#neautralised
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neautralise THEM
(my first GIF comic of the day)
#beyblade#beyblade x#bakugan#bakugan 2023#bakugan gen 3#bakugan revolution#bird kazami#ekusu kurosu#multi nanairo#dan kuso#mia ono#griffin tessly#juno reyes#thunder crunch#neautraliser#neautralise them#neautralised#neautraliser FULL POWER#GIF comic
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Salon Elements 5 Volume 1.5% Violet Developer to neutralise brassy tones | Salon Support
Salon Elements Violet Peroxide is a high performance developer, designed to assist with neutralising brassy tones and delivering a consistent and rich creamy base. The addition of violet micro pigments enhances the actions of powder lightener and hair toning products. Register for trade and shop online at Salon Support.
#Professional salon hair products#violet hair peroxide#Salon Elements hair products#Violet hair developer#Purple hair peroxide#1.5% purple hair developer#1.5% purple hair peroxide#Hair peroxide to neautralise brass#Hair peroxide for blonde hair#salon support#haircare australia
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Actually I kinda wanna know I’ve got this thing called morbid curiosity
Fine. You want to know what that place did to the rotoms? Go ahead.
[Please heed the tags please please]
They'd collect any and all dead rotoms and dissect them, often forcing them into appliances to see how it would react. They were studying the typing change and found actually dead rotoms would become electric/normal types, like a double negative, the ghost type being neautralised.
They then had their amazing idea of- what if we could get the rotoms to an electric/normal type while they're alive. You have no idea how many 'errors' were made in this process.
If it works, the rotom is basically lobtomised, only doing what humans tell it to do. Theres no personality, no nature, no nothing. There is nothing left.
The process lasts a few days before all of the changes properly cemented into them. They usually stop crying after that.
I used to work for this company to help support my family.
I got fired for stealing equipment.
I attempted to write something to reverse the damage that had been done, to return the rotoms to their natural state, however I went to far with it, these rotoms would've been erratic, with little to no empathy, and.
Instead of the rotoms being trapped in the room when I turned it on- I was by mistake- which is how I got like this or whatever.
I just.
I need that company destroyed.
#tw death#tw torture#tw pokemon death#tw pokemon harm#tw pokemon abuse#electric villain tag#haunting the spider arc#irl pkmn#pokemon roleplay#pokeblog rp#pokereality#pkmn rp#irl pokemon#rotumblr#pokemon unreality#rotomblr
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The Invitation (2022) works as an AU sequel to Dracula if the following things happened:
Dracula wiped out the polycule early on, either killing them or otherwise neautralising them as threats. The Harkers, at least, were then replaced by henchpeople who stole their identities (perhaps ‘Harker’ is actually Renfield?)
The absence of the heroes allowed Dracula to turn Lucy, who became his bride. He then forced one of the ladies from Transylvania to join him. She was really annoyed because she thought she’d never have to see his stupid face again. She spent the next 100 years taking out her feelings on everyone.
Dracula set about embedding himself into the English establishment. They were all too polite to point out that Count De Ville is the name of a pantomime villain. At some point he fathered a daughter called Cruella.
After settling in Carfax, Dracula got bored enough to write a speculative epistolary novel about himself, asking what would have happened if he hadn’t taken out the threats early on. He published under the pen name Bram Stoker.
He amused himself after that by telling his prospective brides ‘yeah, I’m Count Dracula’ and watching their confusion.
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I love my brain for thinking that Jerry baking cookies for Rick and Rick confused by that but eating them anyways was a good idea.
I love these two.
#rick and morty#rick sanchez#morty smith#jerry smith#summer smith#beth smith#beth sanchez#juddrawing#season 3#wubba lubba dub dub#the whirly dirly conspiracy#cookies#Does Rick remember all when he was neautralised or????
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High Score
By M. M. Sheridan
The blood always smelt the worst. Not the times that they shit themselves, or had sat in their own piss in fear. Not the sour burnt smell of spent ammunition. No, the blood smelt the worst, as it settled in between the grout on the tiles and sprayed onto the painted walls. That rust smell which left a taste in the back of your mouth, coated it in something that wouldn’t wash out with toothpaste or water or whisky. Frank swallowed a few times and the taste got worse. There was a lot of blood.
A twenty minutes ago a young man, looking agitated, ran into his local elementary school and unloaded several clips worth of bullets into the bodies of the children there, and a few teachers too. And himself, he guessed. A few had been dragged out by responding officers and thrown in ambulances, some would probably not make it. Others walked out in shock, or wailing, or throwing up, running awkwardly toward their tearful parents and the police who had that usual pained look on their faces. A lot more were lying in crumpled heaps around the building, going white and red under the strip lights. The shooter joined them in death, the same as them now, just a husk on the floor with a hole in his head, pumping blood through the lino, soaking into the concrete, into the foundation, then eventually into the dirt.
