ragland oaks on the back road embankment near the back Lodge – then at the Lodge with Mr. Gray and Mawson planning about Lodge-stuff moving at 9d. per yard – about 80 yards will be done when the mass agreed for was [cleared] off – ordered another mass down = about 180 yards at 9d. 180+80 = 260 at 9d. = £13.10.0 – spoke to Zebedee at noon today about taking Franks’ place in going to the post – he said he was no scholar – he would rather go with horses – I said I should have no regular going with horses – but he had best consider whether he would like to stay or not the greatest inconvenience to me would be his not living nearer than Hx- Hinton came at 7 to ask for carts at Northgate and if I wanted the stone that came out of the drains he was going to make – the stone by custom his – no! in that case quite satisfied but did not want it – referred him to Blythe for carts – came in at 7 10 – A- wanted me her aunt had written the letter and A- had written copy of letter to Mr. Gray I wrote her another shorter letter for herself which she copied and sent – Dinner at 7 25 A-‘s Travellers Inn tenant Holt came to ask her if she had a field to let – she had one, but had somebody else in view for it, but would not forget his application – coffee at 9 – read the paper – A- came upstairs before 10 and about or soon after 10 at which hour F57° very fine day – had just written so far of today at 10 40 pm

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a-book-place · 2 years

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Abbey Library of St. Gall in St. Gallen, Switzerland

Early architectural plans that depict a library attached to the main church of the Abbey of Saint Gall suggest the collection dates back to around 820 CE. As the abbey’s catalogue of science writings and manuscripts grew, the collection moved to its lavishly decorated Baroque-style hall by Peter Thumb in the mid-18th century. Nearly 160,00 volumes make up the intricately carved-wood shelves, all of which are available for public use.

#books & libraries #booklover #booksbooksbooks #book blog #switzerland

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lidathedefiant · 3 months

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After much research on the Plan of St. Gall and Benedictine monastic life, I have completed the first floor of the monastery as it would've looked during its height of operations, roughly 200 years, give or take, before Lida et al. find it on their travels. I will be making another floor plan showing it in ruins.

Something to note is that this is where they encounter the terror-feeder, because the Northern Reaches really was the gods' DeviantArt page. Though I modeled this on Christian monastic life, the experiences of these monks are fundamentally different and far less ascetic so I made some fundamental changes.

Let me take you through some of the design choices I made!

Directional focus is the Overlook of the Gods, so southwest. The cathedral points in that direction as do both chapels.

Original Benedictine monasteries had very limited access points to the inner sanctum. I modified this with a few extras, but I still maintained some separation between the acolytes and monks.

Which leads me to the big main storage room. This was actually a surprising distance from the kitchens in the Plan of St. Gall.

The original kitchen had no outside access, iirc, but was separated from the main building by a hallway. I maintained this here, as it was a pragmatic and not religious decision; kitchen fires wiped out a hell of a lot of monasteries and abbeys before they moved the building off. Now they still maintained zero outside kitchen access, condemning anyone trapped in the kitchen to death, but I digress.

Monasteries were fully self-sufficient. This bad boy would’ve had crops and livestock and breweries. I did not want to design all that out because it would be gone by the time Lisa et al. arrive, but I did keep chambers for the brothers-in-service.

This place would have had an old men’s rest home to account for. Remember, part of the reason this monastery is so popular and well-maintained is because there’s too many men born in the Northern Reaches. (Don’t ask me why, I’m working on it.) So they would’ve had services for old impoverished men who couldn’t marry and had no families. I’m giving them three men assigned to the role and then an additional six that are cycled through the ranks to fulfill the mitzvah (for lack of a better word) of caring for others.

I eliminated the Benedictine conversation rooms, as Lida monks are free to talk, but kept the warming room out of practicality. It would be prohibitively costly to maintain fires everywhere. In monasteries that had dormitories, monks typically slept over the warming room, which will happen here. But unlike the ascetic Benedictines, I’ve given the brothers-in-service and others sleeping in beds far from the warming room little furnaces.

The conservatory is also not a traditional Benedictine room. My boyfriend asked the question of whether the era (roughly modeled on the Middle Ages) would’ve had such tech, which is absolutely valid, but the gods gave them a lot of knowledge. Also, greenhouses in general date back to 30 AD, when the Romans did it before it was cool.

Now we get to the big question: what the hell is up with the arcana rooms? Well, I may have jumped the shark. In constructing this on Inkarnate, I saw they had summoning circles, and I wondered, what if they had been practicing forbidden magic? Not magic outlawed by the Magisterium, but the one form of magic outlawed by the gods? What if they had accidentally summoned the terror-feeder from cryo underneath the Overlook of the Gods and this was their downfall?

I don’t have all the answers yet and I have a whole second floor to build before I can demolish it, but it’s interesting to think about and damn this was fun to make.

