#gutstrings

[webdiggerxxx]

꧁★꧂

[rulesforthedance]

I THOUGHT THE TOUCH AND TIMBRE OF THE BANJO ON TEXAS HOLD 'EM SOUNDED FAMILIAR (IT IS RHIANNON GIDDENS)

[hansry]

i want to know so bad when hans met that french minstrel. did the words swim in his marrow the night before his first growing pain. or was he told the tale looking more as we know, his three fingerprints long gone and a glen for a shoulder. was he several rounds in or as sober as lauds. did he ask oats - because forget those nannies - why ever would a brave man shy from his colors. then scoff at his better’s answer, mistaking reason for treason. was he impatient about the performances (likely), thinking keener about felled deer, and his hundredth or seventh endeavour with a girl. but on rainy days, could he smell the distant isles he will never step foot in. has he practised how he’d breathe with a faithful man in his tent. at what point did he realise he was not lancelot, but galehaut. can hans hum the gutstring melody of his own frightful potential: a man with a reason to die. he is nothing like that minstrel, henry. he doesn’t have the words for it.

[2demondogs]

Hello, I'm the anon who asked if you write autism and now that i know you do, I'd love it if you could do an gender neutral autistic reader/Javier?

I love music, and I don't think I could live without it. it really helps prevent meltdowns and calms me down when things get too overwhelming. I often hear and love listening to Javier play his music in camp. it's so relaxing and serene sometimes. My favorite is Ángel De Amor :)

I don't really have a specific way for this request to go besides including Javier's music into it. So I'd say you have complete creative freedom! Thank you so much for answering my question, by the way. I love your writing :))

Of course! I am a simple man tbh Javier picks up the guitar in game and I sit Arthur's ass the fuck down. Also thank you <3

I kind of went from the comfort aspect. Sorry this took a second (I also have another like. week old request too) fatigue is kicking my ass this week.

Words: 1.9k Tags: fluff, Javier is madly in love with u, reader has sensory issues, established relationship

You wish you could know true silence.

Javier had looked at you perplexed when you asked if the wind ever bothered him, insisting you meant the sound and not that it messed with hair or clothes or bullets. Lucky him, only hear it during storms.

He had taken your mind off of the racing of your heart by clapping his hands over your ears and grinning. "Better?" He'd asked, and you'd felt his voice reverberating enough to offset the overwhelming roar of blood through his hot palms.

What a fool, you thought and still think, but laying on your bedroll has left you with no sleep and a deep desire for his hands on your face, or how he lays on you in the privacy of trips away from camp. The ground is hard, too hard; you feel cold in a way that's deeper than temperature, as if loneliness could be icelike and sting all over, especially through your empty arms; and it's so quiet that your ears are ringing, searching for noise and focusing only on your own heart thudding — the sound gives you anxiety, for some unknowable reason — and the snores of the camp.

Oh, the snores.

You start to get angry, but you blame it on those, usually. Although Javier snores, and that's never bothered you. Because it's you, you've told him for romance's sake but, really, it's hard to know what's irritating you when everything feels raw and cold and burning all at once.

Before your patience can snap, the pressure of it already building in your throat, you sit up and let your eyes re-adjust to the darkness of the night. You had hardly realized how the darkness behind your lids was growing on your bad side, too.

The campfire is still going nearby, and you see Javier sitting with his back against one of the logs, guitar laid over his lap and a knife in hand. He's doing something to it. Arthur's tent flaps are drawn and the light of a lantern fights against the fire for shadows, the dark outline of a large hand passing over the light now and then; as you walk past, you think maybe Hosea is sitting beside the tent post that covers him, Bill, and Lenny.

Besides the four of you, it's eerily dead. Not an unusual occurrence, really, because it seems these three's insomnias are all interlinked and your own tends to join in on their frequency, too— but eerie all the same.

The choice is clear enough of who to join. Only Javier is surrounded by empty space, though you've learned that doesn't necessarily mean he'll be as friendly with others as he is with you. Romantic privileges, or something like that. You believe he's just sour inside and trying to stuff you into the open sore like cotton.

With only the company of your feet shuffling over dirt, Javier's voice seems gunshot loud.

"What're you up for?" He asks, disinterested before he looks up from his guitar's neck. One string is missing out of six, a new gutstring pinched in his fingers as he twists it where travel had unraveled it in storage. Frayed ends stick from the tuning pegs, tied but not trimmed. His eyes soften when he sees it's you, but he leaves the greeting as it is.

"Can't sleep," you say, and take a seat at a polite distance on the same log.

