#but then i still need to figure out how the fuck poppy's role fits into that

[razzle-zazzle]

Fighting the first movie tooth and nail trying to figure out how it all goes down.

I am not winning 😞

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

Anon said: tried to read through all your request rules, but I didnt specifically see which Characters you write for. If you do, could you write for Porco helping his S/o sleep? I have super bad insomnia most days, and I just really want something fluffy with Porco...just cuddles or stories or something. If you dont write for Porco though could you switch it with a AoT character you do write for, I'm not really picky. Thank you so much in advance! 🥺💗

Porco helping you sleep

{Porco x reader | tw:none | sleep help, fluff | canon }

{ "The Night School" C.1660-C.1665 By Gerrit Dou 1613-1675 }

Unmoving shadows cast into the empty white walls, slightly flickering with the flame on the white candle sitting on the nightstand. Half lidded eyes observe their small movements for they're the only interesting thing in this empty hotel room you've been assigned. 

Your beige uniform tucked into the small closest with a single hanger inside, the armband hanging on the closest door for easy reach. The squeak of the spring mattress chirping up whenever you moved to flip your too stiff pillow. 

Judging by the amount of melted wax collecting on the bottom of the candle, you've been awake for far too long. 

This isn't the first time this has happened, you're used to getting acquainted with the room's walls and shadowy furniture.

Sleep has abandoned you long ago, its friend insomnia visiting you daily instead. Only leaving every week or so to remind you of what you could never have, taunting almost.

You've tried to force yourself to sleep really, did every known trick in the book, you even tried mediation like Zeke has been preaching to you about, but to no avail. so you've started making peace with the thing, you know at least using the night time to get things done since you're not getting rest either way.

Books were your first friend, for staring at the walls could only be entertaining for so long, but now with your stash of books miles away back home, you're left with nothing else to do.

The nightstand drawer only contained an emergency gun with several bullets inside, and the pocket knife under your pillow wasn't interesting enough.

Getting up from the bed, you picked up the candle before slowly inching the creaky door open. Maybe a glass of water could help, who cares that this is your third time going for water in the last hour? Well hydration is important after all, or so you tried to bargain for an excuse to stretch your legs.

Attempting your best to glide through the old wooden boards without as much as a squeak, you headed towards the kitchen, passing through several other bedrooms in the process, probably all deep in dream land already.

Everything was too quiet, the sound of water filling the glass was the only thing interrupting the silence, its cool feeling going down your dry throat helped you a bit.

Drinking down what you can, you decided to take the rest with you back, a good excuse for a trip to the bathroom later. Although as you turned, a figure was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and staring at you.

"Isn't it too early for breakfast?" Porco said, covering his mouth with his hand as he yawned, "you should get some rest while you can, we're getting thrown in the front trenches tomorrow." 

Just the mention of it made your stomach roll at the thought of staying in a muddy hole for days, the smell of gunpowder and yelling of soldiers, not to mention the crowded train rides back home.

"I know, it's just…" you stared at the water moving inside your glass while tilting it, "one of those days, you know?" 

eyes narrowing with his eyebrows pulling down in concentration, even Porco's sleep clouded mind could recognise the heavy bags under your eyes. The ride here used all of your energy and now you're too tired to even sleep.

Feeling an unpleasant weight on his chest, he wasn't sure what to say as he approached you, awkwardly leaning against the sink, a heavy sigh left him.

"You know, you should bother me more often, I don't mind it." His gentle tone was followed by a melancholic smile, "let's just...go to bed."

With that his hand wrapped around your wrist, loosely at first like he was reluctant about it, before it got more secure once you didn't pull away.

…

The old door gave out a creek as it closed behind you, the room dimmer than you left it with the candle you're carrying almost burning out. 

Looking at the small bed with a single pillow, you wondered how the two grown people would fit in it and judging by the frustrated look Porco was eyeing it with, he must be thinking the same.

Looking at him, your mind wondered back to all the battles you've fought together. For some reason the superiors always seemed more strick and harsh with him, especially after the paradise mission was launched.

Belitting and nagging, carelessly throwing him in risky situations.

Your grip tightened around the water glass, feeling growing thickness in your throat. "Hey...it's okay you can go to your room, you need sleep." You said moving past him to sit on the bed, "I'll be fine."

"Should've thought of that before waking me up, now scoot over." He said, rising an eyebrow and stepping closer.

"I didn't wake you up, you're just a light sleeper." Laying down, you stretched your limbs filling the bed, "there's no room, it won't fit."

Silence filled the room for a while, you could feel his eyes roaming over you, "Oh really? Well…"

One second, you were laying on the mattress while staring at his stubborn expression in confusion, the next a pair of arms was lifting you up as he stole your place before dropping you on him. His arm circled your waist not trusting that you won't pull away

"I made it fit." he looked at you with smugness in his eyes

His warm skin felt comforting against yours, contrasting with the cold room air, you could hear his slowing heartbeat with being so close to his chest, your legs slowly tangling to fit under the blanket covering you.

Apparently that's as far as his genius plan went, because after that an awkward silence filled the room.

"So...you made it fit huh?" You couldn't help but say, a grin slowly spreading on your face. 

Porco blinked in response, tilting his head, before his eyes stilled as his ears flushed. "Fucking god, you're such a-" his attempt to scold you was interrupted by a chuckle escaping mid-sentence.

Having a contagious laugh, soon enough you too joined him.

After it died down, the atmosphere was replaced by a much more relaxed one as his hold on you softened, more intimate than the previous one. 

"When I was a kid, i used to have trouble sleeping- well more like i was too stubborn to fall asleep." Porco said, trailing his finger up your back soothingly, "and since Marcel was stuck sharing a room with me, he'd tell me stories to get me to fall asleep."

"What kind of stories?" 

"...if you tell this to anyone I'm reporting you to the higher ups you for treason, they were flower stories." Clearing his throat, you could feel his heartbeat rising under you, 

Closely watching your reaction, Porco continued after some seconds. "now I'm not calling you a kid nor do i think it's as simple, i just think...we should give it a chance." 

With the heaviness of the blanket above you and warmth of his body underneath you, it was hard to refuse his request, especially with the way he looked at you so earnestly. 

You agreed, and felt his other hand reach to pull up the blanket more, tucking you protectively between his body and the soft fabric. 

