#Black Sabbath Influence

[sonic-emporium]

Well you talk to me in circles as you’re hanging from your strings So blinded by the poison of your lies Slide in through the back door They led you by the hand We never seemed to see it in your eyes

And all the love you’ve lost, the dreams you cost a thousand lives Won’t even start to slow our fall, not this time And all the blood we spill, our sons who’ve died ten thousand times Won’t see the eyes behind the wall Don’t wanna see the eyes behind the wall

Told you from the first time you even tried to crawl That you were born to save us from ourselves White sheets and red crosses Broken skulls and bones They chose you to deliver us from Hell

And all the love you’ve lost, the dreams you cost a thousand lives Won’t even start to slow our fall, not this time And all the blood we spill, our sons who’ve died ten thousand times Won’t see the eyes behind the wall Don’t wanna see the eyes behind the wall

Please Mr. Nightmare Won’t you take it all away?

[vanalex]

Nice read 💚🖤

[demonsatmidnight]

This is Part 8 of DEITIES/DEMONS OF INFLUENCE THAT MAY BE CHANNELED THROUGH U.S. BANKNOTES AND COINS

Make Somebody Find You Attactive

This is meant to be a love ritual or used to gain power over others. If someone else is exercising power over you, making them find you attractive is undermining that power.

Works best at the Fifth Hour of the Day on a Thursday, during a waxing or full moon.

Demons/Deities to call upon: Great Angel Nouphiair and Typhon.

Preform purification and protection rituals.

Say:

I call on you, great angel Nouphiair of this hour. By the words ENPHAN COUPH I call on the great God Typhon to watch over this ritual.

Then say:

I call to you, great angel Nouphiair. I ask that ________ is enflamed with attraction for me.

Tell Nouphiair how you want the person to think and feel about you.

Finally, say:

Great angel Nouphiair, I give thanks for your help. As you came in peace, go in peace.

[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday’s Gone — Chapter 4

Russell Shaw x reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: missing child trope, description and mention of murder, language, crawling in a narrow vent (I’m sorry my fellow claustrophobic loves), being held captive, being kidnapped

A/N: While proofreading, I realized my subconscious was probably influenced by @zepskies ’ S.I.N.G. (Beau Arlen x reader) fic — even with the different Jackles character. So, I want to give her credit for the first part of this chapter. 🤍

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Catch up on Chapter 3 here

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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You couldn’t stop the giggles, even as Russell held you firm, your back flush against his chest, his hands pinning yours effortlessly. The whole thing was just… well, kind of hot, really.

“Y/N” he sighed for the hundredth time, clearly on the edge of his patience. “You can’t giggle your way out of an actual assault. Try to focus, will you? What would you do if I were someone else?”

“But you’re you” you teased, half-joking, half-distracted. “And anyway, self-defense is kind of pointless. We live in a safe neighborhood. Nobody’s going to lay a hand on me.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, his grip tightening slightly as he paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Look, sweetheart… you’re a young, attractive woman” he said finally. “It’d just make me feel better if I knew you could handle yourself if… anything happened when I��m not around.”

At the time, you had no idea what he meant by that.

“Can you hear that?” you whispered, your ears straining in mock suspense. Russell’s brows knit together as he shot you a confused look.

“Hear what?”

“Paranoid by Black Sabbath. Pretty sure it’s coming from over here,” you said, playfully poking your finger at his temple.

He deadpanned as he repeated your name once more. It sounded almost… pleading. You didnt miss that, and though you still thought he was being over-the-top, you decided to give in.

“Fine…” you sighed “show me these life-saving moves, oh, mighty master!”

Russell cracked a grin, but his expression quickly shifted to that serious trainer look he was trying way too hard to pull off.

“Alright. First rule: break their grip. Grab my wrist… Come on, like you mean it.”

You reached out, gripping his wrist, and he showed you how to twist and pull back, making it surprisingly easy to break free. “See? Leverage, not strength” he explained.

“Okay, fine. Not bad” you admitted, trying not to let him see you were actually impressed. It was kind of cool.

He moved on, showing you a move to throw off an attacker.

“Step in close, get low, and drive your shoulder up under their chin” he said, positioning himself as the attacker. You gave it a try, and he stumbled back with a laugh.

“That’s the spirit!” he said, straightening up. You didn’t miss the small glint of pride in his eyes. “Alright, one more. This time, if someone comes at you from behind.”