Javier never complains of your proximity and you feel the urge for it now, that prickly sensation of emptiness along your arms and torso, but something stops you from taking indulgence into your own hands. You're happy that he scoots over some, shrugging and waving the small knife in his hand as he speaks. Glinting in the fire, the blade one of the newer silver ones he picked up during a disastorous Van Horn trip.

"I would'a never guessed," he says. Even though his hair is untied — it seems that he couldn't sleep either, because it is tangled in the back — you know he's smiling.

Past his head, as he leans away, you watch him cut the excess from the last string and tie a firm knot around the tuning peg. The easy way he works his skills always quiets your nerves, the same way it does to watch Javier handle his guitar in general.

When you feel unable to handle anything, it's comforting to know there's someone who knows how to handle something. Someone you've got a claim to, whose skills you take a secondary pride in — look at my man, doesn't he know his way around...? — but that's entirely affection speaking.

"What's on your mind, cielo?" He asks, leans his head back on the log beside your hip and looks up at you.

The shadows draw strangely over his features at this angle. His features have filled out nicely since Dutch dragged him in. Nevermind that they were fuller, still, before Blackwater, or that his undereyes look darker than they have in months. He's handsome, and his eyes flutter shut when you draw your nails gently over the hair sprouting from his temple.

Before, he's laughed when you've spoken honestly, but it has never been at your expense. Javier has some humor about him when you are alone — which is the only place you will confide in him, whether it's fear of your dignity or fear for the life of anyone who side-eyes Javier's sweetheart — and at times, you think maybe he's laughing the way men laugh when they see the sun for the first time in years. There is no judgement behind the way he smiles, showing his gums because the curl of his upper lip grows almost timid.

It is sickening, how in love Javier is.

He makes you feel like you are, for the first time in your life, entirely without flaw. You know that's impossible, that no one is, but feelings never do bow to inferior facts.

You realize you've gotten lost in your thoughts when Javier's lips brush your knuckles, having plucked your hand from his hair and taken it in his own, the fingers curled over the wall of his. He says your name. It sounds good in his rasp.

"S'rry," you say, blink once or twice to remember what he had even asked. What's on your mind? Why are you awake? "It's too quiet 'round here. It's botherin' me."

He nods. "Never sounds right when the woods are quiet," he agrees, and you realize he's misunderstood.

"No, it's very loud," you correct.

Javier squints at you, that familiar humor nudging his eyes. "What do you mean?"

You were going to divulge the depth of it, but now you find yourself focused on explaining this part to him. The entire world was beginning to piss you off, anyways, so finding comfort for one thing must be easier.

"The— well, the silence is too loud. It's buggin' me."

He raises a brow. "Silence is literally too loud?"

"Yes," you say, wondering why he's asking. It sounds odd put that way, sure, but it still makes perfect sense to you. Then he smiles faintly, those eyes soften— and it's apparent that this is another one of those things only you experience. "I could hear my blood running while I was layin' down. Hated it. D'you ever hear yours?"

"Only when it's really pumpin'," he says, and you stop trying to find something he'll relate to.

It doesn't leave you quite so empty-feeling as it has in the past that Javier doesn't have the same issues. None of it matters, because he does not care how foreign some of your complaints are: he will solve them, somehow.

No, Dutch's gramophone never makes his teeth itch, but he'll keep you company outside camp until the old man shuts it off or your mind is calm enough to stomach another opera. No, his clothes never feel abrasive, but he'll let you wear his instead, will look proud that they do not bother you as if he wove the fabric himself. The latter had been one of his first unspoken I love yous. It was his favorite vest.

And now, he's asking: "D'you wanna hear a song instead?"

Your brows knit. "Won't it wake everyone up?"

"No, cariño," Javier says, nods to the ground beside him. "You come closer 'n' I'll play quiet. Jus' for you."

You let yourself smile. "Alright," you say, swallow the warmth you feel at his offer and how relieved you are to have it spoken.

He's played his guitar for you before, many times. You've asked it for some of them, under the guise of not remembering words to his songs — he never questioned this reason, although he knows you can't speak Spanish and likely knew there was something much gentler behind it — or boredom.

Only once has it been for the same reason he plays now: to comfort you. The woods had been too quiet, and you'd been bleeding.

Javier asks for a song, and wrinkles his nose playfully when you say Ángel de Amor. "That's a sad one," he says. "Don't you want something happy?"

"They're all sad," you say. You'd be surprised if Javier knew a love song that was not about heartbreak or being eaten alive by it. "Aren't the best ones always sad?"

He huffs a laugh. "So, are they all the best?"

