#80s Metal Patch

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

CUE "JUMP" IN THE FIRE" RIGHT ABOUT NOW -- WELCOME TO 1984, YE THRASHER BASTARDS!

PIC INFO: Spotlight on an original (vintage) woven patch design for METALLICA's aborted 1984 "Hell On Earth" tour, based on the "Jump in the Fire" single sleeve art design (in turn, influenced by British illustrator Les Edwards). The would-be tour was later cancelled due to poor ticket sales.

I don’t think there are too many of these patches still left out in the wild…

[borninwinter81]

I just tried a new patch method, completely spur of the moment, winging it kind of thing, but I think it turned out pretty well.

Instead of cutting a stencil, I had the idea to trace the logo on paper and try to transfer the tracing to fabric.

First I flipped the logo in my phone, then taped a piece of paper over it, which made the phone act like a light box, and I was able to trace super easily. After I removed the paper from my phone I went over all the lines again to make it as clear as possible, which gave me this.

I put it face down onto some white fabric, and shaded all over the back to transfer the pencil, which worked way better than I thought it would. Then I started filling it in with black fabric paint and the smallest brush I had.

And the final result!

This is the logo I traced from. (Edit: I realise looking at this just now that I totally missed the bottom part of the second "A", will fix that!)

Obviously it's slightly less detailed and not as clean and crisp as the original, but I think it's still clearly recognisable as the same logo. And part of the charm of handmaking your own patches is that they'll be a little rough around the edges 😁

For those not aware, Sarcófago are an extreme metal band from Brazil, formed in 1985, and were highly influential in shaping the Black Metal sound as part of its "first wave". They won't be to most people's taste, but if you happen to be into extreme metal and have never heard them before I would urge you to give their first album I.N.R.I. a try.

[munitionsandsupplydepot]

Lot of 15 rock patches

https://www.etsy.com/listing/1730744068/lot-of-15-patchesmovie-patchesmusic

[atlas-chaps]

Probably not finishing this any time soon, so pls appreciate the details so far.

My stupid loser 80s core Cleric of Metal for an upcoming DND campaign. He base off Eddie Riggs from Brutal Legend and also Jack Black in School of Rock...so, fantasy Jack Black. Kinda.

The campaign is set 400 years post modern apocalypse, 200 years after our current campaign. So yes, he has modern bands on his vest.

[space-pirate-alex]

Once I get a job and have patch money it’s so over for my vests and pants

[roxrocknmetal]

The battle jacket. What is it? You got yours? Share it!

https://www.roxalive.co.uk/2024/07/the-battle-jacket-and-its-importance-in.html

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

DOWN IN THE DEPTHS OF MY FIERY HOME, THE SUMMONS BELL WILL CHIME."

PIC INFO: Resolution at 1759x2561 -- Spotlight on an officially-licensed METALLICA "Jump in the Fire"-themed oversized woven patch (based on Les Edwards' cover art to supernatural WWII novel "The Devils of D-Day"), manufactured & distributed by Pull the Plug Patches.

Happy "Thrashback Thursday," bangers!

Source: www.pulltheplugpatches.com/products/metallica-jump-in-the-fire.

[seadhna24]

my parents are trying real hard to be supportive of my metalhead self but they keep giving and pointing out ac/dc and guns n’ roses stuff while im standing there in the video store trying to find soad & rammstein patches

[rangerbarbz]

Serving Up Romance

Author’s Note: Guys holy FUCK y’all have blown up my account!! Thank you all so much! I just can’t believe it like i'm going bonkers. Thank you so much for all your kind words and everything!! Also, I can’t believe I’ve never written for 80s Stan that’s crazy. (Also i know he’s never worn a denim jacket but i had a vision) 

“Serving up Romance”

You had been working as a waitress at Greasy’s Diner since you first moved to the strange town of Gravity Falls. While others might turn their nose up at waitressing, you loved it. You got the opportunity to know everyone in town, hear their gossip, and meet passer-bys driving through on road trips. You never knew who was going to walk through those doors or what incredible story they were going to tell you. One slow day at the diner, you were making a pot of coffee when you heard the bell above the door jingle. 

“Welcome to Greasy’s! Sit wherever you want, and I’ll be with you in just a sec,” you called out, pouring water into the coffee maker. You heard someone sit at the swivel stool behind you. 

“Take your time, doll. I’m in no rush,” a gruff voice responded. Hm. You didn’t recognize that tone. You turned around to see a man with dark brown hair in a white t-shirt and denim jacket, chewing on a toothpick. You noticed that there were patches of different fabrics and patterns all over the jacket. He hadn’t noticed you were looking at him because he was reading the small menu that was attached to the metal condiment holder. 

You smiled at him. “I like your jacket,” you complimented the handsome stranger. 

His attention quickly diverted to you. He chuckled. “Oh, this old thing?” He lifted up his arms to show off more of his patches. “Thanks. It’s been through the ringer let me tell ya. My ma taught me how to hand stitch so that any time I ripped it, I could fix it right up.” 