“How many?” One of the officers near him asked.
He stood up, “No idea. This room alone, maybe ten, fifteen, not including that piece of shit.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
Frank walked out of the class and down the hall past several more bodies being checked by paramedics, pointlessly. One was balled up between lockers, two were missing parts of their heads or face. He pushed through a side door into the fresh air of the outside, listening to the screaming of sirens and journalists clamouring for quotes. He fell against the side of the building and put his head in his hands. Third one of his career. His clothes smelt like blood. His hands smelt like blood.
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“There was an active shooter at Letztelektion Secondary. Maybe still active.”
“Shit, how?”
“Just get there.”
The radio was barely audible over the siren singing and her own blood pumping in her ears. Detective Sauer was heading toward the school not as an officer, but as a parent. Out on a normal follow up call and then the radio came to life. Fuck fuck fuck. Please, please, please.
The police cordon was already up, special forces were stood around the building, a few with their rifles guiding kids out, searching them one by one at the entrance. Her mouth dried up. At least if they were calm the shooting was over. She ran over to one of the on scene officers.
“Is the shooter neautralised?”
“Yes, shot by the special forces while running out the back of the school.”
She wanted to thank God but she couldn’t yet. She eyed up the children, panic rising in her stomach.
“I need to go in.”
The officer nodded and waved her through.
The power had gone out in the school, probably to get the alarms to turn off. It was quiet, most of the children already evacuated. Sauer breathed through her mouth and stopped herself heaving. Mrs. Roth’s classroom. Mrs. Roth’s classroom. Mrs. Roth’s classroom. She jogged down the hallways glancing at all the classroom doors, shoes echoing off the tiles, click click click click click. The door was open, no, splinters of a door frame and a cheap lock on the ground. Broken. Oh fuck, oh God no. Mrs. Roth was lying on the floor at the front of the class, a red puddle behind her back and three red dots on her chest. She felt her breath catch and realised she was already crying. Stepping between the desks, slowly, painfully, torturing herself. Please, please, please. And she was there, her blonde hair wet and dyed crimson. She was on her knees and grabbing her cold hand, limply pressing it into hers, she felt her throat growing tighter and something animal coming out, but she heard no sound.
Harry pulled his jacket in as he walked up his drive. The wind was bitter as hell this time of year, and he shrugged off the idea of going hunting. All the birds and deer would be daft to go out in this weather, and so would he.
He sat down for breakfast with the letters he picked up, thumbing through the bills and spam. Not even fleeing to the wild countryside had managed to stop this shit getting through. He left them in a pile and opened the newspaper while he let his toast and tea get cold.
“Bloody hell.”
Front page, shooting at a German school. Twelve dead including the shooter. He shook his head and wondered why someone would do such a thing. He kept reading, no details of the gunman, except he was as student. What a waste, what a huge waste. So soon after the two shootings in the US earlier this year. Stories like this made him feel particularly wretched since he’d had children, but he couldn’t stop reading. Eventually the text ended and he moved onto another story, something about social media, so he skipped it, and read a particularly boring article about economic problems in Europe.
His son came downstairs, and Harry looked at the time. 10:30. Hell, when would he start acting like an adult?
“Morning Sam.”
He didn't say anything back, just grunted. A perpetual teenager, nearly twenty and still jobless, educationaless. Give him time, give him time, his ex-wife had always told him. Well, she didn’t have to live with him.
“Going to do some job hunting today?”
Harry knew he hated that question, not quite sure why he asked it again but feeling some parental duty to do so. Sam responded with a glare and took a bottle of orange juice upstairs. Yes, that was par for the course, standard procedure. Why hadn’t he had these problems with Jen, she’d grown up alright, moved to the city, managed to grab a solid job doing something techy. He didn’t much fancy spending his retirement babysitting, but it seemed more like that every day. Oh well, maybe we just needed to give him time. Yeah, sure thing, that was what the lazy shit needed. Time.
“Close the fucking door mom!”
That goddamn bitch, didn’t she respect his privacy at all? That was the third time she’d just burst in this week. Didn’t she understand knocking? Dumb bitch.
He shook his computer mouse and woke up the screen, jumping straight online. He stuck on some music and cracked open a warm beer sitting next to his bed. He perched on the end and started clicking around. Holy shit, a new shooting - US, wow, 36 dead and nearly a hundred injured. Hell.
Time to get to work, then. He clicked the link in his bookmark bar and logged in. His inbox was already full so he took a few minutes clicking mindlessly through the endless abuse and praise, news alerts, spam. He clicked off it and went to create a new post. Few things to update today, the tables needed another bump and a new stickied post needed to be put up. What a hassle, he’d only started this as a joke, something to do to kill time. Oh well, he supposed he needed something to do, the trailer was cramped and the site barely generated enough money for beer and pizza. Better this than being bored.
