#cymbals eat guitars

[emmanuelscastle]

Early 80s New York City Biblically filthy I was a child but still no door was closed to me Those men were my protectors and my family And the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen "Honey, let us color it so you don't look like a little old lady" Instead I rocked Herman Survivors and shaved my head clean I think It was Charlie who started calling me Bootsie Brown liquor, downers, and powders clouded out the bad dreams But not before I saw some shit I wish I didn't see

[tuuneoftheday]

Empty Country - David

[wintertrash]

Every decision I have ever made

Bred the branching future's mute howlers

With burst-vessel red eyes

Roaring inaudibly

On the freezing morning

Walk to the dim corner grocery

What hangs over big empty country

Reborn in negatives of photos of dusk

Regret so huge it's on a phantom axis

Receding beaches hissing hearing damage

And the miles-long column of cold moonlight cast across

Still seas when my nose begins to bleed

[major-toast]

Rosekiller Band AU // nsfw

Currently thinking about a rosekiller band AU, but they've recently broken up and are rather petty about it.

Evan has shaved off his blonde locks, knowing fully well how much Barty had liked them, but he doesn't much care. Especially not when Barty is standing only a few feet away from him, belting into the microphone with his pale skin and wretched tattoos gleaming ominously in the harsh green light of the spotlight above.

He's shirtless - because, of course, he is -, and sporting a new set of hickeys Evan cannot remember placing there. And how can he? After all, it hasn't been him, who made out with their lead singer only minutes before their gig. Looking at them alone makes his stomach churn in anger.

He really is a massive cunt, that Crouch. There is no denying that.

For the duration of their entire set, they are shooting hateful glances at one another; the tension palpable on everyone's tongue and skin. 

Smirking at him deviously, Barty doesn't refrain from playing with the crowd, hyping them up and flirting with everyone that catches his bastard-blue eyes. Evan wants to look away, but he can't. And Barty knows it too.

He leans down, grabs Sirius fucking Black out of all people by the chin, and shoves his tongue deep down his throat. Evan almost breaks his drumstick then.

Moron.

In retaliation, he starts messing with the rhythm, going sometimes faster and sometimes slower. Usually, the two of them are in cadence, being able to rely on one another, but no more. Growing bolder and much more creative with his fill-ins, he draws attention to himself, something he is sure Barty would hate. 

His head whipping around, he glares at Evan, a muscle feathering in his jaw. Evan shrugs it off, a mocking smile on his lips as he crashes the cymbals even louder. Barty picks up on his game rather quickly. Gripping into the neck of his guitar, he starts up a riff, one that wasn't planned. Scoffing, Evan matches him.

They build up on one another, trying to one-up each other, until their is no rhythm left. Regardless, the crowd still eats it up. Cheering and hollering, they urge them on. The adrenaline rush Evan feels then, it almost makes him forget about the need to punch that cocky fuck squarely across the face - or pierce his idiot skull with one of his sticks.

Inside the dressing room is where the tension comes crashing down on them like the outer shell of a volcano exploding. A hate-fuck long overdue.

"What the hell were you playing at, huh?" Barty snarls, shoving Evan into the door as he's just closed it.

"Oh, don't come crying to me now", Evan returns with a sneer, his blood already boiling inside his veins. "If it weren't for you and your constant need to stick your cock in-between someone's legs, we wouldn't have started late, and none of this would have happened!"

"You know as well as I do, that's not what I fucking meant, Rosier! If you got a problem with me, don't be such a pussy and spit it right out!"

Then, Barty huffs, his eyes narrowing as his lips curl into a sardonic smile. "Of course, you don't have the balls to do it."

"SHUT UP!"

Pushing him back, Evan is now the one to pin him towards the lockers, his expression one of blistering fury. Still, the smile doesn't leave Barty's lips. Evan wants to kiss that stupid grin right off him.

So, that's what he does.

It's harsh, ungentle. Teeth crashing and tongues curling. Barty's hands find his hips, fisting the loose fabric hanging there. Knowing no better, Evan grips the back of his neck until his nails start drawing blood. He wants him to hurt.

"Knew you wanted me", Barty pants as they part briefly.

His hair is dishevelled and his eyes half-lidded. Flushed and heaving with desire, the blood running down his neck mixes beautifully with red splotches of his skin. Evan hates him.

Before he can snark something back, Barty has already pushed him onto one of the benches, his head hitting the wood with a dull thump. Without hesitation, he crawls on top of him, sneering down at him as his hands pin his bare throat to the seat.

Trapped, Evan can only stare back in defiance, too angry to say anything. But as Barty's hand ghost over his body, lower and lower, until they've slipped underneath his pants, an involuntary shiver escapes him.

Barty smiles cruelly. "I could smell you're dripping cunt all night. What, Rosie? So wet and just for me?"