“That’s so sweet.” You reached out to point at one that was yellow with small, red flowers on his shoulder. “I like this one.” He looked over to see which one you were talking about and laughed. 

“That one I got from a motel pillow case! I accidentally caught my shoulder on fire.” You raised your eyebrows at him. His gaze became stern. “I learned to keep my distance from candles that day on.” 

You burst out laughing. “Now is this a true story?” you asked, propping your chin up on the palm of your hand. 

He grinned, moving his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “True as you are pretty, sweetheart.”

You giggled as a blush started to spread across your cheeks.“Alright, slick, what can I get you?” you responded, removing a notepad from the front pocket of your apron. He picked up the menu and gave it a quick once over.

“Uh… Give me the bacon and eggs. Scrambled, please, and one cup of coffee.” You finished scribbling his order and turned to put it in the window. 

“Can I get a name for this order?” you asked, winking at him from the coffee pot. You began to walk back over to him with a mug of black coffee. 

He gave you a wide smile. “Stan Pines, proprietor of The Mystery Shack,” he answered, hand outreached to you in greeting. 

“Y/N Y/L/N, waitress at Greasy’s Diner.” You shook his hand; it was firm, calloused, and felt very nice against your smooth skin. You turned over his hand to take a look at his scarred knuckles you noticed when he was holding the menu earlier. You dragged your thumb over the puckered, white lines.

“You got fighting hands, Stan.” You gazed at him through your lashes and grinned.“Sexy.” Now it was his turn to be flustered. His face grew red at your bold statement and laughed nervously. 

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, used to box, and I’ve gotten myself into a fair share of…scuffles.” You gave him a small smile. You were about to comment on that until the bell dinged from the window signaling that his food was done. 

“Bacon and eggs are up!” the chef barked. His loud voice startled you which made Stan laugh. 

“Sorry, let me get your food real quick.” You let go of his hand reluctantly and went to get his plate. What you didn’t see was him smirking to himself and touching the scars you grazed. He couldn’t remember the last time someone genuinely complimented him. 

Things started to pick up after you served Stan his food, so you didn’t get to continue your conversation. However, you made sure that when he paid for his meal, you got to talk to him one last time. 

“Will I be seeing you again, Stan?” you asked, getting his change from the cash register. “You should come next Tuesday! We serve waffle tacos then.” He laughed as you dropped the coins into his hand. 

“Well, I obviously can’t miss waffle tacos,” he responded with a smile. 

“I’ll see you then. It was nice to meet you, Stan! Don’t go catching yourself on fire on your way out!” you joked as he began walking towards the exit. 

“No promises, doll.” 

Over the next couple weeks, Stan continued to come into the diner and sit in the same swivel stool as he did when you first met him. He ordered a different thing on the menu each time making it his goal to try everything you had to offer. Your conversations were playful, flirty, but, most of all, interesting. He had quite the colorful past, but that didn’t scare you off. In fact, it made you more intrigued. 

One day, during a particularly busy shift, Stan walked in as always. “Hey, hon!” you greeted him while placing a plate of pancakes in front of a fussy toddler. “I’ll be right with ya!” You then noticed he had one of his hands behind his back, and he seemed a bit nervous. 

He didn’t sit down this time, but instead stood at the cash register. You walked over with a confused expression on your face. “Stan? Are you not eating today?” 

“Um, well, no. Not today, doll. I, uh, wanted to give you these.” His face was bright pink as he presented you with a large bouquet of wildflowers. You gasped. “I hope you like them. I found a whole bunch of them in a field near one of the backroads.”

“Oh, Stan,” you said softly. You took the bouquet from him and held it gently, admiring it. “It’s just beautiful, but why?” 

He started to rub the back of his neck and looked down at his feet. “There’s a drive-in movie happening tonight outside of town, and I wanted to take you with me,” he murmured shyly. “I think you’re real nice and fun to talk to and you got a knock-out smile.” He paused. “I would…like to get to know you outside the diner.” He finally made eye contact with you to see your reaction to everything he had said. 

You hadn’t stopped beaming at him since he handed you the flowers. “Stan, I would love to join you.” You reached out to cup his face with your free hand and gave him a peck on his cheek, his stubble tickling your lips. “What time should I be expecting you?” 

His eyes widened at you, his hand touching where you had kissed him. “Um, I. The, uh, movie starts at 7:45, so I’ll pick you up at 7:00,” he stammered, face as red as his Diablo. 

“Sounds good, sugar,” you replied, giving him a slip of paper that you had written your address on while he was talking. “I can’t wait to see what tricks a romantic like you has up his sleeves.” 

Stan let out a giggle before quickly covering it up by clearing his throat. “I guess you’ll have to find out tonight. I’ll see you then, sweetheart.” He gave your hand a squeeze before walking out the way he came in. 

