#NY DEATH METAL

[slashdementia7734]

FUCKIN' IMMO.

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

Type O Negative - I Don't Wanna Be Me

[traintrainingmontage]

CW: Engine Death, Mourning

I know that people have written about this before, but...

Could you imagine being Duke, and being found by the Thin Clergyman, and then having this whole book written about your past, including your colleague Stanley/Smudger, and coming to the horrifying realization that, after asking about his fate, nobody knew the answer? And after people on the Skarloey Railway get to digging (because this is a railway that would NEVER let the abandonment of an engine stand), they find out that he's likely STILL down in the mine at Cas-ny-Hawin, never rescued the way Duke was.

It's absolutely gut-wrenching because as they go through the records, it's written that after he broke down in late 1946, the flooding was what caused the mine to close in 1947, and in the records, he's blamed for everything. Every misfortune, laid at Stanley's (tragically metaphorical) wheels. Duke is understandably betrayed and upset, and when Sir Handel Brown hears, he decides he's going to do something about it.

A team is assembled. Fortunately, unlike with how Duke was found, they actually know where he's likely to be, and the excavation begins. The Fat Controller gives his blessing, allowing the use of some of the engines on the Little Western to help the teams out. The Thin Controller and the Foreman personally go down there several times themselves, knowing how worried their beloved engines are.

They finally find him, and... well. Perhaps mercifully, he's gone. Likely died some time ago, from the look of it, although his passing wasn't peaceful. The metal of his body is incredibly rusty, sharp and jagged like claws. With cranes and carts they bring out his remains, into the sun. They then cover him with a tarp, and with all the formality and sobriety of a funeral procession, bring him back to the Skarloey Railway.

Once Stanley is taken from the flatbed and a mournful Douglas has departed, there's a sharp intake of breath from Duke, who had insisted on waiting for news (who insisted on waiting whenever he possibly could, every time the team set out, and if not him, Sir Handel or Peter Sam), tears in his eyes as he finally sees what had become of Stanley.

Finally, the Thin Controller asks Duke what he wants to do. Duke is utterly nonplussed by this; what is being asked, here? And the Thin Controller elaborates: he meant the most to you, Duke, so what should we do with him? It's a bit unorthodox, but they could bury him properly, and return him to the earth. They could clean him up (or not) and preserve him. They could scrap him. But in this, the choice is up to Duke, the only form of apology they can think of, even though it's hardly their fault.

Duke swallows, and then rolls forward, as if taking a closer look. "Do you..." he begins slowly, then lets it go, as if afraid to speak. His eyes meet those of the Thin Controller, and they're not like the manager of the Mid-Sodor's eyes. They see Duke as Duke, the railway's newest friend and colleague, not as their grunt. The difference is astounding.

"Do you... think that any bit of him is still usable?" he asks solemnly, and the Thin Controller hums and looks over to the Foreman. Mr. Hugh runs his eyes over Stanley's frame, his gaze aloof and professional, and nods.

"Yes, I think so."

"Then..." Duke almost mumbles, but forces himself to speak up. "Please... could you... find a use for him? If you melt him down, could you... turn him into something really useful? He deserves that much, especially after never truly getting the chance."

The Foreman is quiet for a moment before he smiles and nods at the old engine. "Yes. I promise you, Duke---Stanley here will have a new lease on life, or at least as much as I can give him."

"Thank you, Sir," Duke replies tiredly, and backs up, not saying another word as Stanley's remains are hauled onto another flatbed and taken to the back of Crovan's Gate.

--------

As soon as Duke lays eyes on the railway's newest engine, Ivo Hugh, he wills himself not to sob. He'd asked about Stanley's remains before, over the years, and only in the past couple of years was he told that the Hughs and the other engineers at Crovan's Gate were planning to use him for something that they were working on in their spare time. Part of him thinks this can't possibly be what they'd used Stanley for, but a warm-hearted glance from David Hugh, who has taken up his father's mantle, makes his breath catch in his pipes.

Stanley has been reborn, in a form more glorious and wonderful than ever, and now he'll truly have a chance at being a really useful engine.

Despite his best efforts, tears start falling down Duke's face. As he struggles to hide them, David Hugh quietly walks over. "Pop and I worked pretty hard on 'em," the Foreman says conversationally, almost casually. "Fred was our first success, so we decided it was about time to make good on that promise."

Duke gives him a watery smile, not trusting himself to speak, but the Foreman understands, and gives him a wide smile in return. "You're family, and we do right by family. Show 'im the ropes, Duke," he grins, giving the old engine a familiar pat before walking away.

Duke takes a deep breath, and rolls forward, meeting the sparkling, curious gaze of the new engine with that of his own. Unbeknownst even to himself, a smile stretches its way across his face--one of relief, and one of regrets no longer lingering.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, young engine. You may call me Duke."

[muddyorbsblr]

to save her pt1

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration requested by: @my-gf-loki

Summary: When Loki loses a wager against Thor, he has to spend a few hours on Midgard and play by his brother's rules. When he meets you, he suddenly no longer felt too sour about losing.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings [spoilers]: major character death

Things to be aware of: Story takes place in 1990s

"Hogun has developed more various techniques in combat, I am positive he will prevail in this little showcase," Thor declared proudly as he watched his warrior friends engaging in a friendly match for the sake of their training. 

Loki simply tutted at his brother in response, confident in his prediction of the outcome was quite different from the god of thunder's. "Fandral's height and arm reach will grant him the advantage he requires to best Hogun in this match, Brother." 

"So smug once again, little Brother," the blond god chuckled. "How about we make this more interesting with a wager?" 

"I'm in," the god of mischief responded with a taunting tone. "When I win you must spend the remainder of the day as a goose. Only when you retreat to your chambers to sleep for the night will you return to your regular form." 

Thor merely laughed heartily at the wager, seemingly self-assured that he would not be partaking in any shapeshifting this fine day. "And when I win, Brother, you will spend until nightfall within Midgard, walking amongst the mortals wearing their tourist apparel." 

"Enjoy your time waddling and honking."

"Enjoy your afternoon in Midgard." 

The brothers waited with bated breath as the two warriors had exchanged blows, evenly matched with Fandral's agility and Hogun's speed. After a few minutes of metal clanging and lighthearted battle cries, a strangled sound of disbelief echoed across the training field as Hogun stood above Fandral victorious. 

"It seems we are off to the Bifrost, Brother. Remember, you must stay  until nightfall, and you must walk among the mortals. No scurrying into your libraries and book shops idling the time away. People should see you. I will have Heimdall presiding over this to ensure that you will abide by these rules." 

Thor had decided that he would choose where within Midgard Loki would be sent off to, which was how the raven-haired god found himself walking the streets of New York City, perusing the stalls to find a merchant that offered tourist's apparel.

Equipped with some Midgardian currency acceptable in this country, he approached the first merchant he found, grumbling his intent to buy one shirt that ostentatiously stated that the wearer "hearts NY", handing over the amount required to purchase the inferior garment. 

"You don't look too happy with your purchase there, buddy," a voice spoke up from somewhere beside him. He looked over to see the one who belonged to that all too casual sounding voice that seemed as if there was sympathy behind her sentiment, but also just the slightest touch of mockery. A combination that he prided himself that only he excelled in; for that reason alone, he wanted to see this person face to face.