This didn’t feel as good as Jaewon had hoped. If anything he felt a little bit ill. He looked down at his hand and pulled off his gloves. They were shaking, hard. He reached up and pushed his fringe out of his eyes. When he pulled them back he saw they were smeared with red. It made him heave a little bit. No, this wasn’t fear, it couldn’t be, I’m brave, I’m brave. This is adrenaline, surely.
He looked down at the ground, a flower of blood sprayed out onto the floor and wall in front of him. That cunt wasn’t looking so pretty now. Still, he didn’t like how brutal it all looked. He pulled a plastic bag from under the teacher’s desk and draped it gently over her mutilated face. He nearly got up but realised her short dress had come down. He started sweating. Why not? He reached out to feel her breast, pulling it a little out the fabric to see it better. Still warm. His cock stirred a little bit. Ah, the good times we could have had.
He shook his head and stood up, now was not the time. Heading out to the door, he stretched his neck from side. Gotta warm up. He checked his gun, nearly out of bullets. Should have dumped less into her he guessed. Too late now, he supposed, it was time for his big show anyway.
Jaewon kicked through the front doors of the university and held his gun high, firing it into the air.
“Nop-eun jeomsu! Nop-eun jeomsu! Nop-eun jeomsu!”
He screamed until the police’s bullets tore through his lungs and brain, dropping him dead on the steps.
Frank sat at bar. It wasn’t even four in the afternoon yet and he was already buzzed. It had been a hard day, but maybe the easiest decision he’d ever made.
“You can’t do it, Frankie.”
“Sorry Don.”
He felt a little lighter for the first time in years. He hate to let down the guys but he had to look after himself, the sleepless nights were getting too much, and his work was suffering. Best to quit, do something else. Maybe private investigation work. Or he could train at the academy. Not right now though, right now he wanted to drink.
The last shooting set him over the edge. Couple of high school kids, boyfriend and girlfriend. Wasn’t even in his jurisdiction but the guys came to him for help after hearing about his work at the elementary school. Shitty stuff, fucked up. They’d been laughing the whole time, got it on the security tapes, which he sat through and watched the whole damned thing. Boyfriend had lived, girlfriend had shot herself first, and he chickened out. Cowards, both of them. They wanted his advice on questioning them.
It was too painful for him though, he wrote a small report on his advice, emailed it over, and spent the next two weeks unable to sleep for more than an hour or two a night. He still remembered some of the kids’ names, and they went through his head as he pictured the bodies. At the start of the third week, he walked into his bosses office and slapped his resignation on the desk. It was an easy choice. Harvey. Ellie. Leo. Bobby. Harper. Gracie. Miles. Hm, he was remembering less now. He ordered another drink hoping to forget the rest.
Obsessed wasn’t a word Harry liked to use, but he was probably obsessed. It started with that article on the German school shooting. Eventually curiosity got the better of him and he needed to know the name of the shooter. Then he needed to know what his family was like. Then his home life. School life. Love life.
First it started as professional insight. His psychiatry degree was now hanging uselessly on the wall, so why not put it to good use and try to find out what made this man, no, this child, work? Then he found himself gathering news articles online, putting them together in a spreadsheet. He had dreams of coming up with some great breakthrough, maybe a way to spot shooters before they did what they did. Pipe dreams of course, the last pipe dreams of an old man, so he let himself fantisize. Then why not help other people? Soon he’d bought a domain and set up a website, looking at shooting cases, gathering information on motives, details of the event - old ones, new ones. He started getting a little bit of traffic, people wanted more, old policemen, students researching, sometimes just morbidly curious people. So he did more. He even contacted police involved in the case to see if he could get some additional details, but he never made it very far. One call to an old US based detective seemed promising as he did consultancy work, but Harry was told he’d retired and couldn’t get any further. Oh well, no harm.
Hunting season had been a bust and he had crawled back to his office to work on the site like most mornings. Maybe look at re-formatting the layout to make it easier to search for information. He also had to start work on that Korean shooting, heavy stuff. It was still fresh but maybe he could scour social media to get some leads. He checked his email to see if any complaints or comments had come in, and to his surprise there was one new one, sent from someone calling themselves hanna66. The email’s subject was two words, “High Score”.
Detective Sauer was no longer human. Her daughter was dead. Her husband had left. She had no other children, no family she wanted to speak to, no pets. What she did have was rage, burning blinding rage somewhere deep inside her, wrapped in apathy. The rest of the world seemed pointless now, everyone walking around doing mundane bullshit like heading to work, or shopping, or going to eat out, or walking through the park. What was the point? None of this appealed to her now. She only had a single thing on her mind and that single thing was Elise. Elise at two years old, laughing at the crunchiness of the leaves in Autumn. Elise at six years old, screaming as her foot touched seaweed for the first time. Elise at ten years old sitting with her on a ferris wheel, cheering as she stuffed her face with candy. Elise at twelve years old crying because she’d gotten in trouble for kissing a boy. Elise at fourteen years old lying dead with a hole in her head, her pretty hair stained.