"This first one is called...well i don't remember what names Marcel gave them, but it's about poppies."

Crimson red bringers of eternal sleep, their crumbled petals and dark centers often found in the ancient tombs of soldiers.

As the mother of nature, Demeter, mourned and grieved from the betrayal of Zeus, it wasn't only the mortal realm in which death loomed at every corner, for her own mind was a tormenting prison of never ending suffering.

And so a droplet of her blood sprang and flourished to create a six petaled flower, easing her heartache if only for a moment as the poppy put her to sleep, numbing the pain.

Following in her trail was a red carpet of poppies, soon enough death and sleep themselves wore the flower, red crowns resting on top of Thanatos's held up head and one almost slipping from Hypnosi's leaning one as he dozed off. for eternal sleep was only another name for visiting the underworld. 

A symbol of peace in resting and condolence for the loss of a loved one, became the poppy's role. 

"This is why you'd often see them in people's front pockets whenever we return home." Porco said, the light slowly vanishing from the room as the candle burned itself out, the flame snuffed.

You've never questioned why a delivery of poppies would always be on the requirements in each returning celebration, it's just always been there. 

Slow and easy breathes flew through you, lazily stretching your arms up till it met something soft. Porco seemed to tense as your fingers loosely combed through his hair, leaning into the touch after a while.

"Don't stop." He murmured, sleep clear in his voice as another yawn left him.

"Do you have any other stories?" Drowsiness sweeping through your mind, you buried your hed deeper against his neck, eyelids fluttering shut.

"Yeah just…" his hand stilled from behind you as he looked into space attempting to recall a memory, soon enough the soft stroking returned. "This one is about peony."

Named after none other than Paeon himself, these flowers lived up to their reputation of healing and honour, for they have their own story to tell.

How the peony came to be declared king of flowers.

During the Tang dynasty, empress Wu Zetian strolled through her garden. Frowning at the empty field of green covered in thick white blankets of snow, the harsh season not showing mercy for the plants.

With a new goal in mind to flip this dreadful looking graveyard of a garden, she set to defy nature for she is the ruler of the land and her word is law.

Per her majesty's order, all flowers shall bloom in the midst of winter's visit.

As the word travelled far, all the fairies in the land couldn't believe their ears, how could such delicate fragile petals grow amidst the storm and snow. For flowers only bloom in spring, how could we go against mother nature?

While merciless mother nature was cruel, she couldn't compare for the empress's strong rule. For the fairies feared for their wings as their knees shook in her presence.

When the sun shined again, it welcomed colourful fields of different flowers in full bloom. The empress was pleased with their sweet smell and proud colours, each one rivaling the other.

And yet, she stood still near one flower bed, eyes wide. The peony deified her words and stubbornly refused to open, only sticks and brittle leaves left in their place.

In a fit of rage, the empress banished the flower to a far away city, striping away their status.

Living up to their stubborn nature, the peony bloomed that spring the most beautiful flowers humans have ever seen, turning the city of Luoyang into a heavenly soft land as their petals danced through the wind.

But their beauty couldn't last long, for a hungry fire swallowed them all, under the order of the empress who turned their green to coal.

And yet to everyone's surprise, when the earth circled the sun again, the peonies were back in bloom. Springing from the ashes were their mesmerising big petals and soft colours. 

In their respect, the fairies crowned them for their bravery as the ruler of the flowers, for wasn't it for their sacrifice the flowers wouldn't have been freed.

"They stayed on the right way, even if it meant going against the world." Porco's slurred words were half muffled against the pillow, head buried in it, his eyelids seemed to get too heavy for him to force them open again.

Turning his head to the side, you felt his lips press a light kiss against your forehead before whispering a goodnight, his hold still comfortably secure around you as if you might slip away. 

Soon enough, you too drifted into sleep as only his soft snoring filled the room. The moon watching over both of you through the windows as her light barely reached inside. 

And at this instant, you didn't think there was anywhere else in the world you'd rather be. Thoughts of what the future holds were pushed to the back of your mind next to the past, for the present is now and what a waste it would be not to bask in these rare moments of peace in this horrible world

[happymetalgirl]

The 15 Worst Metal Albums of 2020

This list might have been shorter if not for my running into a few awful albums at the end of the year that I had been avoiding wisely up until that point. My morbid curiosity got the best of me, and what’s done is done. I’m paying the price for it by going back over the worst albums I heard all year. Let’s get this over with.

15. Ghøstkid - Ghøstkid

This was the debut solo album from the former singer of Eskimo Callboy, who had a pretty decent backing of hype heading into this release under the Ghøstkid moniker, but with the namesake frontman putting in no more than the standard performance on a bunch of poorly assembled tracks in an unappealing and dated poppy metalcore style, ultimately the eponymous album wound up disappointing me pretty substantially.

14. Powerman 5000 - The Noble Rot

Powerman 5000 are just such a low-rate band that even one of their more okay albums makes it here. While not as astoundingly, mind-numbingly basic as their worst material, The Noble Rot is still some of the most unevolved, underwritten, and forgettable electro rock and industrial metal I’ve heard from a big name artist. This is some eighth grade level songwriting here, and that’s a fuckin’ feat for a band that’s been around longer than any eighth grader has.

13. Corey Taylor - CMFT

There was a lot of hype around Corey Taylor finally coming out with a solo project, and it was pretty damn disappointing to hear a bunch of uninteresting classic rock too tacky for Stone Sour. CMFT focuses on the fun side that has made its creator such an enigmatic figurehead in the metal press, but its one-note approach does little more than highlight Corey Taylor’s songwriting deficiencies. I really could have seen this album turning out better too, with just some more time and care put into it, if a fun time of an album is what Taylor was going for. Unfortunately Taylor tried to make a party album and a grand ceremonial tribute to his greatness at the same time, and ego-petting and partying don’t really go hand in hand.