When he saw you, he needed to take a moment to compose himself. Truthfully whenever he visited Midgard he never once took the time to properly look at the people walking around him, refusing to take in their features, let alone pay attention to how engrossed they were in such mundanities of their day to day lives.

But one look at you, with your inquisitive doe-like eyes, your hair neatly falling to the middle of your back with half of it pulled back into a nondescript hair tie, eyebrow raised in a clear expression of amusement, and the god who usually had so many words he could tire out any partner in conversation…was at a loss for them. With your elegant features and your almost aristocratic posture, you seemed just as out of place as the Asgardian in this garment store.

"I lost a wager to my brother," he mumbled in explanation, bringing you to begin melodically chuckling in response. "I am to walk these streets adorning this garish garment until nightfall. Apparently a representative of his will be overseeing my activities to ensure that I will be playing by his rules." 

"Yikes. Sorry, buddy. Sounds like that sucks a fat one. You have my deepest sympathies." While your words sounded sincere, the smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth remained, compelling Loki to smile at the sight of you despite his efforts to remain stoic…or even surly at the predicament he was about to find himself in. 

"And what of you, milady? What brings you to this establishment of kitschy garments?" 

"Milady?" you questioned in awe.  "I have never met anyone who actually used that unless they were playing a bit. You're not an actor, are you? Going a little too method into your role there?" He furrowed his eyebrows at you, shaking his head in response. "Huh. Maybe I just haven't met too many people across the pond then. Gotta change that one of these days…" you trailed off before lightly hitting your head with the bottom of your palm. "Oh, right. What brings me here. Well my aunt and uncle are in town and I've been assigned with getting them some Big Apple souvenirs. So much fun…not." 

The god nearly felt the sharp pang of loss as you approached the merchant to purchase the garments you'd chosen for your relatives. He wasn't quite ready to conclude your conversation yet; your presence had not been as grating as that of the other people he'd encountered in this realm. He could stand to be around you a few more minutes. Hours even. He was even willing to explore the possibility of spending days around you, if you'd let him.

When you turned around to face him, he braced himself for the inevitable farewell. Never having even gotten your name. But then your next words had his heart beating a little harder in his chest. "So you have to walk around here for a few hours, huh?" He nodded mutely at your question. "Well then, I have a few hours to kill. Honestly just prolonging the inevitable inquisition from relatives that just revolve around why I gained weight or why I'm perpetually single, and I will gladly put that off until the second coming of Christ so…you want some company?" 

You were offering to accompany him? Willingly? What had he done today that had the Norns smiling down on him so? "I--I would love some company," he stammered, clearing his throat and trying to smoothen his suddenly rough voice. 

The smile that pulled at the corners of your mouth had affected him so strangely; he could swear that he could feel himself beginning to yearn. All he knew at that moment was that he wanted to see that smile again, that he wanted to give you reason after reason to smile in his presence. "Well, I always think that it's a terrible idea to be in the company of strangers, so let's fix that real quick, shall we?" You held your hand out to him. "I'm Y/N." 

He took your hand in his, but instead of shaking it, he turned it over in his grasp and bent down to press his lips to your knuckles. "Hello, Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Loki." 

You spent the next few hours walking down the length of Broadway, and the god found himself given the rare opportunity to talk to someone without being interrupted or being told to stop because he'd gone off on tangent after tangent. No. Instead, he'd found that at every detour his stories had taken, you'd listened and followed right along with him, asking questions that further proved to him that you were just as engaged in the exercise as he was. 

When he saw that the sun had nearly fully set and the city had begun to be shrouded by the night sky, a heavy weight had settled over his heart, the disappointment over his time with you coming to a close sinking in. It was clear from your expression that to some degree, you shared the same sentiment. "Looks like it's time to rejoin the land of the nosy relatives," you grumbled.

"Well that may very well just be the beautifully tragic thing about family and the double edged sword that is unconditional love." 

You shook your head at him in clear disagreement. "I don't believe that love should be unconditional. Gives people cute ideas. You tell them that you love them and that you'll be there for them no matter what and suddenly they find themselves testing the limits just to see if there really are none. Unconditional love means that someone can exploit and abuse that love, and at the end of the day you'll still be there, gluing the very same heart that they shattered back together to hand it back over to them. I refuse to ever let anyone have that power over me. Even family." 

Once again Loki found himself taken aback at your response, having him believe that you were far from Midgardian after all. These humans thrived on the idea of that type of love, wrote such poignant literature about it, some even died for it, and here you were refusing to succumb to the concept of it. Choosing to be rational instead. 

An approach that he agreed with, an outlook on the universe that he shared. 

Before he could process the words, they slipped out of his mouth. "I like you, Y/N." 

His outburst of sentiment had you breaking out into a beaming grin. "I like you, too, Loki." You briefly took his hand in yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go once more. "If ever you're in town again, look me up. My last name's Y/L/N. I work in the Oracle building in Manhattan. Near Central Park." 

And then, as if you hadn't blindsided him enough times today already, you did so one final time, as you stepped closer to him, stood on the tips of your toes, and lightly pressed your lips to his cheek. "Until next time," you whispered, before promptly turning around and walking away from him. 

Next time, he thought to himself, allowing a smile to ghost across his features.

When Thor was once again feeling confident about setting up a wager against his brother, this time over a duel between Volstagg and Hogun, Loki found himself looking for the less likely outcome and placing his confidence behind that. His intention was clear only to himself: He wished to lose so that he may have a reason to visit Midgard again. To see you again. 

"Next time" had finally come.

He held back a knowing smile as he watched Hogun win once again, ready to revisit Midgard again. Ready to look for you. Thor had decided that for this visit, he would need to sit in a coffee shop and fully engage in conversation with any mortal that approached him. There were to be no illusion casting to fool the mortal, no mentally disconnecting from the conversation. He was to be fully present. 

Not an hour later, Loki found himself in New York once again, observing the city dwellers how they proceeded to communicate with one another, and shortly after stepped into a phone booth to peruse the directory for one Y/N Y/L/N. It was just after the luncheon hour when he situated himself upon a seat in a cafe close to the structure displaying the name Oracle on its facade. 

He passed the time nursing a cup of coffee, watching the door as the humans filed in. Perhaps he'd missed his window? Had he taken too long searching for your building?

"Hey, stranger." His gaze snapped up at the sound of your voice, a smile finding its way to his face at the sight of you. "This is a nice surprise."

To say that he was elated at the turn of events, to have you be the first mortal that approached him, albeit he did have to mastermind this "chance encounter" in order to increase the chances of it being so, was an understatement. He invited you to join him for a coffee, which quickly turned into two and a shared slice of cake, as you talked about your duties and aspirations in life.

How despite what the realm thought about him he didn't wish to be King, but rather only to be given the opportunity to aid in the betterment of the Nine. To be seen as more than simply a troublemaker. He had more to offer than wiles and tricks; he could provide council, strategize, even fight with the best of them. If only he were to actually be given a chance to prove it.

Once again you listened intently, even held his hand through portions of his story, telling him how these people were fools who failed to see in knowing him for majority of his life what you'd seen within a few hours of being in his company. You told him how you could see that he was brilliant, that if you were in the place of these people who clearly desperately required council you'd seek out someone objectively intelligent, rather than just someone you were familiar with. 

"These people don't deserve you, Loki," you said softly, keeping your hand within his gentle grasp. "And you deserve so much better." 