#Lida the defiant #fantasy writing #fantasy map #autistic writer #writing #writingblr #northern reaches #autism brain #monastery #monastic life #monasticism #Benedictine monks #Plan of St. Gall #floorplan

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seeingo · 10 months

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#srilanka tour packages #srilanka packages

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pridgendelaney · 2 years

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Le brouilleur a pu bloquer le système de défense aérienne de l'adversaire

Avalon, Australie-Le ministre australien de la Défense, Penny, a déclaré mardi que l'Australie avait signé un accord avec la marine américaine pour développer la prochaine génération de brouilleurs pour le EA-18G Boeing Growler, un avion aéroporté à commande électronique. Payne a annoncé son intention d'investir 250 millions de dollars (192 millions de dollars) dans l'Australian International Aerospace Corporation qui a ouvert ses portes à South Avalon, Melbourne en 2017. Elle a déclaré : « Il s'agit d'un investissement de 250 millions de dollars du gouvernement Turnbull, qui établira la capacité le Growler dans un avenir proche. Comme il s'agit d'un domaine en constante évolution, nous créerons la prochaine génération de capacités de brouillage avec l'US Navy, ce qui garantira que les appareils restent sur la technologie moderne pendant toute leur durée de vie. Les brouilleurs de drones de la future génération constitueront une partie essentielle du projet Air 5439 Phase 6, qui est la prochaine étape de la mise à niveau de l'Australian Growler EA-18G configuré comme le soi-disant Advanced Growler. Le plan assurera la flexibilité future ainsi que la capacité des avions de la marine américaine à entretenir et à mettre à niveau d'autres modules Growler ALQ-99. Payne a également été élu sénateur de l'État du Pays de Galles du Sud, EA-18G s'adressant à la Royal Australian Air Force (deux avions se sont posés sur l'aire de trafic d'Avalon dans l'émission). L'Australie achète 12 usines. Il y a quelques jours à peine, ce premier ensemble d'avions a été acheminé vers la base afghane située en Afghanistan dans la région du nord-ouest, au sud-ouest de Brisbane. L'avion Avalon représente la première exposition publique d'un avion australien. "L'EA-18G Growler fera partie de notre réseau et de nos forces intégrées, capables de partager des informations, des données de surveillance et de reconnaissance avec d'autres appareils électroniques ainsi qu'avec l'armée et la marine", a déclaré le maréchal de l'air de l'armée de l'air Lee Davis, un agent agile et puissant en pleine croissance. machine qui n'est pas alimentée. Après avoir accompli une série de tâches, l'interception du radar de brouillage a révélé que les systèmes de défense aérienne de l'ennemi étaient entravés. " Les brouilleurs de téléphones portables sont la solution la plus efficace pour empêcher les signaux des téléphones portables de bloquer les téléphones portables Il est courant d'utiliser les téléphones portables comme interception pour sécuriser les téléphones portables des prisonniers. C'est le service approprié de l'Alabama que Montgomery envisage d'employer dans certaines prisons. Ils prévoient de mettre en place un système d'entrée "géré" pour les établissements pénitentiaires, et il y a trois prisons dans le comté d'Elmore. De plus, le ministère a également demandé à la législature de l'Alabama d'allouer 4 millions de dollars pour établir des systèmes similaires dans les fonds correctionnels Bieber, Donaldson, Fontaine et St. Clair. Les gardiens de prison ont déclaré que les prisonniers utilisaient des téléphones portables pour frauder le public, extorquer de l'argent à leurs familles et coordonner la livraison de drogue dans les prisons. Ils doivent arrêter ces criminels.

C'est le meilleur appareil pour empêcher les téléphones portables de bloquer les téléphones portables. En ce qui concerne l'utilisation dans les prisons, nous vous suggérons d'utiliser des signaux de téléphone portable haute puissance de 70 W, de simples brouilleurs portables pour téléphone portable adaptés à la 4G, 3G LTE et des antennes avec des signaux directionnels. Le blocage des téléphones portables est fixé dans la prison, certains détenus incapables de dissimuler ou d'utiliser leurs téléphones portables ne sont pas en mesure d'utiliser des appareils plus petits et ne peuvent pas se connecter aux téléphones portables 3G .2G 4G, aux appels téléphoniques et aux SMS. C'est la raison du blocage des téléphones portables dans les prisons de l'Alabama. Le bloqueur fait référence au métal pour protéger les composants internes et d'autres pièces peuvent être des prisonniers de haine et d'autres mauvaises choses... De plus, il existe différents boutons qui peuvent être désactivés pour empêcher d'autres canaux d'apparaître et nous avons également vu deux ventilateurs de refroidissement pour le refroidissement . Il s'agit d'une méthode pour garantir les températures, avec un fonctionnement plus fiable et une meilleure portée. Protection du circuit intégré pour éviter les dommages dus à une panne d'antenne ou à un court-circuit. L'intercepteur téléphonique pèse environ 19 kg et est le seul dispositif fixe de protection du signal. Brouilleur WiFi , selon la force du signal dans la zone où il se trouve, l'empreinte du bloqueur de téléphone varie de 20 à 100 mètres (rayon) à -75 dBm. Ainsi, le bloqueur de téléphone peut également être utilisé dans d'autres cas, publics et privés. Des brouilleurs de signaux qui gardent les secrets des affaires La clé d'une vie heureuse est la paix intérieure. La paix intérieure est située dans un environnement calme. C'est un endroit calme, loin de tout bruit. Si vous êtes dans une zone bruyante, la sonnerie du téléphone peut être un succès et ennuyeuse. Comment puis-je me contrôler et améliorer ma vie ? C'est la meilleure solution. Apprenez ce que vous pouvez sur les brouilleurs de téléphones portables. Vous souhaitez vous détendre et vivre à un rythme plus lent ? Il n'y a rien à craindre et pas de pression quotidienne et il n'y a pas de pression à s'inquiéter. Si vous prenez un livre que vous aimez et que vous aimez l'histoire. C'est l'animation idéale que vous souhaitez. Que pouvez-vous faire dans ce monde axé sur la vitesse ?