12. Evildead - United States of Anarchy

It has some good bones underneath it, but Evildead’s long overdue (if anyone was asking for it) third album wears out its welcome so quickly with some of the most adolescent thrash I’ve heard in a while. The band gets some good rhythms going and the vocals aren’t terrible either, fitting the older thrash style pretty well. But the band’s predictable formula tires out very quickly, and the political commentary of the lyrics is too cheesy and cringeworthy to ignore. It seems every year we get a handful of these kinds of albums that try to get into the simmering thrash revival with some ultra retro approach, and a good portion of those albums are from long-defunct bands who figure their primitive old-school approach might be a selling point despite their sounds often being even more juvenile against the backdrop of today’s metal landscape. So it’s not a huge surprise or anything to hear an album as ham-fisted and corny as United States of Anarchy; this year it just happened to be Evildead.

11. Five Finger Death Punch - F8

They may not always place highest in this list, but they always manage to make it here, and this was actually an improvement on the last album, not that that’s saying all that much. In fact, I’d say this is the only time in the band’s history that they actually shifted their trajectory upwards. But while the band’s ugly continual creative decay has been a hard thing to watch and made them the five finger punching bag of the metal world, there seems to be a large enough swath of mouthbreathing chuds who love their incoherent derivative shit and flock to their shows enough to put them in lucrative headlining slots and on top of the metal world. Goddamn that sure sounds a lot like someone else we all know doesn’t it. I’ve criticized them plenty in the past, and while indeed an improvement, F8 only mildly remedies the numerous problems with Five Finger Death Punch. Still septic to the system are the predictably formulaic and tiresome songwriting, the stale production, the corny butt rock choruses, the shitty bootlicking worldview that bleeds into Ivan Moody’s douchey and faux-deep lyrics, the contrived ballads and country-dabbling. Even with an improvement in the flow of the track listing and a few more bangers that somewhat hearken back to their first album, F8 is still an over-thought and overly calculated batch of Sirius XM fodder that’s trying to please everyone in some superficial way. I’ll grant that it seems as though the band realized they had been giving the more metal-immersed side of their fanbase that has been with them the longest smaller and smaller crumbs with each new album. I’m not gonna hold my breath for this being anything more than placating for the time being; I’m sure the next album will find the band back on whatever bullshit they feel (or their execs feel) they need to be on to pull enough streams from inattentive radio metal bros. I always end with the disclaimer that I still steadfastly stand by the band’s first two albums, and even American Capitalist to a degree, and that I totally acknowledge the immense potential for greatness this band could seemingly at any time decide to fulfill. Ivan Moody is a talented vocalist with a lot of star power and they really could have been the second coming of Pantera or singlehandedly ignited a new wave of American groove metal and metalcore or carried it on their own. But instead the band have followed the money on the path of least resistance to fast-track their way to the top of festival tickets, which I’m sure affords them quite enough luxury and comfort in life, more than most bands these days get, but it doesn’t exempt them from criticism, and unfortunately I think their legacy will show that they were a lowest common denominator kind of band at the end of the day when they could have been, again, like a second Pantera or something.

10. Anvil - Legal at Last

Another year, another album of Anvil unable to evolve past their prototypic thrash of their forty-year-old origins. Though as tacky as ever, Anvil actually also managed to make a mild improvement on their last album on the musical front at least. The songs are a little more energetic and easier to get through, if not for the lyricism though. Anvil lyrics are never anything beyond a fourth-grader’s poetry assignment for their English class, but some of the Facebook boomer lyrics here are fucking cringy dude. A quick look at the track listing will let you know exactly where you’re gonna find the juiciest cringe, but honestly, even as far as cringe goes it’s nothing comedically special and cringe culture in general is played out anyway. So do yourself a favor and just ignore Anvil the way they deserve to be ignored.

9. Halestorm - Reimagined

It feels a little harsh to place an EP here, especially for a band whose album back in 2018 was one of the best things I have heard to come out of hard rock in a long time. But these stripped back covers and revisions of songs from the band’s catalog just suck all the oomph out of them, perhaps making the case by contrast for the importance of the role the rest of the band behind the indeed charismatic powerhouse frontwoman Lzzy Hale play in making their sound what it is. It’s unlikely this points to any kind of new direction for them, so I’m not particularly worried about them running into this problem again. Plus, I don’t think Halestorm and Lzzy Hale are like fundamentally incompatible with more ballad-y rock music, this forced balladization of older songs just did not work, and it makes perfect sense as to why.

8. Gama Bomb - Sea Savage

The fact that this album is only number 8 on this list is just depressing for its reminder of just how much shittier it got this year. The fact that there are seven albums from this yet worse than Sea Savage, goddamn. With one exception, this was maybe the stupidest album I heard all year, at least in the thrash department it was. God this thing is a sugar high mess. I feel like a toddler on an entire bag of Halloween candy or an elementary schooler on a 2-liter of Mountain Dew sat at a computer to program a thrash album would’ve probably come up with something like this. The erratic operatic highs and dumbass lyrics, it all just embodies everything that ever made thrash look bad. It’s like that drunk guy at a party who’s hyper as shit and doing a bunch of crazy stunts for attention because he thinks it’ll make the people there like him more, but really he’s just embarrassing himself. Yeah, definitely the worst thrash metal album I heard all year, and one I wish I could unhear.

7. Amaranthe - Manifest

One of the albums I was avoiding but reviewed late out of my own weird sense of obligation that I wasn’t surprised to find only validated my reasons for avoiding it in the first place. The weird combo of dancy pop music and power metal isn’t as crazy of an idea as it might seem at first thought. In fact, that’s basically in part what Babymetal are doing, and actually getting better and better at. But Amaranthe get the worst of both worlds with Manifest, unsavory pop melodies and utterly generic symphonic metal to make for something I’m not at all surprised I was so repulsed by.