“I’m going on a date with Mr. Mystery,” you whispered to yourself excitedly, burying your nose in the bouquet. 

PART 2 COMING SOON

[stvrchaser]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

( pairing ) : clarisse la rue x fem!reader

( words ) : 2000

( note ) : noticed that clarisse has her nails painted in the show and… well this came out of that. reader is heavily aphrodite coded but i don’t think it’s explicitly mentioned anywhere what cabin she’s actually from? only that she’s not from apollo’s and she’s on clarisse’s side for capture the flag

also don’t we just love that every fic i’ve ever published is literally 80% pining? honestly can’t tell you the last time one of my fics didn’t have a scene that goes on for like three paragraphs about how much admiration reader has for their love interest

oh and happy new year!!

Summer days can last for a lifetime and a fulfilling one at that. There’s so much to be done when the world wakes, engulfed in light and warmth, nurturing possibility. There’s so much to look forward to. But today, that anticipation has chosen to work against you.

The sun is setting now, approaching dinnertime, and Clarisse is nowhere to be found. For all of her spontaneity and occasional recklessness, it’s unlike her to abandon routines. That is, routines she shares with you. And walking to dinner together happens to be one of your longest-running practices.

You tried to ask around, careful not to sound too concerned so as not to spark rumors. See, Clarisse La Rue has never been publicly caught in a state that warrants concern. Clarisse La Rue is untouched by the fears that plague the rest of them. But you know better.

It isn’t until you come across a few Ares kids, very obviously overworked and looking nearly faint with exhaustion, that you come to your senses. It isn’t infrequent that Cabin 5 becomes victim to one of Clarisse’s drills, training until fatigue overpowers their fear of her authority. As predicted, you find her in a clear patch of the forest overlooking the strawberry fields. Some days she likes to train here, away from watchful eyes.

The setting sun casts her in golden light, bronze armor glistening alongside golden skin. Clarisse liked to train in full gear — a fruitful habit to get herself accustomed to the added weight of leather and metal. It allows her to move with ease, swinging her spear with grace despite the strength of her whole body being evident in every step. With her head held high, spear raised, and the incredible speed at which she moves, she doesn’t look even the slightest bit mortal, but rather a god amongst men. A warrior and hunter. She is the perfect picture of divinity if you’ve ever seen it.

You let your feet drag against the dirt, a fallen branch snapping beneath your weight. It informs Clarisse of your presence from a safe distance, although the remnants of her focused state aren’t any less intimidating. Her eyes burn bright like the electricity that charges the tip of her spear.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Clarisse realizes her error with a glance at the horizon where the sun is setting and you smile warmly, dismissing any indication of displeasure. You watch her demeanor change, the rigidity in her posture fading with an apologetic tip of her head. 

“I’ve been training. Those idiots would know that if they’d stuck around to join me.” Something tells you that that isn’t entirely true. Anyone could assume that she’d been training, but the matter of where was an entirely different question. As far as you know, this particular spot is something only the two of you are familiar with — a small refuge away from everyone else.  

“Well, we don’t all have your… passion for these things.”

“You think I’m ridiculous,” she says with a sigh. 

“Babe, you’re training for capture the flag. Not war.” Clarisse only shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in arguing. She thinks this is something the two of you might never see eye-to-eye on. While you like your fair bit of competition, Clarisse takes every victory with great significance. As she does with every loss.

“Here, I’ll help you,” you say, approaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ears. Your touch lingers at her cheeks, flushed from physical exertion and maybe something more by the way her gaze settles on your lips. Every intake of breath is louder now that you stand toe to toe and the adrenaline has started to wear off. She’s too worked up to have done this all for a game of capture the flag. “I hope you’re not doing all this to get back at Percy.” Her eyes still linger on your mouth and you think she might’ve not heard you until her brows furrow in confusion.

“Since when are you on a first-name basis?”

“Oh, come on,” you say with a disapproving shake of your head. “He’s just a kid.” You reach for the leather chord at the edge of her breastplate, undoing the knot with ease.

“He’s full of it.” She refuses to look at you now, her head turned upward as if she’d developed a sudden interest in trees. You can’t tell if she’s trying to maintain her composure to keep herself from saying something she’ll regret or if your gaze and proximity was distracting her from the discussion. Maybe a bit of both.

“He’s a baby. You could body-slam him into next Friday. It’s hardly a fair fight.” You untie the last knot keeping her breastplate in place, tugging upward to slip it over her head. Clarisse doesn’t even seem to realize that you’d freed her of her armor until the weight vanished from her body.

She looks at you then with an expression you can’t quite read. Something warm, like gratitude, but reluctant. When she speaks, it’s unexpectedly solemn.

“Do you really believe he killed The Minotaur? Him? Gods, everyone here trains themselves to death for that kind of stuff and he gets all the glory? He doesn’t even know how to shoot.” Now that you’ve been made aware of the gravity of the situation, it’s suddenly harder to find your words. This isn’t the petty rivalry you’d assumed it was, and you had to handle it as such.

