#i fucking love sludge metal

[gothicmatter]

bro if i could i would transfer my soul onto an acid bath cd

[itsbrucey]

hihii brucey helloo! So so I was listening to your dndads playlists on spotify and was wondering if you have heard of a song called I Don’t Wanna Be Me by Type O Negative? (you probably have) and if you haven’t i would recommend it :]]

It is very Glenn to me (apologies for the weird music recommendation)

First order of business. Let me know if the playlists suck/you have recommendations :] SCARY'S HAS MORE AND THE KIDDADS ONE IS VERY MUCH SO GONNA BE WORKED SO. SORRY!

second. I hadn't heard of it!! I think I've heard of Type O Negative before because I listen to metal and rock a lot, but I never really sunk my teeth into gothic stuff ( I have dabbled with doom metal though!). The song is really good and I'D AGREE!! GLENNCORE.

The entire song about rather being somebody else bc you suck so bad + the part about the heart attack? Dying alone in the snow??? Oh.........Glenncore 100%. I can really imagine this song for the Roc until the beach sequence, y'know??

[1u11ablues]

0 Days Since [Part 2] (Simon Riley x Reader)

Part 1

WC: 1.8k

Warning: Self-harm, angst, slight miscommunication

Reader overheard something that sets them spiralling.

"I wonder if it's truly worth it sometimes; the damn trouble of loving someone so fucking much that their pain cuts through you just as deep."

Soap reached for a firm squeeze on Ghost's shoulders; a reassurance, a silent understanding. 

"That, you have to decide for yourself, L.t."

He had decided that long ago. That he'll nudge you little by little out of your hole, cheer you up in his own gruff way for the little accomplishments—even as his body burned from the fire your resistance was determined to keep him out. 

A routine. Some tough love. It started as a concerned lieutenant wanting to help their sergeant from their own self-destruction. 

One morning he came to you and asked you to run with him—telling you that your stamina isn't  as good as everyone else's—and it just bloomed from there. 

It snuck up to him so unexpectedly; the affection, the want; that he was heaving at the end of one of your many running sessions with your hands on his back, as worried for him as he was for you before.

And then you told him that you liked him. And he told you that this could not happen.

But he sought you out anyway. "You're not getting off of our run just because I rejected you."

He found that he didn't like the distance you'd put in between you both. You said it's for your own good, because heartbreak was not something you could afford to be going through right then. Which was about the time that he found out you engaged in more self-destructive mechanisms than the drinking and smoking.

He couldn't stand it; you pushing him away further from your life when he wanted to know how you were doing, what you were up to. It was the frustration that made him confess.

"Fine! You fucking win, are you happy? I want to know how you are because I fucking care about you."

"I know you do-"

"No, you don't."

Somehow, you could read just what his eyes were saying.

"Lieutenant, I-"

"It's Simon. You call me Simon and I'm yours. And you tell me every single fucking thing that has you crying and hurting yourself, and you promise me you won't be doing that last part anymore."

It's worth it. Everything he'd done, he'd do all over again. Even if seeing you at your worst was part of it. Because one day, you'd finally see yourself how he sees you; hard headed, strong-willed, every bit as beautiful.

He strode to your quarters, body subconsciously bringing him to your door whenever his mind found its way to you, and saw that your door was unlocked. 

This morning, you look like you were finally starting to wash away the thick sludge of guilt and remorse that's chaining you to your bed, and he wanted to bring you out for a lap around the base. Just a walk. Just so your body knows that it's still pumping blood, your heart still beating.

He decided to open the door after a light knock. 

Your form, hunched away from him on the bed, a silhouette that stirred the uneasiness in the pits of his stomach. A ruined cupcake to the left, blue icing staining your covers.

"Love?"

You tensed. A sniffle. You've been crying.

Slow, gentle steps; him not wanting to startle you. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

And then, a glint of metal. Freshly bloodied, the sight cutting deep into his heart. 

No , he thought, you were doing so, so well.

He didn't mention the relapse, didn't look at you like it was your fault, his mind scrambling to search for a reason for this to happen. His hands reach out to cover yours; the one holding the razor. As if taking a gun gently from someone threatening to hurt someone else—or just themselves.

"Talk to me, tell me what's wrong."

"It's my one year anniversary." You look at your arms. "Well, almost."

One year. Grueling, he's sure. But something to be proud of, right? What went wrong?

He rubbed a hand on your back, sensed you pulling away just a fraction. A fraction too much. He did something wrong. It was him, somehow, that made you relapsed, and he knew this because you weren't staring at him from the moment he'd entered your room.

"Love, did I do something wrong?"

Your shoulder slumped. He took that as a yes.

He moved with urgency, kneeling in front of you to look up into your face—with no care that his trousers were now stained by your blood. That, he could wash later. This? Untreated, it would spread. Take you with it, after all the hard work you'd done to heal.

"You have to tell me so I can fix it, sweetheart. I can't do anything if you don't say anything."

"You can't fix me. I'm not- I'm not worth your effort, Ghost."

Sometimes I think to myself if it's all worth it.

You'd hear but a snippet of what he'd said, and ran with it. Looking for a reason to confirm to yourself that you weren't enough. He hated that you think that way.

"Did you overheard me earlier, love? While I was with Johnny?"

At least you cared enough to nod.

"Listen. You misheard me, soldier. What I was talking about was  not about your worth. It's- how do I explain this-"

He wasn't one to talk this much, especially when it comes to such things as feelings. But, if it'll help you, then God help him, he'll exhaust his words for the year just to let you know how fucking wrong your perceptions of yourself are.

"-it's about love. And pain. If one can exist without the other."

At this, you finally reciprocated his stare.

"You're in pain?"

He chuckled. Trust you to ask about his well-being while he's worried to death about yours.

"Not much more than usual. I was telling Johnny how it hurts me to see you spiral. Every relapse, every self-loathing comment. It hurts me as much as it hurts you, love."

He stood up. Headed to your dresser.

"Stay there, I'll clean you up."

He pulled a brown bandana from the top drawer and wet the fabric with the water from an unopened bottle set on top of your nightstand.

"If it hurts, why bother even staying?"

Gently, his hands worked on patting and wiping off the dried blood from your arms. The first aid kit already by his side, easily obtained.