"You probably mistook it for your own cock, Crouch!" Evan bites back, fighting a moan as the other one presses down his finger on his clit already sore from want. "You're such a fucking whore, you cannot last a minute without fucking someone. That's how desperate you are!"

"Oh, I am desperate", Barty agrees easily. "Always desperate. Especially, for you. I can never not be hard when you're around. Now spread your legs, angel. You've been empty for too long, and it shows."

"I-" But the snarky remark dies within his throat.

He really is a massive cunt. But as long as it's Evan, whose legs he's in between, he doesn't much care.

[skinomyteethh]

to be or not to be?

pairing; kelly nickels x fem! reader

summary; thoughout kelly's newfound fame as bassist of L.A guns he had been acting different though you weren't sure if it was due to the restless nights they'd spend preforming or another aspect

contains/warnings; mentions of cheating. oral (female receiving). fingering. teasing. slight cum eating? little to no dialogue. may contain spelling errors :(

authors note; I need kelly nickels' magic stick in my mouth. also it deleted the damn ask so </3 anyways I hope y'all enjoy reading this!!!

cheating in the eighties or seventies rockstar scene was not at all unusual or taboo, it was extremely difficult to find a rockstar who hadn't cheated on their spouse. hell, robert plant not only had his wife maureen he also had a tour wife and a multitude of other groupies alongside him. these stories seemed to absolutely terrify [name], the thought of her boyfriend cheating on her while on tour was extremely stomach churning.

she sat on the sofa of their shared apartment, staring at the television emotionlessly and in deep thought until a phone call disrupted her thinking. a soft sigh parted her lips as she stood up and turned off the television, walking over to the phone in the kitchen, answering it.

"hello, this is [name]." she stated rather blandly, hearing the stumming of a guitar and clashing of cymbals as well as loud laughter. "hey babe, it's me, I just wanted to check up on you." his voice was somewhat raspy, it signaled that he had continued his excessive smoking habits. this whole rock 'n' roll scene seemed to be fueled off of addictions.

[name] hummed, maintaining her hold of the phone against her ear as she laid against the wall, fooling around with the coiled cord of the telephone before finally responding. "i've been alright, how about you? are you enjoying the tour?" her tone seemed curious yet curiosity was far from what she was feeling, she had her suspicions.

a short moment of silence came upon them, though it was shortly broken by the sound of Kelly chuckling. "it's been hectic, but i'm glad you're doing alright. we're heading back to Los Angeles later today!" just as she was about to respond she heard another voice, it was the voice of another female, she sounded extremely flirtatious and seemed to have a stupid valley girl accent.

"babe, sorry for cutting the conversation short but I have to go." he remarked, letting out a small laugh before hanging up. [name] stood still for a minute, the phone still in her hand, that whole predicament was strange, unsettling even. perhaps now Kelly was apart of the bunch of idiot rockstars who cheated on their partners/spouses.

she sauntered back to the sofa, turning the television back on. overwhelming thoughts began to fill her head as she leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. what if Kelly had been cheating on her during these past months? what if he had been cheating on her prior to those months? those thoughts filled her head as she slowly drifted to sleep.

at around mid-day the loud, almost uncanny creaking of the front door both opening and shutting startled [name] out of her sleep. she sat up, feeling slightly dazed, not fully awake. her eyes glanced back as she heard the rather heavy bass guitar case drop onto the floor. Kelly hummed placing a soft, quick kiss on her forehead, taking a seat next to her.

upon feeling his lips against her forehead all thoughts prior to his arrival began swarming back, causing her mood to sour. he noticed her sudden and rather drastic mood change, wondering what on earth could have caused it. "did you have fun with her?" her question caught Kelly off guard, what could've caused her to think he was with another woman, despite what others may think he was a loyal, committed man with no desire for anybody but [name].

"what are you talking about?" he queried, raising an eyebrow in confusion. [name] responded with a scoff, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "you think i'm stupid? I heard that girl Kelly." flashbacks seem to hit him like a wave crashing onto the shore. the girl whose voice she had heard was tracii's new groupie girlfriend, he would never and could never cheat on [name].

"that was tracii's girl." [name] rolled her eyes, her expression was tainted with judgement, she still thought he was lying. Kelly sighed, closing his eyes. he was somewhat irritated at her accusations, out of all the people in this horrid world Kelly thought [name], his girlfriend of however many years would know he would never even think of doing something like cheating.

and he was going to prove it.