“Well, I’m sure a few things have been exaggerated here and there, but that’s not his fault. People love to talk about him, but nobody’s really talking to him. I don’t think he’s had a say in anything that’s been said about him. You know how rumors spread around here.”

“But he’s—”

“Look,” you start, taking her hands into yours. “I’m not asking you to make him friendship bracelets. Just… try not to drown him in the lake, okay?”

You know the exact moment an idea hits her by the mischievous glimmer in her eye. It takes a lot of strength not to bury your face in your hands, afraid that you’ve now planted an idea that would get the poor boy killed. Or worse.

“Clarisse, please.” She surrenders, albeit reluctantly. 

“Fine,” she says. Still, you’re not entirely convinced.

“Good. Now say it.”

“What?”

“Say you won’t drown him in the lake.” Clarisse laughs, but it dies down when she realizes you don’t plan to join her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

“I swear not to drown Percy Jackson in the lake,” she agrees through gritted teeth. You don’t say anything about the way her hands tighten around yours as if it physically pained her to say the words.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you tell her, ignoring that it did, in fact, seem hard. “Now, what are we gonna do with those nails?” Clarisse stares blankly at your joined hands. Chipped black nail polish alongside your perfectly pristine, perfectly preserved set of nails.

“Why do we need to do anything about my nails?”

“Honey, I painted these like two days ago. What do you even do to get them chipped like this? I mean, are you fighting with the back of your hand? I don’t understand.”

“I have to train, you know?” she says, like it’s meant to explain anything. You know better than to ask her to elaborate.

“Shame. You have very pretty nail beds. You should spend less time fighting puppy dog-eyed middle schoolers so you can actually keep them pretty.”

“You think I have pretty nail beds?” You shrug.

“Among other things.”

“Well, tell me about these other things.”

“Hm, and people think I’m vain.”

“Come on. What other things?”

You take a moment to look at her — to really look at her. To dissect every inch of her face and the features that create the picture of beauty you know and love. There are far too many pretty things to point out, but you find yourself drawn to one in particular.

“You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Shut up. I’m not finished.”

“Of course. Don’t let me stop you.”

“And you have the most gorgeous smile.” Clarisse beams with pride. “Yeah, that one. And it doesn’t even matter if it looks like you’re just about ready to tear someone’s throat out with your teeth. I just like to see you happy. I like hearing you laugh even better.”

And laugh she does. Low but sweet, like honey. She looks like the teenage girl she is, deeply infatuated and with a capacity for love she has only ever shared with you. 

You indulge in the temporary amusement it brings you to think of how horrified Clarisse might be if anyone else were around to hear her giggle. Clarisse La Rue, Daughter of Ares, infamous for waging war on whichever unfortunate soul so much as breathes in her direction — producing a laugh so gentle and beautiful it could give Orpheus and his songs a run for his money. And you might be the happiest girl alive to have been the cause of it.

“You’re sure you’re not Apollo’s kid?”

“Are you calling me a talented poet?”

“I’m calling you a sap,” Clarisse insists with a sour expression, but her voice is saturated with mirth, eyes too bright, and you know she isn’t entirely opposed to your antics. 

“I think the term you’re looking for is romantic.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I’m right, but thank you for the confirmation.”

“I know the nail polish fumes are getting to your head,” she mocks. You feign defeat, retreating with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maybe.” Two steps to your left and you’re concealed by a tree, its trunk twice as wide as either of you. You peak your head, locking eyes with Clarisse. “Or all that training is slowing you down. Honestly! If you’re gonna try to insult me, at least try to come up with something original.”

“Oh, you think I’m slow?” Clarisse asks, every word a thinly veiled threat — a challenge, and one you’re willing to accept.

“Unless you want to prove me wrong.” Clarisse lunges at you without warning, almost too fast, but you’re able to gather your senses. The tree had bought you just enough time to keep her whole body from slamming into yours, the force of it undoubtedly capable of launching you both to the ground. 

You dash through the woods as fast as your legs can carry you, your only advantage being that Clarisse must have tired herself out from training. But you know she’s hot on your trail.

From here, you can see the bonfire, flames burning high. You turn, prepared to declare that your victory is just seconds away. You’re tackled to the floor before a word can leave your mouth. 

“Oh, come on! That’s not fair, I was distracted!”

“Distracted by what?” Clarisse laughs hysterically although taking a much more graceful tumble to the floor than you had. She’s covered in fallen leaves and her jeans are brown at the knees where the denim fades.

“The pretty girl chasing me.” Clarisse is beside herself with joy, clutching at her stomach and close to tears, and it takes her a minute to calm herself. When the two of you have settled, she speaks again. Or tries to, that is.

“Oh, you are so—“ You place a kiss on her lips, short and sweet, but enough to leave her speechless. Clarisse turns a violent shade of red and you think she might need another minute to calm herself. You take that time to revel in your victory.