"Because seeing you happy makes it all worth it. That you'd eventually heal, and be able to see the world like you did before—I would take helping you through millions of nights like these just so I can see you smile again one day. And mean it."

There was a time for tough love. There were times for coddling. Right now, he had no idea what you wanted, which way he should push to lift you up from your episode. So he settled for just being there; his default. Trusted you to tell him should you need anything. After all, you and him did try to be better at communicating.

"I have to start all over again."

It must've been disheartening, watching one's progress go down the drain like that. He didn't want this minor shortcoming to wrench you off your path to recovery, so he hoped his presence, his words—however little—would help.

"Recovery is not a linear thing, love. You get sidetracked. Thrown off. What matters is you go back to your path after that and continue on. Your effort before was not wasted because of this."

"It wasn't?"

His eyes soft as he looked up at you, trying to dab antiseptic on your cuts as gently as he can while he played mentor. 

"No. It's like muscle memory; you already have the skills to do it. All you have to do now is continue with the practice. I'll help you, see?"

A bandage, two, plastered on your freshly medicated cuts.

"If you forgot, I'll remind you again. You're worthy. You're needed. You're going to be okay. I love you. Over and over, until your brain accepts that as normal."

Three bandages. Four. There were more than he expected.

"I don't want you exhausted."

His thumb caressed the tear stains from your cheek.

"Do you get tired, helping me through my flashbacks, my nightmares?"

 You shook your head. He knew what your answer would be, asked it anyway to make his point. You loved him just as much. Had helped him through harder moments.

"Then why do you think I'd be tired of you? I'm a fucking soldier. Been through wars. Hell of battles. A partner in need is the least of my worries."

"I guess-"

"No guess. Be sure. What is it that made you doubt me?"

Your eyes widened, hands shooting up towards the sides of his face to hold him, pull him close. He leaned further into you.

"I don't doubt you. I doubt myself. I always thought you were with me out of pity."

He snorted. Pull your head down to plant a kiss on your forehead.

"I don't do pity. Not like this. I don't make it my mission to help someone through something unless I really fucking like them. "

It was honestly insulting how little you thought of yourself and of his impression of you. Scarcely had he kissed the mouth of a bottle as soon as you started dating, wanting to be a good example that it could be done. The cigarettes he'd bought months ago, untouched in the pocket of his coat. You both agreed to this; to discard the harmful coping mechanisms for better ones.

He never fucking cared how bad the substance was to his physique. But as soon as you mention wanting to be each other's accountability partner, he quit everything cold-turkey, like an idiot. 

There's no one else he would rather go through withdrawals with.

"I fucking like you. I love you. You don't get to assume how I feel about you, darling."

Your gaze slid to your side. Reaching for the smashed cupcake, pout evident on your face— but not from being upset—you carried the treat gently into the palms of your hands like you were holding a baby bird.

"This was supposed to be for you. As thanks."

"Has it been on the floor?"

You shook your head.

"Just a little rough handling. And my bed."

He leaned down to take a bite of it. Have you wipe the blue off his lips with your thumb, the smell of antiseptic piercing his nose.

"I love you too, Simon. Let's start again."

[strongermonster]

the greenhouse i have is 2 sheets of corrugated panels doubled walled for insulation, and for some reason the earwigs LOVE this. they're constantly sandwiching themselves in the little grooves, lined up and unable to even turn around, absolutely FILLING the walls like a fucking horror story.

well this week it's been so unbearably hot (it's 42c/107f, + an additional 11 degrees inside the greenhouse, even with all the doors and windows opened) it's completely cooked and killed all the earwigs, so now there are these piles of awful brown sludge that REEKS in a gross metallic way just fucking oozing out of the floor/wall joint that i have to avoid every time i go in to check on things. what the fuck

[nuchester]

dave mustaine hcs nsfw PLEASE... ‼️‼️‼️‼️ (nicely)

AHHH he’s so cute he looks like a little booger 🤗😋

BUT YES OFC 😍😍

- in my opinion, I think he had some trust issues after what happened with Metallica, so he was a little closed off when you first met

- he tried not to let you in, but seeing how badly you wanted him to trust you, and how you went the extra mile to make sure he felt comfortable with you, he couldn’t resist

- I think he’d be the protective type

- not OVERprotective, but protective nonetheless

- keeping a close eye on you at parties, making sure you’re careful with who you talk to, and of course keeping you nice and close to him the whole night

- he’s a dom. That’s it.

- he has two moods: he’s either SUPER dominant, or super caring and romantic and intimate

- very much a sweetheart

- he buys you flowers on every date, gets you giant teddy bears and all the chocolate in the world on Valentine’s Day

- I think his favourite kind of date would be drive in movies. He seems like a drive in type of guy

- it would honestly be more like the movie playing in the background as you both talk, laugh, make out. Basically all the things you can’t do in a theatre

- Metal Sludge states: “Dave is of average size and is very romantic, at least until he is done. Likes to cuddle, but might not be so friendly in the morning.” But we can pretend all we want!! 🤗

- HES GOOD AT AFTERCARE DOESNT MATTER WHAT METAL SLUDGE SAYS 😡

- bubble baths, candles, breakfast in bed, endless cuddles and praise, all of it

- he wouldn’t even TOUCH a groupie while he’s with you. (realistically, he’s fucking groupies on sight, but once again, we can pretend!!)

- boobs man for sure. This guy loves boobs

- missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, I think he would wanna try everything before he decides what he likes most

- I think he would’ve been super nervous meeting your parents 🙁 he just wants them to like him and not think of him as some dirty rocker

- playing with his hair.

- he doesn’t necessarily love when you play with his hair and do all sorts of things with it, but he doesn’t hate it either

Guys why is he so… 😻

(Video from @thesspaceman on TikTok!)

I hope this was at least half decent lol. Let me know who else I should write for! (I’m also gonna start writing fics soon 😉)

[stardancerluv]

Past Follows Like a Shadow

Part Nine

Summary: A stranger pays Reader a visit.

Notes/Warnings: language & angst. Decided to give that particular moment to reader to flesh out the bit that is making this AU.

❤️s, reblogs, comments, feedback are always welcome!

Stretching, you pulled your blanket aside. You honestly, didn’t know how to feel with all you knew now. You are still glad that you left.