Kelly was going to make her realize he still loved her. she was slightly by his abrupt actions as he somewhat roughly threw her onto their bed, haphazardly taking his clothing off. his eyes trailed down to her white lace panties, he trailed down and slotted his hand in between her thighs, tugging at the waistband of her panties with his pearly white teeth.

a soft, desperate whine escaped her lips as he tugged them down. he hadn't bothered taking them off of her completely, they were low enough for him to engulf in her pretty little cunt. his warm tongue began to eat her out rather messily, his chin was dripping wet with her arousal as he slightly nudged his nose against her clit, licking up and down her folds as if she were to be his last meal ever.

her hands roughly tugged at the roots of her jet black hair, moaning out random praises as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. Kelly circled his tongue around her clit painfully slow, [name] glanced down at him, absolutely breathless, finally muttering a coherent sentence. "babe, please.."

desperation and neediness were clear in her tone as she quietly spoke. he hummed, bringing his pointer and middle fingers up to her lips. [name] shakily opened her mouth, enveloping his fingers in the warm of her mouth, coating them in her saliva so he could prep her and finally give her what she desired the most. after a minute or two he pulled his fingers out of her mouth, bringing them down to her entrance, inserting his pointer finger, then his middle finger.

[name] bit her bottom lip roughly, gripping the cool, white sheets below her as he slowly and rather gently fingered her. soon enough, one of her hands wrapped itself around his wrist, maintaining his fingers in place as she eagerly fucked herself against them like an absolute whore. Kelly simply watched her in amusement, placing soft, teasing kisses on her inner thighs.

her movements eventually became sloppier, less desperate and calculated, it signaled that she was getting extremely close to reaching the edge. he simply removed her hand from his wrist, pulling his fingers out of her. at that moment she seemed to despise the feeling of emptiness in her, whining as she took off his underwear.

Kelly desperately slotted his dick between her wet folds, the head bumping against her clit as he moved his hips back and forth, up and down. her arms reached up, and wrapped themselves around his neck, desperately holding onto him, loving the feeling. he halted his movements shortly after, grabbing the base of his dick, breathing heavily while he lined himself up with her hole, reaching his hand down, slapping her cunt before inserting himself into her slowly.

he moved his hips closer to her, watching as her soaking cunt absolutely devoured every inch of his cock. Kelly sighed euphorically as he finally inserted himself completely into her, bottoming out. [name] began to crave him even more than before, slowly moving her hips against him, his hands gripped onto her hips tightly, stopping her movements as he began to roughly thrust in and out of her.

each time their hips met her body felt an overwhelming wave of pleasure, her tits bouncing to the rhythm of his thrust. Kelly leaned down, pressing his chest to her back, placing soft kiss on the back of her neck as she moaned breathlessly. he reached his hand under her, groping one of her tits, adding even more pleasure into the mix.

every thrust, every groan, every touch drew her closer and closer to her orgasm. her moans began to grow louder and her body became somewhat limp as she finally reached her high, cumming all over his cock. "that's a good girl.." he mumbled, continuing to thrust into her, overstimulating her sensitive cunt.

his hip movements became sloppier by the second until he finally spilled his load deep inside her. slowly and shakily he pulled out, once again slotting his head in between her thighs, spreading her folds open with his fingers, pushing whatever mixture of their cum spilled out back into her.

finally, Kelly sat up, laying his head against the headboard, breathing heavily. "I hope that showed you how much I absolutely love you and how I would never cheat on you hun." he mumbled, bringing her closer to him. [name] let out a breathless chuckle, laying her head down on his abdomen, glancing up at him.

"it definitely proved something like that."

[meowtalhead]

BEHOLD my new oc

Her name is Barry

She's a cat made of darkness and the concept of heavy metal with whiskers, tail, and claws made of fire (the fire doesn't burn things if she doesn't want it to, it's just really warm, and also red because that's a badass color)

She lives in a dimension of rock and roll, and emerges into this world through portals that exist within pyro at concerts to kick ass in the pit. She's like the guardian of the pit, she keeps people safe in there

She usually only reveals herself to one or a few people at a time, the rest are left with a vague, blurry, dream-like memory of another... human? whose features they can barely recall

If you leave your guitar case open she will sleep in it. She is way too big to fit. But that will not stop her. She's also going to eat all the snacks you have in your tour bus

If she likes a band she reaches into the musical currents of the universe and pulls out vinyl copies of their entire discography to add to her collection. She can do this even if the music in question wasn't released on vinyl, or was never even recorded in the first place

Purr sounds like a bass riff (think the second half of the breakdown in body bag by beartooth), meows sound like a guitar, hiss sounds like a combination of distortion and a cymbal crash, etc.

Very soft fur, but when you look at it from the right angle it's actually a swirling shadowy void full of glowing red sparks which are the manifestations of songs artists put their whole heart into

[sexhaver]

God damn I haven’t thought about Cymbals Eat Guitars in a solid decade. Indiana was such a banger.. “after driving you home once STILL HALF HI-IGH!”