At your words he found himself yearning for that better to perhaps be a life with you. It mattered not where it would be, whether it be Midgard or Asgard or anywhere in the Nine Realms. He knew it irrational to think such thoughts upon knowing you for barely a heartbeat in his extensive lifetime, but he so desperately longed for that life regardless. And even more desperately, he longed for you to want that life as well.

He looked to the sky to allow himself a brief interlude from your piercing gaze, dread setting in as he saw the sun beginning to set. "Darling, I have to apologize, it seems I've held you from your duties for an extended period. I would understand if you need to--"

"Don't worry about it," you dismissed his concerns so casually. "Nobody in that office notices a woman's presence until she makes a mistake." A rueful smirk colored your features as you finished your statement with, "And I haven't made any mistakes so far. So I'm blissfully invisible." 

He reached across the table to lightly hold your chin with his free hand. "You're far too beguiling to be invisible, dear Y/N." You let out a warm exhale against his thumb when he lightly ran it across your bottom lip. "A woman like yourself deserves to be seen." 

"Well maybe I should only be seen by the right people," you murmured in response, your gaze unwavering in its intensity as it locked onto the god's. "Are you only here again until nightfall?" 

He could feel the melancholia setting over your heads like a taunting shroud, a ticking clock waiting to chime and bring you both out of the little pocket of peace you'd found in this little cafe. "I'm afraid so, dear Y/N." He shifted his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb gently stroking along your cheekbone. The ache in his heart intensified as you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as if you were relishing this very moment the same as he was. "I wish to see you again. Soon," he uttered before he could hold back the words.

Your eyes opened and met his once more, shining with a fondness that threatened to steal the air from his lungs if he stared for too long. Which he was; he couldn't find it in himself to look away. "I would like that very much." You reached into your bag and handed him a large rectangular device. "If you find yourself with plans to visit again, call me before you do. It's the only number programmed on there anyway, and it's not like the company would miss one phone from stock. Call me, and I'll take the day off work." 

Your Highness, it is time. Your brother is anxiously awaiting your return, Heimdall's voice echoed in Loki's mind. It was as if you'd heard the voice as well because you stood up from your seat and walked over to his side of the table.

"Until next time, I suppose," you said softly, placing your hand on his shoulder and leaning in to press a kiss on his cheek. 

"Next time," he muttered, looking upon you with longing coating his every word as he watched you walk out of the establishment to return to your duties. He looked to the sky and addressed Heimdall. "Not a word to my brother about her." 

"Brother, I am convinced you are intentionally losing now. How have you wagered wrong thrice in a row? I believe you much more analytical than that," Thor goaded as Loki once again lost in wagering on the outcome of a sparring match between Volstagg and Fandral this time. 

"Perhaps you do not give yourself enough credit, Brother," the god of mischief remarked in an attempt to deflect his brother's train of thought. "It is pitiable that you would rather believe I was losing intentionally rather than that you were genuinely triumphant." 

"Say what you wish, Brother, but I know you better than you might think. Not only did you lose for the third time in our little wagers, but you seem…delighted  that you'd lost." He gasped in such an animated manner that Loki compared him to a child…perhaps a toddler, who'd been given a few too many sweets at the table. "You met someone on Midgard, didn't you?" 

The raven-haired god blanched at how quickly he'd come to the right thought. "I know not what you're talking about, Brother," he mumbled.

"Nonsense. Tell me about her." He glared at Thor. "Him?" More glaring. "Come on, Loki. At least tell me one thing about this Midgardian."

"There is no Midgardian," he lied through gritted teeth. His brother always somehow found a way to obtain the things he desired for himself; he couldn’t entirely blame it on Thor, for it was simply the way of nature. People liked his jovial disposition especially when put in stark contrast to Loki's. All he longed for was that he could prolong that inevitability and keep you for himself just a little while longer. 

"So you obtained that archaic-looking device from Midgard for what then? Sentimentality?" The sarcasm was dripping from the god of thunder's voice as Loki dialed the only number programmed in the device, laughing boisterously as he received an even more pointed glare from his brother. "Listen, Brother, don't tell me about this person if you wish. I can remain content in at least knowing you have someone who lights you up the way you are now." 

"Hello?" a voice spoke from the device. Your voice. "Loki? Is that you?" 

He quickly brought the device up to his ear, speaking into the bottom of it. "Y/N. Yes it's me. You said to call once I have plans of visiting again. I should be there within the next two hours. Is it too short of a notice for—"

"Not at all." He could nearly hear you smiling as you said the words. "I'll call in sick for work today and you'll call me when you get here?"

"That sounds excellent, darling." He turned his back to Thor so that he wouldn't see the smile growing on his face. "I look forward to spending the day—" A feeling of dread settled over him as he heard the sound of skidding tires and horns blaring over from your end of the call, first distant but quickly increasing in volume…and proximity. 

"Loki?" you said softly, the dread and confusion audible in your tone. The final words he heard from you before the sound of metal crunching like cheap aluminum came through to his end. Followed by the sound of your device hitting the ground. 

"Y/N?" he choked out. Part of him already knew you wouldn't answer, but he had to try regardless. "Darling?" His voice was barely audible. There was nothing but sirens and panicked voices that all melded together as he heard his pulse drumming violently in his ears. 

All he knew as he felt Thor's hand clap over his shoulder, the device dropping from his hand just as his knees hit the hard floor of his chambers, was that his world had shattered around him. 

A/N: Ngl writing the last bit broke me a little because the precious bb was so happy he was gonna see her again and then…🥲😭

Everything taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @my-gf-loki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston @ladyjames78 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @kats72 @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot @creationsbyme @coldnique

[vodkaandsnakes]

On this day, July 18, in Type O Negative history:

Type O Negative play the New Titans on the Block Tour with Sepultura, Sacred Reich, Biohazard, Leeway, White Zombie, and Napalm Death at The Ritz in New York, NY. The Drab Four fill in for Sick Of It All, who are not able to perform on this particular date of the tour. Although not as well-known as the rival Clash of the Titans Tour, the New Titans Tour helps gain important exposure for the next branch of the flourishing heavy metal family tree (1991)

Type O Negative play the Jones Beach Amphitheater with Queensryche in Wantagh, NY (1995)

Type O Negative play the Forestglade Festival in Wiesen, Austria (1997) {The hills are alive with the sound of ...ecstatic screams..?}

If today is your birthday, you share your special day with former Type O Negative percussionist Sal Abruscato! Happy Birthday to you and to Sal!

[metalhead-brainrot]

Radio Brainrot - 2024.10.30

ambient dungeon synth || 2024 || Serpent's Sword Records

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desert rock || 2024 || Heavy Psych Sounds

o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::> o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::> o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::>

death metal, hardcore || NY || 2024 || Redefining Darkness Records

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[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Ulna

Adam Schubert is a veteran of Chicago’s lo-fi, psych rock scene, as part of Café Racer, Ruins (not the Japanese noise outfit) and now the solo project Ulna. Jennifer Kelly called Gazebo, his second record under that name, “slack and wistful and beautiful, a lo-fi concoction of idle strums and slurry poetry.” Here he lists some of the songs that made him.

Broadcast — “Tender Buttons”

The Velvet Underground inspired guitar and the haunted vocals of Trish Keenan have always made this song a favorite of mine. Broadcast’s music consistently inspires me, especially the drone/noise elements of their arrangements.