You stand, offering your hand to help her up. 

“Come on, let’s get dinner and you can rest for the game tomorrow. If you’re gonna lead us to victory, you’re gonna need your strength, captain.” She smiles, intertwining her hand with yours.

“You’re gonna be there? Right beside me?”

“La Rue, you’re crazy if you think there’s even a chance I’d ever leave your side.”

•°. *࿐

reader: pls don’t drown percy in the lake

clarisse: ok fine

clarisse: *tries to drown percy*

reader: what did i say about drowning people??

clarisse: …

clarisse: you never said the toilets were off-limits 

also i'm like brand new to the pjo fandom but i’ve been kindly informed of clarisse x silena (and their tragic ending but i turn a blind eye to that so i can preserve my sanity) but when i get there you WILL need to physically restrain me from writing fics about them

[nitrosodiumgameanglia]

Why Sound Design is so Important in Games

Sound design is a key point in games, though it is often neglected in college games where we do a lot of work without speakers on. Having some good audio in a game really helps elevate the experience beyond just being a solely visual medium, as much as audio changed silent movies. The games with the best sound design are often those with realistic sound systems, or ones that elicit the desired emotional response. Good sound design can make you terrified to turn a corner; it can make you cry in the game's saddest moments; it can turn a level from a selection of rendered polygons to a truly real-seeming experience. Obviously our game's sound design isn't that deep, but it doesn't add nothing to the game either.

The first game I am looking at is Thief: The Dark Project. This game came out in 1998, but I would say it still holds up today with a few patches to make it run on modern systems. The game has a unique stealth system that lets you hide in shadows, but the main thing we're looking at is the sound. Different surfaces are different levels of loudness when walked on - carpet is perfect for sneaking, but metal catwalks are loud and clank under your feet. This isn't just set dressing either, because enemies are more likely to hear you if you're clanking about on steel grating. Then there is the ambient sound, where you can hear nearby guards muttering or whistling (in a great bit of game design, this helps you keep track of them when they're out of sight), torches crackle, and strange ambient screeches echo down hallways. The ambient soundtracks in each level are interesting, and use a lot of electronic synthesiser noises, which gives them an 80s John Carpenter vibe. They help make the environments foreboding, but also help tell the story in a way that 90s graphics simply could not. For example, as you enter the deepest annals of an ultra-religious Hammerite compound, the ambient whirr of machinery gets replaced by solemn choir and hymns. Caves can have dripping water and the occasional crumbling rock, while more twisted forest environments have the endless chirring of insects and chuckling from unseen nymphs and satyrs. The actual sound technology is also really good for the time, because it supports sound cards, even though they aren't used too much anymore. With them enabled, you can listen against a door and gauge how big a room is based on the echo of the guard's voices inside. Even for today that is fairly advanced, and as far as I know, not present in many other games.

The next game I am looking at is Hunt: Showdown. It is a 2018 horror shooter taking place at the end of the 19th century, where you play as a bounty hunter trying to kill various cryptids and monsters. The game uses the Cry Engine, so it already looks good on a visual front, but the audio is also phenomenal. Most of the quality comes from its directional sound system, which is so specific you can tell where players are through buildings, which is useful for lining up shots when you don't have a good visual read on their whereabouts. Every gun also has a unique sound and echo, which allows an educated player to guess what weapon has been fired, from what direction, and even from what distance. The way that the game calculates sound waves travelling is a very unique and realistic system; a gunshot ringing out over an open field will be louder and clearer than a gunshot fired in the middle of the thick backwoods. I assume this is a built-in feature for CryEngine V because I know of no other games with this level of realism when it comes to sound - I can only assume it calculates for windspeed and other factors and then runs the sound effect through various in-engine filters.

Finally, I will look at The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. One of the lesser-mentioned qualities of this game is its environmental sound design, which help the various holds of Skyrim seem like realistic places. The wind whistles about your ears, giving you a good sense of your player's altitude and the temperature around you. In the mornings and evenings, you can hear crickets chirring and birds chirping. The rushing of rivers sounds different depending on the course - swelling into a roar of white noise in the rapids, but dissipating to a trickle when the river becomes a lazy stream. Then there are more ethereal sounds, like the creaking of the aurora borealis on winter nights. Towns have their own soundscapes also, with the creaking wood of huts and the crackle of flaming torches. The ambient music by Jeremy Soule (the same guy behind the LOTR soundtrack) also adds a lot to the game's atmosphere, with majestic orchestras making even a simple walk through the valleys a much more emotive and captivating experience. However, you can play with the sound turned off and just listen to the layered soundscapes.

From my research, I can see that the main theme that makes a soundscape good is attention to detail. Not just having one sword hit sound, for example, but several, altered depending what material you strike, and echoing with a different resonance depending on where you are. I would say that with Wallpaper of the Mind, we have achieved this as best we can in four weeks, with the different footstep surfaces. The sounds I myself provided were more stock quality, but it doesn't matter, because how sound is used mechanically is just as important. I will make a blog post on this soon.