#brouilleur wifi; bloqueurs de wifi sans fil ; brouilleur wifi à vendre; bloqueur Wi-Fi ; brouilleur de signal Wi-Fi ; perturbateur wifi ; bl

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demonsigh · 3 years

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the vampire hunter

rating: orange/pg pairing: male vampire x male human features: drunken antics, in vino veritas, enemies to lovers warnings: blood, throwing up length: 2434 words

A very hungry vampire takes care of a very drunk vampire hunter. Based on this prompt submitted to @monsterkinkmeme

There were many undeniable perks that came with being a vampire, and several of them lent themselves well to scholarly pursuits. Ellis had an infallible memory for names, dates, and quotations. He had excellent night vision, which made candles unnecessary for reading in the dark. And whereas the research of mere men spanned decades at most, Ellis had pursued his studies for centuries.

But immortality had not cured him of the bad habits he’d developed as a human academic. Sometimes he became so absorbed in his work that he went for weeks without feeding, without realizing, until he would look up from a book and be suddenly crushed by a hunger so strong that it hurt. As a vampire, this was not only unhealthy, but dangerous. He posed no threat to errant humans if he kept himself well-fed, but when he was starving, sometimes his self-control slipped.

He wouldn’t have called himself “starving” tonight, but he was hungrier than he thought was responsible. He planned out a hunting trip in his head while he packed necessities into a small leather bag. He always travelled far to feed, and never dipped into the surrounding hamlets. He found that the locals tolerated him as long as he kept his distance, even if they found him strange or had their suspicions about his true nature. He was careful not to upset this uneasy peace. A mob of frightened humans could be just as deadly as a vampire.

A loud knock sounded at the front door. Ellis paused in the act of packing, then heaved an enormous sigh. He thought briefly about slipping out the window and avoiding this encounter altogether, but he told himself that it wouldn’t be very sportsmanlike.

The person at the door was almost certainly Nicholas Golding, a vampire hunter of mild renown who’d been pursuing Ellis for months. They’d met abroad, on one of Ellis’s hunting trips, and since then they’d developed something of a rivalry.

“St. Claaaaiiiirrrr!” It was Nicholas, growing impatient at the door. “I have you this time, you devil!”

Ellis rolled his eyes, wondering if he could convince Nicholas to postpone the match until next week. Not likely.

He opened the front door to find a sword pointed in his face, the tip wobbling in clumsy little circles as if trying to find the perfect spot to stab.

“You’re mine now, St. Clair.” Nicholas swayed in place as he spoke, fighting to keep his footing. It was to his credit that his sword arm stayed as steady as it was.

“Golding,” said Ellis, as he pushed the sword aside with his hand, “you’re drunk. Go home.”

Nicholas laughed loudly. “You know even half-dead I’m more than a match for you.”

Ellis privately conceded the point. Nicholas was an arrogant prick, but he fought like a demon. He was incredibly skilled with a sword, resourceful, creative, and insufferable in his tenacity. Even drunk, he was a much more challenging opponent than any of the stooges the Church sent after him.

But Ellis had never seen Nicholas this drunk. The man positively reeked of ale, speech slurred, gaze unfocused, cheeks flushed an appealing shade of red. It was a wonder he’d made it up to the castle without falling off a cliff.

“Anyway,” said Nicholas, lowering his sword. He attempted to sheath it, but couldn’t manage to align the tip with the opening. He let the sword fall to the steps with a clatter instead, then looked back up at Ellis with a dashing, lopsided smile. “The innkeeper kicked me out. Let me stay the night, will you?”

“Are you out of your mind?” asked Ellis, scowling. He was far too hungry for a guest; particularly one who’d just held him at swordpoint. He was sure he had every right to slam the door in this man’s face.

But what would Nicholas do instead? Sleep drunk in a ditch? He’d be robbed blind by bandits if the wolves didn’t get to him first. Something in Ellis recoiled from the thought.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Nicholas slurred. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

“Why not take the bed?” asked Ellis, sarcastic, but somehow he found himself stepping aside to make way. “It’s unoccupied at night, of course.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Nicholas’s face as Ellis invited him in. Then he reassumed his cheerful smirk and staggered over the threshold. “I knew I could count on you, St. Clair, you’re a gentleman and a scholar.”

“Yes, well, your timing has always been terrible,” said Ellis. “No sense turning you away now.”

