#i just listened to a lot of builders and butchers and like

[ohtobemare]

Kansas, Miles Quaritch x fem!OC | Prologue

summary: "You're not in Kansas, anymore." Yeah. She was, in fact, on Pandora. And what's she doing here? Well, that's the problem, wasn't it? Quar-What's-His-Face and the rest of RDA would probably think she's ready for the padded room. If they'd shut up long enough to listen. Hell and R and R, huh? "You wanna know about hell, boys? I'll be nice about it. Once." Quaritch x OC

pairings: Miles Quaritch x fem!OC B story: Lyle Wainfleet x fem!OC

warnings: age gap slow burn romance, complete canon deviation/rewrite, entry level fandom knowledge, a whole lot of made up futuristic tech, conspiracy, religion, heavy religious themes, Miles lives.

aesthetic builder: Ruthaynne Carthier Dr. Rozalyn Isles Col. Miles Quaritch Lyle Wainfleet

“Sit your shit down, Carthier!”

Uncontrolled spit dotted the officer’s beard in small beads off the imperative, looking more like a smattering of pocket lint than human saliva—if you even could call the man’s patch of facial hair a beard. Sparse in more places than full, wounds that looked on cliffhanger of weeping festered along his jaw like anatomical connect-the-dots. Evidence of a struggle with personal hygiene but never physical fitness; anyone who knew him would know he shedded perspiration in the dank humidity of Pigeye summer. Sweat sores were common in this hemisphere, among other flesh impurities. 

Roughly shoved into the seat of the engineered-for-hard-time chair, Ruthaynne Carthier dropped like a hard sack—with little grace and even more minute care. The chair scraped back a centimeter or two, protesting the extra weight just as loudly, and with as much vigor, as she’d done not two minutes ago. Forced through the North Pigeye Fourth Precinct front lobby, she’d all but snarled like a creature at Cal’s ironclad grip on her forearm. Sure to bruise, throbbing heat simmered beneath her muscle. 

Toes curling in streetwet socks and skin flaming with inferno blisters, it took willpower not to kick off the damp square-toe boots right there in front of Cal’s shiny—what looked like, new—desk. The now-cold coffee carafe taking up precious real estate rippled as she shifted in her chair, nudging the leg of his desk with her toe. Smirk curling the corner of her lip, she made a show of settling into the seat. Jerking her head lightly in an attempt to move the sopped curls hanging limp in her vision. Dripping all over Cal’s nice—it looked waxed, today—floor. 

Falling back against the chair with a hard thud, his chuckle rumbling low in her chest could be perceived as devilish. “‘Lil frustrated today, are we, Smuckers?” 

“Don’t start with me, Carthier,” botched pronunciation of her surname, a usual from Officer Callery Smuckers, drew her eyes to the ceiling in an aggravated eye roll. “It’s been a bad week—last thing I needed was your underground vigilante shit to tie me up in paperwork for the next forty seven years.” 

Grumbling was Cal’s usual level of tone, but this was a new low. Even for Muscles, dressed all nice in his state-funded tactical midnights and holstered WASP. Hair slicked back by sweat, rainwater and gel, circles under his eyes did nothing to compliment his pallor. Sun deprived, chiseled, and freckled, he looked the tail end of his 48 hours on. 

An exaggeration if there ever was one from the officer, sure, but her face pulled into mock lines of sympathy. “It’s Car-thee-ay, Cal. How many times do we have to go over this?” Too many, obviously, but that was nothing new. People had been butchering Carthier since the dawn of time, probably. It was a curse of a surname, but, it was hers. One of the only things the Elites hadn’t taken, as it were. 

“So. What’s got you so pissed, then? On the outs with Yvette?” Mention of current SOs would either earn compassion points, or a pop in the mouth, depending on who you flew with. Ruthie had endured both from the street beats of the North Pigseye Fourth. 

A beat. His brow popped. “Look at you, using big-girl words. Welcome to the 22nd century.” The barb was sharp and intentional, that was just Cal’s way. Always under her skin, like a parasite she couldn’t quite afford to shake.

Anticipated. “Pissed is hardly a swear word, Smuckers, “ lifting her chin to gesture to him, sat back smoothly in his chair, scratching through his sad excuse of infected facial hair, “maybe you wanna trade places,” she chuckled at the idea—Cal’s all-muscle and toned thighs wedged between the arms of Satan’s first choice of sitting furniture. Amusing enough to make her smile, genuinely. 

“I could tell her you were jaywalking,” the snap up of his eyes showpony teasing hazels of impatience. Sapped the mood like a wet, suffocating blanket. “Oh come on, Callery.”

Sitting forward with a groan, twenty-something Smuckers sighed a bone-deep breath that flared his chest enough to notice, even beneath full tactical gear. Unbuckling his raid helmet, he set it aside with a hard thunk, lifted from the chair enough to scooch it back and closer, until his knees brushed hers. Her spine straightened at the absolutely milkwhite look of pale staining his face, eyes nearly glassy with exhaustion and—concern.  

“I’m not kidding, kid,” hoarsely, and his hands folded between his knees. Head hung low, he peered up at her carefully, her bottom lip curling beneath her top teeth. “You keep up this BS, your ass is gonna bounce into RRM.” Lifting a leg to cross over her knee, bound hands plunked to rest on the other. Snorting, “And trust me, pretty thing like you? Wouldn’t last ten minutes.” Cal kneaded the back of his neck like it was Sunday’s sourdough, “That’s if they don’t commit you, Carthier.” 

“Streetpreaching doesn’t make me a lunatic, Smuckers,” it was a probing challenge. 

“‘Mebbe not,” his clapback was pointed, sharp. Hand scrubbing his face hit the desk with a fisted thunk, before opening to count off fingers, “ but domestic terrorism, religious fanaticism, dogma, hate speech—” 

Leg dropping off her knee, Ruthie mirrored his position. Considering the grout wedged between the tiles, probably all from the last 20 years of hard fab and federal redesign. After a few heartbeats her eyes lifted to consider Smuckers. Still dressed proudly in midnights and dripping with a mixture of sweat and rainwater, he couldn’t have looked worse. Drowned rats were a step up from this, maybe even a full level. Her eyes cut to his bloody knuckles, which dripped to the toe of his boot. Taunting her, maybe. 

“Just watchin’ out for you, kid,” he moved to put a hand on her knee, squeezing it once. His eyes darted above her head, hung there for a minute—security drones. Of course. “I know you ain’t dangerous or hurting anyone. My report will reflect that, like always.” But there would be a report, like all the other times she’d bounced her backside into Cal’s chair at sometime o’clock in the dark, tired and hitting the pavement like some hungry, feral little street rat.

The shift of his jaw took a new edge. “But, for the love of Chri—” her sharp eyes cut him short, hands lifting in the air in mock surrender, “—yeah, yeah.  Could you maybe keep your shop talk off the beat until Gonzalez hits shift?” It would’ve been more serious, the click of his tongue off his teeth, if his smile didn’t match the glint in the corner of his eye. 

He was already reaching for his keycard in short, smooth and low motions. Eye trained to the security drone hawk-eyeing the room, his eyes moved to her slowly. Brow popping a hair, she swallowed and offered a nearly-stone nod—this was the game. Again—cat and mouse, beat the system. 

Big Brother only ever forgive so much; the rich, the famous. The Elites and promised-of-tomorrows. Cops were still on the outs, they played by tight rules or couldn’t tow the line. The law’s reputation hadn’t recovered in nearly—well, ever. They overlooked nothing and forgot little where the everyday was concerned. 

Grabbing her bound wrist with white-knuckled, benching 250 strength, he shook her to her feet with a sharp tug. 

“I’ll consider it,” head tipping back, she stared down her nose at him with little thrill, until he dropped the card smoothly and planted a combat boot. Staring down at her, he shuffled her a little closer, eyes scanning the details of her face before he announced, loudly and with bad acting, his intent to take her down to lockup. Loud enough and convincing for the record, but not Juilliard. 

And that was it, the only card left to play—ducking low, her shoulder dropped to locomotive her entire mass into the center of his gut. A weak point in the tactical vest no less than a handful of interactions had guaranteed. With a grunt, he stumbled backward over his chair, releasing her arm. Cal was a titan, he hit hard. 

Making a show of collecting himself off the floor, her fingers brushed over the card when she ducked low to swipe it; brought it between her teeth as her feet dashed away, flying over federally-mandated and decrepit tile. Lifting her hands to the card balancing delicately between her front teeth, a flash of clearance-green and they released with a soft, mechanical blip. 

“Carthier!” Voice booming, spittle no doubt flying. Nice touch. Her heart racehorsed against her ribs, feet all but simmering with those, painful blisters. They only seemed to swell more, ripping open as her heel caught the stiff counter of the shoe. 

Sharp pain wracked through her hands from the release of the cuff’s pressure as Smuckers found his feet, staggering to stand. Shouting at her again, he put on one hell of a show for the security playback—pointing sharply, the vein popping in his temple even from here the way he cussed her out across the precinct floor. Feigned limp a nice touch, she flashed his card in front of the doorlock, stretching fingers in her other hand to relieve some sting. Open, shut, keep moving—

Corner coming up quickly, there was a rickety fire escape on the south wall. Windows and offices racing by in a steely, industrial-styled blur, Ruthie came off her run hard, foot over foot. Turn, front-kick the glass to one of the windows. Shattering into uncountable diamond-esque shards, they exploded to the floor in a tittering chorus rain. 