Were you the blogger who would post les os all the time also

yeah that was/is me. it's really convenient how half the songs that still get stuck in my head today were doing the same thing in high school so i uploaded most of them before the copyright strike system happened

[catchyhuh]

If each of them would ever have YouTube / Tik Tok account... What would their content be?

i tried so hard to really and truly answer this but i just kept thinknf of this throughout

lupin: started as a joke but he IS having fun with it. he’s mostly just fucking around there’s like NO production quality there it’s just. viddy oe. and thats the case whether its youtube OR tiktok, either way it’s going to be quick cutesy spur of the moment junk. if he ever really went all out, he might make some kinda digital calling card (he has made video cards before to inform his targets he’s about to rob their asses lmao) but it’d be some stupid hilarious shit. like imagine those video wedding/graduation invitations with the poorly animated stock resources and generic acoustic guitar music. text slides in that says “i want that statue dumbass” (cymbal fade sfx) “so yeah i’ll be taking that” (dramatic text pan) “seeya thursday, can’t wait :)”

jigen: no profile pic no real username. just like jigen76943 with the blue j icon. NO tiktok. NO tiktok for our guy. insists lupin shouldn’t be using tiktok either as its shortening his already horrible attention span. jigen doesn’t really post videos too much, but if he does it must be something very important to him, really only uploaded so he doesn’t lose it. there’s a handful of videos from some of their vacations (whether its an intended vacation or just ‘oh shit we’re in spain. we should have fun with this’ type deal) but it’s almost all privated. he’s not really showy about stuff like that

fujiko: she had a momentary lapse of judgment when making it, because she thought, easy way to sucker in idiots and make some money off that ad revenue. but also… do you REEEALLY want the world knowing exactly where you are, what you’re doing, at any given moment? well. no. but if you heavily screen every tiny fraction of your video before even THINKING of posting it, maybe nobody will be able to tell you’re literally sitting inside the taj mahal. posted a makeup tutorial once while she was already wearing a full face of less obvious makeup just because it was funny to her to see comments insisting she was so much prettier “without makeup.” so yeah like everything else in her life she’s found a way to rig this for money and her own personal entertainment

goemon: Nay. you know i don’t personally subscribe to the “goemon cant understand ANY technology he’s so archaic teehee” philosophy, but this ain’t even about that, it’s about the fact that goemon is the only one who’s initial reaction was “you want me, a wanted criminal, tagging the people i have been around and locations i have been to? for ‘clout’????” at best he just uses jigen’s phone to watch random stuff that interests him, and like, he’s not PHYSICALLY RECOILING when fujiko tries to show him a funny tiktok, he enjoys the fun of it. but he’s not making one, and if he has anything to say about it, he will not be featured in lupin’s bullshit

zenigata: doesn’t even have his own. he’s like a background feature when (SURPRISE YATA SNEAK ATTACK) yata posts. yata will be like “wow the louvre!!! look!” and take a lil video and zenigata’s just in the background looking bored out of his mind. in the louvre. he’d never BULLY zeni into participating, but once yata becomes aware of the fact people are playing where’s waldo with his stuff, he might try to have fun with it. q&a with the inspector. share some life advice with the audience. and the whole time zenigata’s like “um. uh. don’t break the… law?” and the commenters eat it UP. zenigata thinks its stupid but he tells yata he’s doing it because yata enjoys it, and that's it. however secretly you know he’d fucking love the attention

so final verdict: unfortunately i believe all of these people would be baffled and horrified if i explained how many times i've rewatched defunctland's disney channel theme video in full. but they could have a little fun with it

[firstdegreefangirl]

I Can Hear The (Carol of the) Bells

Theme: Day One - Bells

Fandom/Character(s): Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen (The Rookie)

Word Count: 309

Ao3 link here!

This is my submission for day one of @12daysofchristmas! Enjoy!

They’re sitting in a mall food court when it happens. Somehow, Lucy had talked him into a day – a Saturday, no less, in the middle of the holiday season – of Christmas shopping for both of their families.

He could have bought everything online. The mall is busy, the Christmas music is too loud, it’s crowded, people clearly have no idea how to conduct themselves in public, and he’s been over it since before he parked the truck on his third lap of the garage.

But Lucy is here, so there’s really nowhere else he’d rather be. Even if it does mean eating half-cold Chinese food while their legs are all tangled together underneath a too-small table.

(OK, the legs thing isn’t so bad.)

Then it happens.

The music shifts from twinkly bells and gentle melodies. Electric guitars drop in. A bass drum pounds. Cymbals clash. Tim’s foot starts bouncing, and his head bobs in time with the beat, without even trying to find the rhythm.

Finally, something worth listening to.

And Lucy rolls her eyes.

“What?” His jaw drops. “Lucy. Really? It’s Carol of the Bells.”

“I know what it is,” she argues. “Isn’t it just a little … overplayed? This time of year?”

“Overplayed? Are you kidding?"

“You can’t even sing along to it! Isn’t that the whole point of a Christmas carol: caroling?”

“But there aren't any cheesy lyrics. It’s just music, and it still resonates with people. It’s got emotion; you don’t need lyrics for that.”

The song reaches its crescendo and Tim reaches for Lucy’s hand. He squeezes gently with each loud note, using his thumb to drum out the last quiet measures.