Nicholas grinned and opened his mouth to fire off a retort, lost his footing, and went crashing down face-first onto the flagstone floor.

“Damn!” he said, snickering to himself. He struggled and failed to push himself up. Ellis sighed.

“Idiot,” he muttered, while he bent down to help. He grabbed an arm and heaved Nicholas to his feet, then gasped as he held him upright, knees buckling. It wasn’t the weight — Ellis had superhuman strength, after all. It was the smell. It was the man’s blood, rushing thick and hot beneath his skin. It was mouthwatering.

Oh I’m in hell, thought Ellis. Nicholas Golding was the last person on earth he wanted to drink from. But now the man’s whole warm weight was pressed against him and Ellis was suddenly ravenous. His mouth was inches from Nicholas’s neck.

He pinched his lips shut and held his breath as he half-carried the drunken fool to the bedroom and dumped him on the bed as gently as he could manage. Then he grabbed his leather bag and slipped away. Now that the hunter was taken care of, he could go about his own hunting in peace.

But he hesitated halfway out the door, plagued by niggling worries. Nicholas had barely been able to stand. How much had he had to drink? Was it safe to leave him like this? He didn’t want to come home to a week-old corpse.

Ellis wasn’t a monster, no matter what the neighbors thought. But he was a vampire. He was strong, and fast, and that was putting it mildly. He almost always emerged the victor from their little duels. And of course it had occurred to him to just kill Nicholas and be done with him once and for all. But that simply wasn’t how Ellis did things. And so, after every defeat, he left Nick Golding alive. That fact alone seemed to gall the man more than anything else; his pride had clearly suffered the worst wounds.

But over time, Ellis had sensed a corresponding reluctance that puzzled him. This came to a head one evening when their skirmish was interrupted by another hunter — one from the Church — inserting himself into the fight. The poor man hadn’t been anywhere near their league, but the distraction had given Nicholas an advantage. He managed to pin Ellis. He had his blade pressed against his throat. Ellis saw the flash of triumph in his eyes, before — nothing. Nicholas withdrew the blade. He let Ellis escape.

That was when Ellis realized that, somehow, their relationship had changed. Nicholas didn’t want Ellis dead. He wanted to defeat him, fair and square. They were fighting for sport.

Did that make them friends? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he felt an annoying but undeniable concern for the man passed out drunk in his bed. And so, against his better judgment, he turned around and trudged back to the bedroom.

He stopped dead in the doorway. Nicholas was sitting up on the edge of the bed, gingerly fingering his nose, and blood was streaming from one of his nostrils.

“Think I broke my nose when I fell…” he muttered.

“Clean yourself up, you fool!” Ellis hissed, recoiling from the sight. Nicholas looked up with wide eyes, startled and bewildered.

“Oh— damn,” he said, as realization seemed to strike. He pulled an appallingly dirty handkerchief from his pocket and made a clumsy attempt to mop up the blood. It was hardly effective, but Ellis appreciated the effort.

“Better?” Nicholas asked, having the nerve to look cheerful, but his face fell when he saw the condition that Ellis was in. “Are you alright?” he asked, almost whispering.

Ellis was not alright. He wanted, ferociously, to drink Nicholas’s blood. He gripped the door frame with white-knuckled hands, struggling to compose himself, afraid to imagine what kind of expression was on his face.

Alarmed, Nicholas tried to rise, stumbled, fell to his knees, then picked himself back up unsteadily.

“Don’t come any closer,” Ellis warned.

Nicholas seemed ready to ignore the warning, but then he paused.

“Wait…” he asked, squinting across the room. “Are you drunk too?”

“Of course not,” Ellis snapped. He looked away, and without thinking, he said, “I’m starving.”

Nicholas froze, and a silence hung heavy between them. He sat back down on the bed. Ellis shut his eyes, trying to find some untapped well of resolve before he made a terrible mistake.

“You could drink from me,” Nicholas said.

The vampire’s eyes snapped open. He was sure that Nicholas was making a tasteless joke, but when he looked he saw nothing playful in the man’s face.

“Do you want to drink from me?” he asked again, as if Ellis hadn’t heard.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” said Ellis hoarsely.

“Course I do. I’ve spoken with some of your victims. They don’t make it sound so bad.” He flashed one of his roguish smiles, and Ellis scowled in response. What was he thinking? Did he see this as another sort of absurd challenge? Let the vampire have his way with you and live to tell the tale?

He would never tell the tale if he knew what was good for him. For a vampire hunter, to be bitten was a terrible disgrace.

Nicholas’s nosebleed had slowed considerably by then, and the smell of fresh blood was replaced by the tang of the dry crust — not nearly as appetizing. Ellis breathed a bit easier.

“Don’t be a fool, Golding,” he said, “I’m not going to drink from you of all—”

He stopped short when he saw that Nicholas was unbuttoning his shirt.

“S’ppose the neck’s alright?” Nicholas asked, reaching for another button.

Ellis raced across the room and grabbed Nicholas by the collar, pulling his shirt shut.