An old precinct, Four didn’t have near the tech any of the cosmo departments did—no part of this ZIP did. Federal cutbacks, Capital deals under the table to thank, most certainly. Guys like Cal wore outdated armor any street punk with extra cash could punch through, because some rich vintage-Chevy driving schmuck in Uptown made a raw deal. 

Hustling over the window sill, her boots rattled the rusting iron of the escape. It swayed, hanging by corroded hinges, mostly detached from the side of the structure it had been engineered to serve. Oversights, lack of use—fingers curling around the rain-slicked rail, klaxon shrieks erupted through the broken window and down the corridor. Nearly rattling the bricks behind her, frigid thrill shot down her spine like a ballistic missile. Security drones had triggered her escape, there would be cops here from South Canada in a matter of heartbeats. 

Two minutes, three maybe—if Cal could buy her some time holding up the beat uniforms. 

Breathing hard, trying to shake the chill rattling in the poor-index air, Ruthie worried the inside of her cheek. Tightening her grip on the rail, she stood on her toes. Rocked back to her heels.  Flipped saturated hair from across her vision, a pang of guilt knifing between her ribs like a hot blade through butter. This was close—too close. She hadn’t been so careless in years. 

Swallowing a stutter of breath, she pushed off the railing, making for the groundfloor and taking the steps two at a time. At the last handful, she launched off the platform to hit the slick street, roughly. Her ankles buckled at the impact, barking. 

“Sorry, Cal,” glancing her shoulder, the apology was genuine in the burning of her lungs. 

Thanks, Cal. She’d never get to say it. 

Probably. 

NEXT: One

tags for the interested: @itsgoghtime@horserad-ish@mongoosesthings@sarahsmi13s@kmc1989

[callmearcturus]

hiii just wanted to say that through the many many fic related spotify playlists you have made, you have had by far the most profound impact on my music tastes than anything else I can think of. Portugal the Man, Watsky, Spoon, The National, Cold War Kids, all of the KTOWL character playlists. You also streamlined my listening of Woodkid from "light interest" to "full blown obsession". And frankly I cannot thank you enough for it, so I'll instead just ask, do you have any more recommendations?

i have been wanting forever for an ask like this

i'm gonna put these in some vague categories so you can decide what you're in the mood for

Weird haunting folksy vibes

Fleet Foxes' Crack-Up (melancholic, deep water, forgotten legends)

Andrew Bird's Are You Serious (tho Armchair Apocrypha is my all time fave)

Bruce Peninsula's A Mountain Is A Mouth (their only good album sadly but fuck me its SO GODDAMN GOOD)

The Builders and the Butchers' Salvation is a Deep Dark Well (cannot believe how tight and cohesive this is)

Laura Marling's I Speak Because I Can (she's done other good stuff but this has "Devil's Spoke" so)

A little less alternative with more danceability

Franz Ferdinand's first three albums (the anthem to my own queer awakening when i was younger, my fave is probably still "The Fallen" which had a hand in inspiring the revenant AU)

James Blake's Assume Form but specifically "Where's the Catch?" which has the most incredible verse for Andre 3000 I've ever heard

if you want Karkat-vibes, check out Stars, no specific album bc a lot of their stuff is good, but try our "Fluorescent Light," "Romantic Comedy," "Hold On When You Get Love," "We Don't Want Your Body," and my favorite "Personal"

Gin Wigmore's Gravel & Wine

MGMT's Oracular Spectacular (my god that block of the last three songs is amazing)

Los Campesinos' No Blues (they have a LOT of good albums, this is the easiest to start with imo)

Arc's Weird Faves That Add Up To 90% Of Their Personality

Janelle Monae's Metropolis Suite, especially The Chase and The ArchAndroid. (PLEASE look up the video for "Many Moons" because its my favorite piece of science fiction. I CANNOT overstate how exemplary and unmatched Janelle is. I am just thinking about it and feeling goosebumps.)

Miracle Musical's Hawaii: Part II (there is not a part one really, it's a very strange, magical concept album)

The Mechanisms' The Bifrost Incident (i'm not gonna say anything except this is the only music album i know with a Plot Twist and if you can go into it not knowing the twist, do it)

and finally the most About Me Album that I feel weird even reccing because it's so specific, so interwoven into EVERYTHING I do:

The Klaxon's Myths of the Near Future. I cannot sell you on this album, only that I think if you somehow got a hold of my skull and held it to your ear like a conch shell, you'd hear this.

and i'm gonna stop there bc yeah that's. that's enough for now.

[oldthe-nothing-maker]

Magnus walks through the debris of Raven’s Roost, and sees the dead, charcoal-twisted bodies of people he once knew, and gingerly pushes the remnants of the burnt door of Hammers and Tongs, and watches as ash settles on the long wild hair of his dead wife, and

he’s, like, okay with that.

He gets to work with a mechanical precision, the kind of which you get when you do something for a long time, a bit like hammering and carpentry and things (that’s what he tells himself as he drags Julia’s weight on the floor by the arms – there’s dried blood in her eyes, and she looks both hurt and surprised, as if she wasn’t expecting the pain). Of course he checks on both her and Steven first, just because; and after what he goes to look for survivors, and he finds none, and he’s still okay with that.

The okayness settles in; goes on for quite some time, even. He builds the funeral pyre, arranges the bodies in a rough but honest fashion: he doesn’t have the time to make something fancy, but he doesn’t want to rush through it, either, because, hey, that’s still his wife.

He lights the fire as night comes down: there is an unbearable amount of stars in the sky. He looks up to them, thinks to himself that he’s seen better, but then again, he’s also seen worst.

He’s still okay. He is tired, weary, sure; his legs are cramped, and a nasty cough has developed throughout the day in his smoke-filled lungs. His eyelids are heavy and he closes both his eyes as the first flames lick the soles of the feet of seventy-four dead bodies.

It’s okay, he thinks. It’s okay. It’s the year business.

He looks up to the sky once again, and, suddenly,

“none of them will ever come back”

and the finite, definitive, absolute unchanging never reachable never mortal number of stars in the sky weights way, way too much on Magnus Burnsides’ shoulders.

***

It’s a lot of fire, like, a lot of times, to be honest.

Magnus is a tough guy and his Armour Class is pretty high, so when shit gets risky, he’s usually the one that can handle the kicks: when the situation calls for it, he will jump out of the occasional window or walk through a Wall of Fire or two.

Here’s the thing, though: the party is composed of one warrior and six mages, and their Armour Class is shit, and fire kills people.

They all laugh, ten years later, when they remember one of Lup’s experiments where she tried to mix two spells and BOOM went the lab; they make jokes whenever Lup cooks, or when she says she’s just had a brilliant idea. “Hey guys, new video, new experiment: let’s find out what happens if I mix bleach and vinegar?” says Davenport in a perfect imitation of Lup’s obnoxious voice, and Merle nearly pisses himself laughing.

But that’s only ten cycles later: BOOM went the lab, and it’s Magnus who goes in what remains of the room with a poor attempt at a haphazard mask on his face, to see if any of the twins or Lucretia or Barry are alive, and comes back cradling four burnt bodies in his arms. None of them are bigger than foetuses: they’re just burnt bones. Burnt bones and a lot of black dust.

Davenport loses the control of the ship, once, on a volcanic land: they all watch from the shore, frozen, as lava bubbles up in the main cabin, and they spend the entire year nearly killing themselves trying to repair the ship because they can’t fucking die here because of a fucking parking mistake.

Of course, Merle pisses off the wrong guy at the wrong moment: Magnus hears his bad joke and he doesn’t even have time to look at him funny to tell him to stop trying to push that arsehole’s buttons: said arsehole says something in tongues, and in a second, Merle, his plants, his new shoes, his tiny eggplant-shaped watering can – all of it is reduced to really thin ash that rains on the white tiles of their house. A robot comes immediately to clean it off and Magnus has to break it open to put Merle’s remains into some kind of jar or something (he never stops doing that – mortuary rites, that is. Maybe he should? It’s hard to say.)

And of course, Merle doesn’t say a lot about his meetings with the Hunger (if anything at all about it, actually), but Magnus knows just enough to know that it involves a lot of darkness and a lot of fire, especially at the end.

Lup uses fire, and a spell goes wrong, and she disappears engulfed in the hell she’s created, and she dies. Barry gets in the way of a stray Magic Missile, and he spends three days agonizing in bed as magical burns slowly eat him from the inside, and he dies. Lucretia falls into a trap inside some sick labyrinth thingy, and they helplessly hit the bubble in which she’s imprisoned as the heat rises inside, and she dies. Taako – golden, green, beautiful Taako – is a bit too slow, a bit too far, and Magnus can hold his hand out all he wants but a Scout opens its opal mouth to spit a ray of black flames and Magnus’ hand catches nothing but smoke: Taako burns, and he dies.

Magnus survives. Magnus lingers on.

If the fight’s been really rough, if things have gone sour, Magnus asks Lucretia to draw him. He watches the burns and the terrible blisters blossom on his arms like patches of tiny pale flowers, and Lucretia takes them all in. If Lucretia is dead, he tries to do it himself. It’s not as good. After what he takes a needle and some thread he keeps in his pockets because – because who fucking knows when you’ll need a needle and some thread? – and he works his way through his wounds. The thread fills up with pus, blood and lymph. Magnus thinks, ahah, it looks JUST like constellations!