“See? Feelings, without words.”

She smiles at him, and all the Christmas lights in the room go dimmer in comparison.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, just as the song ends. “Maybe you’re onto something.”

[makarovni]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @corvosattano and @adelaidedrubman to share some shit I've been writing this fine Wednesday. Thanks!! It was a toss up whether I shared a bit of Bianca's Nice Guys introduction or her first meeting with Driver, but I don't think I've written enough of the Nice Guys fic that even contains Bianca just yet so I won't be doing that one. However the Drive fic is really an effort bc if you've seen the movie you know the way he talks and behaves, and it's difficult to put into writing (I haven't and don't intend to read the actual novel bc apparently its pretty different so don't tell me to do that lmao), as is just having him go by the name Driver, so I'm still getting used to it and figuring things out. But it's something!! So take it!!

For a split second, their eyes meet, but just as quickly they dart away, and her eyes are back on her textbook. Driver returns to his food, just as good as he'd imagined it would be, and he's finished eating all but the ice cream fairly quickly.

Now that he's only eating the soft serve, he wants to approach the girl. His eyes are attracted to her phone, where he can see she's listening to some album with a cover featuring a girl in a bikini. Even though she's listening through earphones, Driver can hear it ever so slightly through the one that's not in her ear, and he's intrigued again.

"What are you listening to?"

Startled by his shadow over her and the sudden burst of conversation, the girl jolts a bit, but settles down when she realizes that it's just him.

"Oh, uh, I'm listening to Deftones," she replies in a soft, high voice, a small smile on her lips. "You like them?"

Driver smiles back at her. "I've never heard them before."

She tilts her head and picks up the free earbud, offering it to him. "You wanna listen?"

He nods silently, his smile widening, and he sits down next to her and puts the earphone in. The song that plays begins with a cymbal-heavy drum intro with breathy vocalizations peppered in, before the guitar and proper singing begin. The two listen together, as if they've been friends for years.

"I like it. What's it called?" He asks after the chorus concludes.

"Around the Fur," she replies. "It's the title track."

"It's good. Can I keep listening with you?"

"Of course." She nods, and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

The two return to silence as they enjoy the sound of Chino Moreno's voice together– he eats his soft serve, she continues to skim her textbook and scribble notes, and he watches where she looks. It's a nursing textbook, which makes the fact that she's wearing scrubs make a lot more sense. Her handwriting is somehow simultaneously messy and neat, and she's writing something down about wound care.

"Are you a nurse?" He asks suddenly.

She jolts again, somehow startled by a simple question. "Um, yeah. I'm just working on some continuing education."

"That's cool," he replies, taking a quick bite of his ice cream. "What's your name?"

She brushes her fringe bangs out of her face and looks at him with big, brown eyes. "Bianca. You?"

His eyes dart around nervously, and he hesitates. He doesn't have a name, he can't afford to have one. But she has to call him something, right?

"Well….they call me, um…Driver."

"Driver?" Bianca asks with a giggle, taking a bite of her own ice cream. "Really?"

"Yeah. 'Cause I drive." He stares at Bianca, wondering why this doesn't make sense to her. It makes sense to him.

She snorts. "Okay, nice to meet you, Driver."

[emmanuelscastle]

A flat affect But I really care I see some far-out shit that isn’t there

[asknarashikari]

Kamen Rider Geats (Fanmade Imaginary Alt. Turn of Events): Ditch Pt. 2

https://asknarashikari.tumblr.com/post/722104305835982848/kamen-rider-geats-fanmade-imaginary-alt-turn-of#notes (Follow up to this story.)

Buffabuttface Fell in a Ditch, Pt. 2 (Could not think of a better title)

Azuma: … -_- *grumbling because he’s been stuck lying in the ditch in his prison cell for hours with his handcuffs and beating*

Azuma: I’ll kill Punkjack and Geats for this humiliation… =_= *muttering under his breath*

*Footsteps can be heard*

Azuma: ?!

Azuma: Who is it now! Show yourself! =_=

DGP Staff Recruits: *a couple newly hired recruits would walk up to azuma’s prison cell and sees the bullhead stuck in the ditch inside*

DGP Staff Recruits: XD *They start chattering and found this most amusing indeed*

DGP Staff Recruit #1: So that’s the Buffabutt that we’ve heard so much about from our superiors (Ace, Keiwa, Neon, Tsumuri, Win, and maybe a few more?)…doesn’t he look silly? XD

DGP Staff Recruit #2: Serves him right! He’ll never get out… XD

DGP Staff Recruit #3: XD *restraint snickering*

DGP Staff Recruit #4: That’s what he gets for all the horrible things he did…a zombie asshole is not worth an execution. Good riddance to him… -_-

Azuma: =_= *offended growling*

DGP Staff Recruits: *all glance at one another…but then they start to smirk as they all have an idea*

Azuma: …What’s with those looks, are you mocking me?! =_=

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmmOXxa0g7I DGP Staff Recruits: XD *they began to sing (imagine a parody of this weird song)*

“Buffabuttface Fell in a Ditch!