Glyders — “Geneva Strangemod”

One of the best rock and roll bands I have ever heard. Perfect tones, perfect drums, perfect guitar and bass lines. Genuinely encapsulates 1960s rock with touches of modernity. For fans of pure rock bliss.

Sharp Pins — “Every Time I Hear”

Guitarist from Lifeguards side project is well tuned, Guided by Voices-inspired pop rock. Great arrangements and catchy hooks blend with the tasteful lo-fi production of this amazing band.

Don Caballero — “Let’s Face It Pal, You Didn’t Need That Eye Surgery”

The way Ian Williams played guitar in this band changed my life. I never heard anyone create the sounds that I heard in my own head, and this band inspired me to loop guitar lines to create massive sounds. The ending of this song is very important to me.

Bnny — “Ambulance”

My sister Jessica always writes some of the best songs I’ve ever heard, but this song has been a favorite of mine since I first heard her play it. We recorded this at Jamdek in Chicago. I played bass while Jessica played guitar and sang. We had to do a few takes to get the right one, but the chorus made me cry every time we played it. Even after playing over and over again. The reference she makes to another song of hers in the chorus just proves to me that she is one of the best around.

The Velvet Underground — “Sister Ray”

One of my favorite songs of all time. Pretty much everything I could say about this song and this band has been said a million times over. Just a nasty, pure rock groove that goes on forever… like it should.

Sonic Youth — “Death Valley ’69 (Live)”

This version is my favorite of this no wave classic from the NY pioneers. Recorded at Smart Bar in Chicago in 1995. Original version features Lydia Lunch on vocals during the middle section of the song. Just raw power to jam out to.

Built to Spill — “Stab”

One of my favorite bands and one of my favorite songs by them. It’s like if Neil Young wrote an indie/emo song, I think, you’d get this. Goes from classic indie rock to metal seamlessly.

Modest Mouse — “Cowboy Dan”

This song has always had a special place in my heart. The aggression that leads to quiet reflection, then back again to aggression is a great way of showing how anger can lead to sadness… then back again and again.

Nirvana — “Milk It”

First band I got into without the help of my mom. I was obsessed with them at a time where dressing like a grunge rocker was lame and uncool. This song was a favorite of mine and, honestly, it still is. Because it was produced by Steve Albini, I ended up getting into his stuff which led the way to Touch and Go records. Proves how something obvious can lead to obscure sounds that can be very exciting.

[lpvncnt]

* ◟ : 〔 TAMINO , CIS-MALE + HE / HIM 〕 PHILIP GOFFIN-VINCENT , some say you’re a TWENTY-SEVEN YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both DOGGED and DEPRAVED, one can’t help but think of STRUGGLIN' by TRICKY, MARTINA TOPLEY-BIRD when you walk by. are you still a CLEANER, ACTIVE ASSASSIN at THE BORDERLINE HOTEL, RED EYE even with your reputation as THE GARGOYLE? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and STUPID SHOW-PONY HIGH ROLLER, PATIENT LIKE THE HYENA WAITS, GET IN YOUR CAR AND RUN ME OVER INSTEAD OF WAITING FOR OTHERS TO DO IT FOR YOU, YOU LAZY FOOL, although we can’t help but think of JONATHAN CRANE (DC COMICS) + ERIC DRAVEN (THE CROW) + JASON DEAN (HEATHERS) + ANTON CHIGURH (NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

FILE: LIP VINCENT

STATUS: ACTIVE. HEIGHT: 6'2". SEXUALITY: PANSEXUAL, AROMANTIC. DATE OF BIRTH: 12/25/1995 HOMETOWN: MALMEDY, BELGIUM. RESIDING: BROOKLYN, NY. ROOMMATE WITH [TBD WANTED CONNECTION].

Instead of the usual biography, I felt like the following poem captured the energy of the past a bit better than I could ever express:

INSOMNIAC

THE night is only a sort of carbon paper,

Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars

Letting in the light, peephole after peephole --

A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.

Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus

He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness

Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions.

Over and over the old, granular movie

Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days

Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams,

Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful,

A garden of buggy rose that made him cry.

His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks.

Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars.

He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue --

How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening!

Those sugary planets whose influence won for him

A life baptized in no-life for a while,

And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby.

Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods.

Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good.

His head is a little interior of grey mirrors.

Each gesture flees immediately down an alley

Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance

Drains like water out the hole at the far end.

He lives without privacy in a lidless room,

The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open

On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations.

Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats

Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments.

Already he can feel daylight, his white disease,

Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions.

The city is a map of cheerful twitters now,

And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank,

Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.

— Sylvia Plath

AESTHETICS

Repugnant amount of weed smoke filling a suspension-lacking 1966 Cadillac Coupe DeVille, that only a 100% masochist would drive in New York. You were not born to cry. Leopard print BB belts stacked on the waist. A soul, emptied. No pride, no pleasure, no desire. Life is just like a Wong Kar-Wai movie. You've got two fists comically full of metal, the weight shifts you off your feet when that punch is thrown, your poorly welded home-made 'rings' -- made from a chunk of all the old silver jewelry you've collected from the bodies over time, all these precious keepsakes melted onto a fork -- made to hurt -- should be illegal. Lots of little projects like that scatter what you call 'home'. An angel dies every time a shitty fuckboy like you flashes his mid-section in local Bodega for no reason. Recently adopted a Belgian Malinois, Osiris, who is still in training and needs a muzzle (an excuse for enabling bad behavior, could be symbolic). Egregiously loud mumble-rap. When stressed, likes watching ballroom dancing while chainsmoking cigarettes.

Hi, I'm Samuel, 24, PDT, a sweet little Californian baby boy who will do tricks for treats, gee whiz am I glad to be here. All of this is a bit vague but will be fleshed out with time -- if you've got any questions on specifics I'd be super happy to clarify. Huzzah !

[whickerfurniture]

If you had to, say, come up with adaptations of each of your characters where they're in their mid-to-late-twenties and living in or near an offbeat, woodsy little college town outside of Seattle with a bustling alternative art scene and a lot of options for them to live in anything from luxury homes to super affordable apartments, how would you picture each of them existing? Would Catherine still be in her parents' home, watching her siblings? Would Ruby settle down there for a live among more down-to-earth and eccentric party people instead of the LA elite, and would her family approve of her being stationed somewhere besides NY and LA? Would Serena have any interest in investigating the weird cult-like degenerate activity going on in the local underground metal scene? Would Constance have fled there from the rural south, or is her home just a drive away in rural Washington? 👀 Feel free to go on forever if you want to describe their living arrangements and if they grew up there or moved there or what their day-to-day lives are like or where they work and if they went to that nearby Arts/STEM hybrid university that's maybe named Mt. Rainier. :-)

This ended up longer than I anticipated. I'm not putting it under a read more >:-)

Ruby, after years of intensive therapy, finally realised that nothing good was coming from living so close to her family. It was dysfunctional at best, and toxic at worst, and the main thing was she didn’t even like them. There was nothing for her in LA, and she put some of her worst tendencies down to the crippling boredom and the easy access(they’re a coping mechanism, but she hasn’t done enough therapy or honest reflection to realise that). So, what dies she do? She calls up her old friend Max, wanting to know what she’s up to. Because Max can do no wrong, in Ruby’s eyes. When she mentions the town outside of Seattle, she’s convinced it will fix all her problems. Of course, in moving away, she found the one place where her mothers more out there movies were discussed. Even in death, she will never be able to escape Grace Kane’s presence. She still drinks, but not as heavily. Instead of getting black out drunk multiple times a week, she’s a low level of tipsy all the time. Ruby tells herself that it’s fine. She’s better than she was in her wild party days, so that means she can continue. She found a studio apartment, though, with big windows and a little balcony and she picks up a paint set and canvas one day, because she’s actually pretty good. And if she lives within walking distance of Max, one of the few people that she loves to the point of wanting to be better, well… That’s just a coincidence. She doesn’t work, because she doesn’t need to, but everything’s paid for. Her parents are just happy that she’s not being a public fuck up anymore.