She let the image sit in her head and turn her stomach. Trying to ignore it, sleep it away, shake it off, nothing worked. It was burnt there forever. She instead had a little blog where she wrote about Elise’s life, what she dreamed she would do, what she wished she could tell her, what she hoped she would be like today, how much she dearly, dearly, dearly missed her.
When she wasn’t writing, she read a lot about school shootings. She’d found a few websites and forums dedicated to them. Some she liked more than others. Some were crass and seemed to treat the events like pornography, making jokes or commenting gleefully how terrible it was. Some were professional, like a little site which analysed the shootings after they happened. She often read the entry on Hans Richter. The little bastard who’d taken her beautiful little girl away from her. She would read it until she was shaking and crying from the anger. Bullied at home. Alcoholic father. Nothing that gave him the right to do what he did, not that anything could justify it. She would stare at the screen and wonder why why why.
“You’ve got to stop torturing yourself like this.” Her husband would say.
“You don’t understand! I have to know why!” She would cry back.
“Why do you have to know?”
“I have to. I have to do it for Elise. You don’t get it. You don’t care”
“Hey, she was my fucking daughter too!”
“Then fucking act like it!”
Sauer was feeling particularly down. It was one of those grey days that dragged on endlessly, so she booted up her computer to do a little blogging, get out her thoughts and feelings. Oh, what’s this? The blog was gone. Damn internet, oh no, oh fuck. She wasn’t good with computers. Where was it? She clicked around a bit. Nothing. Damn, damn, damn this machine. She looked through her drawers, the address was written down somewhere. She pulled them out one by one, digging through them fast, scattering papers everywhere. She clicked around more on the screen but still couldn’t find it. Fuck fuck fuck. Not like this, I can’t lose my Elise again. No, no, calm now. She figured she could search for it. She searched for Elise. 25 million results. Okay, okay. Hans Richter. Still millions of results, mostly news articles. Elise Sauer. Fewer news articles now, and then her blog halfway down the page. Thank God, she sighed and went to click on it. Just under the link was another one, HIGH SCORE - HANS RICHTER - VICTIMS. What was this? She hadn’t seen that before, and she clicked, almost by impulse.
A list, a list of names. Eleven names. Eleven names with pictures next to them. There, near the top of the list, her little girl, Elise, name and photo, and a comment by the side.
This tasty little blonde bitch thought she could outrun ‘LITTLE DICH’ RICHTER but he managed to gun the cunt down. She’ll be sucking cock in the afterlife now.
No, no, no no no. Sauer was wailing, pushing her chair back as if to put as much physical distance between her and the screen as she could. Why? Who would do this? Who would say that? She turned her face away, tears rolling down her face, mercifully blurring her eyes.
She was in the kitchen for hours, pacing, sometimes crying, sometimes cursing. She could see the website was still open on her computer in the living room, but didn’t dare look further. What could she do? Send a message to the website to get it taken down? Call the police? Smash her PC? All of the above? After several drinks she was calm enough to consider going back and closing the website, but first she had to let them know how disgusting they were. They had to know how she felt.
She tried to ignore what it said about Elise, and tried to find an email address so she could send them a plea to take it down. She couldn’t find one. The more time she spent on here the worse she felt, angrier and angrier. Her teeth were grinding, now more in frustration at this damned website. She hit return at the top of the page. It was a full page on Hans Richter. She hadn’t seen it before, odd. She scrolled down a little bit, a full picture of Richter sat alongside a Bio section. She read it before she even realised she was doing it.
HANS ‘LITTLE DICH’ RICHTER tried out for the high score at his secondary school in Germany. DEAREST HANSY had a perfect opportunity to take the top spot, low security, packed classrooms, and his daddy’s illegal rifle. But ‘HANS ON DICH’ fucked it up like the virgin faggot his was, killing himself after only taking the lives of eleven cunts and sluts, not even touching the top twenty scoreboard. DICKTER blew his load early like the pussy he was, and even in death he disappoints.
She couldn’t look any longer. Who was saying this? Who would be so cruel and heartless? She copied down the url on a little piece of paper and then wrote it out in an email to some of her former police colleagues. “Investigate this. This is sick.” She wrote. She went to turn off the computer, but stoppeed just before pressing the button. She needed to tell her husband, surely? If not him, then who? She needed to tell someone, she needed someone to tell her how fucked this was, someone had to make sense of it. She sucked on her thumbnail. Well, maybe someone could? She had no idea why the name came to mind but it made sense. She went back onto her browser and found that psychiatrist’s website. She took down the email and sent a link to him as well.