Fell in a Ditch! Fell in a Ditch!

Buffabuttface Fell in a Ditch!

All on the Sunday Morning!”

Azuma: What has my life gotten itself into…? =_=

Day 2

Azuma: … *snoring*

DGP Staff Recruit #1: ^_^ *clashes some cymbals*

Azuma: GAH!!! O.O *jolted awake*

Ace: Rise and shine, Buffa… *smirks while eating some cooked steak*

Azuma: Geats, YOU….! =_=

DGP Staff Recruits: XD *start singing “Buffabuttface Fell in a Ditch” song again*

Azuma: Oh no…not again…not now… =_= *muttering*

“Buffabuttface Fell in a Ditch!

Fell in a Ditch! Fell in a Ditch!

Buffabuttface Fell in a Ditch!

All throughout Monday Morning!” (only that the final line is being changed up)

Azuma: =_= *angry buffabutt snorting*

Geats: XD *chuckling*

Azuma: Okay, now you’re just taunting me, Geats… =_=

(This annoying song would continue to be sung to Buffabutt about two to three times daily, and the final line is constantly changed almost every day)

Day 7

Azuma: *is having a good snooze*

Win: ^_^ *loud electric guitar riff*

Azuma: ! O.O *loud buffabutt screaming*

Azuma: No…oh no, not again, when is this ever going to end?! =_= *sees the DGP recruits with Win*

Win: … -_- *shrugging*

Win: Hit it boys! *smirks as starts playing his guitar*

Azuma: Don’t you fucking dare, Punkjack! =_=

DGP Staff Recruits: *They began to sing once again just to clown on Azuma as Win plays his electric guitar*

“Buffabuttface Fell in a Ditch!

Fell in a Ditch! Fell in a Ditch!

Buffabuttface Fell in a Ditch!

All because he’s shitty and boring!” (Ngl, I actually think Buffabutt is also one of the most boring characters in the show tbh.)

*Oh yeah, there are also surveillance cameras in Ace’s DGP supermax solitary confinement prison recording all this.*

Azuma: =_= *raging buffabuttface screaming and cursing Geats and his newly established DGP staff*

(Okay…this might one of the dumbest shit I’ve ever typed up. Eh, but then again I’ve came up with and seen worse. Anyways, I don’t think anyone would let Buffabutt live this down… XD)

Wow this is practically torture... let’s see how much of this nonsense he can withstand before he really loses his marbles 

[blueskyscribeupdates]

Secure Own Oxygen Mask

Part 7

You are Soundwave. Your hearing is exceptional. 

Also, your room is adjacent to the cassettes' and the walls are thin.  Not only can you hear their ruckus, but also Skullcruncher, in the room to the other side of them, swearing and banging on the wall.

You keep your visor powered down for a few minutes, waiting to see if they will sort things out and quiet down.  The shouts increase in volume, accompanied by a crash. You slide off your berth and trudge next door.

Ever since the cassettes received their coveted "own room", they have held odd hours. Ravage has become nocturnal and Frenzy and Rumble have–they used to–they imitated him.  The birds' sleep schedule is more standard, awake in the day, asleep at night.  Arguments from the cassettes' quarters are not uncommon.

But not arguments like this.

You stand in the doorway. Buzzsaw and Frenzy are battling over a snare drum, Buzzsaw's talons clutching the instrument's rim, Frenzy maintaining a deathgrip on the drum stand.  Flapping her wings and firing her thrusters, Buzzsaw drags Frenzy across the floor as they scream at each other.  

"Give it back before I blast you out of the base, bird-brain!"

"Let go, you plebeian! You philistine!"

"I'm gonna make you eat those words!  Whatever they mean!"

Ravage is nowhere to be seen. Laserbeak is roosting in his bed, looking on.

"Not my fault," he squawks at you.

"Ravage?"

"Left. Too loud."

Yes, it is very loud. Skullcruncher bangs on the wall again. You send him a brief apology and assure him you are handling the situation.  The banging stops. You turn back to Laserbeak.

"Cause of conflict?"

Laserbeak's expression is always hard to read, even for you, but he sounds irritated.  "Buzzsaw: feeling artistic."

With a discordant crash Frenzy trips over the rest of the drum set; victorious, Buzzsaw carries the snare drum to the top bunk.

"Frenzy, Buzzsaw—" you begin, but your voice is overpowered by a cacophony of rolling cymbals and falling drums as Frenzy leaps across the room, violently shaking the bed frame.

"Get offa my bed!  Give that back!"

"No, I won't!" Buzzsaw spreads her wings over the drum.  "It's not yours."

"It's not yours either!"

"I need it!"

"Buzzsaw." You speak louder this time; their heads whip towards you. "Why?"