Constance goes to college. She’s the first in her family to even apply, pushed by the guidance councillor who thinks it would be a good idea for her to get away from the small town, where she’ll always be known as the girl who came back. Her parents hate it, from the first minute she broaches the subject. They lost her once, and her moving to Seattle feels like they’re losing her again. It’s so far away, and she’s so… Delicate is the word they use. Weak is the word she hears. They’re scared college is going to change her into someone they don’t recognise, even further from the girl she’d once been. They insist she finds a church to attend while she’s there. She tried the closest baptist church, but it didn’t feel right, so she stopped, but didn’t tell them. The verses aren’t the same without the oppressive heat and the fear of God. She graduates, but her social work degree sits on a shelf, unused. She considers going back, but she thinks she’s just punishing herself. So, she stays. In her shit box apartment where the walls are paper thin and the hallway looks like something out of one of the horror movies her roommate made her watch. She prays, every night, holding the little gold cross in her palms so tight it makes indents in her skin. She prays for the nightmares to stop, for her life to feel like hers, for world peace. She prays to a God she’s not convinced of anymore. She works in a bookstore, stocking the shelves in the relative silence and reading when she’s done. She comes home smelling like ink and paper, arms aching. 

Catherine never gets away from her parents. She goes to Mt Rainier, studying marketing, but she’s expected home on time, to take Oscar and Kennedy to piano lessons and gymnastics and Tae Kwon Do, to cook dinner and help with homework. She’s expected to be there for recitals and competitions,  because she can’t rely on either of her parents to remember. So, she does. She lives in an apartment with two roommates, and makes the ninety minute drive multiple times a week, and it’s like she never left at all. Sometimes, she thinks her parents don’t even notice that she’s gone. Her roommates don’t either. No one really notices her anymore, as she floats from place to place. She wonders how long it would take for someone to realise she was missing. If she just… Kept driving. Would anyone file a report? Would they care enough? Or would they just go on and keep living, filling the gap she left. She thought about that more often than she really should. What was stopping her, really? She could leave. She was an adult, she could do whatever she wanted. She could tell her parents to go fuck themselves and actually take care of their children for once. She could miss a pick up, and go to the tennis courts instead. It had been far too long since she’d practiced something solely for herself. Her racket sits in the back of her closet, taunting her. And then, because she’s a glutton for pain, she does it. She does one thing for herself. She changes majors, effectively starting from scratch, even though it took her six years to almost complete her four year degree. It doesn’t feel like enough rebellion. She wants to scream.

Serena’s got a pretty cushy job at a small newspaper-slash-blog. Her dad knew a guy, and it was the best offer she was going to get with her mediocre grades, so she packed her bags and moved to Seattle to chase her dreams. He pays her rent in a little apartment, close to the office, and she brought her little car, and her life stays little. She found all the best coffee shops in the first week, and calls home every night. At first, she stays in her comfort zone, writing about things around her. The car crash down the street, the local University’s latest politically incorrect fuck up and their even worse attempt at trying to fix it. Then, one night, looking for something to do, she stumbles into a bar. It’s dark, and every surface is sticky, and she tries so, so hard to keep an open mind. The music, if you can even call it that, sounds like chaos, and anger, and other things she can’t quite explain. She tries to blend in with the walls, just to watch, because it’s fascinating. She watches in the same way she watches documentaries, the different cultures that seem so strange. She starts picking up on the subtle differences, the subcultures within the bar. People who don’t interact, who barely look at each other, and run in their own circles. The ones that clash, in words or actions, over the smallest slights. She itches to start taking notes, her thumbs flying over the screen of her phone as she desperately tries to remember it all, but eventually the heavy-pour drinks start to get to her. She strikes up a conversation with a guy sat next to her, all dark clothes and dark eyes and before she knows it, she’s pulling him back to her apartment, all thoughts of stories disappearing. He’s gone, in the morning, but she finds one of his rings in her sheets, the next time she crawls into bed. It’s a heavy thing, solid, and almost reminds her of a gargoyle. She opens the half written note. She’s writing because it’s interesting, she tells herself. Not because she wants to see him again.

BONUS:

Andrea is an outlier. She has been all her life. She’s closer to the cryptids she studies relentlessly than other human beings. She works in a coffee shop during the day, living in the shitty apartment above it, and every night she spends hours pouring over her research. She saves every dime to pay for her “research expeditions” where she travels across the country to some Bigfoot sighting, or haunted house, or site of some horrible disaster. She’s been to Silver Bridge, she’s been to Area 51, she’s hiked every forest with a Bigfoot sighting. She doesn’t really do anything else. Her blog has a moderate but fanatical following, half watching the madness for entertainment, half believers who feed into it. She runs purely off coffee and red bull and menthols and cheap food. She once sat for thirteen hours writing a blog post, not once moving from her desk. Her weird kid vibe has only gotten stronger as she’s grown, an uncanny valley of a human being who stares just a little too long without blinking. Her parents barely know her, choosing to put more energy into her more normal siblings. She returns for Thanksgiving, every year a little bit less Andrea.

So, in this, Serena’s the oldest in her late twenties. Catherine and Ruby both sit comfortably in 24-26. Constance would be the youngest at 23, a year out of college. Most of them stay pretty true to their vague character arcs, where Connie had always had doubts, Ruby was always going to try to get better, Serena was always going to realise she was sheltered, and Catherine was always meant to scream.

[slashdementia7734]

FUCKIN' SUFFO!

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

-

[bigg-city-riders-au]

Fatal Encounter

This is a crossover fic between my curse!au for tugs and the district!AU for Starlight Express. The reader can be bonded to any tug, or just a generic tug in general. You can find content on ny blog: @welcome-to-the-districts . Major TW for graphic violence, and death. This particular one shot is not for the faint of heart, as it is labelled mature for a reason. One-shot under the cut.

Summary: You have been sent out by Dusk to investigate the recent attacks on a ship, but something just isn’t adding up. Will you and the tug your bonded be able to figure it out? 

You, a Rider, have been sent out by none other than Dusk herself to scope out the area a good ways away from the port under the cover of darkness. Apparently, something has been attacking the ships. Dusk didn’t seem to concerned. However, the tug you are bonded to, who has insisted on being with you, wasn’t exactly sure about Dusk’s intentions. You have been trying to learn more about Dusk in general. So far, it isn’t exactly the best. She did the cast the curse and is responsible for so many deaths, yet she formed the Riders in an attempt to keep the curse in check. You’re not sure if she’s actually trying to make up for her mistake, or if she’s planning to use the Riders for her own ill will. It’s odd how she specifically chose you out of the other and more experienced Riders the moment the problem arose. However, oddly enough, the only attacks on the ships have been from the tugs themselves. Perhaps there’s a rogue tug on the lose? Regardless, you have to follow orders from the leader of the Riders.