The metal screeched and groaned as you pulled the shower curtain to the side. A good, hot shower would do you good.

******

You made yourself a bowl of cereal. You debated what room to work on. Not knowing what got into you, but after seeing Gator like that, you decided that you’d go and grab the ingredients for some oatmeal raisin cookies. They could bake while you worked on a new room.

*****

There was a faint hush of whispers, you glanced behind you. There were a few looks followed by the lingering look aways that got you. Even after all this time apparently, you still held their interest. Looking back at the raisins, you rolled your eyes.

It gave you more then enough reason to be relieved that you left. If you still held their interest, you could only imagine what would have happened if you had stayed.

Grabbing a brand you used to prefer, you tossed it into the basket that held the other ingredients.

Your eyes grew slightly when you had to move around someone. Your stomach lurched when you realized that someone was Mary Sue. Attempting to move around her, she stepped once more into your path.

“Hope, you’re not sticking around for long.”

You blinked. “Why? Afraid, Gator might pay me a visit.”

If only you knew, the evil thought blossomed in your mind.

A short, shrill laughter broke from her bright pink lips. “Nah, I just want our town to have such trash in it. You best be gone before the new year.”

You smiled. “Can’t promise anything.”

Moving around, you bumped and finally moved past her.

******

“Oh? I see she got the best of you.” Roy spat out.

“Well, I really didn’t want to hurt her or her daughter.”

“Fuck that.”

The look of disgust that came over his father’s face, made his stomach lurch.

“You should have just grabbed her. She’d be here by now.”

He gritted his teeth. She was the only one who had ever gave him any type of love.

“I bet when she gave you that shiner your balls shriveled. You keep on striking out huh? I thought you were supposed to be a winner.”

“I am. I am.” Suddenly, he felt small. It made anger grow. “I will get her next time.” He snapped back.

A sharp chuckle came from him. “Doesn’t look like that right now, boy.” He made a disagreeable sound.

******

Flour dusted your counter, an abandoned wrapper from the butter stick sat nearby and a few boxes of raisins were open waiting to be folded into the dough.

You eyed the wooden spoon, perhaps you should just stick to that. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it was getting late. In case, he did stop by you wanted these done.

With a click and snap the hand-mixer was ready. You squeezed the handle, it whirled to life. A smiled crossed your face, grateful it still worked.

So far the dough was smooth, all the dry pockets were disappearing. These cookies were going to be great.

Ahhhh! A wet splotch of dough kicked up and smacked into you. Ugh. You put down the mixer.

“Damn it.” You screeched out.

With a wiggled your hands as you stomped up the stairs to change your shirt. Auntie’s voice admonishing you, rang in your head for not using the wooden spoon. You couldn’t stop but rolling your eyes.

You tore open the bedroom door, it clanged on its hinges and stormed in and hurried over to the dresser you were using to grab a fresh shirt.

Then you paused, your heart stilled. Why had your door been closed. Slowly you turn. A scream is ripped from you. In some kind of sludge, symbols were etched over your bed. Your eyes grew. You ran from the room, somehow you tumbled down the the creaking and whining stairs. Reaching into your pocket you took out your cell phone. It fell from your hand. It tumbled and fell in front of you. You fell to your knees and snatched it up.

Blurry eyed as tears of fear filled your eyes, you called Gator.

“Miss me?”

“Get your ass over here right now.”

“Tulip, calm down. If you want me so badly you will have to ask me nicely.” His chuckle filled your ear.

“Fuck that. Get over here.“

*******

Knots of unease filled Gator.

“Boys, there is something I gotta attend to.”

There was a couple of chuckles and snickers. He made a face.

“Mary Sue, pulling on your short chain?” One of his deputies remarked.

He slid them a look as he walked past. He pulled on his vape. He exhaled as the glass doors slid open and he walked through.

Turning the knob, the heavy metal burst through his speakers. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the erratic beat. The smoked swirled around him as he drove. The edges of mouth hung low.

What the hell could have been happened to you. There was something underlying in your voice. It did not sit well with him.

He tugged on the visor of his cap before getting out of his truck and tucked the vape away.

Oooooaaafffff. He barely, was below your steps when you came running out and into his arms. But he stood firm in the gravel barely crunched as you launched yourself against him.

“What is the matter?” He wrapped an arm around you.

*******

The mixture of peppermint, crisp aftershave and the sweet tobacco never felt so comforting. Your heart calmed sometime later.

You looked up at him. His hand came up and cupped your cheek, his thumb caressed it. “Someone broke into the house.”

You felt him go still. “What?”

You nodded. “They scrawled a message above the bed.”

“Show me.” You saw his jaw twitch.

You swallowed, nodding. “Ok.”

The steps once again creaked and groaned as the climbed up them. You trembled, “Above the bed.”

He nodded.

“That mother fucker.” You heard him shout and you backed up. His boots pounded against the floorboards. “What does that mean?”

“It’s..it’s…Celtic for adultery.”

“That fucker is going to pay.” He snarled, you saw his face twist before be moved on to the top of the steps. He turned. “Wash that shit off the wall. I am going to handle this.”

He then clattered down the stairs and you watched as he disappeared out the door.

@keerygal @delikaitxx

[manwrre]

i am absolutely ravenous for a jennifer’s body themed harringrove fic. and if i write it, it’ll be purely self indulgent so please don’t make me (make me make me make me).

like, i kid you not, when i say that billy’s the perfect character/candidate for any kind of possession trope. he’s pretty and popular— with his half-wild grin, fervent eyes and untamable hair. he’s smart and charismatic like no one’s business and anyone would be drawn in by him; he’s a perfect homme fatale.

he’s also strong and young. he’s healthy and quick and in his prime, so if a demon really wanted to make an apex predator out of someone, he’d be ideal. because no matter how great of a hunter anyone or anything is, isn’t it all the more rewarding when the prey comes to you?

so i can imagine steve and billy becoming such good freaking friends after the night at the byers’. once he’s sobered up and off the adrenaline high, i know for a fact that the sight of steve’s bruised face would probably make billy sick to his stomach. so he’d apologize, right? and they’d get on like a house on fire because they have sm in common.

it doesn’t take long for them to start crushing on each other (unbeknownst to either party because we love pining). so one night, billy takes steve to this underground metal-grunge club and in steve’s head, it’s a freaking date (and billy’s too). they spend most of the show just wrapped up in each other at the bar and messing around in their familiar, little way that makes steve’s heart race.

until yk, he goes to the bathroom and comes back to find billy’s seat empty. the bartender’s no help, really. he mentions something about billy walking off with a guy and steve’s stumped. he’s hurt because surely, he understood this right, so why would billy leave with someone else? so he waits and waits and waits before heading home, livid.

but imagine his surprise, hours later, when he wakes up to a commotion in his backyard and it’s billy.

billy, whose usually perfect curls are a mess and who looks like he can barely stand on his own two, god-given feet. billy, who snaps his head in steve’s direction at the sound of the door sliding open and stares at him with wide, frantic eyes.