"Because." She lifts her beak towards the ceiling. "I am going to create a magnifient sculpture honoring Rumble."

"Out of his stuff!" Frenzy howls, turning towards you in appeal as she points at the instrument.

"Well, he's not using them anymore," Buzzsaw snaps.  "Who's going to play them?  You?"

Frenzy gives the bedframe another shake. "Maybe I fraggin' will!"

"Oh yeah? While you play your guitar?"

"I can trade off!"

"You're so selfish." The steel plumes on Buzzsaw's neck begin to bristle.  "Greedy, greedy, greedy."

"Me?!  Who's trying to destroy Rumble's drumset?"

"I'm making a memorial. You just want to hog them for yourself!" Buzzsaw's voice rises, her wings as well. "You can't keep a beat! That's what Rumble always said!"

Frenzy's fists clench and she leans her whole body into her scream. "RUMBLE HATED YOU!"

Laserbeak has tucked his beak under his wing, feigning sleep. Buzzsaw is staring, her wings sinking. Frenzy's chest is heaving. 

"He hated you, hated you, he said you were a, a stuck-up tonedeaf turkey—"

"Frenzy."  She looks up at you, violently wiping her eyes with her balled up fists.  Your first instinct is to open your chest compartment and tell her to return. Yet you hesitate.  "You: will recharge in Soundwave's room.  Discussion of appropriate behavior: can wait till morning."

"Fine, whatever," Frenzy mutters, stalking to the door. "Too many bad vibes in here anyway."

When she is safely in the hall you turn to Buzzsaw. "Frenzy: did not mean what she said."

Buzzsaw tosses her head and huffs.  "Oh, so you're a mind reader now?" 

You are not.  But you doubt it would make this any easier.

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #12:

Mickey Newbury's Live at Montezuma Hall / Looks like Rain

I don't recommend you storm your local Dollar Bin in desperate search of this double album from Mickey Newbury.

Rather, I insist that you do so. Now.

You're still sitting there, so I'll explain what you'll get for your dollar: a seemingly unedited concert from 73 on Disc 1, and a full reissue of Newbury's 69 studio record, Looks Like Rain, as a bonus disc.

Today, on its own, copies of Looks Like Rain cost $30 to $100 or more. And that's if you are lucky enough to find a copy. As near as I can tell, just about all of Newbury's catalog is stone cold out of print in every purchase format from download to 8 track. Newbury's grandkids must have Ph.D's in economics and some kind of master plan; or they're just pissed.

But fret not. No one need pound the pavement or their discogs keyboard. No one need take out a home loan for a copy of the original record. Looks Like Rain is waiting for you in the Dollar Bin, attached to the Montezuma concert. I saw four available copies last week alone.

And so, let me now declare that this double album Is The Soundest Investment Of 2023. You heard it here first day traders: don't buy low; don't sell high. Buy Mickey Newbury.

Let's start with Looks Like Rain.

1969 was a pretty big year in music, yes? Astral Weeks and Electric Ladyland came out in late 68, so let's start the countdown of epic greatness there. The Velvet Underground, Five Leaves Left, Everybody Knows This is Nowhere, Dusty in Memphis, Abby Road, The Band, Songs from a Room, Let it Bleed, At San Quentin, In a Silent Way, Clouds: 1969 is not a good year in music, it's The Best Year in Music. Fairport Convention managed to release not just one, but three timeless records all in that one year.

You won't find Looks Like Rain listed alongside those albums on any best-of lists. But that's only because people are dumb. After all, look at the current presidential polling.

Newbury's 69 record offers glorious space between every note, much like Van Morrison's phrasing in Astral Weeks' or Young's soloing in Down By the River. Take a listen to She Even Woke Me Up To Say Goodbye. The percussion and choir are barely there; a song that could be 45 seconds long, start to finish, gloriously stretches itself out to shimmer and glow, then gives way to the pulsing rain.

Newbury's lyrics throughout this record are often timeless, much like Leonard Cohen's own writing from that year. Sure, no one, short of T.S. Eliot with his patient etherized on a table, can stand alongside Cohen when he compares a bird on a wire to a drunk in a midnight choir, and no one else in that, or maybe any, year could rewrite Genesis's story of Issac as an updated Masters of War complete with a peacock waiving its fan, but Newbury offers us miniaturized perfections that set the stage for Kris Kristofferson's imminent arrival the following year. Just listen to him describe a lost love:

It's not her heart Lord, it's her mind.

She didn't mean to be unkind.

Why, she even woke me up to say goodbye.

I could go on and on. The album, with its sitars, sound effects and transitional whistling, is as experimental for country music as Abby Road or In a Silent Way were for pop and jazz respectively. Newbury's vocals ache and individualize - no one else will ever sing like this - in ways Lucinda Williams, Tom Waits and Tom Petty would spend their entire careers emulating. Nothing here is dull; everything is wholly original. I'd happily eat Newbury's poison red berries any day; and I'd chase them down with Van's cherry wine.