“Would you stop that?” Ellis hissed. “Have you forgotten you’re drunk? You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Nicholas was still for a moment, staring down at the vampire’s hands. Then, gently, he wrapped his calloused fingers around Ellis’s wrists, and looked up into his face. “Ellis,” he said. His gaze was bleary and unfocused, but somehow full of an earnest concern. “I’m worried about you.”

Ellis’s long-dead heart thumped unevenly in his chest. He snatched his hands away. Nicholas took the opportunity to pull his shirt back open, exposing his neck and chest.

“Just do it, St. Clair,” he said. He glanced away, looking unexpectedly self-conscious. “It’s the least I can do. Since you’re letting me stay.”

“That’s not—” Ellis faltered, struggling to formulate another objection. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the flushed skin of Nicholas’s chest. His fangs ached in anticipation of the bite. His resolve was wavering.

He reached out a trembling hand. Nicholas certainly did owe him this, he reasoned, after all the months of trouble he’d caused. What was one little bite among friends?

No! What was he thinking? The man was drunk; he didn’t know what he was saying. Ellis had a brief vision of Nicholas waking up in the morning, acutely hungover, and horrified by what had occurred the night before. In fact, if Nicholas remembered any of this in the morning, things between them might change forever, and that thought hurt Ellis in a way he did not expect or know how to account for.

“It’s alright,” Nicholas said, voice low. “I don’t mind.” He placed his hands on Ellis’s hips and pulled him slowly closer. Ellis’s breath caught in his throat.

“I can’t let you do this,” he whispered. “You’ll have a scar. I’ll put your entire reputation at stake.”

Nicholas let his head fall forward, shoulders shaking. At first Ellis thought he’d given up, but then he heard the quiet laughter.

“At stake…” said Nicholas, snickering drunkenly.

“Oh you moron…” muttered Ellis. He should have used the distraction to pull away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t make himself.

Nicholas recovered with an effort, then looked back up at Ellis.

“I’m not worried about the scar,” he insisted; and there was something sly in his voice as he said, “Just bite me somewhere no one will see.”

A flash of intuition struck Ellis. He couldn’t quite believe it, but he threw caution to the wind and asked anyway.

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

Nicholas’s mouth slowly spread into a wicked grin. “I’m—” he said, but his expression suddenly soured. He shoved Ellis back, leaned over, and vomited messily onto the rug.

“Oh, perfect timing as usual,” said Ellis drily, raising his voice to be heard above the noise.

“I’ll clean it up,” Nicholas groaned, head hanging. He sounded miserable, and Ellis felt a twinge of guilt over his sarcasm.

“I’ll clean it up. Get in bed.”

“But—”

“Now, Nicholas,” Ellis barked, and Nicholas hastily obeyed, clumsily tucking himself under the covers.

“Forgot how scary you can be when you want,” he said, chuckling to himself as his eyes fell closed.

Ellis snorted as he left the room to fetch some water. He prayed that he’d kept his expression composed, but if his heart had still worked, it would have been hammering. His mind was reeling, trying to process what had just happened.

At least one thing was certain: There was no way he was going to bite Nicholas now. He was far too dehydrated to lose any blood. It was a relief to finally reach a decision, though his hunger still stung him like the pain of a wound. He would just have to bear it for now.

And what about in the morning? Would Nicholas renew his offer, or would he take back the things he’d said? Would he even remember? Ellis would certainly remember. He felt a hundred years younger, torn between apprehension and a boyish sort of excitement.

He smiled to himself, shaking his head. All this distress over that fool of a man… And a vampire hunter no less. Yes, things would certainly be changed between them tomorrow, but perhaps that was alright.

#exophilia #monster romance #monster boyfriend #vampire boyfriend #monsterkinkmeme #sighs writing

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cassianus · 2 years

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ST. JOHN CASSIAN’S INSTITUTES: ON DESPONDENCY

St. John Cassian

Chapter 1.

How our fifth combat is against the spirit of despondency, and of the harm which it inflicts upon the soul.

In our fifth combat we have to resist the pangs of gnawing despondency: For if this, through separate attacks made at random, and by haphazard and casual changes, has secured an opportunity of gaining possession of our mind it keeps us back at all times from all insight in divine contemplation, and utterly ruins and depresses the mind that has fallen away from its complete state of purity. It does not allow it to say its prayers with its usual gladness of heart, nor permit it to rely on the comfort of reading the sacred writings, nor suffer it to be quiet and gentle with the brethren; it makes it impatient and rough in all the duties of work and devotion: and, as all wholesome counsel is lost, and steadfastness of heart destroyed, it makes the feelings almost mad and drunk, and crushes and overwhelms them with penal despair.

Chapter 2.

Of the care with which the malady of despondency must be healed.

Wherefore if we are anxious to exert ourselves lawfully in the struggle of our spiritual combat we ought with no less care to set about healing this malady also. For as the moth injures the garment, and the worm the wood, so despondency the heart of man. With sufficient clearness and appropriateness has the Divine Spirit expressed the force of this dangerous and most injurious fault.

Chapter 3.

To what the soul may be compared which is a prey to the attacks of despondency.