High Score was a goldmine. Seriously fucked up, but Christ did it ever provide an insight. Harry had spent several hours already going through the threads. It was pretty simple, there was a top ten board on the front page that showed the most kills by shooter. The site seemed to make fun of everyone, shooters, police, victims, in a grotesque way. Everyone was a target and deserved it. Slurs all over the place. Each shooter had a profile, filled with information. Harry searched for the Korean shooter's name.
GUK JEAWON.
He clicked.
GUK ‘THE GOOK’ JAEWON only saw one thing with his slanty little eyes - revenge. ‘GUK THE CUCK’ was tired of his big dicked classmates getting all the primo-puss around his university so…
Harry stopped reading. What the fuck was wrong with these people? He scrolled down a little, there were sections on the victims, all thirty of them, all still as crude. A little lower was a video of him screaming and being shot by the police. Harry hadn’t seen that before and reminded himself to look a little later to see what insight it might give him.
A little further down was a section called ‘POSTS’. It was a screenshot of a comment posted on the forum side of the site. Whoever posted it said it was Jaewon’s post, claiming he was going for the high score and posting details of time and location. Below it were comments spurring him on or calling him out as a fake. The details did line up, Harry thought, but maybe that was a coincidence, or maybe to give the site some sort of fucked-up credibility.
He saved the page in his bookmarks, making a note to come back for his research, and decided to check out the forum side of site, see if it really could give a better insight into the minds of these twisted people. Clicking around, all the posts were similar to the ones Jaewon put up.
I’m going to do it - stay away from Ringfield High tomorrow. Check the news
With replies telling the guy to kill himself, or urging him to do it and take as many “cunts” or “sluts” with him as possible. Harry looked up the post date, but it didn’t correspond with any shooting in any high school, nor any school with the name Ringfield. Hmm, maybe it was just all bravado. He clicked through a few more postings, more of the same, warnings of an imminent mass shooting, cries to do it now and kill as many as possible, fantasists writing out mastabatory material on how they would kill their parents and bullies and religious figures and classmates. Maybe this was all just some sort of sick roleplay on a shock site? Why anybody would spend their time making fun of murder victims was beyond Harry, but he supposed there were darker corners of the internet with even darker people populating them.
A post caught his eye while scrolling.
watch the news, scotland cairnraggen primary. Going for the high score Got a rifle and ready to kill cunts before they grow up to be bigger cunts lol
Cairnraggen?
No, but that was... Odd. He looked at the post time.
An hour ago.
A fear came over Harry, something primal screeching from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, almost a seizure, a pure shot of adrenaline and cortisol hammering its way through his arteries, veins chilled to a stop by ice. A premonition, a psychic force, a raw spike of information into the mind that something is wrong and that you are missing that something. A slow burning fear, the sharp spike of embers. The view of disaster from afar, neck leaning like rubber sideways to see the car accident, the what if, the why them, the fear that something terrible is happening and you’re somehow connected. A single turn of the cog.
Click.
He looked up at the clock. 11:36.
Click.
He hadn’t seen Sam yet this morning, he wondered...
Click.
Harry was on his feet and dizzy.
“Sam! Sam!” He shouted, stumbling through the hallway to the stairs.
“Sam!” He shouted again up the stairs,
“You up? Sam?”
Nothing, absolute silence.
Something in his mind was blocking the full picture from being seen, a sort of daze in front of his vision as he took each step as fast as he could, which under his weak knees felt like hours. He burst through Sam’s bedroom door into darkness. The bed was crumpled up and the curtains were still drawn. Nobody inside. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Harry grabbed at his hair and nervously chewed his lip. His head was clouded with pure adrenaline, fear, the urge to run away, to do something, anything, but he froze.
Harry noticed the blinking light on Sam’s computer, and was drawn to it like an insect, letting the electricity pull him in. He shook the mouse and the screen lit up. The website was still up, and the words on the screen were damning.
Posted by YOU
Harry nearly threw himself down the stairs grabbing his phone and coat, tripping out the front door as he pulled it over his shoulder. Three steps out he had already called 999. Before a voice picked up he froze. Someone was speaking on the other side of the phone, but he wasn’t listening. Coming up through the valley, through the woods and the icy fog, echoing up the road, was the sound of a million sirens crying, and the faint smell of rust.
