#No Life Til Metal Records

[konigsblog]

more rapist-simon riley THOTS™️ are plaguing me tonight... :3

tw/cw: rape/non-con, intoxication, kidnapping, torture, recording, smut. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+

; kidnapper-simon who finds a sick form of pleasure in torturing you.

it's beyond sickening. any normal and moral person would be disturbed and mortified by simon's desires for control. he's in dire need of having power over someone, to control them like a puppet on strings, putting on a show for the corrupted, debauched men watching.

you went out drinking with your friends, having a little too much to drink, and stumbling out of the bar drunkenly. you're too intoxicated to notice the sound of footsteps flowing behind you, and by the time you realise it, it's all too late before you're captured by a masked man, a balaclava covering his face.

you're awoken to the excruciating and extreme sensation between your soft thighs. your eyes are half-lidded with exhaustion, and the drugs are still having their side effects. simon gazes down at you through the balaclava, the sight of his eyes through the mask intimidating you. he's threatening, and his large and strong build leaves you shaken up as you finally come to the realisation of what's happening. you watch as he slides and fucks his swollen, bulbous cock into your raw and bloody pussy, crimson and ruby smeared across your soft thighs.

you thrash at the burning agony—how merciless simon is with you. the sight of him leaves you whimpering, his black t-shirt sticking to his sweaty, burly body and his eyes piercing through the mask, gazing into yours as you squirm and wriggle, attempting to free yourself. your attempts are laughable; you're bound to a metal table in his basement, cuffs around your wrists holding you down and restraining you. it doesn't matter how loudly you scream and wail; your attempts at freeing and escaping are fruitless. they are used as motivation and encouragement for simon to be harsher on you, with the hope that you'll listen and obey his demands.

he curses you out through breathless grunts and deep growls for screaming and weeping so loudly, his gloved hands pushing your thighs down against the table, fucking your puffy, pretty cunt ‘til it's coated in his pearly creaminess, mixed with the redness of your blood. he shows you no mercy, not sparing you from anything. he's unforgiving, as he uses you for his only gratification and delectation, for profit and gain.

you're a slave to simon, like a puppet on strings, he controls everything you do. he doesn't view you as human, as you're not equal to him. you belong on the ground underneath the dining table, eating whatever scraps simon offers you.

soon enough, you'll finally come to terms with the fact that this is your life now, obeying his every order as he records you for the disgusting men and women watching and getting off to your pain.

[theabstruseone]

'TIL a papyrus scroll indicates that, during the building of the tomb of Pharaoh Ramses III, the workers were upset about their treatment and, rather than discussing it with them, management served them a large meal.

'The workers didn't think that was enough so occupied the Valley of the Kings refusing entry to anyone until they were given a raise and "cosmetics" (research shows it was a form of sunscreen).

'So not only does workers organizing a strike and forming a picket line for better wages and workplace safety conditions date back TO THE FRIGGIN' BRONZE AGE, but also management has been trying to placate discontented workers with a pizza party.'

And then that went viral on Twitter and I got hammered with people trying to "Well ackshually" about my three-tweet-long thread on a thing I'd learned just that morning I turned into a joke about corporate pizza parties. So I decided to research and here's the entire story.

TL;DR: I was pretty much right except it'd be closer to say "donuts/cupcakes in the breakroom" rather than "pizza party".

The events took place sometime around 1157 BCE (specifically the 29th year of Ramses III’s reign) in the village of Deir el-Medina, a worker village for the people who worked on the built the tombs in the Valley of the Kings.

BTW, the site itself is fascinating as it was first excavated in 1922 and ended up being one of the most thoroughly documented accounts of community life in the ancient world and proved the builders of the Pyramids were middle-class skilled artisans and craftspeople, not slaves.

You also have to know that this era of history is around the start of what’s known as the Bronze Age Collapse. Some sort of environmental catastrophe happened that caused widespread crop failures across the ancient world.

Now what precisely happened is strongly debated, but generally several groups from elsewhere in Europe and Africa known as the “Sea People” attacked the ancient civilizations of the Mediterranean, which caused most of those cultures to collapse.

Also, commerce was a bit different as they were (oversimplified explanation) on the bread standard. Salaries were measured in values of beer and bread as the recipes for those were standardized and made up the basics of the diet.

So while common laborers would be paid in literal beer and bread, more highly-valued workers would be paid in an equivalent of a larger allotment of beer and bread. So they’d get paid “100 loaves a day” worth of oil or metal or coin representing the value.

Now, for our tale. This comes from the contemporary account of the scribe Amennakhte. If anyone wants to read along, a photo of the scroll along with a translation is available to read for free at https://libcom.org/article/records-strike-egypt-under-ramses-iii-c1157bce

On Year 29, Second Month of Winter, Day 10, a group of workers walked past the guards and sat at the Temple of Menkheperre stating it had been 18 days since they’d last been paid, staying the night in the tomb saying “We have matters of Pharaoh”.

The following day, a scribe brought the workers 55 “s'b-cakes”. So yes, a “pizza party”. I can’t find any reference to what this is precisely other than “fine bread” that was worth more than a large loaf of standard bread.

Seriously, I wasted an hour of my life trying to figure out what “s'b-cakes” are exactly so if anyone knows please tell me.

Anyway, it didn’t work and there was “quarrelling” at the temple of Ramses II. The translations says “chief of police” which doesn’t seem quite right but I’ll go with it, but anyway he said he’d fetch the mayor of Thebes.

The mayor claimed they didn’t have enough to pay. The workers responded by saying “The prospect of hunger and thirst has driven us to this. There is no clothing, there is no ointment*, there is no fish, there are no vegetables.”

They then said to go tell it to the Pharoah directly. On Day 12 (the day following the “quarrelling”), they were given their ration they were due during the previous month (basically, they got their back pay). It was 21 days late.

Side note: I got some pushback by an “Egyptologist” for calling the “ointment” a type of sunscreen and…yes, it was. Some translations mark this as “cosmetics” but it was a medicinal balm used to prevent and treat sunburn. What the hell else would you call it?

So Day 13 (the fourth day of the strikes) and Mentmose, the “chief of police”, apparently took a side. He told the workers to lock down the work site and continue their protests, and that he’d lead them to the temple to continue the sit in.

His words (recorded by Amennakhte): “I’ll tell you my opinion. Go up, gather your tools, close your doors, fetch your families, and I’ll lead you to the temple of Seti I and let you settle down there.”

At this point, the tax master Ptahemheb came out to talk to them making a list of all the things they demanded. On Day 15 (sixth day of the strike), they tried another “pizza party” with half a sack of barley and a jar of beer for each worker.

Amennakhte doesn’t say what their response was exactly, but does say that the workers brought torches so they could continue the protest in the dark. So I take it the response wasn’t good.

Day 17 (eighth day of the strike), the head of the temple came out and asked what demands to bring to the Pharoah for them. And they gave a detailed list of what precise wages they wanted for each of the workers.

On that day, they were given what they asked for in rations for the second month of winter. They may have also been paid early as they should have been paid on the 21st or 28th day depending on the source.

So we’re now in the third month of winter (no exact date written) and they’re still striking. Worker Mose said basically “As Amun as my witness if you drag me away I will come back and start robbing the tombs.” I couldn’t fit the whole thing in one tweet.

Reshpetref, the proctor, said “We will not come back, you can tell your superiors that. For sure, it is not because of hunger that we strike, but we have a serious charge to make. Something bad has been done in this place of the Pharoah”.

We’re on the fourth month of winter now, Day 28 (so over three months of striking now) before the Vizier shows up. This is the government official that handles day-to-day business and is second only to the Pharoah.

He says he just got promoted so isn’t authorized to give them their wages (at least partially true, he’d just been promoted five days prior) and even if he could, there was nothing in the granaries to pay them with.

The granaries may have been empty because of the other issues going on with the Bronze Age Collapse or it may have just been the rampant corruption speculated of the government of the era, or he may have been lying.

On the first month of summer Day 2, the crew got two sacks of grain as their ration (they’d demanded 5 ½ sacks each). The foreman Khonsu told them accept it, then go down to the market and tell the Vizier’s children about it.

Amennakhte (who again, is writing this scroll) stopped them and said NOT to go to the market since they’d been paid and if they did, he’d have to have them arrested. He doesn’t mention they were only paid a third of what they were owed.

First month of summer, Day 13, passes the guard post saying “We are hungry” and continued their sit in. They shouted at the mayor of Thebes as he passed, who then got them 50 sacks of grain to tide them over until Pharoah paid them.