For the garment that is moth-eaten has no longer any commercial value or good use to which it can be put; and in the same way the wood that is worm-eaten is no longer worth anything for ornamenting even an ordinary building, but is destined to be burnt in the fire. So therefore the soul also which is a prey to the attacks of gnawing despondency will be useless for that priestly garment which, according to the prophecy of the holy David, the ointment of the Holy Spirit coming down from heaven, first on Aaron's beard, then on his skirts, is wont to assume: as it is said, It is like the ointment upon the head which ran down upon Aaron's beard, which ran down to the skirts of his clothing. Nor can it have anything to do with the building or ornamentation of that spiritual temple of which Paul as a wise master builder laid the foundations, saying, You are the temple of God, and the Spirit of God dwells in you: and what the beams of this are like the bride tells us in the Song of Songs: Our rafters are of cypress: the beams of our houses are of cedar. And therefore those sorts of wood are chosen for the temple of God that are fragrant and not liable to rot, and which are not subject to decay from age nor to be worm-eaten.

Chapter 4.

Whence and in what way despondency arises.

But sometimes it is found to result from the fault of previous anger, or to spring from the desire of some gain which has not been realized, when a man has found that he has failed in his hope of securing those things which he had planned. But sometimes without any apparent reason for our being driven to fall into this misfortune, we are by the instigation of our crafty enemy suddenly depressed with so great a gloom that we cannot receive with ordinary civility the visits of those who are near and dear to us; and whatever subject of conversation is started by them, we regard it as ill-timed and out of place; and we can give them no civil answer, as the gall of bitterness is in possession of every corner of our heart.

Chapter 5.

That disturbances are caused in us not by the faults of other people, but by our own.

Whence it is clearly proved that the pains of disturbances are not always caused in us by other people's faults, but rather by our own, as we have stored up in ourselves the causes of offense, and the seeds of faults, which, as soon as a shower of temptation waters our soul, at once burst forth into shoots and fruits.

Chapter 6.

That no one comes to grief by a sudden fall, but is destroyed by falling through a long course of carelessness.

For no one is ever driven to sin by being provoked through another's fault, unless he has the fuel of evil stored up in his own heart. Nor should we imagine that a man has been deceived suddenly when he has looked on a woman and fallen into the abyss of shameful lust: but rather that, owing to the opportunity of looking on her, the symptoms of disease which were hidden and concealed in his inmost soul have been brought to the surface.

Chapter 7.

That we ought not to give up intercourse with our brethren in order to seek after perfection, but should rather constantly cultivate the virtue of patience.

And so God, the creator of all things, having regard above everything to the amendment of His own work, and because the roots and causes of our falls are found not in others, but in ourselves, commands that we should not give up intercourse with our brethren, nor avoid those who we think have been hurt by us, or by whom we have been offended, but bids us pacify them, knowing that perfection of heart is not secured by separating from men so much as by the virtue of patience. Which when it is securely held, as it can keep us at peace even with those who hate peace, so, if it has not been acquired, it makes us perpetually differ from those who are perfect and better than we are: for opportunities for disturbance, on account of which we are eager to get away from those with whom we are connected, will not be wanting so long as we are living among men; and therefore we shall not escape altogether, but only change the causes of despondency on account of which we separated from our former friends.

Chapter 8.

That if we have improved our character it is possible for us to get on with everybody.

We must then do our best to endeavor to amend our faults and correct our manners. And if we succeed in correcting them we shall certainly be at peace, I will not say with men, but even with beasts and the brute creation, according to what is said in the book of the blessed Job: For the beasts of the field will be at peace with you (Job 5:23); for we shall not fear offenses coming from without, nor will any occasion of falling trouble us from outside, if the roots of such are not admitted and implanted within in our own selves: For they have great peace who love your law, O God; and they have no occasion of falling.

Chapter 9.

Of another sort of despondency which produces despair of salvation.

There is, too, another still more objectionable sort of despondency, which produces in the guilty soul no amendment of life or correction of faults, but the most destructive despair: which did not make Cain repent after the murder of his brother, or Judas, after the betrayal, hasten to relieve himself by making amends, but drove him to hang himself in despair.

Chapter 10.

Of the only thing in which despondency is useful to us.

And so we must see that despondency is only useful to us in one case, when we yield to it either in penitence for sin, or through being inflamed with the desire of perfection, or the contemplation of future blessedness. And of this the blessed Apostle says: The sorrow which is according to God works repentance steadfast unto salvation: but the sorrow of the world works death (2 Corinthians 7:10).

Chapter 11.

How we can decide what is useful and the sorrow according to God, and what is devilish and deadly.

But that despondency and sorrow which works repentance steadfast unto salvation is obedient, civil, humble, kindly, gentle, and patient, as it springs from the love of God, and unweariedly extends itself from desire of perfection to every bodily grief and sorrow of spirit; and somehow or other rejoicing and feeding on hope of its own profit preserves all the gentleness of courtesy and forbearance, as it has in itself all the fruits of the Holy Spirit of which the same Apostle gives the list: But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance (Galatians 5:22-23). But the other kind is rough, impatient, hard, full of rancor and useless grief and penal despair, and breaks down the man on whom it has fastened, and hinders him from energy and wholesome sorrow, as it is unreasonable, and not only hampers the efficacy of his prayers, but actually destroys all those fruits of the Spirit of which we spoke, which that other sorrow knows how to produce.