“steve,” his voice cracks and his shoulders slump in what might be relief.

“jesus christ— billy, where the fuck have you been?” steve hisses, dropping the bat and rubbing at his burning eyes because he’s exhausted.

because at the core of it, he’s still pissed that he’d been ditched, of course and so sad and he would hate for billy to see him cry.

that is, until the blonde practically falls into his arms and all steve can do is cradle him against his chest while billy shakes.

he’s cold, like he’s been out here forever in the midwestern fall but he doesn’t seem bothered as he blindly clutches at whichever parts of steve are closest— his shoulders, his arms, his back and presses his face into his neck.

all the while, he’s murmuring something low enough that steve can only pick up bits and pieces; his own name and a mantra of pleasepleasepleasepleaseohgod.

it’s only then that he notices the dark sludge staining the blonde’s clothes and the front of his bare chest; half-dried and pungent and he freezes.

“billy… billy, what’s this? are you hurt?”

and he’s looking him over for a sizable wound because the amount of blood spells nothing less than extensive damage and gore. so it’s safe to say that he’s confused when he finds nothing but a few scratches. nothing that warrants this amount of blood, which means that it’s not his. but,

it’s someone’s.

he doesn’t notice that billy’s stopped moving until he looks up to find the blonde already staring at him, though.

his eyes are damp with unshed tears and he’s got his lower lip caught between his teeth; worrying the skin there. and he looks so far away. closer to the outskirts of hawkins, than here in steve’s backyard.

“steve– i, listen…i just,” he whispers, his brows furrowing and face contorting into something ugly for all of a second; something pained.

when he speaks again, it sounds wet. it sounds wet and he’s so scared. steve’s never seen him this scared.

it makes his own heart race in response; filling the spaces where billy’s must be skipping a beat.

“i think there’s something wrong with me. like really, really, really wrong with me— i dunno what i did, i dunno what to do, god, it was just…i think….”

“steve, i think there’s something inside of me.”

[scruffytheclown]

My Fav Character's Fav Songs

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Self Defeating Prophecy by Dystopia

Let's be real here, Ghost would listen to the most disgusting metal to drown out everything else. Bro is not going to be listening to explicitly sad music cause that would mean he would have to think about his feelings and he doesn't want to do that. He would, however, know a surprising amount about music and would have sludge bands with like 100 monthly listeners on his playlist. Ultimately, Ghost is blaring the most disturbing, harsh metal known to man. His favorite is Self Defeating Prophecy because of the rattling vocals and extreme drum breaks.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Rooster by Alice in Chains

Soap would be a Dad Rock kind of guy but in a "my dad was a teenager in the '90s" way. So a lot of grunge. He could get behind some heavy shit for sure, but really appreciates some solid vocals. I think Soap would actually have a pretty good voice and would be able to sing along to Eddie Vedder or Chris Cornell songs. I feel like he's at least a little more in tune with his emotions and would listen to Nothingman by Pearl Jam alone at night. Rooster would be his favorite song because he can relate to the lyrics since the song is about a Vietnam War veteran.

Jujutsu Kaisen Spoilers Mentioned Ahead

Suguru Geto

But The Regrets Are Killing Me by American Football

Bro is a fucking math rock, midwest emo freak, I'm so sorry. Geto is blaring songs about self destruction with some of the most beautiful guitar riffs. And he was doing that before the KFC breakup too. The American Football song is his favorite though because it almost perfectly represents his tragic relationship with Gojo. I know he's constantly racked with guilt and regret, but is so far gone that he feels like he couldn't change. His music taste mirrors that. GAH it hurts. Are you kidding, "A long goodbye with mixed emotions"? Pretty much sums it all up.

Satoru Gojo

New Song by Maggie Rogers & Del Water Gap

Gojo gets it. Man has a 20 hour crying playlist. He never got over Suguru and probably visited him (or at least wanted to) after they split apart because he would never love anyone the same ever again. New Song helps him justify his lasting feelings about Suguru and how he would go back to him in a heartbeat if he could. But alas. "Is there a cure for this hunger? A terrible curse to be under." Hmmm, kind of reminds me of "Love is the most twisted curse of all."

Damn, all my favorite characters emo as fuck. Bless them. Sorry for making them more sad.

[horrendous-bisexual-showdown]

Poll 2

Sorelia Divisav (She/Her) by @dixy

Why Should Your OC Win?

she is a fail woman. she may be a successful underground musician but she is a fail woman. she has a motorcycle but she'll trip getting off of it while flirting & just lay on the ground. also i love her

What is Your OC Like?

Sorelia is the bassist & lead singer in her 3 person sludge/stoner metal band. Shes a 300 year old elf & has been playing music her whole life & somewhat recently took up bass, and loves doing experimental work in her makeshift music studio basement. shes very silly and impulsive & smokes weed on her twin brothers sidewalk. she has a schizospec disorder and gets very paranoid about her likeness being posted online without permission sometimes, but pretty chill & laid back otherwise. shes pretty flirty but has commitment issues in a "i feel uncomfortable labeling a relationship" way. her brother is immortal so sometimes as a prank she waits for him to come down the hallway to shoot him with a crossbow because its hilarious how much it inconveniences him. fashion wise shes stuck in the 90s & wears a lot of grunge, especially big tshirts & baggy pants, or those old fairy tshirts. her gender is bisexual woman specifically.