That’s the end of this particular scroll, but there’s evidence that strikes continued throughout the reign of Ramses III as there are records of more workers being hired to transport food and supplies to the workers.

The scroll also leaves out some of what happened in between dates. For example, it wasn’t one single long strike, but a series of them. After they were paid their wages the first time, the workers went back to work.

However, they were told that was their pay for the third month of winter and not the second so they wouldn’t be getting paid again, sparking the second strike that lasted into summer.

There’s also a big deal in Egyptian culture at the time called “Ma’at” or basically “The Order of Things”. Nobody had any idea what to do with the striking workers because workers weren’t supposed to strike. They were supposed to work.

Sure, they were treated well and the village of Deir el-Medina lived at what could be called middle-class standards for the time period, but they weren’t supposed to rebel against their betters in this way. It was unthinkable.

There was also a big festival coming up to celebrate the 30th year of the reign of Ramses III and a lot of the government officials were focused on that, more concerned with maintaining order than actually managing the country.

I should also note I paint Amennakhte as on the side of the government rather than the workers when the opposite was likely the case. The strike wasn’t recorded in the official government records as Egypt tended to cover up their losses.

That said, we do have some records like those of Amennakhte showing that, once the workers realized they had the power to organize, they used it all the way through the New Kingdom.

The last entry on the scroll doesn’t directly involve the strike, but is related. On the first month of summer, Day 16, one of the workmen provided evidence that government officials were stealing from the tombs.

One of them, Weserhat, was one of the ministers who shorted the workers payment previously. The other, Pentaweret, may be the son of Ramses III at the center of the “Harem Conspiracy”, an assassination plot that took place between 1 to 3 years later.

In summary, the workers were unpaid due to corruption and management enriching themselves, they went on strike, management threw them a pizza party, that didn’t work, and they eventually got their demands.

Though I guess if you want to be completely accurate, it was more “donuts/cupcakes in the breakroom”…

[threewaywithdelusion]

spinning (for you)

There’s something magical about the open road at night. 

They’re in the middle of nowhere, driving down a deserted highway in Steve’s Bimmer. It’s just them and the darkness and the endless Indiana summer air. Sometimes they drive under a street lamp and in the sudden puddle of light, Steve will be able to see Eddie's features. His big dark eyes and soft smile and the dimples in his cheeks. Steve is glad the road is empty and there are fields on either side because he can barely pay attention to the road when Eddie looks like this.

He can’t look away. Especially not when it feels like every glimpse could be his last. 

He’s mourning a relationship that isn’t yet over, but Steve’s been here before. He knows what it looks like when someone is falling out of love. He knows the feeling of kisses that only he initiates. The taste of bitter blood in the back of his mouth. 

He doesn’t think Eddie has realized it yet, that they’re racing towards the end. And Steve is nothing if not stubborn. He will hang onto this relationship by his fingertips until he’s bloody and bruised and he won’t let go until Eddie asks him to. 

It took Nancy almost a year to give up on Steve. Steve wonders if Eddie will be able to last longer. 

Probably not. They’re both too big for him, these beautiful, passionate people. Nancy with her sweet smile and her steady hands and her dreams of seeing her name in bylines in newspapers far, far away from Hawkins. Eddie, with his boundless energy and his quick fingers and his dreams of playing on stage for masses of adoring fans. 

Steve was never going to be enough for either of them. He should just be happy to have gotten a bit of their time. 

But he’s an inherently greedy thing. He wants forever and never more so than when he knows it’s out of reach. 

There’s nothing certain in this life but death and taxes and Robin, and Steve loves her more than anything else but she’s part of him. She’s his Self, like his blood and his guts and his brain. 

Steve can be lonely even with Robin there. Not lonely like a big, empty house. Lonely like the static of a record spinning after the music has already ended. 

She didn’t choose him. They’re trauma-bonded soulmates and she can’t separate Steve from herself any more than he can separate her from himself. 

Steve wants someone to want him, not just need him. 

He’d thought, for a moment, that Eddie could be that person. He’d fallen hard and fast, the way he always does, and miraculously Eddie had felt the same. They’ve had months of lazy kisses and rough sex. Of Eddie reading books aloud with Steve’s head resting in his lap. Of Steve cooking breakfast and the two of them sharing it, bite by bite. Of slow-dancing in Steve’s living room and head-banging in Eddie’s trailer. Of holding each other close after nightmares and mouthing over sun-warmed skin in grassy fields. 

Now, the late season heat feels heavier every day, one last gasp of summer before autumn sweeps it away, and Steve knows that when the cold comes it will find them already dead. 

Steve’s memory hasn’t been the same since the series of concussions, but he’s trying so hard to pay attention to all these little moments, like if he presses them hard enough into his synapses he might be able to keep them. 

Like right now, Eddie rolling the window down as they speed down the darkened roads. The wind lifts up Eddie’s curls, swirling them around so that Eddie is all flyaway hair and flashes of pale skin. He’s grinning, sticking a hand out the window to feel the air fly by, singing along to a new metal song that came out last week. 

He already knows all the words. 

“Ain’t it funny how it is? You never miss it ‘til it’s gone away,” Eddie sings. 

That’s not true, Steve thinks. I miss you and you aren’t even gone yet. 

Eddie launches into the chorus, which even Steve has heard enough times to know the words to. The hazards of dating a metalhead. 

“Come on, Stevie!” Eddie says. “I know you know it!”

He grabs one of Steve’s hands off the wheel and starts moving it back and forth in a silly little dance. Steve knows better than to attempt headbanging while driving (and Eddie laughs at his headbanging anyway, says Steve is too careful not to mess up his hair) so he shimmies side to side in a way that doesn’t fit the metal music at all. 

Eddie whoops like he doesn’t care. 

As the second verse comes on, Eddie sings at the top of his lungs and Steve rolls all the windows down. The wind whips through the car and it feels like they’re sitting in the middle of a storm. It’s electric. 

“Too much time on my hands! I got you on my mind!” Eddie sings. He’s lit up, completely in his element. Eddie feels larger than life sometimes and here, grinning as he sings into the abyss of the night sky, Steve could almost mistake him for a figment of his imagination. A pipe dream; too good to be true. 

The chorus explodes from the speakers and Steve joins in on the singing. 

“So-o-o, understand, don’t waste your time always searching for those wasted years!”

Eddie’s fingers are tight around Steve’s, rings digging into his skin, and Steve hopes they’ll leave a mark, something he can look at later. A little piece of proof that this was real, that Eddie Munson chose to hold his hand. 

“Face up! Make your stand! And realize you’re living in the golden years!”

They’re dancing so hard the car is bouncing, Eddie’s hair flying everywhere, the wind whistling through the windows and the music roaring through the speakers. Steve’s blood is thrumming and in this moment, he feels so, so alive. 

He isn’t sure sometimes, that all of this is real. Isn’t convinced that he wasn’t eaten by a demodog in a junkyard. That he didn’t die deep in a Russian base. 

And even when he thinks he’s alive, he isn’t sure he’s real. Who the hell is Steve Harrington? A boy with a silver spoon in his mouth and parents he occasionally forgets exist? A guy who will practice keg stands in secret until he makes himself sick, all so he can volunteer to drink at a party and have everyone’s eyes on him? A devoted boyfriend who leaves notes in his girlfriend’s locker and kisses her in hallways, like he’s performing love for the masses, and doesn’t ever notice that she doesn’t love him back? An infallible hero, who can take hit after hit and always get back up?

Who is Steve when nobody is watching? Does he even exist?

In this moment, he feels like he does. He can feel Eddie’s skin and his own heartbeat and he thinks he likes whatever creature is sitting in the driver's seat, even if he’s not sure it’s Steve Harrington. 

So understand

Don’t waste your time always searching for those wasted years

Face up, make your stand

And realize you’re living in the golden years

As the song ends, Eddie whoops, loud and long. Steve laughs, enamored, and Eddie presses a kiss to the back of Steve’s hand. 

The next song to come on the station is Mötley Crüe and Eddie groans at the glam metal. 

Steve takes advantage of Eddie’s disdain to flip the station. This is how they pass control back and forth, each getting to stay on their preferred station until a song they don’t like comes on. Then the other person gets to take control of the music. 

Steve doesn’t particularly care what genre of music he listens to, so he usually gets more songs in a row. But metal songs last way longer than any other genre, so Steve and Eddie get about even time on each of their stations. 

A few months ago, Steve had thought that was a sign from the universe that they fit together. That they were in balance. 

A few months ago, Eddie tried to pretend to like glam metal so he could stay on his station and Steve didn’t know him well enough to call him on it. It was only once they’d been on Eddie’s station for two hours that Steve even thought to question it. In his defense, he was too busy watching Eddie headbang and sing and smile to pay attention to anything else. 