"Yessir."

He grins, and it malforms the usual sorrow he sings the first verse with, until he gets a handle on his face.

That his songs are all sad is true enough. There's not much joy to be sung about in the outlaw life, just as there's always that one-two, disjointed beginning to it when the guitar is picked up and played. Finding the rhythm, you suppose, or just remembering the feeling of the strings before going into a song that is as second-nature as pouring coffee or lighting a cigarette.

Simple, a three chord progression and those familiar, short lyrics— at least, they sound short, because he rolls the words off his tongue fast and smooth enough to be one, long breath. You don't realize until you are relaxing against the log, your side pressed to his, just how lonely and exhausted you have been all day.

Not lonely any longer, at least, with his warmth bleeding into your skin and the vibration of the guitar wondering across your own leg as he strums. It soothes the buzzing feeling in your veins, the one that lingers when your nerves start to tighten and bunch under the face of whatever sourness found you this evening.

Javier smells good, too, and you realize how distasteful the air had seemed without something thicker, more potent in it. He'd been wearing one of your favorite colognes today, and its afterimage is on his neck when your weary head falls onto his shoulder. Javier does not tell you to move back, although it must make strumming difficult. He adjusts so that he isn't jostling you and shortens the motion of his wrist, which he will complain tomorrow is sore with a smile.

Another habit, which makes you feel somewhat guilty, is that you will never smell him wear a scent again if you get a chance to smell it and do not tell him you like it. Although, through the guilt, there's something in you that feels very special.

After a lifetime of feeling other, here is a man who will do anything to be accepted by you.

Sickening, so very.

You turn your nose to smell the remnants of the cologne on his shirt. You think you recognize El Borrachito before he starts singing, but consciousness leaves you thereafter. In the morning, you'll wake up to find yourself slumped over his shoulder blades and Javier, over his guitar.

[sparksandspells]

for all our days and all our trials // the damen/laurent wedding fic

captive prince | rated E | 40k | post-canon | laurent pov | character study | worldbuilding | half sex, half politics (often at the same time) | a soft absurd future fic

When Laurent set out to plan a royal wedding between two 1) men, who are 2) actively ruling kings, of 3) tenuously peaceful lands, with 4) widely-known reasons to have killed, or possibly 5) still kill each other, he expected the process to come with a few difficulties. He did not expect getting his perpetually amorous new husband aroused on their wedding night to be the hardest of them. (Or: ‘Not in front of the court,' said Laurent, as if this were unspeakably foolish, 'in front of the Council.’)

Read on AO3.

it's here!! it's done!! after three years of sporadic work, it's finally out in the world!! 😭😭😭 i may be biased but this is my favorite thing i've ever written and i'm so excited to finally share it with everyone!!

big huge thanks to @ming85, @delilahsdaydream, and @i-am-a-story-goblin for responding to my call for betas two years ago; y'all's suggestions made the fic way better than it would've been otherwise. (a round of applause especially for ming85, who saved an ancient tapestry from the horror of grass stains and generally made the wedding event much more kingly than i, in my infinite unwordliness, had intended to.)

thanks also to @damiaanos for being my wall to bounce things off of more recently as i finally committed to getting this thing done no matter what. legitimately don't know how i would've managed it without your excellent balance of "you can do it" and "it's fine, stop stressing". if any other perfectionists are reading this, find people like that, they're great.

shoutout to @slecnaztemnot for throwing me the idea of putting Loyse on the Council when i had been stuck on the fifth member for a year, and gratitude to @kingsrising for being a visible fandom hub that i could turn to when i needed community and had no idea where to look for it

fandom is the best and i'm really excited to start being a more active part of capri's

as i mentioned, i've been talking about this fic on tumblr for over two years, so i will now proceed to tag every person who interacted with either of those posts, on the off chance that they would appreciate receiving an update on this fic that is now a real thing that they can go read (if they wish to, obvi)

from the kingsrising ask: @ladykyrin, @afantasyghost, @gildedgaze, @westealtoys, @timburtonknewmyoceans

@plushdragon, @blue-eyed-korra, @foreverskies29, @bumblebee-whiskey, @stardust-at-midnightt,

@brinkleyheights, @lavendercoded, @meraki-ii, @nonothatsano, @not-a-coral-snake

and from the call for betas: @caeli-phantomhive, @laurents-laces, @jaks21, @auroralunasoleil, @captaindamianos