Solveig (She/Her) by @spellinwaiting

Why Should Your OC Win?

her life is so fucking hard she needs to win something just once

What is Your OC Like?

solveig is my tes oblivion oc and she has just SO many problems. imagine being severely mentally ill in a medieval fantasy setting with no access to proper mental health care. one time someone tried to mug her but then realized she had nothing and they felt so bad for her and the whole state she was in the mugger was like 'ok you need help' and became her friend. shes blessed to have an orc wife who loves her no matter how many times she sprints off into the woods in the midst of a manic episode. what else? she has a horse named 'horse' because she couldnt come up with anything better. she wants to be a heroic knight but is far better at killing people than saving them. her solution to most of her problems is to lie face down on the floor motionless for a while (also the picture is done by my friend whose url is @symbie not by me, i hope thats alright, also i put that here cause i didnt know where else to)

[trentreznortuesday]

every album i listened to this year pt. 1

i listened to 238 albums that were new to me this year. this is the first 119 of them + basic genre tagging.

A Sunny Day In Glasgow - Sea When Absent [noise pop]

ABBA - Volume 25 [karaoke]

Agriculture - Agriculture [black metal]

Agriculture - The Circle Chant [black metal]

Alcest - Écailles de Lune [black metal]

Altar of Plagues - White Tomb [black metal]

Animals as Leaders - Parrhesia [djent]

Another Heaven - 1: You Are Loved [shoegaze]

Art Sorority - Older Boys [folk punk]

Ashenspire - Hostile Architecture [black metal]

Atomic Guava - Peasants of the Future [power metal]

awakebutstillinbed - chaos takes the wheel and i am a passenger [emo]

Bad Religion - New Maps of Hell [punk]

bar italia - Tracey Denim [post-punk]

Basketball Divorce Court - rebound [punk]

Big Black - Atomizer [noise rock]

Big Thief - Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You [alt-country]

Black Ends - Stay Evil [noise pop]

Black Math Horseman - Black Math Horseman [black metal]

Blanky - Blood Harmony [alternative]

Bosse-de-Nage - Bosse-de-Nage [black metal]

Bosse-de-Nage - ii [black metal]

Bosse-de-Nage - iii [black metal]

Bosse-de-Nage/Deafheaven - Split EP [black metal]

boybrain - In The Company of Worms [punk]

Bríi - Último Ancestral Comum [rock]

Cable Ties - All Her Plans [punk]

Callous Daoboys - Celebrity Therapist [hardcore]

Charlie Megira - Da Abtomatic Meisterzinger Mambo Chic [lo-fi]

Chat Pile - God’s Country [sludge metal]

Chat Pile - Remove Your Skin Please [sludge metal]

Chat Pile - This Dungeon Earth [sludge metal]

Chat Pile & Nerver - Brothers in Christ [sludge metal]

Cherub Tree - where are your manners [alternative]

Choncy - Community Chest [post-punk]

Corker - Falser Truths [post-punk]

Crime of Passing - Crime of Passing [post-punk]

Dark Factory - Dark Factory [new wave]

Days ‘N Daze - Rogue Taxidermy [folk punk]

Days ‘N Daze - Songs We Recorded for Splits [folk punk]

Dazy - OTHERBODY [alternative]

Deafheaven - New Bermuda [blackgaze]

Deafheaven - Sunbather [blackgaze]

Deeper - Careful! [post-punk]

Dirty Old Town - No Returning Home [alternative]

Dummy - Mandatory Enjoyment [post-punk]

dust - et cetera, etc [punk]

Eddy Arnold - Cattle Call [country]

Ekko Astral - Quartz [punk]

Ekko Astral - The Quartz Farewell [punk]

Elizabeth Colour Wheel - Nocebo [black metal]

Erik Hall - Canto Ostinato (Simeon ten Holt) [neo-classical]

Erik Hall - Music For 18 Musicians (Steve Reich) [neo-classical]

Explosions in the Sky - All of a Sudden, I Miss Everyone [post-rock]

Explosions in the Sky - How Strange, Innocence [post-rock]

Ezra Furman - All of Us Flames [art rock]

Ezra Furman - Perpetual Motion People [art rock]

Ezra Furman - Transangelic Exodus [art rock]

Ezra Furman - Twelve Nudes [art rock]

Feeble Little Horse - Girl with Fish [shoegaze]

Fela Kuti - Beasts of No Nation [afrobeat]

Fela Kuti - Coffin for Head of State [afrobeat]

Fela Kuti - Expensive Shit [afrobeat]

Fela Kuti - Roforofo Fight [afrobeat]

Fela Kuti - Zombie! [afrobeat]

Feminazgûl - The Age of Men is Over [black metal]

Frail Body - A Brief Memoriam [hardcore]

Fucked Up - Dose Your Dreams [hardcore]

GEL - Only Constant [hardcore]

Genital Shame - Gathering My Wits [alternative]

Gilla Band - Live at Vicar Street [noise rock]

Godcaster - Godcaster [psychedelic rock]

Hatchie - Giving the World Away [dream pop]

hey, Ily! - Internet Breath [bedroom pop]

Hoaxed - Hoaxed [alternative]

Home is Where - i became birds [emo]

Home is Where - our mouths to smile [emo]

Home Is Where - The Whaler [emo]

Horse Lords - Comradely Objects [microtonal]

Horse Lords - Hidden Cities [microtonal]

Horse Lords - Interventions [microtonal]

Horse Lords - The Common Task [microtonal]

Hot Snakes - Automatic Midnight [post-hardcore]

Housewives - Twilight Splendor [post-punk]

Ian Noe - Between the Country [bluegrass]

illuminati hotties - FREE I.H.: This Is Not the One You’ve Been Waiting For [pop rock]

Institute - Readjusting the Locks [post-punk]

Jane’s Addiction - Nothing’s Shocking [alternative]

Jeff Rosenstock - HELLMODE [punk]

Jeff Rosenstock - No Dream [punk]

Jeff Rosenstock - POST- [punk]

Jeff Rosenstock & Laura Stevenson - Still Young [punk]

Josaleigh Pollett - In The Garden, By The Weeds [bedroom pop]

julie - pushing daisies [alternative]

Kitten Forever - 7 Hearts [riot grrrl]

Kurt Vile - b’lieve i’m goin down… [alt-country]

Lamp of Murmuur - Saturnian Bloodstorm [power metal]

Leonard Bernstein - Chichester Psalms [choral]

Leonard Cohen - New Skin for the Old Ceremony [folk]