[49scream]

80’s printed Sabbath back patch.

[borninwinter81]

Black metal battle vest update

A few more patches here - still plenty of space, but I'm getting to the point where the free spots are small and/or awkward.

Many of these are traced or stencilled and painted with black fabric paint onto white fabric.

The Greek lettering is from Rotting Christ and means "666". I don't understand Greek so I don't know how that works, but I feel like less of a teenage edgelord with this than I would a patch that just says "666".

Impaled Rektum is the band from the movie Hevi Reissu (Heavy Trip). Strictly speaking they don't belong on a BM vest as their music in the movie definitely leans more towards death metal (or more accurately symphonic post-apocalyptic reindeer-grinding Christ-abusing extreme war pagan fennoscandian metal) but I love that movie. Plus all the characters in the band represent a different genre, and Pasi/Xytrax is clearly supposed to embody BM.

Morbid is the band Per Ohlin/Dead was in before Mayhem. They only did one EP plus a few tracks that were only ever performed live, but they're awesome. Again not BM really, but with the Dead connection I felt like I could include them. Plus the shape is perfect for this spot 😁

Behemoth and Satyricon shouldn't need any introduction - those are both painted - and Rotting Christ underneath, which I bought from their bandcamp store. Seems appropriate to have those 3 together since I'm seeing them all on The Unholy Trinity tour next year.

The Alcest one is also painted. One of their logos is a little more complicated and I didn't even attempt it, but luckily they have another which is very simple and fits this spot perfectly. Alcest are a French band, and created blackgaze, a fusion of BM and shoegaze. Their music is gorgeous.

Last of the painted ones, and the first one I did using my tracing method. I got so much confidence from this that it led me to making all the others. Sarcófago, phenomenal Brazilian band who played a huge part in shaping what we think of as BM today.

As did Celtic Frost just underneath, this patch came from the Danse Macabre boxset because I'm a heathen who uses her collectible merch instead of keeping it pristine.

On that subject... two Immortal patches. Northern Chaos Gods was bought singly but War Against All was from the boxset too. I don't know whether I'm likely to get shit for this or not, but I've listened to Immortal for years, and I honestly think the last two albums (the ones since Abbath left) are their best ever, which is why I'm representing both of them here.

The War Against All box also had a pin badge but I haven't decided where on the vest I want to put it. It also came with an artcard signed by Demonaz which is exclusive to Eyesore Merch in the UK.

Backpatch. This was also homemade, but I'm not skilled enough to paint it, so it was done with printer transfer paper. Ulver are one of my favourite bands of all time, from their 90s BM, to their avant-garde, neoclassical, experimental, noise, psychedelic, and 80s synth style. All their work is absolute genius, and Nattens Madrigal is my favourite of their early material.

Lastly a couple of purchased ones, Bathory who again should need no introduction, and Agalloch who are another all-time favourite of mine, everything they've ever created is stunningly beautiful.

[tobiotetsu]

the beast’s beauty

fushiguro toji x f!reader

description: because of your father's mistake, the infamous toji zenin forced you into imprisonment in order to pay his debt. however, what you never expected was to fall in love with the monster he was.

genre: angst, historical au, 18+, mini series

warnings/tags: explicit smut(vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, will add more) violence, mentions of stockholm syndrome & misogyny, blackmail, character injury, blood, profanity, mdni, grammar mistakes

a/n: thank you to everyone showing love for this series!!!this is a little mellow chapter hehe! blogs are truly appreciated <3 (taglist: open) (wc: 1.3k)

general masterlist

part one ♕ part two ♕ part three ♕ part four ♕ part five

The only smell that filled the air around you was the stench of cigarettes. Your father was a drunk so booze wasn't an unfamiliar scent. smoking, however, wasn't a habit he developed. Your throat seized a coughing fit before you could open your eyes.

Your bare shoulders felt a cool stone behind them as you regained your full consciousness.

What happened?

You clenched your clothes as you remembered the last moments before you were taken.

Your father had sold you away in a bet.

The air in the dark room stank, but you breathed it in deeply in an attempt to calm your mind. Your eyes scattered around the room in hopes to know where you were. The room was almost pitch black. The only light that seeped through was from the cracks in the door.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to pound your fits against the door and crumble it into pieces and run home. Run home to your father. To the man who did this to you. Tears welled up in your eyes merely at the thought. Through everything that you two have been together, through you playing the role of the parent to the one who was supposed to take care of you. You thought he had the decency to still care for you.

Your breath gathered speed and quickly turned into a panicked state. In attempts to inhale more you loudly gasp, hoping that if you breathed in enough of the wretched air, you'd wake up from this nightmare.