6. Trapt - Shadow Work

Yep, I listened to it. God, no wonder this band is flailing in irrelevance with aggressive MAGA nonsense being their only audible desperate plea for attention. The album, thank fuck, isn’t steeped in the same bitch boy tantrum that the band’s singer has engaged in all year to the point of getting his band’s Facebook page banned for hate speech, and the music isn’t like offensively poorly made or anything like that either. There’s clearly a conscious meeting of the baseline requirements for the type of music they make, but holy fuck it’s so damn flavorless and predictable. It’d be one thing if this was the trendy thing to be doing, but this diet hard rock for people who think Three Days Grace is too wild has been out of fashion for over a decade. And Trapt are just recycling the same dumb formula that overstayed it’s welcome in the early 2000’s. Yeah, I’m not surprised at all, but god, it’s the kind of thing that has to be apparent to the band themselves too unless they’re lacking of any and all self-awareness. Trapt have thrown themselves to the forefront of the online metal world’s discourse by being an annoying, toxic, and childish presence all year; the silver lining being the unity among metalheads in roasting their laughable posturing about their Pandora numbers and the juicy memes about their one hit “Headstrong” that rile the snowflake singer up without fail. And this shit album is just another reason to laugh at them and more fuel to roast their crybaby Trumper frontman with. Go back into your hole, Trapt. 3/10

5. Unleash the Archers - Abyss

I talked about it in my review, but there really is only one simple thing that sinks this album so low. And that is just how incredibly low-effort and lifeless it is with a genre that’s supposed to be so life-affirming. Power metal isn’t the most highly revered genre in metal, but that’s just for its cheesiness. I love it; when it’s at its best, it’s some of the most inspiring metal music out there and I genuinely wish there was a bigger demand across the board for it. But Unleash the Archers just sound so flat and unenthusiastic in this album, and, sorry, in power metal, unabashed enthusiasm is just nonnegotiable. The guitar parts are phoned in and lacking in imagination, and the vocals especially are so narrow-range, it’s all so antithetical to the ethos of power metal and it doesn’t make a strong case for itself. I’ll leave it there; this album is lazy and lifeless so I feel no need to waste any of my time and work on it.

4. Burzum - Thûlean Mysteries

Ol’ Varg must’ve needed a new wizard hat or camouflage pants or whatever goofy shit he’s been doing since retiring the Burzum name to focus on his racism and LARPing because I thought Burzum was supposed to be finished. I thought you were done with Burzum, Varg. Apparently not too done to not dump an hour and a half of embarrassingly half-baked ambient dungeon synth song fragments that sound, so many of them, quite obviously unfinished. Varg Vikernes has been a washed-up shell of the musical god the various weirdos who idolize him make him out to be for a long time now, and it has shown in the gradually degrading work he had put out after his release from prison. Yet after clearly not caring about creating music in any meaningful way for a long time, Varg drops this heap of shit in his fans’ laps. I suppose they deserve it, but I’m sure some of them are delusional enough to lap it up with a smile on their face while still believing their white nationalist idol to be a musical genius. Again, it’s entirely dull ambient music, not metal at all, but it deserves to be shit upon for its astounding laziness and purposelessness.

3. Asking Alexandria - Like a House on Fire

Doubling down on exactly the unflattering crossover of pop music with their significantly sanitized butt rock in their apparent quest for arena glory that started with their self-titled album back in 2017, Asking Alexandria’s bid for the big spotlight that Imagine Dragons occupies didn’t get any stronger this year with Like a House on Fire. After three or four years of aiming for this style, the band still aren’t even all that competent with the basics of fucking pop rock, which is pretty downright laughable. Honestly, for an album so high up here on my shit list, my feelings on it are more or less just that of unsurprised disappointment; as soon as I got a feel for what the band were doing with the album, I knew it was going to be a mess of predictable results. And lo and behold. This was just such a wholly inexcusably floppy paper towel of an album, and one more Asking Alexandria release I know I won’t be returning to ever again.

2. Hollywood Undead - New Empire, Vol. 2

Coming on at the last minute to get on the scoreboard, reliably, is Hollywood Undead. When I reviewed both volumes of this project earlier, I referred to them as “corporate Linkin Park”, and I stand by that 100%. This album especially showcases nothing but what an incoherent, vapid, clout-chasing act they are, with such a corny, focus-grouped sound that sounds like it was made in a lab by a bunch of out-of-touch boomers. God, they could’ve been safe too if they had left it with the more tolerable first volume back in January, but this follow-up sequel from just this month was exactly why I had avoided listening to the first installment in the first place. And I should’ve never played this second one either. The album opener, “Medicate”, is probably the worst song I sat through in my own volition this year, and the rest of the album doesn’t get much better. It’s nothing new for Hollywood Undead after I gave their 2017 album my award for least favorite album of that year: more unfitting interplay between machismo posturing Eminem-cosplay and the sappiest, wimpiest radio rock and pop choruses; more cringy tough-guy struggle bars; more forgettable-at-best instrumentals. Congrats again, Hollywood Undead, you made one of the worst albums of the year once again.

But even worse than Hollywood Undead is an album that I feel like is already so legendarily bad, that there is no other album that could’ve been sat here. It had to be this one.

1. Six Feet Under - Nightmares of the Decomposed

Shitty metal bands everywhere can breathe a sigh of relief any year Six Feet Under decide to put out new music because any album they release is just about bound to end up as everyone’s #1 worst album of the year, and boy is that guarantee becoming more and more airtight with each successive release. It’s truly astounding too how Six Feet Under manages to outdo themselves every time. I don’t even want to think about what could possibly come after Nightmares of the Decomposed; we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. But for now, holy fermented shit, this thing is not just bad, it’s like the holy grail of terrible TERRIBLE albums and I don’t want to know what kind of apocalyptically despicable album Chris Barnes and company could possibly conjure to outdo this one. And make no mistake, it’s still Chris Barnes dragging this band down. I gave this album a 1/10 instead of a 0/10 because there was at least a sliver of salvageable instrumentation on it, as thin of a sliver as it was, a few halfway decent musical ideas of you squinted hard enough. The instrumentalists are checked out and clearly just participating for the paycheck, but I can’t even imagine what kind of professional instrumental performance could possibly overshadow the embarrassment that Chris Barnes put to tape in the studio here. Maybe that says it, because it honestly sounds utterly unprofessional. It’s baffling how this got through management and sound engineering to be released to the public because I don’t think I’ve ever even heard any amateur high school band’s vocalist sound this bad. Vocal ingenuity is generally something to be applauded in the metal world, and pioneers like Randy Blythe, Dani Filth, and Travis Ryan deserve all the praise they get for their innovation with dirty metal vocals, yet what Chris Barnes has “invented” here on Nightmares of the Decomposed to compensate for his continually-deteriorating vocals is just sad. The man simply cannot perform highs anymore, clearly, and the alternative is this fucking comical, cartoonish squealing that sounds more like a bratty toddler gargling their own snot than it does anything fitting for a death metal record, even a death metal record at stupid and cheesy as Nightmares of the Decomposed. Chris Barnes should be thankful that metal is not a sport and that there’s not nearly as much of an abundance of performance statistics to point to and analyze to see what kind of records are broken in a legendarily awful performance. I feel like if there were any kind of performance stats to pull up, this album would have to break some kinds of records. Like this is worse than that 7-1 Germany-Brazil World Cup game, this would be like if the Brazilian team all got unholy levels of blazed and repeatedly scored on themselves because they kept going the wrong way and kicking the ball into their own net, and then pissing their fucking shorts. Even in 7-1 defeat, Brazil had more dignity than Chris Barnes here. Six Feet Under and their label have to know they are a laughing stock and that people will listen to them at this point for the sheer entertainment value of how mind-blowingly awful they sound. It’s not an illegitimate marketing tactic, and it’s the only explanation I can come up with for how this passed inspection. If that’s their mission, to be a spectacle and instill cringe in death metal fans in a regular ritual of comically stupid performances across every successive album, they’re sure doing it, and I guess this baffling headache-trophy is their well-earned prize. Congratulations Six Feet Under, you did it again! Worst metal album of the year.