Leonard Cohen - Songs from a Room [folk]

Leonard Cohen - You Want It Darker [folk]

Liturgy - 93696 [black metal]

M(h)aol - Attachment Styles [post-punk]

M(h)aol - Gender Studies [post-punk]

Malthusian - MMXIII [black metal]

Mamaleek - Cadejos [black metal]

Mamaleek - Come and See [black metal]

Mamaleek - Diner Coffee [black metal]

Mamaleek - Those Who Pass Between Fleeting Worlds [black metal]

Mandy, Indiana - i’ve seen a way [post-punk]

MDC - Live at CBGB’s [hardcore]

MDC - Millions of Dead Children [hardcore]

MDC - Millions of Dead Cops [hardcore]

MDC - Multi-Death Corporations [hardcore]

Meat Puppets - Meat Puppets II [alternative]

Meat Puppets - Up on the Sun [alternative]

Messa - Close [hard rock]

meth. - Mother of Red Light [noise rock]

Midori - Aratamemashite, Hajimemashite, Midori Desu [hardcore jazz punk]

[scumdrug]

sup i'm Oli :}

straw | insta

🔞🔞🔞

💥 fash scum, any other bigots, transphobes and zionists gtfo 💥

terfs fuck off too.

oliwier | he | 21

💥 huge fan of metal music (black, death, sludge, nu mostly), grindcore, crust punk and industrial/aggrotech

💥 i love slashers and horror (especially cosmic horror) in general. huge jason voorhees enthusiast

💥 currently fixated mostly on postal, dmc, bloodborne, silent hill and cry of fear :] i'm always down to talk about music though

💥 i do not mind my art being used as pfps :} reposts only with credit tho please :]

💥 not posting much as most times i am actively trying to not off myself, i swear i'll have some cool art coming tho

💥 i have bad social anxiety and i'm terribly awkward so i may not interact much but i appreciate any reblog and interaction with my art. thanks :]

[shameboree]

ATTIC GOBLIN ?

YEAH SO when we moved in there was like this wadded up pair of pink panties in the basement that hadnt been there a few days before when we did our final walkthrough or whatever right. and then my fuzzy socks would go missing and some leggings and then our fucking FORKS which were DISCONTINUED so we cant even replace them!!!!! also the toilet paper would run out like super fast and i drink A Lot of diet dr pepper so i DO pee a lot but this was just fucken ridiculous!!!!! anyway so our one old roommate suggested ghost but me n polks were like fuck off this is OUR house!!

anyway so one day im slumped down on the couch w earbuds in having a good time and my friend kos comes downstairs to brew his sleepy ass some fresh shit tier coffee at like 5pm on a weekday. tbh i was talking about one of my homebrew blorbos being harassed and having just a great time with it so i didnt want to speak to anyone and just EXTREMELY avoided eye contact n sank as deep as i could into the bigass pillows of our honestly very nice goodwill upper middle class grandma couch. the point of that is when you walk downstairs and turn into the kitchen you cant really see me at this angle and i am DEAD SILENT bc my keyboard was apparently made of marshmallows or smth AND im metal gear box stealth mode trying to not be noticed here so i can talk about my barbies being menaced uninterrupted.

SO because of all that when kos came back downstairs for his coffee which had been brewing for probably not very long but i was in the Blorbo Zone where time is fake so i couldnt in good faith give an estimate he did NOT see me. well while hes in the kitchen puttering around i just start losing my shit on account of my blorbarbies in agonies brings me Such Joys and i think this startled him so bad he has to take a stress shower because i heard the bathroom door SLAM and the water start running. at some point after this polks comes home from work and starts pissed off nagging us over WHO MADE THIS COFFEE MESS IN MY KITCHEN!! kos comes downstairs for the Commotions and apparently the coffee pot was sitting on the counter with some fresh coffees while the rest of it fresh waterfalled all into our silverware and pots n pans spaces HOWEVER!! MYSTERY TIME!! he has not been downstairs since he started brewing his trash sludge.

INTERMISSION: THINGS TO NOTE ABOUT OUR HOUSE: the back door is literally INCHES from the downstairs bathroom. the attic is not a panel or ceiling access its just a door right by all our bedroom doors and it wont latch which was So Annoying bc the cats were UNREASONABLE THIRSTY to get up there so we had to install a loop n hook latch to keep it shut but whichever one of us did that goofed it up pretty bad bc the door is still perpetually cracked open like probably a full inch and a half. id love to take the credit for this but i think it was polks who is absolutely phenomenal at fucking up installations of things. OTHER NOTABLE THINGS ABOUT POLKS: her single biggest fear on this planet is shit like Crawlspace Man. just Some Guy living in your home without you knowing. also we have a dark little crawlspace down in the basement, for ambience

MOVING ON at this point i still dont give a shit about anything happening around me because i am inflicting sufferings upon my from scratch blorbo BUT my brain is putting the pieces together which i then immediately do a toddler vs 1000 piece puzzle it took you a year to assemble and just totally waste that shit from my thinkspace bc i wanna play DOLLS instead. polks and kos are also putting their little pieces together but they are Not braindead dipstick idiots like yours truly so they decide to check the whole haus bottom up, starting with the crawlspace. great news! the crawlspace is empty!! other older news: i def heard the cabinet ruining coffee fuckuper come down from upstairs.

i forgot to mention that for this househunt polks armed herself with our fucking broom and was wielding it handle side out because It Has Reach and a knife would Escalate The Situation. anyway they make their way upstairs and i am doing absolute jackshit nothing to help because, again, i am fucking brain poisoned to prioritize oc cummies over every single thing on this planet. its in my fucking genetic code. so while im fuckin useless theyre up there talking about how fucking weird this is and scuffling around or whatever but the second they go into the attic its dead silent and NOT because they go silent but because the attic is some fucked up sound void and past the first 3 steps you can hear total fuck all from outside. at this point my little toddler brain realizes this puzzle is actually indestructible so when kos and polkie are out of the void audible again i Already Knew i had to start being a fucking adult instead of playing barbies which DID feel like a personal affront.

tbh i dont even remember how polks reacted bc i was so CMON MAN!! at our attic dweller for cucking me bc now i gotta call the fuckin cops AND change the locks AND i still gotta get up at 420 in the mother blessed am for work, so basically this entire stunt was a hate crime against me specifically.