He looks outside, towards the empty space across the universe. Sometimes there are stars. Sometimes there are not. He thinks, he doesn’t remember what his constellations looked like. At least he keeps the scars secure.

The next cycle, the blisters are gone. Magnus’ elbows and knees are scar-free. He still has thread in his pockets. Lucretia draws, Merle garden, Lup experiments, Barry thinks, Davenport pilots, and Taako smiles. They heal.

They die.

They heal.

They die.

They heal.

Fun fact: you actually grow used to it real fast. Incredible, right?

Magnus says that he likes being sure that “time will heal all wounds”. No one understands the worry beneath, lighting the cracks on the floor: that Magnus isn’t stupid, and their time isn’t limitless, and eventually, eventually, eventually, gods, please, he will not know what to do with uncertainty.

***

- What am I going to do if you never come back? If none of you ever come back? Or – any of you?

Lucretia looks at him with careful eyes, heavy eyelids on heavy eyelashes:

- We’ll always come back.

- But – I mean, after we do... All that, you know? I mean, our main goal, it’s to, uh, not having to, you know, always have to run away, find the Light, all of that, so.

- You’ll have time to think about it when we reach that point. We will all have time to do this. You should not worry about this for now.

Magnus lowers his head. His voice is small when he speaks again:

- But I do.

***

The girl’s eyes are grey like rainclouds and her hands are cool to the touch. Magnus is so godsdamn thirsty, he’d probably kill for a cup of water.

- Here, take some of this, she says.

She hands him a gourd full of liquid. When he splashes the lukewarm water on his face, he feels like living again, which he’s pretty sure Taako would find, wow, that’s, that’s some comedy gold right there, pumpkin, wow! Spot on!

The girl keeps on watching him with these big, cloudy eyes. He drinks some more, and then maybe even a little more, and says to her:

- I think I overestimated my, uh, you know, my overall abilities to, uh, you know... Survive.

- Yeah, says the girl.

He hands her back the gourd; and then, he says:

- Hey. Uh. Okay, it’s going to sound, uh, kinda weird, so don’t – don’t freak out. But. How would you like... Some kind of magical cup, that can, uh, protect people, but like, forever? As, you know, thanks. For the water.

The girl immediately calls on her father about the fuckin’ weirdo over there. Magnus thinks he’s making the good choice.

In his hands, the cup tugs at the strings of his heart, and on that beat it sings good songs of golden homes.

***

What did it say again?

***

Water, water.

More water.

And after the stars, finally,

void.

***

Fire.

***

Magnus just can’t realise she’s not ever coming back. It’s too much. It’s too painful. It’s not how it should be.

Gods, please, why can’t he?

***

Why can’t he.

***

Why can’t he.

***

Why can’t he.

***

If Merle makes that awful pussy-eating grimace once again, Magnus will jump off the moving cart.

***

Why can’t he.

***

Everything heals given time, the cup says, but then it adds, and its voice tastes like honey, and Magnus thinks of gold and all things warm and home, home, home: and everything dies.

***

- Yaknow, I can’t believe you fuckin’ told that, that miracle cup to, uh, can it.

Taako has scars all over him. Some Magnus has seen grow and heal; some he feels like they shouldn’t be there; some cause him pain too. Of course, he’s not looking at him as he talks. Taako doesn’t do heart-to-hearts the fantasy movies way, baby.

- Yeah, well. That would have been selfish.

- Oh, uh-uh, sure, yeah, definitely.

Taako looks at his nails a little more:

- Well, anyway, we all did good, and we were all brave, so, so that’s, that’s pretty good in itself, hm, that’s what you, you could call a success story, isn’t it?

Magnus stays silent for a while.

- Yeah. I guess.

***

Add some more fire.

Also, soul bonding with his arms outstretched, a Mannequin Interlude, and revelations.

But mostly fire.

***

Magnus is still reeling. His arms are full of all the people he loves, has loved, will love, and he doesn’t even think about it, but, yeah, that’s true:

The stars? Still here, still not moving. Still real heavy. Time hasn’t stopped. Things still grow. Things still go.

And things still grow. And go. And grow. So home can too.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjbtuNBRzbE)

[rekanochi]

i’m going to inflict my music taste on all of you and there’s nothing you can do to stop me

my main man @imsobadatnicknames2 tagged me in a thing to post 3 underrated albums and i feel like it so here we go babeyyy

Salvation Is a Deep Dark Well - The Builders and The Butchers

oh yeah you KNOW we’re on that southern gothic shit. we got snake oil salesman, we got corrupt churches, we got that middle america aesthetic going HARD on the dark melodramatic melancholic despair of living in a morally corrupt fuck-nowhere small town in the countryside. it’s a very distinct vibe and it’s a vibe i absolutely live for

Alkatraz - DEMONDICE

listen to DEMONDICE. just, go listen to DEMONDICE. all of her songs, even the old ones she says she doesn’t like.

cringe is dead and i’ve killed it with my own bare hands. she has this incredible talent for making some absolute jams that make you wanna do a backflip and shimmy and do crimes. AND she manages to flow well across english and japanese, which you GOTTA give her points for. the titular track esp is my fave- it’s just so much fun and high energy and it has one of my absolute fave music videos she’s ever done - oh, btw, she animates her own music videos, because she’s a madman.

also she may or may not be a ridiculously popular hololive vtuber.

bonus fun fact: works with TOPHAMHAT-KYO and DYES IWASAKI of FAKE TYPE. a lot! those guys fucking rule and their music’s FANTASTIC. go give all of em a listen! they worked on the soundtrack for Mad Rat Dead, so, like, yeah, their shit fucks. it’s good

The Skeleton Man - Coyote Kid

can you tell i’ve been on a bit of cowboy kick lately? anyway, this is one of those albums with a narrative throughline,so you absolutely gotta listen to this bad boy in order. fantastic if you like me enjoy cowboys, dead things, cowboy fables, and a guy with a sexy gravelly(? is that the word) voice singing about gunfights and shit then you’ll love this 1000%. yeehaw motherfuckers

BONUS DOUBLE FEATURE!

do yourself a favor and listen to Memories of Tokyo-To and Sounds of Tokyo-To Future, both by absolute legend 2 Mello. this guy is so incredibly underrated that it’s fucking CRIMINAL, man. he did the soundtrack for Later Alligator and 2064: Read Only Memories, two of my favorite games of all time forever. it is a goddamn crime that he doesn’t get more attention, bc his shit absolutely slaps my ass with the funkiest grooves i’ve ever heard. if you like jet set radio’s soundtrack in like, ANY capacity, i am begging you to give these two albums a listen

anyway i’m gonna tag uhh almost all of my mutuals because i do what i want

@baalzebufo @kuramons @oops-all-teeth @ocpdzim @retroactivebakeries @onthehuntforthatbooty @fr0gkid @foulharlequin @slipgayte @crittern @angelabsol @psycada

i love u all sorry for the obnoxious tag <3

[giannimaldonado]

Album Of The Day: Satan Is Watching

When most people born after a certain period of time think of the genre that is “country”, and what it has morphed into in the context of this day and age, a lot of unpleasant images spring to mind. Pretty boy, clean cut, poser rednecks who’ve never seen a farm outside of their music videos, trying to pretend to be another “honest Joe” when they couldn’t be any further from such a thing, making trashy, twangy glam rock mixed with watered down trap music/EDM for white southerners who might have interesting views on those of different races, rolling around in million dollar sports cars while adopting the moniker of “working class”...is probably what your mind immediately begins to conjure up in that brain of yours.

I honestly can’t say that I blame you. Country, or, at least, MAINSTREAM country, has lost its way completely. Luke Bryan, Brad Paisley, Tim McGraw, and Blake Shelton polluted this once proud, grassroots, amazing genre with pandering, trite garbage aimed at making money off of dumb hicks in the bodies of frat boys whose trucks cost more than your own damn house.  Gone are the days when country music was filled to the brim talent, creativity, passion, and heart. Now, this “jock country” has taken its place, having thoroughly fucked country up the ass a few too many times that it has lost its way. For good, perhaps.

Underground country’s usually no better. There’s some exceptions (we’ll get to those soon), but for the most part, it, too, has gone off the rails and destroyed itself completely. It’s often just indie folk or what have you with even more acoustic guitars, though perhaps with more twang, whiny vocals that are trying (and failing) to recreate a stereotypical southern accent, a reliance on cheap gimmicks, sarcasm, and irony to carry their trash because the excrement can’t do that itself, and a musical quality that tries SO hard to imitate the great Mr. Cash, but is little more than a cheap, pale imitation that folks who wear WAY too much flannel and wire rimmed glasses will eat up like it’s the second coming of Joy Division.

No matter how you look at it, country has been thoroughly gentrified for the most part, just like many genres that were previously for a much different variety of people. Like trap music, or blues, or hardcore punk, or black metal. All of the original meaning is gone, driven out by money hungry label executives, clueless and ignorant listeners, and musicians hellbent on half-assing their way to fame and fortune.

It’s a crying shame, it really is.