[sloanegotswag]

Friday, January 15, 2021

Entry One

I decided to take up journaling. I can’t explain who I am or how I feel very easily. No one’s reading this. I don’t have to lie here.

I’m not a girl nor a boy. I don’t fit in the box that everyone wants me to. Ever since I was little, I knew I was different, I just didn’t know how. In fourth grade, when I found out what being bisexual was, I thought that was it. I liked Hugh, like every other girl in my grade, but I also stayed up at night thinking about a life with Caroline. It had been that way since I could remember. Even after figuring out I was bisexual, I still knew there was something else—I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

I found out the details of being transgender when I was in fifth grade. I knew for a fact that I wasn’t a boy, so I threw the idea of that off the table. I got sucked into the Kalvin Garrah hellhole & policed the LGBT community at every chance I got. Kalvin said being nonbinary wasn’t real, so in my head it wasn’t real. Kalvin said that you can’t be feminine & be trans, so in my head I told myself that gender roles were important & true.

I loved femininity. I still do. I just didn’t want to perceived as a girl. I’m not a daughter, girlfriend, sister, or anything like that. I realised I was nonbinary in 2018 after I finally realised Kalvin Garrah & Blaire White were fucking bullshit. Everything snapped into place—it explained my discomfort perfectly.

Sometimes I love my body, sometimes I hate it. The certain thing is that I hate being referred to as a girl & I have immense discomfort with my birth name. I used to wrap my chest as tight as I could when I began puberty & wrote it off as just liking the “feeling of a hug.” I lied to myself. I knew that wasn’t the case. I shower in the dark sometimes. I sit in the floor & cry because of this gendered hell that we live in. I don’t think I’ll ever truly look how I want, & maybe that’s okay.

I didn’t tell my friends until July of 2019, but I didn’t want to seem like a “trender,” so I just told them that I was just a cis female who also used they/them pronouns. I put “she/they” in my bio, but it just wasn’t right. I hated it. But I felt like a fraud because my introduction to trans topics was through Kalvin Garrah, who told me that I need to have severe dysphoria 100% of the time, despise femininity, & be completely androgynous to even be considered nonbinary. It was etched into my brain that I needed to be what HE saw as nonbinary, not who I knew I was.

I came out as nonbinary in September, I think. It was soon after my freshman year had just begun. My friends were extremely excepting. My boyfriend didn’t quite believe me at first though, which hurt a lot. We’ve voiced it out since then, & he’s one of my biggest supporters now. I’m still too scared to tell my parents, seeing as though I’m pretty sure I know their opinions on trans topics.

My name is Sloane. My pronouns are they/them/theirs/themselves. I’m 15 years old. I don’t fit into a box. I’m not male or female. I am living life as myself & not the person you want me to be.

[sarinataylor]

Joger ask: how would they cope with Roger having a crisis about the fact that John has written hit singles including their biggest ever hit and he has yet to pop his a-aide cherry? Is he rubbish? Is he really just a pretty face? He knows he brings lots of musical input & the sonic volcano & ‘the girl for everything’ for the band but really, who is he kidding? And John can’t deny that he aced his degree or does the finances or wrote hits... Thankfully Radio Gaga comes along and all ends well...

hmmmm ok. this got? long. very ramble-y. apologies

so like. roger is so fucking proud of john y’know???? and it’s not john’s songs being more successful than his which is cutting deep (because, well, commercial success is somewhat ehh to roger now that they’ve already made it big. the music he’s writing and creating, off on the side, is more about the music than anything else), it’s that he didn’t see it coming

100% did not see aobtd being a hit. hated recording it with his drums taped up, and thought the whole thing was a waste of time which.... it obviously wasn’t because john’s latest royalty cheque was big enough to have even freddie blinking in surprise

and. well. roger’s kind of always been the one with his finger on the pulse, so to speak. roger was riding the early waves of punk before the sex pistols had so much as looked at a safety pin and thought, “hmm, i wonder”. and his ability to keep up with, stay just one step ahead, of the trends has been invaluable in the past and now.... he might be slipping behind?

because even though he fucking hated half of the lines in ymbf he... he knew it was going to be a hit in the US. that sort of soft poppy feel, with a funky little bassline? the american’s eat that shit up in spades. of course it was going to be popular.

but, yeah, he didn’t see aobtd being a hit and now he’s starting to wonder if maybe the reason he isn’t writing hits isn’t because he hasn’t been trying to appeal to the broader audience, hasn’t been trying to write songs that will get massive air time or be played in clubs, but because he’s got no fucking clue about what people want anymore

‘girl for everything.......... except knowing what people want’ doesn’t, uh, sound as good

and it’s not? it’s not a Big Deal, not really. he just gets a little quieter about voicing his opinions on tracks because, well, maybe he doesn’t actually know what the fuck he’s talking about?

and so, hot space

brian’s losing his gd mind arguing with everyone and everything because he feels backed into a corner, freddie isn’t playing the peacekeeping role he usually does, john is being Just a Little Bit of an egotistic shit, and roger is........... not getting involved. which works kind of awfully because both brian and john take his silence as tacit approval of their position, which boils over into a lot of misunderstandings about just what it is roger thinks about what’s going on in the studio