we dont really go in our attic much and never even bothered fetching the cats when they went up there but we HAD been up there before so when i went up there and saw fuckin blankets and takeout containers and also some clothes stuffed into drafty holes it was like, kind of Obvious that yeah some bitch was stealing my forks and not paying rent and eating all my toilet paper and FOR SOME REASON had the audacity to ALSO go ahead and pour out a cup of coffee in BROAD DAYLIGHT while we were OBVIOUSLY HOME. the fucking NERVE!!

so!! thats our Event that i honestly forget happened most of the time. we actually refer to them as Attic Dobby i think on account of my THIEVED socks but then of course attic dobby became sexy dobby as is the natural progression of things. we have many big tity dobbie drawings around the house and we love to show them to guests. i may have lost some forks i cant fucking replace so ill never have a matching set again BUT now my house has so many slutty big tit thong and louboutin adorned dobbys that kos and i have bonded so much over drawing that it all evens out in the end and i definitely dont get mad about the forks ever. less important than dobbys big naturals but still notable: exposure therapy works as polks no longer has the Crawlspace Man Terrors!

[idiotcoward]

Dystopia - The Aftermath God, clearly I've been on a Dystopia and Crust Punk kick, but here's another just ten out of fucking ten record from Crust Legends, Dystopia. This record doesn't take as much advantage of sampling as some of their other records, but to be honest, I don't mind too much. Now, don't get me wrong, I fucking love the sampling on their other work, but the riffs and singing and overall musical performance on this record are just as strong as their other work, and just as worthy of some serious attention.

The thing that really separates dystopia from other crust punk bands is their embracing of Sludge Metal. Now, a shit ton of Crust bands embrace metal, but it's usually black metal, in the sense that they'll include tremolo picking minor or melodically dissonant riffs; or it'll be metalcore, usually by leaning more into modern hardcore. But, for Dystopia, you have these long bluesy but still harsh and grimey riffs overflowing with these individual classic crust flourishes like arpeggiating guitar chords, distorted and grimey sounding guitars, more of a screeching then growling sound to the vocals, and loads and loads of bass drum. Dystopia is just so fucking good. I absolutely recommend any fan of the genre or of music in general at least give them as a band a shot. Definitely one of my personal favorites.

[defaultfelix]

Characters, and writing

I've talked before about lifelong struggles with shyness and embarrassment when it comes to talking about my characters. Recently, though, I've been able to work past some of this, and come to terms more with the connection that I have with these fictional characters and their stories.

Something that I've finally admitted to myself more fully, is just how deeply I view Bracey as a "comfort" character, in a way that can feel very vulnerable. I really do feel a sense of warmth and love when I think about him, almost as though he was a real person. This is something I felt a lot of shame towards in the past… both since he's not "real", and because I've received some really hurtful treatment from people who did not like his inclusion in the project. It really, really messed me up that my former collaborator somehow accessed the site when it was under password protection, and wrote such a hateful callout post… after that happened, it really did leave me feeling so unsafe to express myself, and this has taken years to really come to terms with and start to recover from. But, I don't want to keep blaming myself for other people's actions and interpretations, and I don't want to beat myself for something that brings me such comfort.

So, here's some writing I did yesterday; switching between 'prose' and 'essay' sections. Semi-NSFW, but nothing explicit.

Bracey's with one of his "dolls" again, in the plywood-walled backroom he's gated off with corrugated metal over a locked chain link gate. Always the handy-man, he smirks and steps towards the bound-up stranger. "It's just you and me." It squirms against the belts that keep it tied to the drain-rig, and matte-vinyl skin bulges around tight ropes. Its mouth can't open, and its limbs can't move; but none of that matters, when he touches it, and in an instant, it goes limp, head slamming on the bars.

The dissembler runs his hands up its thighs; the flesh ripples when he can't help but give it a little squeeze. It shouldn't tickle, but it tickles – but, it doesn't tickle him. The thing it shakes up is the psychic that's drifted on through and settled right inside the empty space where the stranger's self and feelings aren't.

If Bracey knew, he'd think Default had made them all just for him.

Really, though – they're what's trapping him here.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

He's the 'fantasy ideal' – the partner with the same weird sense of humor, provider of unlimited psychedelics, and a predilection for rough sex. He provides a way to fulfill these cravings in a fantasy world; but, the ideal only exists in a fantasy, and Bracey can't exist in the real world. The drugs he provides are tied to the strangers, and the strangers are tied to the fictional world.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Bracey's been in there for an hour now; draining the raw sludge from the collection bin, and siphoning out the topmost layer of oil. There are four bottles of unfiltered psycholy already sitting on the crooked table he'd dragged in two weeks ago from a curb a few blocks away. He only has two more bottles to fill.

He taps his fingers nervously as he watches the fifth bottle fill, drop-by-drop. The high from the last joint he smoked has started to fade, and, that was his last joint. He knows he needs to stay focused. He's almost done. But all he can think is: He's not supposed to fuck them. He's not supposed to fuck them. He keeps telling himself; it won't make anything go faster. But he's just so fucking bored.

Besides, it's not like Default's here to get him off – and there's no one else around to interrupt him. It'll be fine, he thinks, as he puts the hard metal end of the siphon-hose down on the edge of the table. He has just enough time to get off, if he's quick about it; and after that, everything will go so much smoother. So he unzips his jeans, and reaches into his boxers; black, with clover print.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

It's exciting to think of him being this 'bad boy'. There's a head rush when I think about him doing these weird, pervy things with the strangers. It really wouldn't be enjoyable if they were alive, though. The strangers very specifically are not in possession of an internal experience. I'm not a sadist… and neither is Bracey. He doesn't enjoy causing pain to living things. When he roughs Default up, it's not because he wants to hurt Default. It just feels so fucking good to let go, and not have to worry about anyone but himself.

There's a parallel to the experience of playing a villainous character in a horror role-playing game. The player might occupy a character whose role is that of a serial killer, or a cannibal surgeon. But, that doesn't mean that the character reflects the player's real world motivations. The context of the world gives these characters a safety that isn't present otherwise, since the question isn't "if you could do anything, would you be bad?", but rather, "if you were a bad guy, what would you be like?"