Last week, Steve lied about liking a song because he wanted to stay on his station for longer and Eddie rolled his eyes, not like he thought Steve was being cute, but like he was genuinely annoyed. 

Steve is always endearing until he isn’t, but he can never figure out why. He doesn’t think he changes his behavior — people just get bored or annoyed after a while. 

There’s something in him that’s unlovable. He’s not sure if it’s so deep within him that it takes people a while to find it or if it’s something obvious and superficial that grows tiring after a while, grating from overexposure. 

But Steve can feel the sands of time running low. 

“Alright!” says the DJ on the radio. “Next up, we have a request. This is for Jimmy, from Angela. This is Thank You For The Music by ABBA.”

Eddie lets out a loud groan and dramatically curls up in the passenger seat, hiding his face in his hands. 

Steve grins. For all that Eddie disdains pop radio, he has a fondness for ABBA. Steve has caught him many times bobbing his head along to the beat. Once, he even caught him singing Gimme Gimme Gimme, though Eddie maintains that when he does it, it’s out of gay rebellion and not appreciation for ABBA. 

“Nope!” Steve says cheerily. “I’m not letting you get away with this!”

He pulls the car onto the shoulder of the road and gets out, leaving his door open as he rounds the car to Eddie’s side. Eddie feigns reluctance but he lets Steve drag him out of the passenger seat and to the front of the car. They’re standing in the beam of the headlights, the only spot of light in the empty road, and Steve pulls Eddie into his arms. Properly. Like they’re slow-dancing, the way they do in Steve’s living room the nights they’re soft with each other. 

Those nights have been getting fewer and farther between and Steve wants one last dance. Here, outside the Hawkins town limits, in a place that’s both nowhere and anywhere. No expectations or history or promises to way them down. Nothing but the cicadas and the music filling the air. 

Thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing

Thanks for all the joy they’re bringing

The song is a bit too upbeat for a slow dance, but Steve doesn’t let that deter him. He marches them back and forth, Eddie laughing as his feet get stepped on, and Steve feels a thrill at making him laugh. 

He keeps them going through the verse, but he can see Eddie beginning to look around. Maybe it’s the woods or the darkness or the bad memories creeping in. It’s normal. It’s fine. 

Except that Eddie is always getting distracted of late. Always looking away. 

Steve feels like a performer, desperately trying to be the star of the show. Like a child, asking his parents to be proud. 

Who can live without it? I ask in all honesty

What would life be

Steve spins out dramatically, throwing his arms wide, then twirls back into Eddie’s arms. Eddie fumbles to catch him, their feet getting tangled up, and when Eddie tips over, off-balance, Steve turns the motion into a dip. 

They’re clumsy and unpracticed and he’s sure the dip looks terrible. But Eddie’s yelp of fear cuts off into a surprised bark and when he meets Steve’s eyes, he’s impressed. 

Steve pulls Eddie upright again and they’re close together, breathing the same air, Eddie’s eyes huge, pupils tiny in the glow of the headlights. 

“You’ve got moves, Harrington,” he says. 

Steve smiles. Doesn’t say that a month ago Eddie would have called him Stevie. 

“Only when I have someone worth using them on,” he says instead, and it’s the kind of flirty, glib comment that belongs at the beginning of a relationship. Not at the end of one. 

It makes Eddie’s face fall a bit and Steve doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. He was only trying to get Eddie to smile. 

He’s a disco ball; he’s a record. Spinning endlessly. Anything, anything as long as it will keep you looking. 

He wishes he knew what Eddie wants so he could become it. But he thinks it’s already too late. 

The bridge slows down and Eddie starts to take a step back, like the song is over. But Steve wants his perfect last dance. 

He pulls Eddie in close. His arms wrapped all the way around Eddie’s torso, Eddie’s folded over his shoulder. He tucks his face against Eddie’s neck, against all that soft, dark hair. Eddie smells like cigarettes and motor oil and the 2-in-1 shampoo Steve scoffs at but secretly loves the smell of. 

Eddie pulls him closer and they sway, side to side, way too slowly to match the music. 

Without a song or a dance, what are we? 

So I say thank you for the music

For giving it to me

As the last notes of the song ring out, Steve pulls Eddie into a kiss. It’s achingly slow, sweet but hungry. A desperate, tragic goodbye. 

Eddie steps away first, giving Steve a strange look. He starts for the passenger side door and Steve can’t bear to see this end, so he blurts out “Let’s lie on the hood. We can stargaze.”

Eddie stops and turns and for a moment Steve hopes. But then he says, “Maybe another night, baby. I’m tired and it’s late. We should get going.”

You’re always going. I’m always watching you leave. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. Swallows down the thickness is his voice. “Okay. Let’s go.”

He gets back into the car. Lets Eddie turns the radio down as he down a wide U-turn and points them back towards Hawkins. 

He glances over at Eddie, who is staring out the window. Watching the scenery go by, maybe. Or lost in thought. Somewhere Steve can’t reach him. 

Steve blinks furiously as he refocuses on the road, his throat tight. He wishes they were more than this. He wishes he were enough. 

He would be a firework show if it would make Eddie smile. He would be Eddie’s favorite lover; his stalwart best friend; the world’s best actor. He would be Eddie’s favorite song. 