But fret not, dear reader! There is still a soft, seedy underbelly of the country genre that has taken the long dead (yet forever revered and loved) sound of “outlaw shit”, as Mr. Jennings would put it so eloquently, to its most logical extreme. One that would make Nelson, Cash, Haggard, Coe, and others that might’ve been at the top of their “underground”, “anti-mainstream” game seem rather...accessible. These aforementioned artists and their peers are still greats who, in their primes, were powerhouses that made some of the greatest works the genre would ever produce. But when compared to this particular sound...they just don’t hold up as well. The rawness, the grassroots nature, the down-to-Earth (and sometimes below the Earth) attitude, the simplicity, the honesty, the bluntness, the intimacy, the melancholy...all of it gets turned way up to eleven. It’s dark, it’s mischievous, it’s harsh, it’s gritty, it’s angry, it’s bitter, it’s darkly humorous, it’s lonesome, it’s ornery, and it’s damn sure pretty fucking mean.

Call it whatever you want. “Southern gothic”, “dark country”, “death country”, “gothic country”. It doesn’t matter what name you apply to it. All that matters is that it’s country. Real fucking country. Country meant for the guttersnipes, punks, street urchins, hobos, peasants, and forlorn drifters. This ain’t pretty boy music. This isn’t nice, Christian contemporary that you can play at your local uptight establishment. These aren’t harmless tunes your the posers can get drunk and go mudding to. This is country as it was meant to be. The eptiome of the term “outlaw shit”.

There’s a plethora of wonderful bands in this scene. Sons Of Perdition, Sixteen Horsepower, whatever project Jay Munly’s got going on this time around, The Dead South, the early days of The Devil Makes Three, The Builders And The Butchers, Wovenhand, Ghoultown, Coffinshakers, The Pine Box Boys, and, of course, everyone’s favorite descendant of the Williams family tree. The third one, that is.

But all of those fall short of that truly, truly, TRULY horrific honky-tonk, old-time, folksy, backwoods atmosphere that this duo produces. One that hails from the isolated, empty thickets that lie out in rural Wisconsin. A mentally disturbed pair of “prophets of the country doom”, as they have decided to label themselves. A fine example of those who have gone completely mad, completely sad, and doing so makes them feel very glad. They revel in their craziness, and while no album sounds the same, each one is marred by a couple of recurring themes: humanity is worthy of being sent straight to the fiery depths, these boys are depressed beyond your wildest comprehension, a rebellion against both God and Satan, and a desire to document the lifestyle of society’s forgotten ones, hated ones, and feared ones.

Let me introduce you to Those Poor Bastards.

Fitting name for a couple of enigmatic, largely unknown, extremely obscure pair of men known simply as Lonesome Wyatt (impassioned orations and guitar-based melodies) and The Minister (everything else).

The Minister is completely anonymous, with no one having even seen his face, while all that’s known about Lonesome Wyatt is that he’s from Wisconsin, (probably) lives alone, and is likely of an unsound state of mind.

Why is that all important? Well, go listen to their albums, and then you’ll find out why these little intricacies are vital to the dynamic duo’s imagery, music, and cult status.

While all of their material is quite good in my opinion, today we’re going to look at my favorite album from them, and possibly my favorite album from any country artists EVER! Everyone, please proceed to throw on “Satan Is Watching.”

What you’ll first be met with Lonesome Wyatt letting out a loud, wild, manic screech that almost doesn’t sound...human. It’s not even a word. Just an unhinged howl like Lonesome Wyatt’s been possessed by some sort of demon from the pits of Hell, having taken over the “doomsday preacher boy” to spread the wicked gospel. A hell of a start to an album of any kind, let alone a country album. It’s bold, but it lets you know right off the bat that they aren’t fucking around. This is going to be a rough ride from start to finish, and you’ll be left quaking in your seat once Those Poor Bastards has pierced your mind, heart, and soul with their fiendishly unholy sound. A truly nihilistic piece of art about how this world is foul and wretched, and deserves to burn to a cinder.

But that’s just the first song.

Things only manage to get worse from there. Everything from songs about how Lonesome Wyatt’s a degenerate who revels in just how much filth and squalor he lives in, to songs (well, more like suspiciously suicidal rants) about how life is fucked and there’s just no point in living it anymore, to various “take that!” pieces towards lovers who have wronged him in times that have long since passed, presumably. Typical topics for country artists, but contorted and warped to the point where they sound like miniature horror stories being yelled and hollered by a crazy, top-hat wearing yokel than the struggles and strife that are endured by the common man/downtrodden fellow. Hell, there’s even a Johnny Cash cover! A twisted, perverted, scummy, bone-chilling, haunting, eerie take on the previously wholesome, innocent love song The Man In Black made for June. I can’t exactly look at it the same way, what with these mysterious hooligans having thoroughly butchered it.

Instrumentation is minimalist and simple. Nothing too fancy or technical here. It’s quite self-explanatory. Despite how evil it is, the rhythms are still toe-tappingly catchy. The drums, being pounded upon by the fiery hands of The Minister, provide anything from a nice, plodding beat you can stomp your feet to, all the way to a rowdy raucous of a banger that’ll have you doing some sort of line dance with the living dead. Lonesome Wyatt beats upon his acoustic guitar like it owes him money. Not even really playing it. Just smashing the strings until weird, disgruntled, odd noises come out of it. He also seems to thoroughly shatter his ability to talk without a sore throat, pushing his voice to its very limits. The bass compliments everything very well, providing a creepy, fuzzy, dirge-like texture in the background to keep the menacing tone alive and well.

All in all, while this may not “experimental”, “avant-garde”, or even “progressive”, this is certainly an album that’ll give you the heebie-jeebies, and for a country album, it is most certainly “out there”. It takes the usual country tropes, and either turns them into something out of a David Lynch movie, or subverts/plays with them to fuck with the audience and make them contort their face with confusion...and excitement. A spooky bit of acoustic noise that’ll restore your faith in country music, and remind you that there is still a small resemblance of a spark left within the dying genre.

Please, I highly recommend you check this out.

This has been another installment of “Esoteric Warfare”, and remember...

NOISE, NOT MUSIC!

[almondbiscotti]

Week 7 - Where Does The Time Go?

Doing this one day late because I was lazy yesterday. And also because I spent most of yesterday obsessively watching whatever Shinee content I could find on YouTube. There’s so much Shinee crack online, it’s giving me life. SO MUCH LIFE. 

Deets below.

Reads This Week

The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde (11/2021) This was such an original novel! I really really really enjoyed it, even if it got really quite absurd and confusing at some parts. 

I’ve said this before and I still stand by it, Fforde is an excellent world builder and his prose is *chef’s kiss*. I don’t think his style is for everyone because he requires you to just believe in him, believe that the story is going somewhere, believe that the reality he has created is plausible, for you to enjoy the storytelling. But I love it. I love the wittiness of his prose, the nonchalance of the absurd. I’ll be reading more of him. 

A Darker Shade of Magic by V. E. Schwab (12/2021) I read this some years ago when it was first published in 2015. TBH, I don’t really remember much of it anymore but I do remember liking it. It’s part of a trilogy but the first time I read this, the 2nd and 3rd books hadn’t been written yet. So i’m re-reading this to read the sequels. 

It’s good! Good world building, interesting characters. I see some elements of Gaiman’s Neverwhere in it. (Can’t remember if I read Neverwhere before or after A Darker Shade of Magic.) I still think Gaiman reigns supreme but Schwab’s not bad too. 

Good Reads has quite scathing reviews of the book 2 and 3 though. But... we’ll see. Good Reads isn’t always reliable. 

Writes This Week

Trying to be okay with not writing this week because I’ve been trying to read more. It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. 

Watches This Week 

Vincenzo on Netflix I only started on this because Song Joong Ki’s in it and his beautiful face can sell me lizard droppings. And I suppose the premise was quite intriguing. Though... Korean Italian mafia lawyer? Er... Korean shows tend to completely butcher non-Korean content so I wasn’t having very high hopes. 

I struggled with the 1st episode because I thought it was a melodrama! So I had all these unfulfilled expectations. But turns out it is a dark comedy! After realising that, the show became a lot easier to enjoy. 

I have to say though, that not 10 minutes into the 1st episode and the amount of ludicrous was already THROUGH THE FUCKING ROOF. This must be some kind of record, seriously.

I am all for suspension of SOME belief. Make the characters cool, make full use of Song Joong Ki’s perfect face, work him in a tailored suit etcetera etcetera. I’m not complaining about all the wonderful close ups. But there’s a difference between cool explosions while the hot man walks away in slow-mo with not a strand of hair out of place and FUCKING IMPOSSIBRUUUUUU. I mean, DUDE COME ON. Cringe x 10000. 

I had to stop watching about 30 minutes in because I couldn’t deal with the wtf. It was so absurd, I was literally saying out loud “잠깐만 잠깐만!!! 이상해! 말이 안돼!!!!!” It was so strange, it brought out my half past six Korean, 

I’m still going to follow it though. Because it’s quite loltastic. And in case you missed it, SONG JOONG KI’S BEAUTIFUL FACE. 

Every Fucking Shinee Related Video Available on Youtube  I mean.... I have to prep for the boys’ return happening today!!!!! MAJOR FANGIRL MODE ON. Also, their videos really give me life. I really like how comfortable they’re with each other and how they roast each other like the fluffy marshmallows they are. I LOVE. 

This really brings me back to my JC days, or as Debs calls it, my MINHO 5EVA phase. (Though, these days, it’s more ONEW 5EVA.) 