Chapter 12.

That except that wholesome sorrow, which springs up in three ways, all sorrow and despondency should be resisted as hurtful.

Wherefore except that sorrow which is endured either for the sake of saving penitence, or for the sake of aiming at perfection, or for the desire of the future, all sorrow and despondency must equally be resisted, as belonging to this world, and being that which works death, and must be entirely expelled from our hearts like the spirit of fornication and covetousness and anger.

Chapter 13.

The means by which we can root out despondency from our hearts.

We should then be able to expel this most injurious passion from our hearts, so that by spiritual meditation we may keep our mind constantly occupied with hope of the future and contemplation of the promised blessedness. For in this way we shall be able to get the better of all those sorts of despondency, whether those which flow from previous anger or those which come to us from disappointment of gain, or from some loss, or those which spring from a wrong done to us, or those which arise from an unreasonable disturbance of mind, or those which bring on us a deadly despair, if, ever joyful with an insight into things eternal and future, and continuing immovable, we are not depressed by present accidents, or over-elated by prosperity, but look on each condition as uncertain and likely soon to pass away.

St. John Cassian

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bambooslayer · 3 years

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Scent Headcanons

so my covid/quarantine experience has been marked mainly by two things: indie perfume and the magnus archives. to combine these two interests, I’ve decided to match the “scent vibes” of some magnus characters and the entities. scent headcanons I guess? if those weren’t a thing before they are now. scents that I’ve tried will be marked with a *.

The Institute Staff

Jon- Solstice Scents' Gibbon’s Boarding School: dusty wooden desks, paper, carefully hidden tobacco pouch, dying fire, dried leaves, leather chairs, autumn breeze

This scent really captures the “tired academic” aura of Jon, especially S1-S2. Not quite completely put together, but still surrounded by the scent of knowledge.

Martin- Stereoplasm's Lydia*: A uniquely transformative scent; opens with agrestic lavender and earl grey tea with snips of fresh fennel greens. A flood of soapy emerald green bubbles then rests softly into clean sunset musk.

Martin has a comforting, calming scent. He always, always smells like tea no matter what he wears or does. Hints of soap peak through as he tries to keep himself clean and put together, even if the world is about to end. The scent of someone who’s learned to pull himself together to be ready for everyone else.

Sasha- Alkemia's Old Books and Fresh Flowers*: Fresh neroli orange flowers and heliotrope blossoms pressed between the delicate paper pages of a leather-bound book

Boundless beauty and ancient knowledge in one scent. She’s always sorting through the archive’s resources and constantly smells like the ancient paper surrounding her.

Tim- alphamusk's Bardot*: Gorgeous badass goddess like musk that’s insanely irresistible. Notes of roses, woods, magnolias but all blended so effortlessly and meld together beautifully in this sexy magnetizing musk. Everyone who smells it loves it. Very femme. Iconic.

Who doesn’t love Tim at first sight? A sexy, charismatic, fingergun shooting bisexual who’s always ready to do what he needs to get things done. A scent that blurs the lines between gender fits him, and it’s sexy to match. Even when he’s at his lowest, he still draws you in.

Elias- Alkemia's Book of Shadows*: A biblichor of eldritch books - heavy parchment paper, ancient iron oak gall ink, crumbling leather bindings, and wafts of rare incenses

Jonah Magnus smells of all the cursed knowledge he’s acquired. The statements and ancient books he’s encountered leave their marks on him in scent. You can’t smell the underlying evil, but there’s a certain darkness that lives there.

Basira - Death and Floral’s Red string of fate: Red musk and black, burnt amber blended with golden honey and black molasses

I don’t have a good explanation for this, it just feels right.

Melanie- Death and Floral’s Half-hoping to be eaten by a bear: Woody, sweet bare skin; the lingering scent of dry leaves on a cold morning.

Melanie smells of her supernatural adventures and longing for something more.

Daisy- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab's Mr. Czernobog: Unfiltered cigarettes, the leather and metal of sledgehammers, aortal blood slowly drying, and black incense.

Daisy knows what she’s done. She’s a Hunter, and these smells follow her.

Peter Lukas- Arcana Wildcraft's Black Sand: The scent of a warm night on a dark, sandy beach. Atmospheric sweetness with a hint of salt air and a subtle undercurrent of danger. The richest amber resin, black coconut, coconut husks, and smoky vetiver.

The scent of the loneliest sailor. There’s a dangerous draw to him still, but you can tell you should keep your distance. (unless you’re Elias of course)

The Entities

The Buried- Alkemia’s St. Louis Cemetery #1: “An atmospheric brooding of Spanish moss, crumbling stone, old cement, red clay brick, and graveyard dirt.”

It’s not quite burying you, but it’s about to. You won’t be able to tell that it will until it’s too late.