[rofax]

cancer aftermath thoughts

The one year anniversary of getting diagnosed with cancer is coming up for me and I have. A lot of feelings. Too many feelings to fit inside one person actually. I don't know how to talk about these feelings without like, dopey poetic metaphors and shit so pls excuse me while I get knee deep in my own psyche with my flowery language boots on

I really and truly hate cancer. I hate it and what it took from me. I am filled with immense grief and rage at everything I lost. But I also feel like I got a literal second chance in this somehow? Like it's been a double edged sword if I have ever seen one.

I feel like I am being reforged. Like cast into the fire and melted down to a molten sludge that doesn't look like the old me AT ALL... but made again into something new without all the divots and scratches of the old.

You know when people sometimes pose the hypothetical "if you could be born again but keep all the knowledge you have now, would you?" I feel like I'm experiencing that in earnest. I lost so much of who I was and what I had built that I don't know myself when I look in the mirror. Which is like. Unnerving. And deeply sorrowful. But it's also given me this ability to step away from all the BAD from before. The threads of self criticism and fear and resentment towards myself that strangled me a couple years ago are just... gone. They got burned away too.

I just got my hair cut for the first time since chemo because it was getting fluffy and shapeless and I wanted it to look like I chose a pixie cut. For YEARS, going to the salon and having to stare at my face in the mirror while they chopped up my hair would send me into this self loathing, dysphoric spiral. All I could ever see was all my flaws and shortcomings and the ways I wasn't pretty enough or good enough or likeable enough. And this time I watched the guy trimming my teensy little hairs and it was like....

Who are you? Why did I hate you so much? I'm so sorry. I couldn't see it before. I can see it now. You don't deserve my hatred. You never did.

I used to feel embarrassed and ashamed when I had to dig deep to find something kind to say about myself. What do you like about yourself? Eeeuugghh.. uhhh..... I make people laugh... I guess? It felt insincere and vain and like I was trying to fool people into thinking I had value. And now it's like... just this righteous indignation on my own behalf. I AM an interesting person and I have value! I am a complex, contradictory, multifaceted human being and it's not my job on earth to be demure and appealing and pleasant! I like melodic death metal, my favorite color is pink, I read horror and romance and I love both, I'm learning how to belly dance and roller skate, I fucking love tired goth mom fashion, I am funny and have made multiple people urgently leave the room lest they piss their pants, I take my daughter out to do as much enriching stuff as possible and know her body language better than anyone in this house, I'm a good cook, I like doing laundry, I would probably drink coffee until I threw up if left to my own devices, I want kitschy mugs from places I visit and macabre jewelry and tattoos, I am a whole ass person! Why did I spend so much time trying to hate myself into being more palatable? Why was I so concerned with making concessions and compromises at my expense and stamping down the things about me that are beautiful?

I look at myself in the mirror now and I don't know that girl anymore. It's not who I was at the start of this. But I like her. For the first time in decades, I like that girl. I want her to be happy. She doesn't deserve what life threw at her. She doesn't deserve what I threw at her.

So like. Fuck cancer. Being thrown into the fires of the forge hurts. It fucking HURTS. But the other side is so much brighter than I expected.

[shaypow]

please never stop making . please for the fucking love of god do not ever be afraid to put it out . your music makes me cry and you are one of the best friends i’ve ever had. i know we only met when we moved to the same place to do the same thing and we only connected initially because we think similar things and have similar values but jesus christ you endlessly fucking impress me. every chord every note every instrument the voice the art the stories you tell your narration your life in sound is something i will never ever take for granted and something i will turn to when i need comfort and a friend who isn’t with me . you know who you are amd yeah i’m god damn talking to you you beautiful specimen of life. you deserve everything good in this world for what you do. you deserve so much you deserve happiness and freedom . sometimes i listen to a song and i couldn’t care less, sometimes i listen to. song and i really like it, some times every so often a song defines me but rarely do i hear something so important to me that it changes me as deeply as the music you make. you could have invented music and i would not be surprised. and yet your humility and humble aura lend such an important gravity to this experience you can make with vibration in the air. you are a gem in an empty universe, you have value even in a world void of the reason for value, in a world where rarity matters not you are priceless, you are everything and more. never stop, never stop, never stop, you begin where master’s put down their tools and you end whenever perfection dies. every cycle of every wave of everything you create sings to me in a voice of the mother of a universe. you glide from easy, and comedic into personal and divine and dreading and every fucking morsel of it tastes like the best cooked steak for an inmate’s last meal that i can imagine existing. you have topped god’s and no doubt will continue to. you inspire me and ignite me and matter more than the very stars that humans used to navigate the ocean and wrote stories about. you are infinite and more

never stop,

if you read this (first of all hi) never ever stop

if god exists she is bewildered by your skills

you turn my thoughts into slideshows of every sleepless night we’ve spent together and every trivial conversation we’ve had. i wish so very much that i had attacked your entire discography like a wild boar on yak tranquilizers in berlin the way i have tonight. this was a necessary experience for me and i am quite earnestly forever changed. you amaze me and everything that unfolds from that brain of yours is inticing and profound and enchanting and positively worth so much of the value in this universe.

you. you are my friend and for that i feel so much, i know you now and i’m so fucking elated to. you. you are my friend and if i didn’t have you in my life i would be most unlucky. a sorry sack of rotten mulberry flavoured potatoes in a sea of durian smelling sludge . please. never. stop.

let this world spin a last turn before you write your last song.

everything about everything you do is everything to me. you are enormously intelligent and beautiful and wonderous and you deserve to have a spiritual glass of red wine every morning and an amazing afternoon every night. please never ever stop. if i ever ask anything of you there is only one you must listen to and that is that you never stop this. your passion paints mountains onto seas and draw skies into a single breath from your woollen voice. you are warm and you are loved and you are my friend and i cannot tell you in words the english language possesses how genuinely i feel what i write through tears tonight. introduce me to death metal a million times, offer me a cookie a thousand more, observe behaviour like a cyborg just the way you do, never ever stop. this is so fucking important. this is Everything and Everything’s bastard child called “More”

i float and sink to your melody, if astral projection exists it is your welcome mat in your cabin of curious truths and introspective whim and intense creative fluidity you are terror and freedom and you voice them both in a silent moment

this makes me smell colours i have never seen.

you can do anything and by god you should . end not. dream.

see you soon friend