Listens This Week

Shinee fucking BINGE. I’ve been listening to more of their last album, The Story of Light. It’s good! It’s the first album they did after Jonghyun’s passing so THERE ARE SO MANY FEELS. I stopped following them for a while, no idea why, i just went on to other stuff I guess. But now that I’m back, AHHHH MY HEART. SO GOOD. SO SO GOOD. 

I really like Onew’s Sign off his solo album too. His voice is beautiful. The boys are beautiful. LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL NOW THAT SHINEE IS HERE. 

It was a good week, filled with good things. May this week be great too! :)

[neveralarch]

I'm out of town for a wedding and briefly have no responsibilities, so I played this game where you make a playlist of all of the songs you stole fic titles from. The fun part for me is that I almost never do this, so there's only 18 + 1 songs over 7 years. There's also a BIG chunk of The Builders and the Butchers, because I made a good faith effort to name every single Welcome to Nightvale fic after their music.

This was a LOT of fun, highly recommend doing it. I want to hear other people's weird playlists! If you don't have access to Spotify I suggest youtube maybe? Song list and liner notes under the cut! Song title links to the fic it namesook.

1. Anonanimal by Andrew Bird Hold on just a second, don't tell me this one, you know, I know this one, I know this song, I know this one, I love this song I tend to name fics with odd catchy words and phrases, and this chorus sticks in my head like nothing else. 2. The End of the Over by The Duckworth Lewis Method The end of the over / The over is ending / The end of the end of the over is over In my head, this is the title to the fic about space cricket because this is a song about cricket from an album about cricket by a band named after cricket. But, no, this is the fic about Five having really inadvisable revenge/remorse sex with the Master - the cricket fic is Professional Foul, which isn't from a song at all. 3. The Very Model of a Modern Major General by Gilbert and Sullivan This is the easiest fic I've ever titled. 4. Summer in the City by Lovin' Spoonful Come-on come-on and dance all night, despite the heat it'll be alright This is the best title I've ever come up with, and I don't think anyone ever got the joke. But I knew. I knew. 5. Blood Gets Thin by Pete and the Pirates She behaves like she's on fire / On her tip-toes reach up higher / And if the doctor can't do tricks / You can use your normal fix This is another clever title that I think was born out of complete desperation to find a title, any title. I also absolutely couldn't remember what song I'd mined, since it was such a small fragment of a lyric, but fortunately it came to me right before I was going to post this. 6. I Want a New Duck by Weird Al Yankovic I want a new duck / Not a swan or a goose / Just a drake I can dress real cute / Think I'm gonna name him Bruce I just think it's fate that I wrote a fic about Bruce Banner turning into a duck, and Weird Al had already written its themesong. 7. The Night Pt 2 by The Builders and the Butchers It's a harder way to heaven on the rope you swing / and the night ain't filled with gentle things I started getting really into The Builders and the Butchers and Welcome to Nightvale at almost exactly the same time, and they really really fit together. 8. Red Hands by The Builders and the Butchers I was dreaming restless / And you were thinking of the rest I've actually used this song twice - the title of this Wimsey fic is also copped from here. 9. The Night Pt 1 by The Builders and the Butchers Your heart is in my pocket / and there's a lie inside my hand I managed to mishear this line in two different ways, which made it hard to figure out which particular song inspired the fic title. 10. Without Me by Eminem So let me just revel and bask / In the fact that I got everyone kissing my *** / And it's a disaster such a catastrophe / For you to see so damn much of my *** you ask for me? This is a podfic, so technically the original author chose Eminem, not me. But I'm happy to add the radio edit version to my playlist, for reasons that will be obvious if you listen the podfic. (There's also a linked clip of me swearing for ten seconds, which @einzwitterion recently played for her husband. My legacy.) 11. Find Me in the Air by The Builders and the Butchers You waited your whole life, said you're looking on for something / You look so hard and you never find nothing / and the chances run like sand through your hands 12. Black Elevator by The Builders and the Butchers And the cables break / You're sinking to the ground / No one here knows your name / And you won't be coming home The last of the great string of Builders and Butchers fic titles. Man, I miss how easy this was. 13. Team the Best Team by Doomtree Who want it more? It’s already yours It's really easy to tell when I integrated into the Twin Cities music scene. 14. Bad Moon Rising by Credence Clearwater Revival I hope you got your things together / I hope you are quite prepared to die This was on one of the greatest Teen Wolf fanmixes of all time, not an easy category to win. So I used it to title my niche Mountain Goats fic. 15. Take a Break by Lin-Manuel Miranda When the night gets dark / Take a break As a member of fandom in 2015, I was contractually obligated to use a Hamilton lyric as a fic title. 16. Ice on the Dune by Empire of the Sun I’ve been reaching all out darling / And I can’t operate now Tim Lincecum has used some weird stuff for his walk-up music. 17. Alle Jahre Wieder Kehrt mit seinem Segen / ein in jedes Haus / geht auf allen Wegen / mit uns ein und aus. I should title more fics with rough translations of German songs. So easy! So meaningful! 18. Open Your Eyes by STRFKR Open your eyes / Squeezing the palm of my hand / In these bodies, we are alone If I ever make a melodramatic true and forever OTP mix for Johannes Cabal and Zarenyia it will just be this song ten times in a row. I literally keep pasting different pieces of the lyrics into this section and then deleting them, I feel like I'm seventeen again and discovering that Mumford and Sons songs are really about Doctor/Master. Bonus track: What's Up? by 4 Non Blondes And I try, oh my god do I try The title of this fic is invented, and tbh is one of the best lines I've ever come up with and I think about it all the time. But the summary is straight up lifted from this song. Honorable mentions: I was convinced that Cosmic Galacticans was from a Bowie song, but apparently I made it up. Operator, Operator is from a toy switchboard my great-grandmother owned, which would say 'Operator, operator!' in a very scratchy voice when you turned the crank.

[ganglylimbs]

Sharp Teeth and Bared Throats

Pairing: Trevor/Ryan/Gavin

Summary:  The King has a lot of fine things. Glittery jewels, silk pillows, and golden crowns. But the two things the King holds most dear are the pretty Courtesan and Advisor that warm his bed regularly. There are always whispers surrounding the three of them, but the King doesn't worry. His pretty boys have sharp teeth.

Notes: The boys are not good people, but at least they love each other. This is a King au with casual murder and violence. It’s completely self-indulgent and I have no regrets. 

If you would like to buy me a coffee, I would really appreciate it.

The market was busy, crowds of people pushing each other to get the supplies they need. Gavin easily blended in with the commoners in his sandy brown cloak and loose fitting clothes. He made sure to keep his head low as he moved with the crowd. Around him, he could hear people selling their wares, calling out their prices and trying to entice someone over to them.

“Warm furs! Skinned from the finest animals found outside the Kingdom! Warmest pelts you’ll ever find.”

“Fresh bread! Fresh bread!”

“Get your meat here! Bear meat, wolf meat, fox meat, beaver meat. All kind of exotic meats. Don’t like exotic? We have cow, pork, and chicken too.”

Gavin mumbled a low “Excuse me” as he pushed past a group gathered around someone selling fruit from the South and stopped in front of the stall where a young boy was shouting about meat. Gavin’s nose wrinkled at the bloody mess and idly wondered if he should buy anything.

“We need more.” A gruff voice said, somewhere to the right of him where two men were leaning in to talk to each other.

Michael would love a nice big piece.  Gavin thought. He bent down to expect the example slices. He’s been saying he hasn’t had anything as good as the bear meat he got when scouting around the Tillian Kingdom.

“The King will not let us have anymore. We’ve already exhausted the supplies he had allowed us.” The other man added, this one calmer than the first.

And Jeremy too. He deserves a reward for winning in that tournament.

“We’ll just tell him that the supplies never made it to us. That they got lost along the way. Obviously stolen by thieves. Or…we ask him if he even sent the supplies in the first place.” The first guy answered, sounding pleased with himself. Gavin could imagine the grin on his face, so sure of his clever plan.

“Are you mad? The King will have our heads the second those words leave your lips.”

“The King wouldn’t bother. Why would he, we are just some lowly builders.” The words were sneered. “I’m sure he will listen to my what I have to say. I have a golden tongue after all.”

Gavin smiled, something sharp about it, before looking up at the butcher. “Two large bear flanks, please.” He handed over the money and got a grunt in return as the man went to fulfill his order.

“This is a stupid plan and you are going to get us killed.” The second voice sounded resigned.

“Everything will be fine. The King doesn’t keep records, he has people for that. It should be easy to convince him that there was some mistake on his part.” The voices were fading, getting distant as they walked away. Gavin didn’t bother following. Instead, he hummed a soft tune, something he remembered his mother singing to him in his youth as he waited for his meat.

“Thank you.” Gavin said, grabbing his packages. He whistled as he continued to stroll through the market. He only stopped at one other place to pick up a trinket, something silly that he knew Trevor would laugh at, before heading towards the Palace.

                                                            ~

King Haywood sat high in his throne, hands resting lightly on the stone arms. Around him, candlelight flickered, creating shadows on the walls. It looked much darker in here, though he knew the sun was high in the sky. Red and gold decorated the walls, as well as Ryan’s coat of arms. Haywood could hear the soft mummers of his Court as they mulled around his throne room, already bored with today’s proceedings.

Haywood hid his smirk at the thought.