The tug you are bonded to looks around and sniffs the air. They reach out to you through the bond. Their presence feeling like a warm comforting blanket around your mind.

I smell, see, nor feel nothing. Something isn’t right. I told you not to dig too deep. She’s not one to be trifled with and you know that. She’s dangerous and she knows it. She knows the power she holds and wields it like a weapon. Her name carries weight. One snap of her fingers and she could have Titan incinerate anyone within a split second if she wanted to. We have to be alert.. I have a bad feeling about this. They look down at you, baring a concerned expression on their face. You nod and make sure you check behind you and the tug you’re bonded to. Nothing.

You’re right. There have been no known reports yet.. unless, they went straight to Dusk instead of the media. Which wouldn’t surprise me. If a rogue tug is out and about then the Navy would have to go to the Riders. They know their weapons are pointless. Well, most of them. Missiles do damage.. but that’s besides the point. Yes, I might have dug a little too deep, but why would Dusk stab one of the Riders in the back? It’s her job to lead, to guide. I mean, sure, she’s done a lot of bad stuff, but she’s done a lot of good stuff too. If it weren’t for the curse being cast, you and I wouldn’t have been bonded. You look back at your tug. There’s a moment of silence, yet you can feel the tug’s unease.

That may be true, but she should’ve chosen someone more experienced than you and I to go out and do this. You barely even begun your training. She wouldn’t send you out here to investigate unless something is up. Something is wrong and I just know it. The tug replies. The tug goes silent as they look around. You sense an overwhelming wave of fear through the bond and you look out into the open ocean. The ocean is mostly still and quiet. The moonlight reflecting off it like a  massive moving mirror.

What is it? What do you sense? You ask as you draw your blade from it’s scabbard. The metal sparkles in the moonlight. 

There’s something beneath us. I felt a disturbance in the water. We are not alone. Be ready. The tug glances towards you as they pinpoint the general direction of where they last sensed it. There’s a few long agonizing minutes of silence and the tug you’re bonded to slowly relaxes.

False alarm. Must’ve been a large fish. The tug sighs in relief. It all happens. The coils of a gargantuan serpentine creature wraps around the tug and squeezes tightly. The coils are easily thicker than a redwood tree. There are purple stripes similar in appearance to lightning bolts running along the creatures spine, leading up to spined fins that are an absolutely stunning mix of blue, purple and black. Each fin has a series of white specks, as if they were stars in a stunning and colorful night sky. They glowed softly in the darkness. On the beast’s sides are large white glowing spots that run along it’s body. The purple underbelly of the beast seems to illuminate with a crackle of electricity. Electricity visible coursing up and down the beast’s long winding, and powerful body. You cannot see the head of the beast, giving you the horrifying realization that you’re only seeing a very small portion of the monster. Whatever this is massive. You and your tug don’t stand chance.

The tug you’re bonded to screeches in pain as the coils squeeze around them tightly. You had the right mind to wear rubber boots, or you would’ve been electrocuted as well, but that doesn’t spare you from the pain felt from the bond. You cry out as you feel the searing pain rip through your body as you shake uncontrollably. You feel as if your heart is about to burst from your chest from beating so rapidly and irregularly. You feel as if you can’t move, paralyzed by the feeling of the sheer agony your tug is feeling.

You feel the tug desperately reaching out to you. The coils become tighter and it’s almost impossible for the tug to breathe. You feel the burning sensation in your lungs, desperate for air, yet the immense pressure from the creature’s powerful coils are far too much for your tug to handle.

Run! Run! Go get help! Find a ship and get to safety. Demder Rocks are not too far away. Go find Lillie, anyone to help you! The tug cries out before they finally withdraw from the bond, freeing you from the immense pain you have been feeling for what felt like an eternity. You gasp for air and nearly collapse, reminding yourself you’d be electrocuted if you so as much as even let another part of your body touch the tug you’re bonded to. You look towards the water and a sinking realization hits you. The moment you hit the water, you will be electrocuted as well. You are trapped with this beast. 

You reach out to your tug, but just before you could make contact, you felt a sharp pain in your head and you’re forced back into your mind as the mental barriers are raised once more. Your gaze shifts to the coils as you holds your head. The crackling of electricity has stopped and the coils loosen slightly. You try to reach out again, only to be remain trapped within the confines of your mind. The bond has been broken. Realization turns to sorrow and rage as you realize what had just happened. Your tug was no match for the beast. Your tug was dead. You let out a scream of rage as the coils disappear beneath the surface. In a blind fit of rage you clench your blade in your fist, cast a spell that would create a bubble of air around your head and dive headfirst into the dark cold waters of the ocean. The spell allowed you to look around under the water. Your surroundings are pitch black. 

You see a bright light ahead of you and you have to shield your eyes to keep yourself from being blinded by the light. Your eyes grow wide with fear as you finally see the face of the monster. It’s head is similar to that of a great and wily serpent. It’s jaws agape, showing off rows of sharp teeth similar to that of an angler fish. The light you’re seeing is coming from a bulb attached the beast’s head. It’s deep blue eyes glow softly in the dark water as it examines you. It has six limbs in total and is a beast of gargantuan proportions. It easily dwarfs Hercules and Titan combined, far larger than any other sea serpent you’ve seen. It’s claws are a sapphire blue and the webbing between each finger is the same colors as the spined fins along it’s spine. It’s tail ends with numerous spines, no doubt a deadly weapon. It’s purple draconian ears pin back slightly at the sight of you before it almost smiles at you, clearly amused by your bravery. 

You realize your mistake far too late as the beast charges. It all happens so fast. A flash of sharp teeth and then darkness. 

…

Dusk watches from Demder Rocks as she smirks. She knew Abyss would pull through. Sending the one Rider and tug who were a little too close to finding out just who she was to investigate a reported series of attacks when there was never truly public reports made. She didn’t expect it to work, but at least she has rid the Riders and tugs alike of a would be traitor. She already knows what story she would tell them. Most likely strayed too far, as she knew they were both in experienced. She watches as Abyss’ massive coils wrap around his kill before dragging it deep beneath the waves where he can feed in peace. 

She shakes her head and looks off towards the distance, towards Sodor. The magic buffers are a gateway, allowing anyone from any dimension to enter. In this case, the universe where giant humanoid machines born with a taste for blood and far more animalistic urges than the tugs have been mingling here and it didn't take her long to figure out they could shapeshift into monstrous beasts. Abyss, was an electric engine, a prototype. She recalled meeting him and decided to strike up an alliance. He notifies her when he’s around and she will send out anyone that may be getting too close to finding out who she is and what she’s capable of out in the open ocean so he may be able to feast at his leisure. She’s merely holding up part of the deal, now it’s Abyss’ turn to hold up his, to get rid of the evidence, to feed. With that, she calls for Titan through the bond. She needs to get back to the headquarters before she’s missed. She can’t let anyone get wind of just how she truly is. At least.. not yet.

[revengeiscoming]

((this is the first fic ive written in 7 years. big thank you to @marsklok for helping me edit it because dyslexia makes writing hard!))

Magnus lay in bed staring at the ceiling. His thoughts always got the worst at night, especially when he was alone. There was no light in the room except a small amount of street light peaking in through broken blinds.