@airebellah, @certainbirdkitty

@marrieddorks, @i-want-delfeur, @morgenti, @goose-fish, @farrukh-schumann,

@theoverlyenthusiasticwriter, @p1n4ta, @deleteitold, @lovelovelove, @hennike

@nczakiis, @theoraclephobetor, @angelshineyourlightonme, @naisvalta, @pienenpienileppakerttu,

@aristosakielon, @foreverfraancis, @fangirlfortress, @whynotme12, @naturaldisaster,

@gutstrings, @dreamerthief18, @aladybetween2majors, @k04, @burntpercy

[riphcl]

From @gutstring

[freakyalex990]

this is embarrassing ... Yeahi meant Freakyalex990

I love you too gutstring

[vegantinatalist]

How do you handle watching movies or shows or whatever when there’s violence against animals/they eat animals etc) ? It always bothers me so much. I refuse completely to watch movies with horses and obviously movies like Milo and Oates (🤢🤢) I’d rather kill myself than watch. But when they are eating meat or using it pronouns for animals or anything like that I’m disgusted and it turns me off. For example in The Hunger Games when Katniss hunts or in Harry Potter when they eat meat or treat the owls like objects. I hate it. Why is the whole world so evil.

im the same. most media is poison anyway.

the only thing that actually hurt me was the loss of being able to enjoy older animated stuff. for example, studio ghibli movies, the backgrounds are all painted with gouache and watercolor paints that almost definitely contain various animal products. it stabbed me deep to learn that all the beautiful life changing imagery i grew up on was not only mostly natalist/prolife/animal ag propaganda, it was also literally painted with the fat and bone char of victims. honestly, dead serious, that sent me off the deep end for a few entire years. art and fiction is, or was, my strongest cope pillar and omg youre right, i was thinking a while ago about how harry potter is so particularly bad, both the movies and books. i used to see hagrid as an animal lover somehow, i now realize hes a horrifying ogre whos always skinning and boiling animals in the woods. never the magical imaginary ones, not even the violent demon blob things- just those icky boring unimportant real animals, and who gives a fuck about those amirite, hes such an animal loving sweetie who wouldnt even hurt a demon slug omg <3 (ferrets and deer and all the other real animals can all get fucked though i guess). like seriously fuck that so much.

a lot of music is ruined for me too. violin horsehair is harvested from slaughtered horses, gutstrings are sheep intestine, bone buttons on trumpets, hide glue in wooden instruments, shellac polish, etc etc, so orchestra music just makes me think of all that barbarism now.

fuck animal exploiters, fuck em all to hell

[bluepunkmon]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote or drew and tag as many people as there are words some people (borrowing tagger's rules).

Tagged by: @argetcross

It's been so long since I've been tagged in one of these! These are lines from my borderline parody prob-shouldnt-see-the-light-of-day book Clara and the House of Ruin.

Clara walked to the library. Nikolas, as it turned out, was also heading to the library. This led to a somewhat awkward situation wherein they were walking together without really walking together. She walked a few paces behind him to give him space, but it did not spare her a few curious glances from passing students. Her stomach clenched with dread.

Truly thrilling fiction.

Tagging a few people! also feel free to ignore this! if you're not tagged but wanna join in feel free to post and tag me I love reading people's writing (tiny feel free to ignore since you already shared wip recently)

@snowkissedmonsters @gutstrings @tinygigas @mild-pepper-spray

[cartridgeconverter]

Who wants to buy me gutstrings

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

Violinists Shunske Sato and Pieter Affourtit explain the fascinating differences between a modern violin and the Baroque violin for the Netherlands Bach Society. Highly recommended documentary!

(As a linguist, I am impressed with Sato’s English and Dutch! As his name suggests, he is Japanese). 

[lavenin-blog]

CRAWLING BACK TO YOU.

atticus  montgomery         &        bastien  charbonneau. cred.

[mattjazzbass]

Home studio essentials - photo©Matthewparrish #gutstrings #aear92 #fujifilmxt2 #fujifeed #homestudio #schoepsmicrophones #accordion #saphiregin #gin

[andya-j]

🇪🇸 🎸 #Fact #MusicFacts #Music #GutStrings #SpanishGuitar #Sheep #SheepIntestines (at Bexhill, East Sussex) https://www.instagram.com/p/CDmERHgBeNK/?igshid=y3aqveo9i399

[bluepunkmon]

@gutstrings so turns out the hell house llc movies (at least the first 3?) are available on youtube free! So no escape for me yet from this hell (house).

[trans-bassist]

It's that time of year. #messiah #handelsmessiah #orchestralife #orchdork #musician #doublebassist #stringplayer #gig #gutstrings #transmusician #transwoman #reallivetransadult