Below him, two of the builders from the 4th Quadrant kneeled before him, talking about how they were out of supplies and that the ones Haywood had granted before had not arrived. Well, one talked. The other would glance up at the King from time to time before remembering himself and looking back down. They were dressed in brown long sleeve tunics. The large red band wrapped around their arm displayed their title, the small one beneath that told the King that the black haired man was the leader of the project. He thinks the leader’s name is Reggie. Haywood watched them, face blank as he took everything in. As soon as Reggie fell silent, the King spoke.

“So you believe that your supplies were stolen?” Haywood spoke slowly, each syllable pronounced. He wanted to make sure there was no confusion about what he was asking.

“Yes, My King.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes, My King.”

Haywood hummed. He turned to the servant that stood by the base of his throne. “Kerry, get Advisor Pattillo. This issue needs to be fixed.” His eyes did not miss the way that two looked at each other, Reggie smiling.  “I’m glad that you brought this to my attention. Stealing from me is a serious crime, one that needs to be punished.”

“Of course, My King.”

Before the servant could reach it, the side door that leads deeper into his castle opened. Casually strolling through was a young man, with shaggy brown hair and the beginning of a beard. He was decked out in the royal colors, red clothes clinging to his body and gold hanging off of him. He gave the servant a cheery wave, green eyes bright as he told him. “I do not believe that will be necessary, My King.”

Kerry instantly skittered to the side and the rest of the Court suddenly took an interest. Haywood tilted his head. “Gavin. What has brought you here?” The two builders seemed agitated by the intrusion, shifting around and frowning at each other, though they did not say anything.

Gavin took no notice of them. Instead, he headed straight towards the King. “Oh, Ryan. Can’t I visit you every now and then? I get so bored, sitting around in my room all day.” Gavin lightly threw himself over the King’s lap, hands wrapped around broad shoulders.

Haywood did not move, face still blank. “But you did not stay in your room.”

“Noooo. I didn’t.” Gavin sighed, moving around so he was fully sitting up. He laid his head against Ryan’s chest. “I decided to entertain myself by going to the market today. Bought some meat, bought some jewelry. You know how I love my jewelry, really it’s been a month since you’ve bought me anything. I’m starting to think you’ve lost interest.” Ryan’s mouth twitched. “Oh, and I heard an interesting conversation.”  

“My King, I believe we were in the middle of something.” Reggie spoke up.

He was silenced by the cold look the King gave him.

Gavin grinned at the man, wide and full of teeth. “I think you will find this story interesting too. See, while I was buying my meat,  I overheard two men talking. Something about….oh what was it….”

He tilted his head, eyes meeting theirs. “Something about trying to trick the King out of building material?”

The room fell still. Like everyone was holding their breath. Waiting. Gavin had the builder’s attention now. The King’s face was still blank. All he said was “Oh?”

“Yeahhhh.” Gavin drew out the word, let it fall around them. “I thought I must have misheard them. Because who would try to trick the King, right?” Gavin’s laugh was carefree. It echoed off the room. “But then I find out that lovely Ryan here is meeting with a couple of builders who claim they lost their supplies. And I couldn’t help thinking to myself, where have I heard that before?” He paused, letting them draw their own conclusions. “Now isn’t that a coincidence.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Reggie said, after a moment. His partner was starting to look nervous.

“Hear that Ryan. Doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Well, maybe this will help you remember.” Gavin stood up. Ryan let him, hand slowly falling from Gavin’s hip. The courtesan slowly started walking towards them. “You work for Forman, who has been trusted with building the shops around here. Your name is Reggie Barlons, who has been denied entry into the Knights and couldn’t even become a simple Guard. You floated around for a bit, from job to job, until your brother recommended a job as a builder. From there you’ve bullied and blackmailed your way to your position now.”

“That’s not-No.” Reggie denied. His partner was trying to slowly move away from him.

Gavin hummed, still walking oh so slowly around the still two kneeling builders. “You also have a bad habit of thievery, huh Reggie. Halving payment for those beneath you so that you can fill your pocket more. You sell whatever you can and claim that they had mysteriously disappeared. So is that what happened? You take one too many things and don’t know how to explain to your boss where they went? So now you’ve come, begging to the King? Are you hoping to make some extra supplies from those you don’t need?”

Reggie seemed stunned, mouth opening and closing. Haywood leaned forward in his seat, watching the entire spectacle with a small smirk. “Well, Reggie?” He drawled. “Was that what you were hoping for?”

“No! No, My King, I would never.” Reggie started to sputter. He looked around wildly before landing on his partner. “I-It was his idea! George was the one to suggest the selling. I was just going along with it because he threatened my family. My poor wife and children. Please.”

“Me!” George exclaimed. “I was the one trying to talk you out of it. But no, Mr. Golden Tongue. You had to go with this.” George turned towards the King. “Please, sire. He’s the mastermind behind this. Nothing I could say would deter him.”

The two dissolved into bickering, both trying to put the blame on the other. Ryan made eye contact with Gavin, smirk widening as Gavin rolled his eyes. The King let the fighting go on for a few more minutes before he stood up.

“Silence.” His command echoed around the room. Instantly, the room went quiet. With loud, thumping steps, he began walking down from his throne. “Enough with this. George Gallining. I know about your side business, the gambling without one of my permits or paying the required tax.” George winced. “But your offenses are nowhere near the level that Reggie has.”

“But sire-“ Reggie started to speak.

Haywood glared at him. “You have insulted both my intelligence and my kindness. I was warned that you would do this to me, which is why I had my spy check you out.” He reached out to place a hand on Gavin’s shoulder. Gavin fluttered his eyelashes at Reggie before reaching down to pull out the knife that Ryan kept at his side. “And what he found, I did not like. This…This was the last straw.”

“No! No, no, no.” Reggie began to beg. He threw himself at Ryan’s feet. “Please, Your Majesty. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll never do it again. My family they-“

He was silenced by Gavin’s knife across his throat.

Everyone watched, passively, as Reggie began to choke on his own blood. Except for George, whose face was frozen, horrified. He jerked at Gavin’s touch to his shoulder. “Let this be a warning to you, Georgie. Best be getting those permits of yours.”

George quickly nodded. With a flick of Haywood’s wrist, George was dismissed. He fled, pale and shaky.

As soon as the throne room door was closed, Gavin let out a high pitched laugh. “Did he see his face?” He asked, turning sparkling eyes towards Ryan.

Ryan nodded. He lightly kicked the body, nose scrunching up. “Get this trash away from here.” He called. A couple of guards stepped forward, dragging the body away. Ryan and Gavin walked back towards Ryan’s throne, hand in hand before sitting down, Gavin in Ryan’s lap.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself.” Ryan commented.

“I was. He was pretty interesting. No one seemed to like him and were eager to give me any dirt they could. He was a sorry person.” Gavin hummed. “The conversation this morning was amusing. You should have heard the way he talked.”

Ryan chuckled, one hand coming up to wrap around Gavin’s waist. He listened to Gavin talk as the Court went back to normal.

                                                         ~

Trevor walked carefully along the edge of the house. The night had fully settled, the moon hidden by clouds. Below him, he could hear an owl hoot. Some crickets were chirping but stopped as Trevor’s shadow passed over them. Trevor grinned as he leaned closer to the building. A party was going on inside. Music floated out and he could hear people murmuring.

Perfect.

Trevor climbed higher, jumping from place to place. He lightly knocked on a window, waiting for a few heartbeats, before pushing at it. It opened. The servant girl fulfilled her promise then. He crawled inside and looked around. He knew from earlier scouting that this was an empty guest room, used more for show than as an actual bedroom.

With quick feet, he crossed the room and peeked out the door, noting that the hallway appeared empty. According to his information, what Trevor was looking for was a few floors below him and to the right. Taking a deep breath, he began to sneak his way there.

At the second set of stairs, he heard a creek and the sound of voices trying to be quiet. Trevor’s heart jumped before he was running back up, choosing a random room to hide in. He heard a gasp behind him and turned to see two sets of eyes looking at him with confusion. The way they were clutching the covers to their chest and the smell of sex told Trevor exactly what they were doing. Before they could scream, Trevor ran forward, a knife appearing in his hand. “Make a sound and I won’t hesitate to slit your throat. You forget you ever saw me, got it.”

They mutely nodded at him. Giving them a grin, his knife slid back into his sleeve. He walked back to the door, listening closely. Everything seemed to be clear. He looked back and gave them a wink before slipping out the door.

He made his way down the stairs without any further incident. The hallway he stopped at was not empty. There were many rooms on this floor but the one Trevor wanted had guards stationed by it. There were two guards stationed to either side of it, looking bored. Another guard was walking back and forth, hand at the ready of his sword. Trevor ducked back behind the corner. He took another deep breath. Then he stumbled out. "Heeyyyy, boys. Hoowww you doing?" He slurred, leaning heavily on the wall.

The two guards by the door started giving each other looks and nudges. The one walking rolled his eyes at them before turning back towards Trevor. "This area is off limits."

"I-I-I was just...just walking. These, hic, these stairs are amazing! Have you walked these stairs?" Trevor kept walking forward, making sure that he stumbled every now and then.

"Sir, I must ask you to turn around now."

"Oh come on, Commander. He's harmless."

"And cute." The other piped up, eyeing Trevor. "Hey cutie, what's your name."

"Hic, st-stairs." Trevor said, before dissolving into giggles.

"Yeah, real funny." The commander said, sighing. "But seriously, you cannot be up here."

Trevor had just reached the commander. He stumbled into him and the commander caught him. "I'm real sorry." Trevor slurred.