But he can’t do any of that. All he can do is blink back the tears, put on a performance of a smile, and drive Eddie home. 

~~~

I'm still editing this, so feel free to give feedback. It's meant to give mirrorball vibes, is that coming through?

[black-arcana]

BUTCHER BABIES Part Ways With Singer CARLA HARVEY

BUTCHER BABIES have parted ways with singer Carla Harvey.

The band announced Harvey's exit in a social media post earlier today (Saturday, July 20). BUTCHER BABIES wrote: "As you may have already guessed, it is confirmed that Carla Harvey and BUTCHER BABIES have officially parted ways.

"Carla has been an integral part of our journey, bringing her unique talent, passion, and energy to the band. We are grateful for the incredible memories we've made together and the impact she has had on our music and our fans. We will miss her greatly and we wish her all the best in her future endeavors.

"We deeply appreciate your support over the past 15 years," BUTCHER BABIES added. "We feel incredibly fortunate to keep making and playing music as our career, and we are excited for this new era of BUTCHER BABIES!

"See you on the road."

Carla added in a separate post: "Over the last 6 months You may have noticed my absence from BUTCHER BABIES posts. After 15 years of dedication, I wanted to let you know that I will not be rejoining the band for any future endeavors.

"I am super proud of my work with BUTCHER BABIES…2 EPS, 5 Full lengths albums and countless tours with our metal heroes! To all of our incredible BUTCHER BABIES friends and fans…you have provided me with some of the greatest experiences of my life! I have loved every second of writing and performing all over the world for you! I have loved meeting you. WOW. I still can't believe this kid from Detroit got so lucky.

"I am not done making music and performing. I WILL see you soon".

Last fall, BUTCHER BABIES completed a European tour without Carla, who sat out the trek in order to undergo emergency surgery on her left eye.

Harvey shared the news of her absence from the tour on October 26, 2023 in a social media post. The 47-year-old singer, who co-founded BUTCHER BABIES in 2010 with fellow vocalist Heidi Shepherd, posted a photo of her performing with her bandmates, and she included the following message: "Here's a picture of a girl in her happy place; unfortunately i won't be in that happy place on the upcoming @butcherbabies Euro run. Love you all but i have to sit this one out!

"I have a history of problematic vision and I had to have a major surgery about 10 years ago in my right eye for a retinal detachment. On our summer tour the telltale symptoms repeated themselves in my left eye. I've been hoping to avoid major surgery but it is clear that it must be done. My emergency surgery will include a healing process of laying face down for a number of days with a gas bubble in my eye."

Carla added: "This is the first time in fifteen years i won't be able to join my friends on stage but right now my health and sight take precedence for me. While I am gutted that I cannot make the tour the risk of me waiting till after a tour to do such a surgery is too great and includes permanent vision loss. The beauty of having two vocalists is that Heidi can cover for me until i'm better!

"Hoping to make it out for part of this euro run…go to the shows, have a blast and support my bandmates for me! I'll see you soon!"

In the comments section, Shepherd voiced her support for her then-bandmate, writing: "Sending all the love and healing. We'll hold down the fort while you heal. We need those beautiful eyes to work!!! Love you!"

BUTCHER BABIES are scheduled to kick off a three-week European tour on July 27 at the Stonehenge festival in The Netherlands.

This past January, Harvey and ANTHRAX and PANTERA drummer Charlie Benante announced that they were officially engaged.

BUTCHER BABIES released a double album "Eye For An Eye…" and "…'Til The World's Blind", in July 2023. The double album celebrates the tenth anniversary of BUTCHER BABIES' critically acclaimed debut, "Goliath", released on July 9, 2013 via Century Media Records.

BUTCHER BABIES' previous album, 2017's "Lilith" was produced by Steve Evetts (THE DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN, SEPULTURA, SUICIDE SILENCE) and marked the band's recording debut with drummer Chase Brickenden, who replaced Chris Warner in 2016.

In July 2019, longtime BUTCHER BABIES bassist Jason Klein announced his departure from the band. He has since been replaced by Ricky Bonazza.

[brb-on-a-quest]

What does the Doctor Keep in his pockets?

Context: Damian has fallen through the Doctor's pockets after an attempt was made to grab the sonic screwdriver to play with Alfred the Cat. Unfortunately, the Doctor's trenchcoat pockets are deeper than they look and Damian falls inside and right into a warzone of Daleks and Cybermen. (all of this will be added at some point to a later post, I just need to post this now so I can not think about it for a hot minute)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Only cowards run. A young man in a red and green suit held a sword in a defensive stance. Damian Al Ghul-Wayne is no coward.

“Dami! What are you doing?” 

Damian jumped as he started slashing through the overgrown moving pieces of iron with his upgraded sabre that he had forged from some materials in the trenchcoat pockets. It cut through easily, like a lightsaber in a Star Wars comic book. 

“Ex-term-in-ate-” 

These tin cans were no match for a small eleven-year-old that runs on spite and red bull. 

“I’m trying to save your life here. The least you could do is cooperate.” 

“As you can see, I am more than in my element here, Doctor.” 

What kind of name was Doctor anyway? It seemed senseless. So far, the only thing he’d done was create more problems and wave a sonic screwdriver (whatever that was), and he didn’t seem to have a PhD. 

“You’re not tho-” There was a clashing and cleaning behind him; Damian turned around just long enough to see one of the tin cans spinning into another three. “Damian, you’re underestimating them.” 

“You haven’t given us a straight answer once since we came here.”  Damian said. “Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”

“Your father and grandfather trust me.” The Doctor replied. “Is that not enough for you? They traveled with me throughout the ends of the universe, and still, they came home safe and sound.” Damian gripped his sword harder, jumping towards the Doctor. “You’ll want to duck.”

The Doctor dutifully rolled out of the way as Dami crashed into another tin can, decapitating its eye before it had a chance to fire an electrical shock.

“See? They’re gone.” Damian refrained from adding under his breath No thanks to you. 

“For now. Til the simulation resets.” the doctor shrugged. “I came to grab you. You’re still in my pocket.”

Damian huffed. They were standing in Gotham plaza. Rulli’s was right across the street, the Batburger was around the corner, and Red Robin right behind him. The ground felt solid underneath his feet. This wasn’t a simulation. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them again. He muttered curses under his breath. 

“Look up.”  Trenchcoat behind him said. 

Used to following orders, Damian allowed his eyes to flash upward for one second to see a banner he hadn’t noticed before: “Round 3. Record score: 213300/500000 EXP” 

The hell is that supposed to be?

“You’re in my pocket dimension, Damian. Quite literally, you haven’t left my pocket. I came to grab you, but if you’re having too much fun fighting daleks, well, I won’t stop you. Looks like you’re having fun.”

“How long have I been here?” Damian suddenly crouched to avoid two incoming shots from the Daleks.

“Couldn’t tell you. Time passes differently here than in the proper universe.”  Doctor shrugged. “Besides, what is time besides a human concept to measure moment-to-moment-”

“I don’t need a philosophy lesson right now!” Damian shouted. “You could help me out with this, you know.”  The new guy was worse than Dick at this sometimes. 

“Nope. They can’t hurt me. I’m a simulation too. Just like them. Except I’m programmed to help you get out.” Damian’s glowing sword cut decommissioned two more Daleks, and then he thought he saw numbers rising from the corner of his eye. 2000?  1500?  

“That’s the amount of experience points you’re getting, Damian.” The doctor grinned. “Kill enough Daleks and you get to level up.” 

Then Damian noticed that every time the sword struck against the metal, a long red bar would decrease in size, first by halves, and then by smaller increments. 

“What is this.” 

“I told you. It’s a game.” The Doctor’s voice came from behind him. And Tag, your It.” 

Damian turned around to yell at the Doctor when he felt something hit him from behind. As he vibrated and writhed with pain, collapsing to the ground, he heard the sound of glass. 

“That’ll be your heart containers, Damian. Might want to make sure those don’t break. You know each level gets harder than the rest. The Daleks get stronger. Faster. Better.” 

As soon as Damian got control of his arms back, he swung just in time to reflect one of the dalek’s blows back harmlessly away from himself. Unfortunately, it didn’t hit the Dalek, but all things considered, it looked cool. 

“If I level up. Will you get me out of here?” 

“You could just quit. I can take you out now.” Only cowards quit. Damian grimaced. He was not a coward. 

He did wish he had paid slightly more attention to when his brothers were gaming instead of training. Perhaps there were many different kinds of training. 

Round 4 was not difficult. Not only were there Daleks, but they also brought friends that exploded if you came too close to them. This ended up working not to their advantage when Damian found a way to set it off in their vicinity but outside of their range

Round 5 was worse. Another heart container shattered, leaving Damian with two left. He had been facing against two kinds of enemies. Dalek and an enemy that seemed to hate Daleks, but it also wasn’t sentient enough to be friends with him either. But this thing had some kind of tracking aim, so any projectiles would be coming right at Damian no matter where he could run. He could only try to put in some amount of distance between them before they exploded.

Round six got a bigger, translucent banner popdown. LEVEL UP! Please allocate your stats points.

What.

The name at the heading was “Damian Al Ghul-Wayne, 5th Robin of his name, prince of darkness--” the titles carried on past the spacing of the header would allow. 

Underneath, there were six boxes, numbers sandwiched by a plus or minus sign. 

Strength: 7, Constitution: 9, Dexterity: 9 I ntellect: 6, Wisdom: 5, Charisma: 4