Before you could compose your thoughts, the illuminated door frame began to shake. The high-pitched jingle of keys was the only sound that filled the room. Your breaths had completely stopped. Everything in you froze, unprepared for who or what was going to appear.

Your eyes hadn’t gained their complete visibility yet so you weren't able to see the detail of the figure in front of you. He was large. His frame filled 80% of the doorway. He had something in his hand. You pressed yourself into the stone wall behind you in an attempt to move as far from him as you could.

As you shuffled your legs, you felt heavy resistance and great pain. A small yelp escaped your lips. You looked down and your dress was in tatters. Below the fabric, your eyes were met with rusted metal shackles. Your right ankle looked bruised as dark purple marks peaked under the shackle. Your left however was far worse. Wrapped in cloth and decorated with deep red patches. “What did you do to me?” your voice came off more threatening than you thought you could muster. You stare at the man in front of you. You can see him slightly better now. He was wearing a black wool sweater now. Its sleeves were rather large, even he had to roll them up slightly. The object he was holding was a metal bucket and a rag.

“I didn't do shit. You did.” the man took a step closer to you. Your fingertips curled into the fabric of your dress. Fear coursed through your veins but for some reason, you didn't dare show it in your eyes. You continued to look straight at this man.

“Excuse me? I kidnapped and hurt myself?” you couldn't help but satirize this whole encounter.

“You've been in and out of consciousness for 4 days now. Day 1 you did that trying to get away,” he said pointing to your ankle. He crouched down in front of you before continuing. “And yesterday you did that,” he said as he hovered above your shoulder. You didn't even notice the marks forming on your shoulder all the way down the right side of your back.

As the distance between you two halved, you finally could see his face properly. He looked cold. Not temperature wise but his soul looked cold. There was no warmth in his eyes. There was no remorse, no hope.

You needed hope, and the longer you looked at his eyes the hope in your own died as well.

“Please, I can give you money. I-” Before your pleas could finish he interrupted you.

“I don't need money. I need the guns your father sold. They’re one of a kind and fucking expensive.” His words were law. No matter how hard you bargained, he wouldn't free you. He set the bucket beside you and wet the rag in the fluid. His rough hands rang the cloth out with ease and he moved to place it on your shoulder.

“Don’t!” you dodge his hand quicker than he expected. “Don’t fucking touch me”

The man sighed and threw the rag into the bucket. He stood and leaned his body on the wall opposite to you, waiting for you to pick up the rag. You weren't going to give in, you wanted to protest and this was the only way you knew of.

There wasn't a clock present but you were sure at least 15 minutes went by as you two stared at one another. You gathered more pieces of him. He favoured his right side, as his pressure is never fully on his left. His hair was cut recently; the tips of his hair looked frayed and jagged.

He was the first to break the silence as he pushed himself off the wall and dug into his back pocket.

“Your wounds are going to get infected if you keep at this” His words gave you a good laugh.

“And why would you care?”

“I need you to be alive. I can’t exchange a dead daughter now can I?” you sharply inhaled at his words. “And what did I say before? I don't break my promises.” a small smirk pulled at his lips for barely a second before it disappeared into his permanent frown.

You gulped at his words. You had no reason to believe this man. He kidnapped you. He may hurt you or even worse. But maybe it was that piece of hope that was at the back of your mind. You didn't have anyone at this moment. You doubted your father would save you; he never did in the past.

“Fine” your mumble was all he needed as the man began to unbuckle the shackles at your feet. Swiftly, he looped one arm under your calf and the other one pressed tightly against your back. His fingertips felt rough to the touch. He picked you up with ease.

“I can walk!” you shouted without thinking about your inquiries.

“Yeah and then you're gonna break a hand next trying to run. Hell no”.

He walked quickly up the stairs and into a small hallway. Two doors were facing each other. The man carefully stepped into the one on the right. It was a washroom. The room was lit by 3 candles. There was a small window in the room accompanied by a chair, sink and a large tub already filled with water.

You were placed on the chair near the sink. The man scratched his neck as he gathered fabrics and placed them on the side. Once again he took his previous position as he led against the sink waiting for you. It was then that you slowly realized what was to happen.

“Are you going to leave?” you raised an eye as you stated the obvious.

“And have you jump out the window?”

“I won't run,” you stated.

“And I ain't leaving”. “Then I'm not going to get in the tub.” you protested firmly. Your words seemed to do nothing as the man took a step toward you and crouched to eye level.

“Listen, either you take the corset off, or I'll rip it off your body myself.”

[ tag list: @meepmoop12w @tojishugetiddies @thepsychicartist @blkmystery @wo-ming-bai @heyitstacy ]

[kurtc0ba1n]

NOTES GOAL for hitting 400 posts

10 notes: i clean my guitar and change the strings

30 notes: i pick up skate boarding again/ think about getting a new skate deck

40 notes: i buy myself a binder (does anyone know a store?? or two?)