The commander smiled. "It's ok. You're just drunk."

"Oh, I'm not sorry for that." Suddenly, Trevor stood up, flashing his knife. He plunged his knife into the commander’s head, before turning to throwing another knife at the guard closest to him. The other guard gave a shout as his friends fell and tried to draw his sword but Trevor was already there, slicing across his throat. He caught the body and slowly set it down on the floor. He wiped the blood from his face and smiled down at them. "Sorry boys, just part of the business."

Trevor walked back to the commander, grabbing the keys off him. He waited for a second, listening to see if anyone had heard the commotion. When no one came, he then opened the door to his prize.

Jewels and coins twinkled in the candlelight. Red and green and, of course, gold. Trevor picked a few up pieces, noting that Gavin would love them. But what he was really after was the large necklace that was hidden behind a few crowns and other large jewels.

Trevor didn't consider himself vindictive. Really, he didn't. But then again this wasn't an everyday kind of robbery. Matt and Jeremy had come to him, talking about how some Nobel had been rubbing it in Ryan's face about the many things he had been able to buy recently. It would be funny (someone trying to compete with the King for the most lavish things bought) if Ryan didn’t find it so annoying. But this was a fancy business man who Ryan couldn’t afford to offend, though both Trevor and Gavin had both volunteered to do something about it. But just because Ryan said they couldn't cause physical harm didn't mean that Trevor couldn't cause a little embarrassment. He got Gavin to use his connections, find out what he had bought recently before Trevor began doing a little digging himself. Turns out the Nobleman was going to present a very special, very expensive necklace to his wife tonight and later probably to his mistress. Trevor figured that it will be punishment enough if the necklace would suddenly go missing. Trevor grinned and picked the jewelry up. It would look really good on him or on Gavin or on Ryan. Especially if one or all three were naked. Trevor’s smile turned lecherous. Yeah, he couldn't wait for that.

                                                         ~

There are rules when living in the Haywood Kingdom. Strict rules to bid by with harsh punishments. King Haywood was a fan of the thought that by dueling out horrible punishments, it would show the people what not to do.

He would cut off the hands of thieves, have murders tortured in public, and the heads of his enemies on spikes around his territories. You do not cross the King. You do not anger him.

But most importantly, you do not slander the names of those he protects.

Geoff and Jack laugh off the King’s attempts to protect them. Ramsey because he’s been doing this long enough to know that no one can touch him anyways and Pattillo because he’s the most forgiving of the King’s Advisors.

With Michael, Ryan didn’t have to protect him. All he had to do was give the younger man a name and let him go. By nightfall, who ever had wronged the Jones’ was dealt with. Jeremy was beginning to follow in Michael’s footsteps, but he still accepted the King’s protection. Ryan knows how nice it must feel to the Knight to have someone looking out for him.

But no one, absolutely no one, could talk bad about the King’s lovers.

Gavin might be a courtesan, but no one could deny the possessive way Ryan’s hands would glide over him whenever Gavin made an appearance in Court. For those too blind to see it, Ryan made it very clear when he had one offender (who thought of Gavin as a cheap trick, a dirty hole who wouldn’t mind) publicly poisoned at one of his balls. It took killing a few more people for everyone to get the message through. But it did eventually.

Then there was Trevor, the King’s youngest Advisor. While he didn’t need protecting from people trying to sleep with him (though there was no shortage of people who would and who tried- a perfectly placed bite mark on his throat by the King mostly stopped that) but there were those who liked to whisper about how Trevor became an Advisor. They told stories about how Trevor seduced the King, spread his legs to get where he was at. They would laugh about how it won’t be long, that soon the King will grow tired and Trevor will be out of a job.

The last Advisor who said that was burned alive. The King had a pig cooked over him.

Trevor and Gavin didn’t mind their King’s protectiveness, though they knew they didn’t need it. They had been killers for a long time, since they were little boys, and had learned how to hide their teeth until the throat was presented for them. Not many knew of their nighttime activities- what would the Court say, the King sleeping with such dangers- and so were used to others underestimating them. But they found the possessiveness and protectiveness sweet.

There were other whispers they let go, that they told the King to not bother with. Whispers about how one day, the Advisor and the Courtesan will kill each other in a bid to be the only one allowed in the King’s bed. They let those ones live, calming Ryan’s anger. Because it was all so funny to them.

None of these people were there for when the two were alone, wrapping their fingers around each other, leaving their prints on the other. No one was present for when the two would bend their heads close together, planning and laughing. Nor was anyone there to see when Trevor would take Gavin to the roof to point out stars or when Gavin would take Trevor to see the new born kittens Lady Lindsay was keeping. They stole stuff for each other, made a game of it. They kissed and laid together and would maim anyone who tried to take that away.

                                                          ~

“Lord Edgar.” Gavin caught the Advisor’s attention, giving the other a small smile. “I was hoping to catch you.”

Lord Edgar was a tall, intimidating figure dressed up in red and gold robes. He had a pinched looking face and his salt and pepper hair had started to recede. The man raised one eyebrow, the rest of his face staying as static as ever. Gavin kept grinning at him until the man was forced to respond. “Yes?”

Lord Edgar was a conniving strategist. Everyone knew he strived to be King but no one could pin any evidence of sabotage to him. Ryan was wary of him but he couldn’t get rid of him as Edgar was their go-between the Severath Kingdom. Without him, the possibility of war was high.  Ryan knew that. Edgar knew that. Everyone else knew that too. And Edgar took every opportunity to use that to his advantage.

Gavin kept his smile light and body relaxed. He knew Edgar was looking him over. While the Advisor would never do anything so crass as to make a move, he also knew Edgar desired him. And Trevor. But Gavin was used to being desired by disgusting people, so he didn’t let it get to him.

“I was hoping to talk to you about something I heard recently.” Gavin let a little worry in his voice, tilting his head as he frowned. Edgar didn’t say anything so Gavin added. “It’s about the King.”

That sparked Edgar’s attention. He nodded. “Go on.”

“See, I heard the King mumbling to himself lately. Something about…seeing demons to the North?”

Edgar did not move or show any outward emotions but Gavin could see the way he suddenly went rigid. “Has he?”

“Oh yes,” Gavin said, letting his concern show. “I know that you have spies in that area and I was hoping you could tell me if there are? Just so I could put my King’s mind to ease?”

“Come now. You don’t really believe in such things do you?”

Gavin chuckled. “Of course not. But it is my duty to relieve the King in all things. Having his Advisor assure him that no such things exist would surely do that, would it not?”

“Well, I assure you. There are no such things as demons.” Edgar said, smiling a little.

“What now?” Added a new voice.

Both Edgar and Gavin turned to see that Trevor had joined them. He was dressed in the same robes as Edgar was but Gavin thought they looked better on him. “What’s this about demons?” Trevor repeated. Gavin told him his worries and Trevor frowned.

“Just our dear King being silly.” Edgar paused, tilting his head a little. “I hope this isn’t the first sign of madness?”

Gavin worried his bottom lip a bit. “I hope not.”

“Well, maybe we should have a doctor look at him? Make sure everything is alright with him?” Edgar pressed.

Gavin frowned, thinking about it. Trevor spoke up. “Maybe we should send a small party up North? Have the King check it out?”

“Why?” Edgar asked at the same time Gavin brightened. “That would great. He’s been wanting to go up North for awhile, talk to the people there. We could make a trip of it.”

“I don’t think-“ Edgar began but was interrupted by Trevor again.

“It would be a great way to get their morale up.” Trevor grinned at him.

“Really.” Edgar tried again. “That is most unnecessary.”

“Oh come on, Edgar.” Gavin grinned at him. “What’s the harm? It’ll be a fun little trip, the people get to see their King, and the King gets to see that his worries are for nothing.”

Both Gavin and Trevor could see that Edgar was silently fuming. “I suppose.” He gritted out before turning around and leaving.

They waited till he was out of sight before smiling at each other. “You know that will only stop his spies from stirring up shit for a few weeks at most.” Trevor observed.

“Not if we keep pushing the trip off.” Gavin replied.

Trevor shook his head. “You’re horrible. You’re using this as an excuse to take a trip to the North.”

“They do have the best chocolate. And as if you’re any better.” Gavin lightly pushed him. “What’d you take from him this time.”

Trevor shrugged, holding up a small pouch. “I think it’s his wallet? Or emergency spell supplies? Who knows with that guy.”

Gavin considered it for a moment. “Want to throw it down a well and then plan our getaway with the King?”

“Absolutely.”

                                                            ~

Ryan sighed as he soaked in his large tub, letting the warm watch sooth each ache. The rose-scented water worked to calm his mind. To each side of him were his boys, telling him about their day and running sponges down his body. Ryan closed his eyes and let their words run over him.

Being the King was a dangerous thing. One mistake, one foot set in the wrong direction, and it all could come crashing down on his head.

Times like this, when he was with his boys seemed to like the only times when he could fully relax.

There had been a time, long ago, when his Advisors would have refused to let his boys be alone with him. Ryan never worried. He saw them for what they were. Wild animals that were ready to rip and tear into anyone if it meant they could live one more day. They were weapons that needed a little sharpening and a gentle hand to point them in the right direction. Ryan gladly took them under his wing, let them blossom into their full protentional.

With time, their bond grew. The boys went from being wary of him, creeping around as if afraid at any moment they would be thrown back to the streets, to gladly dropping to their knees for him. Ryan savored the way they let him keep his power over them.