(and mostly what roger thinks about what’s going on in the studio is that this album is going to be a Fucking Disaster because instead of ripping apart one anothers songs and building them back up stronger all they’re doing is ripping into one another and calling it creative differences)

and he tosses up a couple of songs and lets them do what they will with them (and oh my god if you haven’t listened to action this day performed live???? do urself a favour and do it oh my god i fucking hated that song until i listened to it live) because well. they probably know better than he does at the moment, because he doesn’t quite trust himself. and tensions are high enough that inserting himself into the cockfight when he isn’t actually Sure about his opinions just seems an unnecessary risk.

and. uh. hot space...................................................... does as it does

and john is pretty mortified about the whole thing because.... ???? all of that work and fighting and it’s flopping which is. made all the more worse by brian’s oh too casual sympathetic comments during the press junket, and then even worse by the way that roger. doesn’t seem surprised?? because. well. even when it was a love song written about roger roger was honest about what he didn’t like about it, but now there’s a whole fucking album that john pushed really hard for and roger a) didn’t like it and b) didn’t tell him

he thought they respected one another more than that. he thought they were more secure than that. 

which sort of........ simmers uncomfortably between them as they gear up for the tour and sort of. explodes when roger starts making suggestions for changes to some of the songs for the live performances that. annoyingly sound much better and why didn’t you bring this up when we were recording the fucking album, roger (look aight atd sounds SO MUCH BETTER LIVE, IT’S BEEN MONTHS AND IM STILL SHOOK)

and roger’s sort pussyfooting around it because oh well... you know you and freddie really wanted to this one as a sort of concept album..... and brian and i didn’t want to interfere...... (brian: very much did want to interfere) ............ so ya know................ it’s not really my style so i didn’t wanna stick my foot where it doesn’t belong.........

and john’s like???? its music what the fuck are you Talking About? you know music you know what sounds good and what doesnt and it’s not like you’ve ever been shy about voicing your opinions before, so forgive me if im a bit confused about the sudden reticence 

regardless, it’s Not a Big Deal. no really. roger will insist this til the day he dies

and things calm down? they take a break and, as they are wont to do, the tensions of the band slowly start slipping from john and roger’s day to day lives? like, when they’re not living in close quarters and feeding off of the energies that brian and freddie and mack and everyone else is putting out. it’s just them, yeah? 

but anyway, roger’s still been writing music and ha enough for a new solo album so he’s like. yeah. think imma do that and john’s a bit taken aback because? fuck, you’ve been busy then you said you didn’t have much of anything for hot space??? and roger’s like. uh, yup. been busy. busy bee, me. ya know. while ur out painting the shed i gotta keep myself occupied somehow

except. well. john’s obviously lending a hand with bass and mixing, and brian’s in and out too, so’s freddie and. it’s freddie, actually, who picks up that roger had been working on the beat of  I Cry for You (Love, Hope and Confusion) back in the studio when they’d been working on hot space which.   doesn’t make sense, because he definitely hadn’t shown them it to them which is odd, because roger usually shows them everything he writes in case they want it for queen? 

and then brian chimes in because, actually, he recognises the lyrics for killing time? 

and john is like what the FUCK is going on because this is just? weird? 

so john ends up lowkey cornering him at home in a totally not cool sneaky fashion (read: he gives him a fucking mindblowing orgasm and then is like [head propped on roger’s chest] SO)  because???? ofc he supports rog’s solo career but also? why didn’t he share what he was writing with him? what’s going on? music’s always been a language they’ve shared, even if they tended towards different dialects, and now it... well it doesn’t feel very good that roger seems to be inching him out of something that john knows is so very important to him

and roger’s like huh no idea what you’re talking bout. been really busy writing recently. shame though, means i might not have much for the next queen album

and john’s like? do you want to leave queen, if that what this is about?

and roger’s horrified because what the fuck no i’m just not sure i’ll have much to contribute is all which has john like?? because. it’s roger of course he’s got something to contribute what the fuck are you talking about

but roger’s like oh well ya know nothing im really writing at the moment is much of our current style so. that’s cool, though. that’s fine

but john is confused bc well. hot space was a bit of a failure so they’re probably headed back to more consistent waters so that’s not a problem, and hey, maybe if roger had injected a bit more of his style into the album things might have been better right?

ANYWAY basically john’s like yo my man like. if u dont wanna write any material for the new album that’s? fine ig? but we kinda Need You to be a little bitch about the things u dont like because.... things work better when ur being a nitpicky little bitch than when ur being silently supportive of me :) though that was sweet

and rogers like oh i was 100% not being supportive of either u or brian’s bullshit tbh i just. disco isn’t my forte ya know i didn’t wanna chat shit ab smth i know nothing about like, god, imagine if you’d listened to me about aobtd????????? 

which. john’s like. i? i mean, i did. fuck sake, the whole thing got rewritten to be about our dog (steve) bc u made a joke about it? i.     i did listen to u about aobtd

and john has honestly NO IDEA what any of this is about? because roger has an awful tendency to sit on things until they’re Much Bigger than what they were to begin with. like, john’s actually not great at that? he’s not very good at hiding that he’s angry or upset, not for the long term. roger’s a lot better at it in the worst kind of way, because unless you pick up on it right at the beginning by the time you’ve figured out something’s wrong it’s months down the track and so many micro interactions or events have been tacked onto the Original Problem that it’s a sprawling mess of “i dont want to communicate that im feeling vulnerable about something so instead im gonna try and turn my vulnerabilities into armour” - like deciding to turn all of your writing, not just the stuff that won’t fit on your main project’s albums, into solo material because your solo stuff doesn’t have to be successful 

but also, ok fine. 

and so he sort of? lets it go? because tbh once roger latches onto something, when u havent go in there early enough? your best bet is to just wait for him to.... get over it. which he generally does. he doesnt have the patience for decade long grudge matches, not really.

and then it all comes to a head when brian writes and shows them all machines (or: back to humans) which obvs came about from an idea of roger’s and. well. freddie thinks its amazing, john is nodding along even as he sends him small little side eyes and well. fuck it, right?

and so the next week he comes in and slams down the first rough draft of radio gaga, the music heavily influenced by I Cry for You (Love, Hope and Confusion) which freddie had been complaining about being used up on a solo album 

and then he goes home and tops the hell out of john, the end.