Just listen to T. Total Tommy. The rain gives way to a Fotheringay-like guitar piece that merges with Kenny Buttrey's insistent cymbal work (which he'd forever cement in all our minds through Heart of Gold two years later) and a beautifully bent bass line. Newbury overlays this lovely tension with his own midnight choir, finger snaps and lead vocals that are somehow wise, sad and joyful all at once. Some men kill with bullets, Newbury tells us. Others, use a pen. I'd happily listen to 16 more verses of this song but Newbury shuffles off early as we rush to flip the record.

And remember: this is just 1/2 of what you get from this Dollar Bin diamond.

Live from Montezuma Hall finds Newbury playing the part of Jerry Jeff Walker's wise uncle. At the same time Walker was guzzling Sangria in Luckenbach, Newbury was greeting his audience with humble, often incomprehensible, hilarity. But sides of the record start with Newbury rambling, first about a pot smoker halfway up in the audience, then second about a neighbor of his parents' hound dogs. I have no idea what he's saying some of the time but I love every moment, and I can understand why Kristofferson, Jennings and Nelson all bowed down to this guy even though the record buying public largely ignored him.

Both of his side opening rambles give way to foot stompers, then we dive straight into some of the best white guy soul music I know of. But there's a problem lurking on Side 2...

I imagine that one of the biggest reasons Newbury's music hasn't taken off this century is the nature of his most famous song, An American Trilogy, which Elvis co-opted throughout the 70s. I'm a dad to three cool kids and they always perk up when Newbury is playing in the house. But every time American Trilogy starts up on the turntable I rush to turn it off. It's 2023. Black Lives Matter, and no one reasonable, including me, is real excited to hear Confederate marching music, even if Newbury is doing the singing.

It's a shame. If Newbury, who died over 20 years ago, had lived to see the present moment, he'd have had the chance to speak about the song and put things in better perspective. Gordon Lightfoot did a wonderful job with this kind of thing at the end of his life by frankly apologizing for the mysogenistic nature of many of his early songs.

Not everyone gets this kind of thing right though. Stephen Stills is still alive and well, and he has yet to apologize for his entire body of work. He should do so.

Now, I know nothing about Newbury's politics or attitude towards people of color. But, happily, a full listen to Live At Montezuma offers a strong potential defense against the idea that he was a racist through and through. His intro to Cortelia Clark, and the song itself, offers, to my privileged white ears anyway, the strong hope that Newbury could be deeply thoughtful and caring towards people less privileged than himself.

Okay, we talked all that through. Let's go out on a high note, shall we? Take a listen to another of Newbury's timeless classics, this one from Frisco Mabel Joy, then go spend all your hard earned cash on every Newbury record your local Dollar Bin offers. I promise great returns on your investment.

Hope you all are well. Thanks for reading.

[proserpinewrites]

Assorted headcanons about Hekate ‘Katie’ Talbot:

Taught herself how to play guitar using a very old leftover guitar from a prior Vault 101 resident and some guidebooks that Jonas found for her. Left said guitar behind in the vault, but retrieved it after the massacre. Did not take it north with her to Boston and absolutely has had a special order in with Daisy for ages seeking another one.

Enjoys sniping intact cars until they explode for stress relief and/or to scare the living daylights out of raiders. Also enjoys prank calling Brotherhood soldiers via ham radio and then scarpering before they investigate.

Hates monkeys. Doesn’t matter what kind, be it the cymbal wielding raider alarm variety or Jangles the Moon Monkey. Uses the latter for target practice in the shooting gallery at Railroad HQ.

Has an extensive holotape collection of music, film, and any other worthwhile media she can get her hands on. Has been trying and failing to construct her own homemade headphones for years. Brought the entire steamer trunk’s worth of holotapes up north with her. After her plasmacaster, that trunk and it’s contents are her most prized possession.

Leery of dogs, likes but has little experience with cats, but has a strange affection for Deathclaws, Brahmin, molerats, and radrabbits. Would try to domesticate the latter two creatures if she had the time and energy.

Cannot and will not dance. Well aware of her limitations in that area, and given her lack of proprioception it's probably for the best.

Autistic, like her father before her. Has substantially better communication skills, mainly self-taught and earned through past bad experiences. Prefers written communication or ham radio communication to face to face, but can handle herself in person.

Sometimes wishes she was a synth, if only to be freed of the continual burden of remembering to eat, drink, and etc. Has only told Glory this after half a bottle of wine.

Has a great number of small scars in odd places due to her 'fuck it, why not' attitude towards experimenting with electronics and mechanical objects.

Lies about the source of most of her scars, except for the burn scar on her left shoulder. That one is due to a badly aimed shot from a Brotherhood soldier during the retaking of Project Purity, and she's still bitter about it.