Ryan was roused from his thoughts as Gavin poked at his shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep on us.” He teased.

Ryan sent him a lazy smile. “I cannot help that your fingers are made of magic.” He captured one of Gavin’s hands bringing them up so he could press a kiss to the inside of Gavin’s wrist.

Trevor snorted. “Such flattery.”

Ryan turned his smile to him. “Is it flattery if it’s true?”

Trevor shrugged, but he was smiling back. “Pretty words are just that. Pretty.”

“Ah, but when laced with truth than they turn to poetry.” Ryan countered, sitting up.

Trevor rolled his eyes but allowed Ryan to pull him down into a kiss. It was a chaste one, both too tired for more tonight, but sweet in the way Trevor was never used to.

They pulled away, Ryan making sure to keep contact with both of them. “Now. You were saying something about having caught the Count Bavon with a mistress?”

Trevor grinned and Gavin nodded, both going back to explaining their day of stirring up Court drama. Ryan let his eyes roam over them, listening attentively.

Another peaceful night spent with his boys. These were the moments that made being King all worth it.

[sorrelchestnut]

Cry Havoc, 9 and 13 from the ask meme

For the fanfic author askmeme, still taking questions if anyone wants to play!

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Oh, always, man.  Anything that I spend enough time on to make it to the internet always has at least one or two versions that get cast aside.  Though I’ll admit, for this fic less than most.  Some scenes or chapter branches get discarded halfway through, but for the most part I had a surprisingly clear vision of my main characters and how I wanted their relationship to develop.

Most of my versioning for this ‘verse came from stuff happening after the end of the main story.  I tend to get distracted easily and was working on sequels before I actually finished the original, and I couldn’t quite mentally pin down how I wanted it to go.  And on some level that’s just pure distraction, but on another it’s important: where the characters go from the end matters in where and how I want to make the end, so it’s nice to have it squared away in my head.  I’ve written a couple different half-done versions of her confrontation with Kellogg, for example.  Sole and Kellogg have more in common than they don’t, in a lot of ways, but how much of that do they see in each other?  How does that unfold?  Ultimately I think I came down on the side of a kind of detached annoyance: Sole doesn’t feel enough towards him to hate him, because he’s just an obstacle, a bump in the road on the way to her real goal.  That being said, I always wanted a version of the memory quest where Sole basically argues with his running narration through the entire thing until they have a more real conversation at the end, but that one never even made it out of my head and onto paper.

Branching off the same theme, I also had this half-hearted AU where she somehow made it out of the cryopod during Kellogg’s first attack, takes her kid and GTFO, and it’s her and Kellogg through the decades, sometimes on the same side and sometimes not, because MacCready might be her complementary match but Kellogg is the most like her.  I just thought it’d be interesting to see a ruthless, amoral human terminator of a mercenary squaring up against... well, Kellogg.  I always thought it was a shame Kellogg had to go so earlier into the narrative, because he was definitely the best antagonist of the piece.

(However I end up writing or not writing that questline, one thing’s for sure: she carries that pistol of his strapped to her hip for the rest of her life, and if you asked her she probably couldn’t even tell you why.)

Oh!  I was also for a while exploring a Deacon-centric poly sequel, but I could never quite make it gel.  At some point I’ll post the Deacon-POV bit that I ended up writing instead, because I never really got to get into his ruthlessness in writing everybody wants to be a cat, and I wanted a chance to explore the end-justify-the-means side of spying for a good cause.  I think right around the time the earlier version stopped working for me was when I started taking X6-88 with me a bunch on my current playthrough, and that’s not a coincidence.  The reflexively dishonest long-term pining from the Deacon-centric sequel didn’t really quite fit with Sole and Mac’s easy and bloody partnership, but X6 and his sneaky sarcasm and vaguely disdainful ruthless competence and uncomplicated loyalty snapped into place like a missing cog.

I’m actually prepping some stuff this month to post a sort of “WIP Amnesty” month this August, so hopefully I’ll get some of this stuff out then.  I could probably post some of the discarded versions here on tumblr if there’s any interest.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn't listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

Oh hell yes, anything that gets longer than a few thousand words almost always has its own soundtrack, one way or another.  (Except Kin and Country, for some reason.  Never quite developed its own musical identity.)  It’s usually in flux, and I don’t have a proper playlist put together on spotify or anything yet, but if anyone’s interested the track listing for Cry Havoc is:

01. “Blood on My Name” - The Brothers Bright02. “Beat the Devil’s Tattoo” - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club03. “Fire” - Barns Courtney04. “The Wave” - Miike Snow05. "God’s Away On Business” - Tom Waits06. “Radioactive” - Imagine Dragons07. “Glitter and Gold” - Barns Courtney08. “Arsonist’s Lullaby” - Hozier09. “Devil Town” - The Builders and the Butchers10. “Don’t Sit Down Cause I’ve Moved Your Chair” - Arctic Monkeys11. “Devil's Teeth” - Muddy Magnolias12. “Down to the River” - Brown Bird13. “Deja Vu” - Something for Kate14. “Red Right Hand” - Arctic Monkeys15. “I Followed Fires” - Matthew & the Atlas16. “You Could Be My Baby” - SHEL17. “Pyromaniac” - Oh Land18. “Pretty Baby” - Brandan Benson19. “Raise Hell” - Dorothy20. “Feelin’ Good” - Nina Simone

All of my soundtracks are always 20 songs long, no more, no less.  No idea why I picked that particular arbitrary number to be the cutoff, but there you go.

[mrs-storm-andrews]

Get to know your followers

Name: I got a name.

Nickname: Storm

Height: 1,71 m

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

Go to ssbb character: No idea, what that even means. 

Fictional character i’d date: Pacey Witter, Gendry, Murphy MacManus, Jess Mariano

Favorite band or artist: Too many to mention them all. Lately, I’ve been listening a lot to Dropkick Murphys and Minas Morgul again.

When did i make this blog: Summer 2014

How many blogs do i follow: 173

Do i get asks on a regular basis: Occasionally (Feel free to send me asks about literally everything whenever you want. I love to get some.)

Aesthetic: A foggy coastline, a cup of black coffee, a black hoodie, an auditorium, a piano, an abandoned building and some worn-out sneakers.

Relationship status: Single

Favorite Greeting: Just don’t come too close, please. Keep distance.

Pets: A farting pug.

Last song I listened to: The Builders And The Butchers - Bringing Home The Rain

Favorite tv show: Game Of Thrones, Breaking Bad, Gilmore Girls, Sherlock, Vikings and many more.

First Fandom: Shameless or Gallavich, to be a little more specific.

Hobbies: Watching TV shows and movies, studying history (I do it after I got home from work, so it counts as a hobby, right?), eating too much, reading not as much as I’d like to.

Books I am currently reading: Literature and modernity (it’s such as boring as it sounds).

Worst thing to have graced my taste buds: Too many to remember them all. I’m super picky when it comes to food.

Favorite place: My flat, Ireland, the sea and Brandenburg.

I’d like to tag @selkiewife, @ladyflorence1215, @wepaytheironprice, @pretentious-meme, @victoria-is-obsessed, @bluetheon, @de-ageddereklynch, @motherofkittens94, @delzinrowe, @francisperfectionbonnefoy, @theon-greyjoy-has-a-good-day, @lordhellebore and some of my latest followers (porn bots excluded): @riichardharmon, @demogaga, @ironmansbitch, @narutondj, @corpsequeeninthenorth as well as @surreal-sloth.

[jackawful]

rules: tag who tagged you, answer questions, tag 9 other ppl you want to get to know

i was tagged by @max-swell ya brilliant weirdo

relationship status: longstanding open relationship, not actively looking for more partners but like…what happens happens

favorite color: orange and blue, and then to a lesser extent red and purple. also black, I wear a lot of black

pets: a pair of really dumb tuxedo cats, one who’s at the lanky adolescent kitten stage and one who’s an old man (sadly declawed by his previous owner) that whines a lot and drools when he’s happy.

last songs i listened to: black dresses - the builders and the butchers, running away from god - astronautalis, quinine - dessa, also basically the entire moana soundtrack because man did that movie give me feelings

favorite tv show: the last thing I binged was Parks and Rec and the main things I’m actively watching rn are Steven Universe and Crazyhead. Old Favorites include ATLA and Over the Garden Wall and Firefly. I’m…kinda big on cartoons, man.

first fandom: SCOTT WESTERFELD BOOKS I haven’t kept up with anything of his since like 2011 but…Midnighters informed sooooooooooo much of my fiction tastes and aesthetic preferences

hobbies: scouting (does it count as a hobby if it’s also…a job…?), including subcategories like “ropes courses” and “backpacking” and “consuming pine needles”, looking up weird shit on @jstor , writing, tabletop RPGs, LGBTQ activism (again not quite a hobby just…a thing I do?), desperately scrambling to learn how to be a decent student who doesn’t skate by on test scores

books i’m currently reading: um…? I actually haven’t read a proper book front-to-back in a while, cause most of my reading is like…tabletop rpg sourcebooks and online news/research articles. Maggie Stiefvater’s Raven Cycle kinda changed my life a lil semi-recently and Ozark Magic & Folklore by Vance Randolf has been an interesting resource for a personal fiction project so…yeah

I’m not tagging anyone because I love breaking rules do what you want and feel free to say I tagged you if you read this and wanna do it I guess