Axl had long gone to sleep, he usually went to sleep first. Magnus could never easily fall asleep. If he did manage to finally drift off, he was lucky if he slept two hours before waking up and having to battle his mind to go back to sleep. He tried to sleep when Axl did, he always does, but like most nights he just couldn’t. Usually, he gave up trying and just laid there alone with his thoughts.

Thoughts of all the wrong he’s done. Thoughts of all the people he’s hurt, melding together with all of the people who hurt him. It always starts with Dethklok, or at least the four members he knew from day one. They sit on both sides of the coin. Though at this point, he knows he’s the villain of that story. Then it goes to his parents. A complex topic for him. While there’s love for them there, or at least he thinks there is, there’s so much pain as well. Countless nights not knowing where his parents were, probably at a be-in or something like that. They didn’t even keep track of him when the brought him to Woodstock in 1969 when he wasn’t even five yet, they just set him off and he was lucky another family looked after him that weekend. Sometimes he wonders if he would have become a Woodstock death if they hadn’t.

His parents never really paid him much attention, they didn’t even notice when he hopped on a bus from Woodstock, NY and went into NYC to try to get involved in the music scene. He wasn’t even reported missing until six months later when he had already gotten in a van with some friends and headed out to LA. He suddenly realized how hard he’s clenching his fists thinking of it all.

His thoughts suddenly turn to ex lovers and friends he’s fallen out of contact with. Less severe parts of his life, things that make him less angry. Big falling outs that mean nothing to a fifty nine year old man. He thinks of the one night stands, the dozens of children he probably has out there from his habit of not using protection. He always feels like he failed his kids from the moment they were conceived, especially with the women who tried to get him to marry them and step up. He couldn’t bring himself to, he didn’t want to become yet another shitty dad but deep down he knows it’s too late.

Without warning, his thoughts go to the Metal Masked Assassin. He can feel his blood run cold and his heart rate spike. He thinks about the ways he was manipulated, the way he was forced to live for months, and the things he did to Toki and Abigail. His original plan was to play his own mind games on Toki to split up the band, still super fucked up, but not nearly as bad as how things went. He knows he can never really apologize to any of them, or begin to explain why. He doesn’t know why, other than feeling powerful having a terrorist on his side.

Toki and Abigail didn’t deserve that shit, he knows that now. He especially feels guilt towards Toki, having convinced him he was his friend. He was a bright eyed, naive kid. So desperate to feel connection and belonging, and he took advantage of that for something horrific. Maybe he wasn’t any better than the Metal Masked Assassin, maybe he deserved to be impaled. He sure as shit didn’t feel like he deserved to be alive today, living mostly normally. Feeling the physical flashbacks begin, he looks for something, anything, to distract himself from reliving the attempt on his life. Both from the Metal Masked Assassin, and himself.

He sits up and lights a cigarette. He then realizes he’s been crying, he has no clue for how long. Looking over at Axl his thoughts begin to stir. This is the only person who has never hurt him in a way where he needed to lash out from perceived danger. The thought of destroying that terrifies him. He didn’t know he was capable of the love he feels for the man sleeping peacefully beside him.

They met at a bar one night. Magnus noticed him immediately. Axl was well over six feet tall, his body both muscular and soft in a way that screams “I’m a dad.” He has curly grey hair that goes past his waist, and facial hair that reminds Magnus of Jerry Garcia. They got to talking, and hit it off immediately. It started with music, then went to fun stories from the 80s when they were younger and full of hope. The night ended with Axl picking him up over his shoulder and riding his motorcycle home to his place, not much nicer than Magnus’s own but definitely cleaner. That’s how most nights at the bar ended now. Magnus on the back of a motorcycle going to one of their apartments.

He shared everything with Axl. His entire life story beginning to end. He expected Axl to leave, but instead he wrapped him into a hug and let him cry. He didn’t know nearly as much about Axl, he doesn’t really like to talk. He’s pretty sure even the thought of talking about his problems makes Axl feel sick. He knows Axl’s dad died in Vietnam, and that he has a strained relationship with his family. There’s also the more fun stories that Axl is more likely to share. Though, there’s always something in there that immediately makes Magnus concerned. You’d think he’d be frustrated by this, he’s not exactly the most patient man in most situations. But with Axl it’s different. He looks at Axl like he hung the stars in the sky. He has all the patience in the world for him. In the same way Axl didn’t look at him differently after hearing his life story, he doesn’t think anything could make him see Axl any differently.

He puts out his cigarette and lays down again. Hesitantly, he cuddles up against Axl. Axl wraps his arms around Magnus, still fast asleep. He always does this and it makes Magnus feel safe. He’s only person to ever make Magnus feel completely safe, if he really thinks about it. Safe in the only calm and quiet he’s ever known, Magnus tries once again to sleep.

[mctionsick]

FINLEY ALDRIDGE AESHTETIC & STATS

basic information

full name: finley aldridge

nickname(s): fin

age: 22-32

date of birth: aug 13

hometown: toledo, oh. but moved around frequently so they  don’t really have a “home town”

current location: brooklyn, ny.  (flexible depending on plot)

occupation: drummer for m.t. threats. day job as a record store clerk (in verses where the band takes off, they buy the record store).  

gender:  gender nonconforming 

pronouns: they / them 

orientation: lesbian

religion: agnostic

species: shape shifter / human verse available

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: e.r. fightmaster / brigette lundy paine

hair colour: brown

eye colour: brown

height: 6 ft

piercings: ears / industrial in left ear

clothing style: gay and comfy.  king of too many flannels.  worn in band t’s.  gym clothes when they’re lounging around the house.   

usual expression:

HEALTH

addictions: n/a

drug use: they will never say no to an edible and has definitely taken a psychedelic on accident.  rarely smokes alone.   

alcohol use: mostly social. they like beer but rarely drink hard liquor.  

illness:  chronic himbo disease and it’s incurable.  jk no real illnesses.  a pin in their knee from a college basketball injury. undiagnosed adhd.

PERSONALITY

positive traits: loyal,  resilient, humble 

negative traits: stubborn, dense, self destructive 

hobbies: drumming, going to concerts, mario kart, petting dogs, spending way too long in record stores, anything active, weight lifting, basketball, being the nice gym bro, camping, fantasy sports leagues.  

habits: they will annoyingly drum on anything if they have a pen in their hand

FAVOURITES

weather: summer.  anything where they can be outdoors and it’s comfortable.  

music: classic rock, old school punk / metal, where ever they live they’re usually really into the local music scene so a lot of ‘local’ bands where ever that would be.  

movies: cheesy 80s action movies bc they’re perfect for their terrible attention span but also because it’s one of the few things they bonded with their dad over.  fin enjoys a good comedy too.  notoriously a little bitch with horror movies pls hold their hand.  

books: fin can’t read:( jk when their reading it’s usually a biography about a musician they like or about music.  they can read an impressively long book about a specific era or music but cannot for the life of them read a novel.  

food: fin is the least picky eater and it has everything to do with growing up poor and not being much of a cook while needing to keep fin and their brother fed.  has a killer mac and cheese recipe.  will eat all the leftovers you don’t want!  