END
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ophelia watches “party crasher”
i don’t understand why it can’t always be like this: plot!! story!! characters being humans!!! yay!!!! the first three minutes is already amazing and better than most recent episodes in my opinion.
he HARVESTS the butterflies? I mean it makes sense... i really wihs to know more about all the lore
“neautraliser” jeez Nino a lil intense
lol “the chance that they’ll be disappointed is a 100 percent” in this house we love max stating facts
THE PIANO COMES FROM THE FLOOR WHAT THE FUCK
“un pote” is basically a bro, a dude. so basically adrien sees mari as one of the guys which is i think worse than being seen as just a friend imo BUT WHATEVER I GUESS
I like how they make Nino use a different language register. He’s a cool guy that wouldn’t use the normal/elite lingo. it’s familial.
ivan hugging his friends as if he hadn’t seen them in ages is what i want to see on tv
THOMAS INSERTED HIMSELF AGAIN OH MY GOD
the crocodile jumping out of a helicopter is me trying to do hiphop.
master fu... took... the fucking miraculouses... into the house of the enemy.
honestly, mari dancing to 70′ music is me at party after 3 tequila suicides
scratch that the party crasher is me after 3 tequila shots
DID YOU SEE THAT SOFT LOOK ON ADRIEN’S FACE WHEN HE REALISED IT WAS MARINETTE. SHIPPERS, WE RIDE AT DAWN
OH MY GOD THEY FINALLY DID IT Y E S Ladybug finally got defeated first!!! thank god they changed the narrative for once
i’m confused. have we already seen Max and Luka with their powers? why are they so casual about it?
im wheezing kim was in the bathtub whilst all of this was going on
fuck yeah his transformation is awesome
overall a really great episode. this was the 14th episode to air but it was actually ep20, meaning that it is probably normal they all suddenly got the miraculouses?
#miraculous ladybug#ml spoilers#adrien agreste#marinette dupain-cheng#adrinette#ladybug#chat noir#party crasher#ml
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You know what the wildest experience I've ever had was?
At the beginning of the explanation it sounds really bad so I'm going to preface this by saying that I would literally count this experience among the best things that have ever happened in my life
Have you ever felt so so sad you couldn't really feel anything else, that nothing else was worth acknowledging? Have you ever felt pure sadness, and only sadness, for any period of time?
And when I say only sadness, I mean only sadness.
Pure. Sadness.
Or for that matter, have you experienced this with any other emotion?
Because the thing is, normally we don't experience pure emotion, it's pretty unusual. For example a positive experience like winning an award will probably be a mix of happiness and pride and determination to keep doing as well, perhaps embarrassment that people are looking at you when you receive the reward, relief that your hard work payed off, satisfaction because you did it....You get the gist. That's a lot of emotions. Not just one, pure emotion but a whole mixture. And this applies to pretty much all emotions, it's real rare you'll ever just get one, there's normally a whole load of associated emotions that come along with it.
But this one time, I experienced pure sadness. No worry, no fear or dread or self pity or frustration or anything else came along with it, just sadness
And it was amazing
I hesitate to call it a positive experience, because, you know, sadness isn't exactly a positive emotion, but if someone told me that if I paid them fifty bucks I could experience that again, I would not fucking hesitate, I would absolutely hand over the money that instant
It felt like flying and floating and being submerged and embraced deep into this pool of sadness, surrounded by it, soaring above it, and all this sadness was singing and ringing out and it was so pure and it was so so so beautiful I didn't have words, I don't have words to describe it, and it was glorious to have everything - every thought and reaction and movement- embraced in this, and it was surreal and made me feel like was drifting away and simultaneously feel more myself, more grounded than I had ever been in my life as it tapped into this deep well of emotion I'd never experienced or gone near or touched in my chest and oh, it was the greatest thing ever, but it was still sadness alright
It didn't come after a good day, bad things had happened and I'd thought of upsetting things that all made me feel sad, but it was so so sad, and so pure, that it didn't matter what sadness really meant, because in that moment it was good, it was wonderful
I didn't feel happiness. I appreciated the sadness, and I basked in it and was awed by how beautiful it was, how amazing, but I wasn't happy because that would being conflict into it, make it impure, and then I wouldn't be experiencing that deep emotion anymore, and I wanted to go on experiencing it, so I was not happy, but I was awed by it
I was crying, quite a lot, not sobbing or hyperventilating or anything, just crying without any signs of stopping. But I was also smiling quite wide, and although I don't know I think I probably looked a little bit blissed out, and my eyes were slightly unfocused because I was sending all my concentration inwards, until someone asked me a question and I made my eyes focus, though I kept smiling, tears kept falling.
I can't remember the exact conversation, but I believe the gist of it was that they asked if I was okay-
My voice was shaking and sounded really out of it when I answered, but I said something along the lines of "okay? Yes, yes, I am okay, I have never been more okay, I am..I am brilliant, I just"
- And they mentioned that I was crying or looked upset -
And I said "yes, that is because I am, I am so so so sad, that's why I'm crying,"
- And then, looking confused and rather uncomfortable, they paused before saying that, " but you're smiling? Why are you smiling?" -
And I choked a little on a half sob half laugh, a little incredulous of the question, because I had no words except "it's so, so..it's just so..it's beautiful, it's so beautiful it's so good, I.."