[nonejohnnywithleftslime]

So about Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Jo, this gonna be some ranting about the second Kingsman movie, so please if you don´t want to be spoilered don´t click on the read more.

I watched KTGC last week and I was super fucking disapointed, like realy really sad what they did in te sequel bc I had kinda high hopes in it.

It is basically just a copy and paste of the first one. I understand that the first movie had iconic bits and that people were very happy to see them in the second one and I would have totally loved that if the writing wasn´t so goddamned lazy. Just take all the good scenes from the first movie and paint them blue for the second is pure laziness. And this laziness was the major thing that kept me from enjoying the movie.

For example Roxies death. Roxie was one of the the two major femal characters from the first one, she was present in the trailers, she was an important figure and she had literally five minutes screentime. Like, she was blown to pieces 10min into the movie. And then only mentioned two times, but she had no action no nothing and it made me furious bc they treated her like she was some side character, some unimportant side character. She hadn´t that much action in the first movie (screen time, but not much actual ass kicking, if you know what I mean), and then they just blown her up. For no reason. Because I don´t really see the reason why Roxie should have died, mainly bc I sat there for 2 hours thinking “That can´t be it, she HAS to come back” but nope! Roxies death was just downright disrespectful and gave me the feeling that Vaught and Co didn´t really care about the characters (or only certain one, the male ones). I mean it was so bad even the unbelieveable manly fuckboys behind me thought that that was fucked up.

which leads me to the major problem, which is how this movie treated women in general. Roxie blown into peaces, Poppy died in the most boring way, Tilde being important bc as we all know Eggsy needs a reason to save the world (he doesn´t) and Ginger Ale (god damn. Ginger Ale.) had the same problem that Roxie had: no fucking action. Always just talking and concerned looks. And it didn´t even makes sense, bc she says that she wants some action and in the end she is the new Whisky, so why don´t show the audience that she can kick ass??? Why did the last fighting sequence had to be just Harry and Eggsy?

I still think that this whole arc of “Agent Whisky wants all the drugheads to die” just didn´t make sense?? What the hell, they made him the villain after the villain was dead just because they needed Church Scene 2.0

And talking about Agent Whisky: What the hell where the trailers?? That suggested? that Channing Tantum had an important role?? in the movie??? I know I know you havebto lure the people into the cinema, but why show Roxie and Tequila when they have to little screen time?

Also, all the white men. So many white men. That Kingsman consists of white old men is nearly logical bc of that whole class shit they have going, but in America? Doesn´t make that much sense if you ask me.

Finally Merlins death. Okay, I know. Johnny, you will say, you are just pissed, bc he was your favourite character. Yes. But two things about Merlin. 1) Mark Strong said in an interview a year ago that Merlin is gay and that that would be explored in the new movie. I guess Vaught or smeone else told him that, bc why else would he say that otherwise. They left that out completely, so thanks for the queerbaiting. And don´t come to me with “It would had fit into the story”. Merlin could have said “Aye Eggsy, I wasn´t blow up, because me and my husband made dinner at home. Had to leave him there, miss him much etc etc.” Very simple, no real representation but at least something. 2) I said the writing was lazy. I know a lot of people have already said that it makes zero snse that Kingsman has nothing to disable mines, and it doesn´t, it makes no sense. But actually: I would have been okay with Merlins death. Because it was really emotional and respectful (Country roads was literally the first thing they played at the beginning of the movie), they gave him more to do etc. But after all this shit, after all this lazy writing, this disrespectfulness towards characters they knew the fans liked, it all just tasted sour. The movie had great bits. The whole Elton John idea was genius, the drug topic was nice, teh idea of Statesman cool and the Harry Hart arc was wel writen, as well as the american president. The actors where superb, all of them. But all the negative stuff made me so angry bc it was a full fuck you into the face of every fan. That was just horrible.  I LOVEd the first KIngsman. I was blown away in the cinema when I saw it. And I felt stomped on when I watched this one.

[rhegar]

White Like Snow

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @lyannas here’s a Lyanna-survives-giving-birth AU birthday gift <3

Rating: M  Trigger Warnings: Discussion of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s dubious consent relationship.

Read on Ao3 here

It was a lovely day in Winterfell. Finally a spring that isn’t false, Lyanna thought. She was seated by her window, sewing a doll. Her eyes scanned the courtyard in boredom. She didn’t like dolls that were sewn. She didn’t like sewing them, and she didn’t like playing with them as a child either. She liked dolls that were made of wood better, but she couldn’t carve wood, and this she had to do herself. She was doing an agreeable job, though, she told herself. 

Lyanna could hear the clatter of swords and shields below. Benjen was training, Hodor was carrying wood, and she could smell the smoke rising in the air from below. All those smells and sights she had missed so dearly were nothing like the harsh sand and rocks and dry wind that surrounded her tower in Dorne. Even the sight of her new sister-in-law, Lady Catelyn, with whom she had had very little interactions, was a welcome change.

She glanced a young stable boy tell a joke to a girl from the smallfolk that she didn’t know, and the girl laughed bawdily. Newly hired in the castle, no doubt, and he is trying to get between her legs already. That brought on a current of memories. All of a sudden she was moving the needle around with unnecessary violence, poking the doll with it again and again as she was sewing it, she almost pricked her finger.

Now that Lyanna remembers with more clarity, she thinks to herself: Did I ever truly want Rhaegar?

The prince was, doubtless, the most dashing man in Westeros. She remembered the girls she had met in the tourney and how they were all bedazzled by him, how bitterly some of the more noble and hopeful ones had glanced at his wife and his mad father who rejected them all. And she remembered when she talked to him for the first time, his first phrase to her: “Take off that helmet,” he had said in a voice so haughty and firm she hated it; he was the type of man who knew he would be obeyed and wasn’t used to being refused, and she was tempted not to obey, but he, Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent had surrounded her from all directions on their mounts. She took off the helmet, and he froze.

Did I ever truly want him?

She remembered wanting him for a while. Now that she thinks back, she thinks she never truly wanted him. To her, he was only a symbol of what it could mean to be free; free from Father, free from Robert..  the thought of being married scared her, and foolishly, she had thought that Rhaegar had wanted differently. She had thought that Rhaegar had wanted The Knight of The Laughing Tree, not Lyanna Stark’s womb.