FAMILY - tw: parent death, gambling addiction mention, verbal abuse mention (honestly rarely touch upon in plots)

father: gordon aldridge.  a truck driver who was rarely home but constantly had them moving across the country as he chased work.  a gambling addict who remained neglectful their entire childhood.  occasionally verbally abusive which fin tried to shield gus from.  

mother: anya aldridge.  passed away when fin was young.  they have a few memories of her but not many.  a lot of her belongings got lost in various moves but fin has tried to keep photos and a few important things.  

siblings: gus aldridge.  3-4 years years younger than them.  fin is fiercely protective of him.  laughs at all his jokes (even the ones they don’t get). (note: depending on verse i fin and gus may be twins).

QUICK FACTS

fin is a shapeshifter who can take shape of any animal they’ve seen.  they play in a band of all supernatural creatures.  despite this they most usually take shape of a dog to blend in (or get head scratches).  

human verse available 

[plothooksinc]

5, 11, 58 for fanfic ask game?

I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I pulled a muscle by stretching because hypermobility sucks as you get older and then I was like where is the meme did I leave it in my other pocket and then @shadowbends provided me a link like the goddess she is--

5. have you ever made a playlist about something you were writing as an elaborate means to procrastinate when you could have been actually writing and if yes drop a link, son

Mkay first off, HUSH STRIKEOUT I WOULD NEVER (I totally have)

I have two writing playlists. One is a general sweep TMNT stuff for all my different projects and is always in flux-- I put in songs I think of, songs attached to AMVs, official soundtrack stuff, suggestions from other people, and heck other people's playlists and then peel out the stuff I don't like (or associate too heavily with other stuff) because half the time all I need is "people associate this song with the guys" and that works for me. (It's also introduced me to a whole range of bands I really like.) It's here. It's not for any particular project, though, it's Literally Any Time I Open Up A TMNT Fic. (I have a skip button, I use it.)

The other one is a specific playlist for Zaibatsu Project with a heavy cyberpunk bent to it, and you can find it here. I did have a FFVII playlist for Misconduct, but that never made the jump to Spotify so I can't link that one. |D And I was making a MDZS/Ladyhawke inspired playlist for a... project... but that never got off the ground, so shh.

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

I probably worry too much like every other writer out there, lmao. Uhh but I've learned a lot of fun stuff over the years! How long it takes to freeze to death, the different conductivity of heat away from the human body by various degrees of metal and moisture, a whole bunch of survival tactics for blizzard and avalanche conditions (yeah guess which fic I was researching here) and then the pile of fascinating stuff about NY underground because /gestures at the entire TMNT EU. Most things I learn are literally wounds and survival based because of the stuff I write, and a lot of different explosives and drugs because of the stuff I write, and I really should have a sticker saying Relax I'm A Writer up on my front door for when ASIO rocks up or some such...

58. what is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were writing it?

Side bar: Tumblr why can I not copy/paste more than one line anymore WTF Actually. The very mundane traditional roast dinner to make sure it was something that Americans actually did b/c Australia is very British-coded and I had one of those no-thoughts-head-empty times where I was like "wait, is this also a US thing???" Turns out it is with some mild variations, so OKAY THEN. (Very dull answer, I know.)

Thank you for the questions! <3

Meme is here.

[kinetic-elaboration]

February 25: Daria Music Resource

I was reading a reddit thread about where Daria and Jane’s music tastes might diverge because that’s what happens when you go down internet rabbit holes on the weekend, and since I’d already sort of been thinking about characters’ canonical music tastes, I thought I’d make a list. A lot of people seemed to think Daria would be into death metal, which was never the vibe I got, but to each their own. There were also one or two people who said classical music; I got that vibe even less. And at least one who said she didn’t listen to music—unrelatable, truly, and anyway there’s headphones and a CD player included as part of the perpetual clutter on her bedroom floor, so I think it’s fairly obvious she does. But there were also some interesting points made that I would accept as headcanons, or that merged with some of my own ‘I have no evidence for this but it’s the vibe for sure’ thoughts that I’d already had.

Personally, I think their music tastes are very similar and if they diverge it’s because Daria likes some stuff that’s more obscure and weirder. I think Jane has a wider, broader taste, and I also think she’s probably more into music—she has the big-ass stereo in her room, the musician brother, the headphones she wears while running, etc.

But what I wanted to do really was more along the lines of a resource based in textual evidence, to start off with. I definitely think people should just use the general vibes of things, or what is most relatable to them, for headcanons, but I also really like being able to base headcanons and other beliefs in the text and there’s more evidence than one might think. One confusing point is that the show has—or had, haha, in its original run—a LOT of music in it, because in every scene that would usually just have a TV score they were using recently released music instead. I do not count any of this background music as specifically indicative of a character’s taste unless it’s shown to be playing in a way they can hear. In a very general sense, sure, the music played in Daria the TV show might be indicative of the musical taste of Daria the character—but that music is pretty eclectic, so it’s quite wishy-washy as evidence.

So, here’s what I’ve found:

Daria:

Boss Hog – written on a CD in Dara’s bedroom in Café Disaffecto; I might be reading this wrong since it looks a little like “Boss HxxS” where the X’s are illegible, but I can’t think of who else it could be

Bog Men — written on a CD in the same scene

Also in this scene is a CD that looks like it has “Delta” written on it, idk what this is, and a partial title “GH” at the end of a word.

The Beatles – gives Ted a tape of The Beatles in The New Kid

Jane:

Boss Hog – big poster in her room visible in multiple episodes

The Foo Fighters – Color and the Shape poster in, I want to say IICY, or something else toward the end of the series

The Presidents of the United States – Peaches was playing in her room when Daria walked in on her and Tom in DDMD (this is per Outpost Daria; I can’t personally identify it in the fan-restored version or remember it from when I first watched the show)

10Speed – Jane was listening to Space Queen in her headphones when ‘speed walking’ with Helen in Lane Miserables

NY Loose – Spit playing on Jane’s stereo in Esteemsters during the commercial break before Sick Sad World

Radiohead - listening to Paranoid Android through headphones in The Misery Chick

Theme from the Poseidon Adventure - favorite song per Sappy Anniversary

Trent:

Korn – poster on his wall in That Was Then, This is Dumb

Slipknot – poster on his wall in the same episode

Nirvana – he’s practicing the intro to Come as You Are, per Jane, in The Invitation

General alternative/grunge – Jane refers to the Zen as a “grunge club” (Ill) and Trent and Jesse want to go to the Alternapalooza (Lolapalooza c. 1997) in Road Worrier; this probably also applies to Jane, who invited herself to go with them, and possibly Daria as well

Jake and Helen:

Jake, showtunes – he’s singing Give My Regards to Broadway in The Teachings of Don Jake and talks about his own attempt at writing a musical in The Story of D

Helen, Joni Mitchell – quotes Big Yellow Taxi in the flashback in The Teachings of Don Jake

60s Classic Rock – they did not go to Woodstock, but Jake was at Altamont, where artists like Santana, Jefferson Airplane, Crosby Stills Nash and Young, and The Rolling Stones played. Also… they were hippies. Enough said.

That’s all I can remember for now. As far as headcanons go, I definitely think Daria would be into some classic rock through her parents. I think Jane would be into post-punk like Joy Division (personal major hc for me lol). I think they’d both be into punk, grunge, alternative stuff; that seems to fit with the bands they actually are shown to be listening to. I’m neither the right age nor the right level of coolness to name names lmao but I think these bands and the other bands used in the show (with the caveat above that they aren’t canon interests technically and with a priority to scenes with the character in them) would be a good place to start spinning out headcanons or brainstorming band names for fic purposes etc.