“What happens if I change the numbers?” Damian asked the Doctor, using the moment of peace to turn to face him.

“Do it and find out.” Damian only received a shrug. “Will warn you, the effects after you hit the ‘submit’ button are permanent.”

“How do I leave the simulation?” Damian sheathed his makeshift sword letting his arm rest.

“Well, you have to leave the pocket.” The Doctor stood up and started walking towards him. “Which means you have to keep playing the game.” 

Damian exhaled and turned back to the popup. This is ridiculous. These numbers are perfectly arbitrary; what does a 4 in Charisma even mean?

He squared back his shoulders. Whatever these numbers signified, they must have affected the game somewhat. Well, Charisma has not been helpful to this encounter, so not that one. Besides, I’d probably just turn out more like Richard. The thought wasn’t that unpleasant to him, but in the interest of exiting the pocket dimension as soon as possible-.

Jason was strong. Damian idly started pressing the plus button to see how high it would go. A seven turned to fifteen, and it wouldn’t let him toggle any of the other numbers until he returned it to its original state. 

As the strength numbers increased, so did his muscles tighten and grow before they were almost bursting out of the suit. Interesting. 

Dexterity could be a good one as well- he would be able to match Richard in his flamboyant acrobatics stunts. But why were his intellect and wisdom so low? Damian was top of his class in school, he didn’t deserve a 6 and a 5 respectively. 

Damian just took one of each of the traits that interested him (constitution seemed boring and high enough anyway) and having two left, he added one to strength and wisdom each. 

Strength: 9, Constitution: 9, Dexterity: 10, Intellect: 7, Wisdom: 7, Charisma: 4

Damian felt his muscles increase again - although not to the same extent as before. However, he also felt sparks fly off in his brain when he increased his intellect and wisdom scores. This is…strange to say the least. 

Then part of him realized how funny it would be if he could stay like this in the real world outside the pocket dimension. He debated splurging all six of his points to get charisma up to 10 to unnerve the rest of his siblings. I still need to get out of here though. 

“I imagine the levels will only increase in difficulty rank from here?” 

“But of course. Same as with any game.” The Doctor replied. 

“But there should be a way to force quit.” Damian followed up. 

“You could- but where’s the fun in that?” The doctor grinned leaving Damian to simply tsk in disapproval. 

He clicked the submit button before realizing that he had only put all of his skill points in Charisma, making the final scores

Strength: 7, Constitution: 9, Dexterity: 9, Intellect: 6, Wisdom: 5, Charisma: 10

Damian growled. I didn’t mean that- but the popup vanished as quickly as it came. Great.

The floods of enemies did indeed increase in great number and in variety. Some of them were easy to deal with, but as expected his Charisma boost was only a dead weight. 

“You’re not thinking outside the box enough, Damian!” The Doctor shouted from somewhere behind a barrel. “I believe in you; If Bruce could do it, than so could you.” Father did this as well? Damian didn’t really have time to process this information.d

Then it hit him. What’s Tim saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? He could turn them all against each other. Gaslight. Gatekeep. And Girlboss. 

“HEY. Metal Trashcans.” Damian shouted. “I am not the one constantly shooting at you. People who shoot at you are your enemy. Therefore , I am not your enemy and you should be fighting the Metal Men.” 

Ex-Term-In-Ate. The metal trashcans screamed and turned around, allowing Damian space to breathe in an old tower as things began fighting each other. 

I can not believe that worked. 

Damian came to the realization that if bamboozling them had worked, he then could then stealth behind them and just convince them to attack each other. 

“Did you know that the big metal men are trying to quote unquote upgrade you?” He whispered behind the ranks of the Daleks. “Do you really think they’re going to stop at just the human race? There will be consequences-.”

As the Daleks began to turn and panic, Damian had moved out of sight as the Daleks approached their new enemy. “I am the superior being. Take out the metal trashcans first.” Damian whispered to one cyberman and then disappeared as the hunk of metal turned to look at the voice. 

Tim was right, Damian reflected. Psychological warfare was fun sometimes. Perhaps 

What if he could also use this to leave. He crept around the simulation grounds until he was next to where the Doctor was perched, crunching away on an apple. 

“I wanna go home, Doctor.” Damian leaned his head against the older man’s arm, like he did to Richard when he craved attention. “I miss my family and I’m tired-”

“I can see through you. Your right eye twitches when you lie. Same as your old man.” The Doctor sighed. “Besides, it’s your fault for messing in with my pockets and falling in.” 

“I just wanted to use your sonic screwdriver to play with Alfred.” Damian looked up as his lower lip trembled slightly. 

The Doctor furrowed his brow slightly as he looked down in Damian’s face. “Somehow I don’t think Alfie’s going to approve of a glorified laser pointer as a pet.”

“No. Not Alfred the Butler. Alfred the cat.” 

“Alfred can turn into a cat?” The doctor stood up suddenly, accidentally shoving Damian aside. “This I have to see.” 

Damian wasn’t going to correct this assumption until they got home. The Doctor grabbed his hand and pulled out a different glowing gadget- how many did one man need?

Then the simulation faded into Darkness and Damian saw a bunch of stars zooming past him until it turned into soft darkness before he was in the Wayne Manor theater with everyone looking at him.

“Did you have fun?” Father was looking at him with a bemused smile for a second behind a mug. 

Damian blinked. “You’re strange . But you’re interesting.” 

The Doctor laughed. “He did better than you did, Bruce, you should have seen him rizz up robots like it was nothing-” The Doctor stopped as he laid eyes on Alfred. “Alfie, how have I been roommates with you for multiple centuries and I have not seen you turn into a cat once .” 

Alfred looked towards Damian who just shrugged. “I believe there’s been a miscommunication, Doctor-” 

Damian slipped out to go check out the TARDIS while the adults were all distracted. There was still time. There was all the time in the world. 

---------------------------------------------

tagging @walkthruthewords and @igotthisaccountunderduress

Also I post on Ao3 as brb_on_a_quest! You'll see repeats of all of these fics posted here but hopefully some more original content if I can get more of my editing act together. :P

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

'Til we see the sunlight

Summary: 6 times they fought, and 1 time they finally understood

(Or: An immortal and a time traveler walk into a convenience store.)

Dukinette week by @maribat-calendar-events, Day 1: Glimpse of the past

Duke sat in a convenience store, cross-legged on the floor. The cashier couldn’t seem to care less about him, it was far past midnight and strange people were hardly unexpected when on the graveyard shift. A person hacking at a watch with a knife was not a huge deal, as long as he was also intent on paying for the chips he was snacking on while doing it.

It was a nice watch, an old model that made the people around him turn their heads whenever they noticed it. He would just smile and say that he had a thing for antiques.

Technically, this was true. There were plenty of things that the people of this time would consider ‘antiques’ that he rather missed. Like DVDs, and records, and actual wheels on vehicles…

Maybe he just had a thing for circles, now that he thought about it.

It was a nice shape.

Except for when said nice shape was marred by the watch that had completely ruined his life, then it was… the opposite of nice.

Bad!

Yeah, this thing was really frying his brain cells, to be honest.

But he couldn’t just stop. They would surely come for him if he stuck in one place for too long, and he couldn’t let them get their hands on something that could alter the past, present, and future.

And… and then there was her. At first, he had thought that she was another experiment, someone sent by them to bring him back. And, maybe, she was an experiment, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that there were other attempts made to stop the biological clock, but she certainly wasn’t affiliated with any government. Not anymore, at least. She had far outlived the people that had made her this way.

Yet, she still looked for him. Still tried to steal his watch whenever she happened to catch sight of him, so did it really matter who she was with?

Granted, part of him wanted to give her the watch – he certainly didn’t want it – but he certainly didn’t trust her, either. Just because they might have shared a few experiences didn’t mean that they had ended up at all the same.

And, really, what would he do without the watch? Who would he be? He hadn’t been much of a person even before he had become the government’s newest little plaything, there was a reason he had been chosen. They had thought he wouldn’t fight – at least, not for long.

They had been wrong, of course.

He had taken that watch, glanced at the logo on every mug proudly claiming that their facility had been ‘serving the people since 1931’, traveled to 1930, barreled through confused construction workers, and then disappeared into the streets.

But after that?

He had never really thought that it would work, and now here he was, unsure of what, exactly, he should do. He was a free man. Now what?

If he didn’t have to live on the run, he wasn’t sure he would be moving at all.

He’d leave soon.

But, because constantly running was more than a little tiring, he stabbed his watch. It was indestructible, and therefore it was very fun to take his anger out on it. Sparks bounced off of the metal, and he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much about it. Therapy was important, but he couldn’t tell anyone for fear of getting caught, so this would have to do.

He wasn’t sure how long he did this for, but, eventually, he came to a stop.

Not entirely by choice, though.