She stopped wanting him completely after news of Father and Brandon came. She screamed at him, and he seemed sorry, but too calm. Always too calm… how come I’m the ice and you’re the fire? Even your hair and eyes are icy, your grace.

He never touched her again, as per her desire, but that didn’t mean she was free to go. And he didn’t have to touch her again anyway; he had gotten what he had wanted, she realized, frightened, as her body changed, week after week, month after month…

When she had gotten to Winterfell, one of the first things she did was burning his letters. Now she regretted it. She wanted to read them again to get the question she was asking herself: If this were happening to me now, would I be beguiled by him again? Would I be so foolish again? She liked to think that she wouldn’t, but who could ever tell? She had liked to think that she was not a fool before.

She now saw the boy head to the kennels and the girl, sneakily, looking around to see if someone was noticing them, and follow him silently. The boy had been tall and blond and comely, she remembered solemnly. Don’t follow him, girl. Don’t let him do it. Be careful. He will get you pregnant and you will be called a whore, and he a man. Don’t…

The door was knocked, and she suddenly noticed that she had been clutching her fingers nervously. She forced herself to let go of them. “Come in,” she said.

The door was opened, and her brother entered and locked the door.

He is Lord Stark now, she reminded herself, and a father of two; an heir and a bastard. It was still hard to believe; Ned’s long face and his shy facial hair were as youthful-looking as ever. She felt older than him, though she was younger by three years.

“Sister,” he said, “I have news for you.”

“Good or bad? Oh by the gods, Ned, if it’s bad…”

“I don’t know how you would take them.”

Lyanna sighed. “What is it?”

Ned looked down, trying to avoid her eyes. “The king and his council have finished deliberating on your betrothal.”

The king can go and fuck himself, she almost said. This should be important news, shouldn’t it? It would decide her fate; queen will I be, or the discarded woman violated by a prince? But Lyanna only cared about it for one reason: Will she be separated from her brother’s bastard?

“It was… ended. They ruled against it. They say Tywin Lannister played the largest role in ending it, but I know Jon Arryn advised against it as well. Reasonable, I suppose.”

It was made common knowledge after the war that she had lost her maidenhead. Of course; why else does a married man kidnap a younger, pretty girl after he had previously tried to show affection in a stupid public gesture? And of course, such a woman was no fit consort for a king. Lyanna sighed in relief. In some strange twist of fate, this was better for her than being a queen. What a jest.

“Aren’t you… sad?”

“To not share Robert’s bed? Not at all. You know I was never very eager to do it.” She was silent for a second. “I know what he did.”

“What he did?” Ned exclaimed.

“Robert. What he did to Rhaegar’s children. I don’t love the man, Ned, not anymore if I ever did, but what happened to his wife and children…” Lyanna was emotional again. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She had wanted to scream at the news, and couldn’t sleep that night.

“He didn’t do it,” Ned said defensively, “Tywin Lannister did it.”

Oh, Ned, you poor loyal dog. “He approved. I know Rhaegar’s children had to die, but not like this. He could have given them milk of the poppy. They were babes, Ned. And Elia… she could have been left alive, returned to Dorne. I wouldn’t have been happy in his bed, knowing that he had approved of this. I wouldn’t have been.”

“Lyanna…” Ned was whispering now, “I know it’s horrible, I know, but this is why it is at the utmost importance that we…”

“I know.” Lyanna cut him off sharply. “Brother, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so abrasive to you, I…”

She found herself regretting her choice of words and tone. Ned had sacrificed so much for her. He had shamed himself and his wife.

“I know you are upset. I do not wish to disturb you. You need time. I will have the servants prepare tea for you.”

“Thank you. I apologize again.”

Ned smiled at her and left. She was still bothered, perhaps she could detect pity in his smile? Lyanna broke her thoughts by trying to focus on the doll she was sewing.

Hours later, she finished. She got up from the seat and felt her buttocks slightly ache. She stood on her toes and stretched her back, and called on her handmaiden to prepare her to leave her quarters.

She was dressed in a black gown, black gloves and black boots, still in mourning for her father and brother as she had never had the chance in Dorne. She chose a gown with lace and a corset at the front, as she had currently been; the corset to hide the weight she still had left. When she finally left her room, she was a shadow; the perfect figure to silently glide and hide in the grim, grey walls of Winterfell.

When she arrived at her destination, she opened the door without knocking, and didn’t hear the wailing she was expecting to. The wet nurse was there; he was being fed.

“I have brought a gift for my little nephew. Please leave us.” She chided herself secretly on not having remembered to make one for Robb too. I will, tomorrow. If Lady Catelyn were to know I gifted the bastard before her son…

The wet nurse left, seemingly unsuspecting. Lyanna waited until she had gone away a good distance, and locked the door. She turned around to look at her son in his crib.

He had begun to fidget and cry, but she left the white wolf doll in his crib and held him to her breast. She cradled him, unlaced her gown, took out her swelled breast and continued feeding him.

“There, my love,” she whispered. “I brought you a gift.”

She looked absent-mindedly at the doll. A white wolf. White, like snow. She turned to her son and observed his face, his brown hair, his complexion… the only thing in him that was more his father than her was his nose. Thank the gods for that. That’s not noticeable enough to be troublesome.

Lyanna had worried that the story would not be believed; Lord Stark, ever so honorable, fathered a bastard? But they believed it when Ned showed up with Wylla and claimed she was his bastard’s mother. To protect her and save Lady Catelyn the discomfort, he sent her to work for the Mormonts, trusting her loyalty and theirs.

If Robert were him, he would have killed her. If Rhaegar were him, he would have killed her. My brother is too kind. It will be the death of him.

Before long, Jon had let go of her breast. If the choice were hers, she would have named him Brandon. But it was Ned’s. Jon put his finger in his mouth and was silent, satisfied. She lay him down in the crib again, and put the little doll between his hands. She couldn’t be there for longer than necessary, she knew. She leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“I love you. You are my son. I want you to know that.”

She left a soft kiss on his forehead, and felt his small fingers lightly brush her chin. She laced her gown and left, reminding herself to make another gift for Robb. She loved the precious little thing as well, didn’t she? So she will make one, a different color. Perhaps not white like snow.