- And they said but something upset you? How can sadness be good? -
And I said "yeah, yeah, they did upset me, they did" and I mentioned a thing or two that made me sad an show those things had made me feel
- "but then why are you smiling?" -
"I just..I just, I can't...it's so beautiful, it's so pure, I can't..I can't explain, it just, isn't it amazing, I just,"
- And they looked rather confused, and annoyed, and concerned, and they left and I barely noticed because by god I was soaring and it was amazing
Eventually the sadness was invaded and neautralised by calmness, but I just stayed there and kept drifting until it slowly shifted into a mixture again, instead of a pure emotion, of calmness and calmed, muted sadness, and content, and self assured confidence, grounded belief, and I slowly stopped drifting and became more aware and could so things again, but that mixture stayed with me for a long time afterwards and it was amazing
And that's the wildest thing I've ever experienced in my life
#personal#pure emotion#purity#pure sadness#sad#blissed out#welps#I don't know how else to tag this#my own posts
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Roof Cleaning and Restoration
Home owners often overlook the impact a dirty, mossy roof can make to the appearance of their property. Our roof cleans include a full steam clean to remove any moss, dirt and grim followed then by a complete application of our ultra effective anti-fungal and anti-moss treatment. This neautralises stubborn lichen and microscopic moss spores for a long lasting clean.
Our Operatives are fully equiped to perform professional and ultra-effective roof cleans, all done without ever stepping on your roof. For safe access we have the option of our mobile cherry picker or scaffold tower. Our ‘No Boots On Roof Policy‘ is our promise to you that we’ll never step foot on your roof and will always start and finish the job only ever using our safe and mobile access equipment.
Residential Cleaning Tonbridge
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Site demand soars for Covid killing spray tunnels
A growing number of contractors are installing “personal protection tunnels” on sites which sanitise workers with a Covid-19 killing mist when they enter a job.
The rise in demand comes as contractors battle to keep sites infection free during the second wave of the pandemic.
Tunnels designed by personal protection firm Gateway in association with ppac19 have now been installed across the Battersea Power Station site by McAlpine while BAM, Wates and Morgan Sindall are also using them on jobs.
Site workers have their temperatures checked before being sprayed from head to foot with a cloud of non-toxic sanitiser which neautralises the virus on clothes or exposed skin.
A Battersea source said: “The temperature and spray units have been hugely successful and well received.
“We have several thousand workers go through them every day.”
The units costs from around £12,000 and are also being used in other sectors like care homes and football clubs.
Gateway spokesman Grant Taylor said: “A growing number of contractors are looking at personal protective tunnels to help keep their site workers safe.
“The cost of closing down sites due to infection can be huge so minimising the risks like this is a sound investment.”
from https://www.constructionenquirer.com/2021/01/25/site-demand-soars-for-covid-killing-spray-tunnels/
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Site demand soars for Covid killing spray tunnels
A growing number of contractors are installing “personal protection tunnels” on sites which sanitise workers with a Covid-19 killing mist when they enter a job.
The rise in demand comes as contractors battle to keep sites infection free during the second wave of the pandemic.
Tunnels designed by personal protection firm Gateway in association with ppac19 have now been installed across the Battersea Power Station site by McAlpine while BAM, Wates and Morgan Sindall are also using them on jobs.
Site workers have their temperatures checked before being sprayed from head to foot with a cloud of non-toxic sanitiser which neautralises the virus on clothes or exposed skin.
A Battersea source said: “The temperature and spray units have been hugely successful and well received.
“We have several thousand workers go through them every day.”
The units costs from around £12,000 and are also being used in other sectors like care homes and football clubs.
Gateway spokesman Grant Taylor said: “A growing number of contractors are looking at personal protective tunnels to help keep their site workers safe.
“The cost of closing down sites due to infection can be huge so minimising the risks like this is a sound investment.”
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i had three dream last night
i had a dream when we were studying about G2 dan. me and futurepirate (my AJ buddy) were discovering dan's backstory and how he became a brawler.
then, i had a dream of bakugan gen 3 S2 trailer and it had a crossover with beyblade x. in the trailer, i saw bladers lining up to get their beys neautralised by chip (and destroyed by takumi). then, the words say "can dan and bird robin... team up together?" and then dan and bird worked together to become stronger. the trailer also featured a legends festival that any brawler or blader can join but they must be a legend.
finally, my den was full of bakugans and i decided to collect them. then, someone told me the "blitz fox glitch" and the glitch involved moving a table around and the table made a sound of bakugans rolling inside the table and there were no bakugans so i popped the table and then, a blitz fox and a darkus titanium trox recolor fell out and i kept those two in my collection.