A sensor chimed in a mockery of the dinging bell that used to hang over the door in every shop way back in the day, signaling that someone had just come in. Duke absently looked up, expecting a haggard, half-awake person to beeline for the coffee machine. And they did, grabbing the biggest cup that she could find and immediately shoving it under the tap, seemingly uncaring of how slow the trickle of coffee entering her cup was so long as it eventually filled.

But, as his eyes took in her face shape, the makeup almost completely rubbed away after a long day of doing… whatever her job was… he realized that she was remarkably familiar. Long hair tied up into a lazy bun, hoop earrings glimmering in the slightly yellow light of the store, jumpsuit so much more form-fitting than the housewife dress he had last seen her in, her hoverboard tucked beneath her arm. She looked so very different from the last time they had crossed paths, yet he could recognize her anywhere.

She always felt ever so slightly off. At first glance, of course, no one would bat an eye, but as more and more time passed, their skin would start to crawl, and their expressions became more and more anxious as they realized that something was wrong. Her eyes were without life, her skin was tan and yet it was missing some of the color it was supposed to have, her nose (set ever so slightly wrong) didn’t flare every few seconds like it was supposed to when someone was alive and breathing.

Sensing his gaze, she turned her head to look at him, and those dull blue eyes widened in surprise. The coffee started spilling over the rim of her cup without her even seeming to notice the scalding hot liquid burning her hands, and he realized that things were about to get far more complicated.

“You,” Marinette said.

Duke’s fingers tightened around his knife. It was useless and both of them knew it. He still brandished it in front of him, trying to ward her off.

When she launched herself at him, she was aiming for the weapon.

He kept a strong grip on the handle, but he was far more concerned with the watch in his lap, scrambling to fasten it back onto its rightful place on his wrist. That was certainly one of the downsides of older technology – it didn’t automatically click into place when asked to. And, no matter how much Duke tried, he couldn’t ‘damage’ the watch, even if he was just trying to bring it into a more modern age.

Not all old things are inherently bad, though. The knife, one of the first of humankind’s creations, slid through her hand like it was butter.

She twisted her arm so the weapon was wrenched from his grip.

But, even as she yanked the knife out, her grip was weak when it scrabbled at him, the process of her skin knitting itself back together taking away just enough of her energy that he was able to spin the dial.

He glanced down to make sure that it would send him back in time, because he had learned the hard way that advancing even a few years forward would often find her waiting for him, arms crossed, a smug look on her face as she explained that she had theorized that he would have to end up in the same place.

Said look on her face had been quickly wiped off when he used the time it took to do her monologue to calibrate his watch and send himself into the past.

He didn’t think she’d make that mistake again.

So, after triple-checking, ignoring the legs around his waist and shaky grip reaching for his wrist, he let go of the dial.

A flash of bright light, and he was gone.

Well, ‘gone’ wasn’t the right word. ‘Gone’ implied that he was somewhere else. And he wasn’t, really, just some other time.

A week in the past, to be exact.

“God, I need to lay off the shrooms,” the cashier commented, blinking the spots out of his eyes.

Duke shifted awkwardly from foot to foot on his spot on the floor. Literally, a spot on the floor. A scorchmark marred the tile. He snickered to himself, wondering sheepishly whether this was why the cashier had seemed even more out of it than was expected of a guy working the night shift.

Awkwardly, he lifted a hand to clap him on the back.

“Yeah, probably. Those things aren’t healthy for you, man.”

[in-death-we-fall]

Full Metal Jack Off

Murderdolls' Wednesday 13 on how being a geek is actually cool.

Metal Hammer 113, May 2003

I’ve met a lot of people since the Murderdolls began. Every type of person you can think of – goths, punks, straightedge, Christians, Satanists, country, retard, yellow, black, every kind of weirdo possible, and yes me and my band are included on that list as well!

The interesting thing is each has a different view on certain things and that’s what makes us individuals. So let me discuss what pisses me off about some of these people and the way they think.

First off, I don’t believe people are born cool, we all were dorks and nerds and at some point some of us progressed and some didn’t (me). I hate that a lot of people (particularly musicians) don’t have the courage to admit where they came from or what they used to be into, or just admit they (sic) they like something regardless of how mainstream it is. I have always made it a point to be honest and not deny the things I was into and grew up on. I bought a lot of records that were shit and I bought a lot that were fucking great. So what if I exceeded the limits of buying every hair metal band that got a record deal from the time I was 13 ‘til I was 18.

I won’t expose you, you know who you are, but just be aware that there are people out there that know you are not as cool as you claim to be. Basically I’m saying it’s okay to grow up and learn about music on your own. Everything that you are into does not have to be approved by the general public, nor should you be looked down on for being into something at one point in your life, just don’t deny it. My band is associated with the darker gothic, punk audience, but I didn’t come out of my mother wearing black lipstick, dreadlocks, and a lip ring. I lived and I learned and finally became what I am today. I went to elementary school with a blonde bowl haircut obsessed with GI Joe and Rambo then I went to middle school with blonde hair and a Twisted Sister logo drawn on my jean jacket. I got the shit kicked out of me from time to time and took a lot of shit for what I was into. I dyed my hair black in the tenth grade because of Alice Cooper, W.A.S.P. and bands like LA Guns. Oh no, did I admit that? Am I not cool now?

Murderdolls were on Dawson’s Creek, oh no we sold out. Did we? The word ‘sellout’ is used quite a bit these days. The way certain people claim that others have sold out, really brings up an argument. Just because a band gets popular does not mean that they sold out. I was in an unknown band for seven years. I’ve been accused of selling out by leaving my band to start this one. I’ve even been accused of stealing my own songs – go figure that one out. Here is my clever anti-selling out plan you should all try. If it’s popular don’t buy it, that goes for food, soda, whatever. Don’t drink Coke or Pepsi because they sold out, buy the generic Cola instead. Don’t go to McDonald’s by (sic) a hamburger from an underground street vendor. Wait a minute, I’m selling out by using this computer and e-mailing it to the Hammer offices, the internet is too popular, I think I’ll just mail it by the post office. Oh no I can’t do that, that’s popular too, everyone uses mail.

Maybe I’ll just fly to the UK and hand deliver it, but I’ll have to fly on an underground airline because US AIR would be selling out. If the pilot is a punk rocker I’ll make sure he likes real punk rock bands and not Blink 182 and Green Day because they are too commercially accepted, and that would be selling out.

Sounds stupid? Well that’s just popular opinion put in print. The whole world’s stupid, and now you are just a bit more stupid having read this.

Wednesday 13

[palebloodcvrse]

Heres my fuckin gremlin:

The main event

The creature

His name is Ae, he got turned into a weird demon dragon thing when he was a kid, also some weird shit happened that left him mildly silly shall we say

He isnt part of any particular fandom and is part of his own story :p

Btw his design includes a lot of black and red and lemme just say if youre a black/red hater leave that mentality on deviantart. Fuck that shit

Every day wear:

Monster form:

Armor his adoptive father gave him:

His dad is a giant dracolich man who adopted him when he was 7 and turned him (dont worry, it wasnt forced on him, ae didnt wanna be human anymore due to some bs that happened to him, ill get in depth in another post)

They have a very addams family esque father son dynamic

This is his dad, kvstrathos (he didnt start wearing metal merch til ae did lol)

Heres Ae when he was a kid, he had ultra long hair lmfao

His dad is a few thousand years older than him btw.

Youd think being adopted by a murderous dracolich warlord would mean they have a tumultous dynamic, but no. Kvstrathos loves and spoils Ae and has dad of the year award behavior, always cookin him stuff teachin him life lessons tutoring him going on hunting trips telling him stories, playing games with him etc

So, this gremlin is very skittish and really doesnt like interacting with people much having grown outside of human contact for 90% of his life

His disposition often switches from impish/happy to a complete stormcloud the next

He often has intense mood swings and flipflops from being silly goofy to being not so silly goofy and concerningly... unstable.

(other than the fucked up court wizard his dad has, and even then the dudes an insane warlock and ex surgeon who was made immortal by an evil deity, ill upload him later)

Its left ae pretty much ignorant of how the human world worked other than outdated shit (he still thinks humans have widespread villages and farms like in the middle ages, boy was he wrong) since all his dad had in the archives about human history are all outdated historical texts (oh but all the occult crap? That got saved.)

So he grew up learning how humans tried to bind demons but doesnt know what a stanley cup is.

His dad spent his days training ae in various combat arts, sometimes showing him some weaponry or old siege equipment/medieval torture devices, etc and mr insane warlock was there to tutor him on dark magic if his dad was busy, and also to act as some sort of babysitter

Ae grew up in a castle with nobody but his dad and the court wizard for company so he pretty much doesnt know how to socialize with like... normal people.

Ae likes a lot of things:

Morbid crap, gardening, the woods, (he has an obsession with farms and nature.) Medieval weaponry, the occult, FOOD and the baking and cooking/preparing of said food, animals. Especially cats. And metal. Holy shit he went to the human world very few times but he fucking found some metal records in an abandoned shed and couldnt stop listening to it after.