The Corruption- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Elli’s Song: “The horrors of entropy, death, and decay: desiccated black mosses, vetiver, olibanum, patchouli, and ashes.”

Rotting. Decay. The disgusting decomposition of all things.

The Dark- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Event Horizon: “A disconcerting scent, heavy and oppressive, through which no light, no matter, and no spirit can escape. Black opium, labdanum, opoponax, black orchid, and benzoin.”

Pretty self-explanatory. Complete and utter darkness.

The Desolation- Arcana Wildcraft's Devilish: “Shaking off vanilla's reputation for namby pambyness, this infernally dark and smoky fragrance comes complete with licks of fire and sulfurous wafts of brimstone. The devil really does have all the best scents.”

Was it worth it? The meaningful life you lived? Was it worth meeting this fiery end? A scent to match the end of a life worthwhile.

The End- Alkemia's Dustsceawung: “Dustsceawung is the contemplation of dust, worldly desires, and the ephemerality of all things... raspings that were once a tree, ruins that were once cities, bones that were once lovers. Dust is always the ultimate destination on our journey. The scent of forbidden explorations and an olfactory meditation on dust... attic air, the inside of old trunks, abandoned haylofts, library stacks, and abandoned buildings.”

The death of all things. Everything must succumb to its true form: dust. No matter what you fear, no matter how accomplished you are, no matter what you’ve planned, it will come for all. This scent carries the dust of those already ended, a reminder of your fate.

The Extinction- Alkemia's Deus Ex Machina: “An olfactory portrait of industrial decay and the fallen gods of age of disruption, innovation, and technological revolution... fire hardened steel, rusted iron, motor oil, wet cement, burnt copper wires, and grey amber.”

Mankind has brought itself to the edge. All that it has created is what finally destroys it. Remnants of industry linger, all that’s left of humanity’s monstrosity.

The Eye- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab's The Book: “Old, yellowed parchment paper, tattered leather bindings. There’s a distinct warmth to the scent, though it is ancient and brittle.”

All knowledge lives here. It has watched you your entire life. It knows everything about you, everything about everyone, everything about everyone that has lived. Pages and pages and pages of its stronghold live in the institutes.

The Flesh- Arcana Wildcraft’s Edward Hyde: “A depraved mix of dirt, blood red musk, roasted meat accord, acrid yellow musk, salt, and an odd hint of expensive men’s cologne.”

Meat. Meat. Meat. Meat is meat. A meaty scent that marks the servants of the flesh.

The Hunt- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Berzerker: “Thick furs, strips of leather, and a blood-stained axe with crushed poplar bud and juniper”

The Hunt is never over. Once you get a taste of blood, there is no going back. Furs of a predator, the sharp metallic weapon mixed with the blood of your prey.

The Lonely- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Desolation: “In the perfume, I also tried to capture the blue-violet-white of an afterimage and the silence of a snuffed candle. The scent is dry with age, taut with loss, grief, and heartbreak, and sorrowful in the unspeakable desolation of simply being forgotten.”

Alone at last. Forever. Alone in life, alone in memory, alone in history. A scent that marks those marked by the Lonely, disappearing into nothing.

The Slaughter- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s The Black Tower- “A sepulchral, desolate scent. Long-dead soldiers, oath-bound; the perfume of their armor, the chill wind that surges through their tower, white bone and blackened steel: white sandalwood, ambergris, wet ozone, galbanum and leather with ebony, teak, burnt grasses, English ivy and a hint of red wine.”

The scent of those trapped in the endless cycle of the violence of war, spanning centuries of slaughter.

The Spiral- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Azathoth: “Azathoth is the blind, idiot god who sits on a black throne at the center of Chaos. His scent is high-pitched and screeching, both impenetrably dark and searingly bright with the clarity of madness: tangerine, saffron, vetiver, black amber and cedarwood.”

A scent that matches the contradictions and chaos of the spiral.

The Stranger- Arcana Wildcraft’s Blood & Circuses: “The monstrously sweet scent of clowns gone wrong. An outlandish, carnivalic mix of white pancake makeup accord, pink cotton candy, and the salty sugariness of warm kettle corn.”

The circus has returned. I hope you’re ready for the show. Steer clear of anyone who carries this smell, and give an extra glance to the mannequins you pass.

The Vast- Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s R'Lyeh: “The sunken city of the Great God Cthulhu. A hellishly dark aquatic scent, evocative of fathomless oceanic deeps, the mysteries of madness buried under crushing black waters, and the brooding eternal evil that lies beneath the waves.”

The scent of an eternal expanse that you cannot possibly comprehend. Is it the fear of what lies beneath? Is it the depth itself? Does it matter once you’re lost in it?

The Web- Haus of Gloi’s Spider Silk: “Procured from a dream: delicate water mint, wispy grey musk, crystalline webs of amber, oakmoss, torchwood, copaiba resin, and a touch of withered violet leaf.”

A gentle spider creeps its way around, leaving their little traces in the webs they weave. Only too late will you notice that you’re trapped in the web.

#tma #the magnus archives #this took me way too long

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