#bakugan#bakugan battle planet#bakugan 2023#bakugan gen 3#bakugan revolution#beyblade#beyblade x#bakugan gen 3 x beyblade x#dan kuso#dan kouzo#bird kazami#three dreams i had#dream
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Gut Health Tips: Add This To Set Your Curd To Get Rid Of Constipation, Inflammation And More- Expert Reveals - NDTV
Gut Health Tips: Add This To Set Your Curd To Get Rid Of Constipation, Inflammation And More- Expert Reveals – NDTV
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Setting curd with raisins can neautralise bad bacteria in the gut
Highlights
Curd is known to be a good source of probiotics
It can help in improving gut health
Raisins contain soluble fibre which act as a prebiotic
How is it that you set your curd? Is it with some buttermilk or some curd itself? Ever thought of setting your curd with a few raisins? Well, you must, recommends…
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Barbie Launch 'Gender-Neutral' Dolls
Observation: Mattel unveiled a line of "gender-inclusive" dolls in a bid to respond to youth seeking toys not "dictated by gender norms".The new line dubbed "Creatable World" includes six dolls in a range of skin colors, with options to customize with short or long hair and a variety of shoe and clothing options. "Toys are a reflection of culture and as the world continues to celebrate the positive impact of inclusivity, we felt it was time to create a doll line free of labels,"
The research and design process took Mattel 18 months, working with gender identity experts, doctors and 250 families in the US with children of a range of gender identities.
The range launches with a campaign and the strapline “All welcome”, and features kids of a range of genders playing with dolls that resemble them.
The Why: Popular culture continues to break down gender stereotyping.
Children’s toys (specifically Barbie) have for decades been at the center of debate on the theoretical affects of gender stereotyping of kids. This is a smart move by Matell to move from being a point of concern, to a shining light (whilst still being able to sell their stereotypical and more successful versions).
Future: New Norms continue to transform the traditional. Expect to see more toys and stereotypical gendered ‘things’ be neautralised.
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Dare not try and come anywhere near LoC: Indian Army to Pakistan
SRINAGAR: Lieutenant General Ranbir Singh, General Officer Commanding-in-Chief, Northern Command of the Indian Army on Monday lauded the air strike carried out by the Indian Army Force on a terrorist camp in Pakistan's Balakot earlier this year and told Pakistan to dare not try and come anywhere near the Line of Control (LoC) to carry out any actions.
"The action by the Indian Air Force on the February 26 for carrying out air strikes on Balakot terrorist infrastructure was indeed laudable. It was a major achievement wherein our aircraft went deep into enemy territory and struck terror launchpads. Pakistanis carried out their air operations very close to the Line of Control on the following day. However they were given a befitting reply," Lieutenant General Singh told media here.
"They dare not try and come anywhere across the Line of Control to carry out any kind of actions. Our deterrence, articulation of our military strategy has been absolutely clear. Should there be any misadventure by the Pakistan armed forces, they shall always be given a befitting reply. I wish to assure you, the Indian armed forces have the capability, the resolve and operational plans absolutely geared up to take on any challenge from Pakistan whenever it arises," he added.
He further informed that Pakistan has continued its "anti-India" activities.
"The security situation in Jammu and Kashmir is under control. As far as we are concerned, we have a line of actual control with China where we have been able to ensure peace and tranquility... As regards the Line of Control with Pakistan is concerned, Pakistan has continued with its activities, which are mainly anti-India. Whether it is promoting cross border infiltration, ceasefire violations, drug trafficking, narcotics, circulation of fake Indian currency," he said.
"All their actions are actually working towards ensuring that the proxy war by them against India is continuing. But, I must assure you that our efforts to thwart each of these actions by them are in place and Pakistan is not able to succeed in their designs," he added.
As far as the hinterland is concerned, Lieutenant General Singh stated that security forces and the administration in the state should be credited for the "peaceful, fair and free (Lok Sabha) elections" held recently.
"There weren't any cases of major violence during this period. While we have been able to ensure peaceful elections, we have continued with our effort towards neutralization of terrorists based on very hard specific intelligence that led to surgical operations. This year, we have been able to neutralize 86 terrorists so far and our operations for neautralising more of them continue in the same manner. There are nearly 20 of them we have been able to apprehend... A large number of youth have been able to come back and join the national mainstream," he said.
Further attacking Pakistan, he said that terrorist infrastructure continue to remain "intact in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK) and also in Pakistan.
Read the full article
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Subcultures in a paragraph
Subcultures are a response to a system people dislike ' a metaphor for potential anarchy out there' and a new semantic mechanism which causes a disruption in 'the system of representation'. subculture offers information which isn't validated by society. A group within a subculture offers a threat to the majority, an instinctual reaction to label them 'freaks'. The moment subcultures are considered 'in the family' they lose their power. Once the subculture is marketable it becomes a leasure activity, acceptable to wear out but not to work. This makes it difficult to determine the true members of the subculture from those adopting the style. Subcultures help the market by creating 'new industries or rejuvenating old ones'. To neautralise the threat subculture is normalised or made fun of as a spectacle.
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