As a result his dad gave him an enchanted guitar that has destructive properties and now hes some fucked up heavy metal bard on top of being taught by a giant dark knight and warlock on various combat arts.

Gory descriptions under the cut

His body is heavily mutated from the amount of dark magic that seeped into him since the ritual™ and therefore it has weird traits like worsening his vision while increasing his other senses like hearing and smell, regenerating wounds but also randomly forming painful clusters of black nerves, mouths and eyes that sometimes dont go away on their own, sickening him or strengthening him randomly, etc this boy is not normal and doesnt function as such.

As a dracolich (not all undead dragons are azeratean dracoliches, more lore on that later) he consumes the flesh and souls of demons and corrupted humans.

He often needs said blood and flesh to stay and healthy and strong.

He and his father are children of a dark elder god but theyre not wholly evil, its a whole thing that I dont wanna type out in one post for now.

[earthwindandraen]

TASK 001: The Crescent Key - A Rae Elle Park Playlist

Music is a really, really big part of Rae's life. If asked, she'll always say that she doesn't have much of a preference, and it's actually true. No matter the decade, the genre, the artist, Rae Elle has a deep appreciation for all manner of music that can often be seen in her daily life. Typically, if she's working at Broken Record, patrons are liable to hear a very eclectic variety of music to play over the stereo depending on what Rae Elle feels like playing. Very rarely does what she's playing coincide with her mood. Rae's a pretty happy person, all things considered, despite what's lurking in her head and heart. Even when she's playing The Moody Blues, she's more often than not got a smile on her face.

With that being said, this playlist has a big focus of Rae's personality as opposed to her personal tastes, each song a reflection of who she is, not just something she might enjoy listening to. In truth, I first thought about breaking this playlist up into a light magic and a dark magic section. However, Rae Elle is a staunch mix of both. Therefore, her playlist is one cohesive, homogenous mix of light and dark and genre, all tangled together with themes of witchcraft, rebirth, and freedom. There's goth, metal, rock, folk, and country all working together to show off who Rae Elle Park is.

Listen here. Songs detailed below the cut.

Spellbound by Siouxsie and the Banshees | And don't forget when your elders forget / To say their prayers / Take them by the legs / And throw them down the stairs

Which Witch by Florence + The Machine | I'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out / Who's a heretic now? / Am I making sense? / How can you make it stick?

Jaded by Spiritbox | And I've always been ashamed that I wanna / Fall into a dream with my honour desecrated / Blood is jaded / I've never found a way to be honest / All I know is a place where I haunted

Bottom of the River by Delta Rae | If you get sleep or if you get none / (The cock's gonna call in the morning, baby) / And check the cupboard for your daddy's gun / (Red sun rises like an early warning)

Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac | She is like a cat in the dark / And then she is to darkness / She rules her life like a fine skylark / And when the sky is starless

Black Magic by Magic Wands | There is a crescent key / That locks a hole in the door / Into the pit of your heart / The future is the reward

Burn the Witch by Shawn James | But I won't scream, won't give them that satisfaction / No, I won't confess my false interaction / As I breathe deep and prepare for my passing / I hear them chant, "Burn the witch"

Lady May by Tyler Childers | I'm a stone's throw from the mill / And I'm a good walk to the river / When my workin' day is over / We'll go swim our cares away

Freedom by Dorothy | Take me down to the south land / Oh I need that humid air / I put two feet through the old church door / Holy water on through my hair

seven by Taylor Swift | And I've been meaning to tell you / I think your house is haunted / Your dad is always mad and that must be why / And I think you should come live with / Me and we can be pirates / Then you won't have to cry

The House of the Rising Sun by Dolly Parton | So mothers you go telling all your daughters / Not to do what I've done / To live a life of sin, shame and strife / In the house of the rising sun

To Someone from a Warm Climate by Hozier | "Uiscefhuaraithe" / The feel of coldness only water brings / There are some things that no one teaches you, love / That come natural as a dream, you didn't know that you were in

Persephone by Cocteau Twins | Hey, the chances I must waste / Hey, ever dirge, even their moth got a jar / Is what it takes

Season of the Witch by Donovan | When I look over my shoulder / What do you think I see? / Some other cat lookin' over / His shoulder at me / And he's strange, sure is strange

[jkflesh]

GODFLESH — April 20, 1991 Country Club, Reseda CA

Photo by Kevin Estrada.

[...] There was a lot of anticipation for this L.A. area show as it approached. I don’t know where they come from, but there would be masses and masses of death metal Latinos that would come to these shows – I’m talking hundreds of them. The violence inside and outside the venue started even before any of the bands hit the stage as three of the most notorious gangs in Los Angeles were in attendance. And to make things worse, they were all rivals. If that was not enough, add handfuls of concert-goers high on PCP / Angel Dust. I’m not kidding, this show was out of control.

As each band played their sets and the night progressed, so did the level of violence. I began to notice that there were less and less photographers as the night went on. Just before co-headliner Napalm Death hit the stage, there was just me and the photographer from the Los Angeles Times left in the barricade. As soon as Napalm came out, a horde of kids rushed the stage… The stage was filled with dozens and dozens of crazy, violent kids, you could barely see the band – and they were using us as stepping blocks to get on the stage.

At one point, during Napalm’s first song, the L.A. Times photographer started freaking out, totally panicking. He started grabbing me and pulling on me. Then he started screaming that we needed get out of there. The venue was way out of control and he feared for his life – and mine. He must have thought I was nuts, because I was getting off on the chaos, my adrenaline was so high, I did not want it to end. I looked at him with a crazed smile and screamed back at him that I wasn’t going anywhere. He grabbed his gear and ran…I never saw him again.

By the time Godflesh hit the stage, I was the only photographer left. I was either the bravest photographer that night, or the stupidest. I am sure it was a fine line between the two. My passion for the music just took over, and I was in it ‘til the end. I noticed that the PCP usage really kicked in during the Godflesh set. There were people freaking out, hallucinating and hurting people right behind me.

As I was snapping Godflesh, I began to feel a cold, tingling sensation on my back. Every once in a while, I would need to scratch or rub my back as the sensation grew more and more frequent. A few songs later, I again rubbed my back, this time I noticed that the top of my hand was smeared with blood. I had no idea what was going on. Was it my blood? Was it someone else’s blood?

Then I saw it. One of the kids, out of his mind on Angel Dust, had an exacto knife and had been slicing my back. The back of my shirt was in strips and I had about eleven bloody slices on my back. I started screaming at the kid and I knocked the exacto knife out of his hand with my camera. Just then, one of the other PCP freaks started biting the kid’s cheek. He then ripped a handful of hair out of his head and pounded him in the face until he was in a bloody daze. The whole scene was surreal to me…it was almost like Godflesh was playing the most amazing soundtrack music to the most out of control, violent, drug induced movie that I had ever seen. But this was not a movie, it was real, and it was exploding right in front of my face. Godflesh finished their set at about 2AM and I was still standing, camera in hand. I went home, feeling like I had been run over by a bus, but I knew I got some killer photos.

The next morning, my telephone woke me up. It was the publicist at Earache / Relativity Records – Godflesh’s record label. It turns out that the Los Angeles Times heard how out of control the show was and they wanted to do a story on the show and on the Grindcore movement – but they had no photos because their photographer bailed. I was the only guy with the photos that they needed. I tried my best to negotiate with the L.A. Times – I got a whopping $60 – I was lucky to get paid at all. Nevertheless, my photo and my name made it onto a full page in the Sunday Calendar Section – the biggest entertainment section that the L.A. Times runs. It was a huge success for my career and me. I might not have been paid very much, but this photo and this story gave me street cred that you just can’t buy. Talk about having to pay your dues.

[unknwnxquantity]