50 notes: i start hinting/asking my crush if hes gay or not (he's not gay btw)

70 notes: i start posting more of my art

80 notes: i post a cover of a song i really wanna post but i was too scared to

90 notes: i start working on my analog horror series

100 notes: i start making more patches for my crust pants

200 notes: i post more under ground metal bands bc the community needs to stop gate keeping. like what?

400 notes: i tell my ex to stop contacting me and tell them how they really hurt me.

800 notes: i drop my alt acc for my analog horror shit

1k notes: i try and make more friends at my high school

10k notes: Face reveal!!!

[darknesseddiem]

What about a vintage? reader with Eddie? It could be the 80s or 90s but she wears stuff from the 50s. And Eddie just calls her his little doll.

𝐀 𝐕𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

N/A: I'm so so sorry for the wait sweetheart, I got so busy with college and forgot about this ask, I wrote a lil' different but I hope you like it!

In the pulsating heart of 1986, amidst the neon glow of arcade machines and the echoing strains of heavy metal anthems, there existed an unlikely pair: Eddie, the quintessential metalhead with his wild hair and leather jacket, and you, the vintage girl who seemed to have stepped out of a bygone era, your attire a homage to the glamour of the 1950s.

Eddie was a fixture at the local arcade, his presence as undeniable as the thrumming bass lines that reverberated through the dimly lit room. He was the embodiment of rebellion, his leather jacket adorned with patches of his favorite bands, and his hair teased into a defiant mane that defied gravity.

And then there was you, with your timeless elegance and old-world charm. Your wardrobe was a treasure trove of vintage finds, each piece meticulously selected to capture the essence of a bygone era. Your victory roll hairstyle and polka-dot dresses were a striking contrast to the leather-clad patrons of the arcade, but you carried yourself with a quiet confidence that commanded attention.

Despite your outward differences, there was an undeniable chemistry between you and Eddie, a connection that transcended the boundaries of time and fashion. You would often find yourselves drawn to the same games, exchanging playful banter as you competed for the high score.

One day, as the arcade buzzed with the energy of another bustling evening, Eddie approached you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Care for a game, doll?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

You couldn't help but smile at his invitation, the nickname "doll" sending a warm flutter through your heart.

"Bring it on," you replied, your own grin mirroring his.

And so, amidst the flashing lights and cacophony of sounds, you and Eddie embarked on a friendly rivalry that would soon blossom into something more. As the night wore on, you found yourselves laughing and sharing stories, your differences melting away in the warmth of newfound friendship.

As the neon lights of the arcade flickered, Eddie couldn't shake the feeling that he wanted more than just friendly banter with you, the vintage girl who had captured his attention.

With a nervous knot forming in his stomach, Eddie cleared his throat, summoning the courage to speak up.

"Hey, um, listen," he began, his voice surprisingly soft amidst the fading sounds of the arcade. "I was thinking... Would you, uh, maybe wanna grab a bite to eat sometime? You know, just you and me?"

You looked up at him, your cheeks warming as you met his gaze. His invitation took you by surprise, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made your heart flutter.

"I'd love that," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I know this little diner not too far from here. They serve the best milkshakes."

Eddie's grin widened at your response, relief washing over him like a wave. He couldn't believe he had mustered the courage to ask you out, and now, as you agreed to join him, he felt a surge of excitement coursing through his veins.

Together, you made your way to the diner you had mentioned, the anticipation of the evening ahead palpable between you. The streets were alive with the hustle and bustle of city life, but in each other's company, you felt as if you were in a world of your own.

As you entered the diner, the familiar strains of oldies tunes greeted you, transporting you back to a simpler time. The décor was a delightful mix of retro charm and nostalgic flair, with checkered floors and vinyl booths adding to the ambiance.

Eddie held out a chair for you, his gesture a silent promise of his gentlemanly nature. With a grateful smile, you took your seat, the warmth of his gaze sending a shiver of excitement down your spine.

Together, you poured over the menu, exchanging playful banter as you debated the merits of milkshakes versus burgers. In the end, you both decided to indulge in a bit of everything, eager to savor the flavors of the diner's classic offerings.

As the evening wore on, you found yourselves lost in conversation, sharing stories and laughter over plates of fries and sips of creamy milkshakes. With each passing moment, you felt your connection with Eddie deepening, the bond between you growing stronger with every shared smile and stolen glance.

And as the night drew to a close, Eddie reached across the table, his hand seeking yours with a gentle touch.

"I'm really glad we did this," he said, his voice soft with sincerity. "I've had a great time, and I hope we can do it again sometime."

You met his gaze, your heart swelling with affection as you returned his smile.

"I'd like that," you replied, your voice filled with warmth. "Thank you for tonight, Eddie. It's been wonderful."

And as you sat there, hand in hand, amidst the cozy glow of the diner and the timeless melodies of yesteryear, you knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful journey—one filled with love, laughter, and the promise of many more unforgettable moments to come.