My downfall is how I try to keep memories alive. I get scared I’ll forget them forever so I replay random memories from years and years ago to keep it alive in my brain so they don’t go down the abyss —the memory dump— like bing bong from inside out. Like a random Cartoon Network commercial of the scooby doo fruit snacks (or was it a cereal commercial?) from a pre recorded episode of justice league unlimited. Or me being on my sister’s computer in her room (during her teen years/my childhood) whether it was playing the Sims, Disney Magic Artist Studio game, being on iTunes or YouTube, right under her top bunk bed that you had to climb the ladder to get onto and we would sleep together in her bed sometimes bc we were besties. And the metal from the bed would constantly shake as if it would break on you any minute even if you moved an inch. Or when she gave me my first bratz doll that was hers, Cameron, and it started my little journey playing with bratz. Or when I had my hot pink razr flip phone 💁‍♀️ and would watch music on demand and put the phone close to the tv speaker to record the chorus of J Holidays Bed as my ringtone (I was not even double digits bro😭). Or being in this after school program in middle school for that one year and it being some of the best times of my life. Or that one time we got to text Disney channel which Hannah Montana episode we wanted to air before the others (it was out of 3 episodes… or 2? Idk if anyone knows what I’m talking about). Or my three way phone calls (after 8? Or 9pm? So it wouldn’t take from my minutes) I had with my two friends from that middle school at the time late at night and the one always having to hang up and being unreachable by phone half the time lol. Or listening to Alicia keys try sleeping with a broken heart on my sisters old iPod mini she gave me and had her songs still on it, and I sat on the floor heartbroken (like I knew what love was) for my 6th grade crush that had no idea I was obsessed with her😭 but all my friends did bc I’d alwaysss talk about how cute she was. Or my little big planet days being friends with people from the UK and building and playing levels. Or the first time I got my period and I was playing that game and texting that same crush at the time (I think I told her about it). It was summer, and my family and I were going somewhere In New York later that day, and my parents were in a weird period in their divorce where they were still together. Or going to see my cousins in the Bronx when I was younger almost every weekend at one point, with my one guy cousin who’s a year older and I thought he was the coolest person ever and I wanted to be him. Or being on vacation with my fam every year to Orlando til I was 11, and being in the car on the highway to Seaworld (we’d go to universal mostly tho) and Dolphin and Gold by Prince playing and it just feeling magical. We always listened to Prince. Or a random memory after an away softball game? Basketball game? From sophomore year of hs and thinking to myself, staring out the bus window on the ride back to our school, about why I think so deeply and feeling so alone in that and in my thoughts.

I like to keep random memories alive. I actively search for them to keep them in my consciousness and retrieve them like archives. I’m scared of forgetting. I’ve always been like that. Yearning for the past ever since I reached my teens. Escaping my reality. My dads like that too 🤣 But then it’s like… you miss what’s right in front of you right now that is gonna be something you’re nostalgic for in a couple years from now. It’s definitely my biggest setback. I just feel so connected to my past and my roots. My family, old tv shows, old connections, old video games. It’s what keeps me here today. But my life path is about letting go. I hold on with a death grip lol. What does it feel like to live in the present?

[stylized-corpse]

Hey hey! It’s Bandcamp Friday. If you like my stuff and wanna help support me today is the day to do it. I released a ton of stuff in 2023 including one single, one full length, a complete re-recording of my very first album, and two EPs.

[ghostcultmagazine]

Check out our preview of the new metal and rock releases coming out this week for New Music Friday, 1476 – In Exile (Prophecy Productions) Albert Bouchard – Imaginos III – Mutant Reformation (Deko Records) All For Metal – Legends (AFM Records) Blackbraid – Blackbraid II (Self-Released) Blackscape – Suffocated By The Sun (Massacre Records) Blessed Black – Seasons: Vol. 1 EP (Self-Released) Bloodbound – Tales From The North (AFM Records) Butcher Babies – Eye For An Eye &…Til The World’s Blind (Century Media Records) Degreed – Public Address (Frontiers srl) Demolizer – Post Necrotic Human (Mighty Music) Emma Ruth Rundle – Engine Of Hell – Live At Roadburn 2022 (Self-Released) Eternity – Mundicide (Soulseller Records) Fen – Monuments To Absence (Prophecy Productions) Feuerchwanz – Fegefeuer (Napalm Records) Gutslit – Carnal (Self-Released) Hatebreed – The Rise Of Brutality/Supremacy Re-Release (Dissonance Records) Hazing Over – Tunnel Vision EP (1126 Records) Jaodae – Nest Of Veins (Black Throne) Kikimora – For A Broken Dime (Frontiers srl) A Life Divided – Down The Spiral Of A Soul (AFM Records) Metide – Erebos (Black Lion Records) Nita Strauss – The Call Of The Void (Sumerian Records) Putridity – Greedy Gory Gluttony EP (Willowtip Records) Serpent Corpse – Blood Sabbath (Temple Of Mystery) Snuffed On Sight – Smoke (Creator-Destructor) Temple Of Void – The First Ten (Chaos Records) Will Haven – VII (MinusHead Records) Withering Scorn – Prophets Of Demise (Frontiers srl) Yawning Balch – Volume One (Heavy Psych Sounds) The Usual Suspects: 🎤 Micaela Superstar ⁠https://www.instagram.com/micaeladeadeyes/⁠ 💻 Omar Cordy ⁠https://www.instagram.com/ojcpics⁠ 🎵 Fahad Syed ⁠https://ift.tt/EndGbDu

[maa-pix]

I wish I could find an online recording of this.

From Ohio Valley Filk Fest (ovff.org):

Heart of the Apple Lisa

Lyrics copyright 1995 by Jordin Kare (and footnotes?) Music: Heart of the Appaloosa, by Fred Small

In the land of high-tech ventures, by the waters of Frisco Bay -- Hewlett Packard up by Stanford, IBM in San Jose - [1] The hackers of the Apple wrote their code and schemed their schemes In the Valley known as Silicon, where fortunes grow from dreams.

And they build some fine computers, if you skip the Apple III, [2] But they vowed to build a new machine that would the market please. They would ease the User's burden; the command line they'd replace With the magic known as GUI: Graphic User Interface.

Chorus: Windows Scrolling in the Valley Lead the Hackers off on a GUI tide. There's blood on the chips down at HP, DEC, and MIPS [3] But the Heart of the Apple Lisa never died.

Then from Xerox came the Alto, never marketed nor sold, [4] Bringing mice and multitasking, and menus that unfold. Desktops sprouted metal rodents; bitmaps glowed upon the screen, And printers put on whizzy wigs to print just what was seen. [5]

Nearly lost in Big Blue's shadow, incompatible with DOS, The Lisa, slow and costly, seemed sure to be a loss, But then came Macs and Fat Macs, Laserwriters, II's and more, And word would come from Microsoft, "You realize, This Means War!"

CHORUS

The Chief said to the Hackers, in his anger and his pain, "I am no more John Sculley. Scrolling Windows is my name. They condemn us to niche markets, call our products vaporware! We will sue them if we must, but we'll retain our market share!"

Well, they climbed on board that Scuzzy bus, with Postscript in their hearts. [6] They won in desktop publishing. They won in graphic arts. 'Til Bill Gates, he saw his strategy, and sent the email down, To copy those GUI features, wherever they be found.

CHORUS

Three Windows versions later, past the Pentium divide, [7,8] The strangest of bedfellows, IBM, now on their side, [9] Three thousand applications on the Power PC run, But the buyers and the users still are leaving, one by one.

Windows Scrolling In the Valley said "My heart is sick and sad. The future now is RISCy, the old chips are dead. [10] The lawyers take our spirit, but I've stock options galore. [11] From where Scott McNealy stands, I will fight no more!

CHORUS

They were moved to Intel platforms. Michelangelo ran rife. [12] But more hackers quit from boredom, and went off to get a life. And the man once known as Scully, with great glee is heard to state, "They'll get Windows '95 debugged in 1998" [13]

But sometimes, without warning, in some dull commercial app A hack of wondrous cleverness emerges from the crap. A metaphor that's graceful, a real need that it can fill Double-click upon that icon; the Apple Lisa's living still!

CHORUS

-----

[1] Hewlett Packard (HP) and IBM San Jose were two of the ancestral companies of Silicon Valley, along with Fairchild Semiconductor and a few others

[2] The Apple III was one of the great fiascos of the PC industry. Meant to replace the Apple II, it was so unreliable that official Apple maintenance procedures for Apple III's included picking them up and dropping them six inches onto a hard surface (to re-seat the chips in their sockets).

[3] DEC (Digital Equipment Corporation) more or less invented minicomputers, but completely missed the boat on personal computers; they ended up being bought by Compaq in 1999. MIPS made some of the first really high-performance microprocessors.

[4] Xerox Palo Alto Research Center invented most of the technologies used in the Lisa and the Mac (and now, in Windows), including mice, windows, and pull-down menus. Xerox did make some computers using these ideas, and could probably have owned much of the PC market, but they did a truly abysmal job of marketing them.

[5] What You See Is What You Get - WYSIWYG

[6] SCSI - Small Computer Storage Interface - is the standard bus used to connect hard disks and other peripherals to Macs. When the standard was invented, engineers had a choice of pronouncing it "sexy" or "scuzzy"; "scuzzy" won by a wide margin.

[7] It took Microsoft three tries before they came out with a usable graphic user interface (Windows 3.0) and two more (Windows 3.1 and WIndows 95) before they got one that even approached the quality of the original Mac interface. Many people think they still haven't matched it.

[8] The Pentium Divide was, of course, Intel's infamous chip-design error that caused literally millions of Windows computers to give wrong answers to simple division problems.

[9] In Apple's early days, their arch-enemy was IBM (as illustrated in the famous "1984" Macintosh commercial), but by the mid-1990's Apple and IBM were both faced by a greater foe in Microsoft. They teamed up on several projects, including the PowerPC chip and a never-finished new operating system, but it was always at best an uneasy alliance.

[10] RISC (Reduced Instruction Set Computing) is a type of microprocessor architecture that has largely replaced CISC (Complex I.S.C.) microprocessors, except for Intel microprocessors. (Intel, the company that puts the "backwards" in "backwards compatible.")

[11] A passing reference to Apple's ultimately-unsuccessful lawsuit against Microsoft for copying the "look and feel" of the Macintosh .

[12] Michelangelo was one of the first widespread computer viruses that attacked IBM-compatible PC's (but not Macs).

[13] This is the original version of the line. As of today (May 2000) I sing: "They'll get Windows 95 debugged in nineteen-zero-eight (spoken:) damn y2k bugs" But as Y2K memories fade, I'll have to change it again.

[horrorpatch]

MADROST Release Playthrough Video for "Charring The Rotting Earth"!

MADROST Release Playthrough Video for “Charring The Rotting Earth”!

So Cal death thrashers MADROST has dropped a playthrough video for the new track, “Charring The Rotting Earth.” It is the title track to the band’s upcoming new album, due out September 25 on No Life Til Metal Records. You can watch the playthrough video below.

From The Press Release

Southern California death thrashers MADROST have released a playthrough video for the title track from…

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

Motörhead -  (We Are) the Road Crew