Before you knew it, his arms were around you from behind, pulling you close. It was very déjà vu to the way he’d started this whole lesson. “Now, if you were actually in danger—”

“Danger, yes” you teased, leaning back into him just a bit and looked up at him through your lashes. “How’s a girl supposed to focus with such a handsome teacher breathing down her neck? I’m kind of having trouble concentrating, you know.”

He shook his head, a grin slipping out as he loosened his grip. “Laugh it up, sweetheart, but I’m serious here. You’ve got this. Just remember what I taught you, alright? What’s the most important rule!”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “When in doubt… aim for the balls.”

Russell chuckled, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. “That’s my girl” he said, pulling you into a kiss.

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A sharp throb pulsed through your skull, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache in your chest. The cold floor beneath you felt like concrete, but you couldn’t be sure. For now, you kept your eyes closed, trying to piece together what the hell had happened.

The last thing you remembered was the warehouse — those two men ambushing you and Russell.

It was a trap. All of it, carefully set to lure Russell back in, and you along with him.

Your thoughts turned to Russell. He had to be here, somewhere… Somewhere close. The thought pushed you to crack one eye open. Dim light filtered through, casting shadows that made everything look warped and surreal.

You sat up slowly, feeling your muscles protest as you took in your surroundings. The room was small, cramped… more like a cell than a room.

The smell of mildew filled the air, mingling with the unmistakable metallic scent of rusted metal and something else. Blood. Your pulse quickened as you took in the details, every instinct screaming that escape wasn’t an option here.

Your gaze drifted to the far corner, where a dark shape slumped against the wall. Heart pounding, you squinted through the low light, hoping beyond hope that it was him. “Russell?” you tried to call out to him, but it was more of a whisper than anything.

A soft groan answered you, and relief mixed with dread flashed through your veins. You crawled forward, ignoring the scrape of the rough floor against your palms and knees.

As you got closer, Russell’s face came into view. It was uncharacteristically pale, smeared with a hint of dried blood. It wasn’t that bad, but still… it looked like his. His breaths were shallow, his eyes half-closed, and a few small bruises bloomed across his face and arms, telling you he hadn’t escaped this unscathed.

“Hey, Russ” you murmured, reaching out to touch his shoulder gently. His nickname felt both foreign and natural falling from your lips. It’s been a while since you called him that.

His skin was cold and clammy, but at your touch, his eyes fluttered open.

“Y/N…” he rasped with a voice that was both hoarse and somewhat defeated. He took a few moments to compose himself, but he quickly took in his surroundings. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have brought you with me.”

Your heart twisted, but you forced a small smile. “Not like I gave you a choice.”

He attempted a smile, but it faded rather abruptly, leaving a shadow of worry on his face. “Where’s Colter?”

“He— he’s not here” you replied scanning the cramped cell. “Do you think they’ve added him to their collection of ‘missing persons’?”

“I don’t know. I can only hope he’s busy slapping some sense into our captors while we’re stuck here” he said, as he tried to stand up.

As the weight of the situation settled in, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway.

You exchanged wary glances, instinctively stepping closer together.

The door to your cell creaked open, revealing a man in a brown suede jacket, sunglasses — mind you, it was inside a semi-dark room — flanked by two guards. Your heart raced as he stepped in, a self-assured smirk playing on his mischievous lips.

Behind him, a small figure shuffled into view, clutching a foreign stuffed toy anxiously.

Emma.

“Look who’s here” the man said, his voice dripping with mockery.

Emma’s wide eyes scanned the room, filled with confusion and fear. “Mommy?”

You felt your heart stop. “Baby girl”

As those words left your lips, Russell seemed frozen in place, his mind momentarily shutting down. It was the first time he was face-to-face with her, his daughter. He took in her small figure, the way she clutched a stuffed toy she probably got from these men tightly, and the wide green eyes that reflected the fear of the days spent in captivity.

His face shifted from pure shock to something that looked like it hurt, like a dam just burst inside him. For a second, all the chaos, the danger, everything melted away, leaving just the connection he felt for her.

But the moment didn’t last long, quickly swallowed up by the harsh reality. You saw the pain flicker in Russell’s eyes as he processed it all. “You’re okay, sweetheart” you assured Emma, stepping closer —only for Mr Douche’s goons to block your path with a grunt. You shot him a look, then turned back to Emma. “We’re getting you out of here.”

The man in his Aviators chuckled, sounding like a cold, amused cacophony. “Isn’t this all so touching?” he said with a mocking smile. Then, his face turned serious. “Shaw, it’s good to see you. Been what? Five? Six months”

Russell didn’t answer, clearly not falling to his little tricks. The man spoke up again. “But let’s not forget why we’re here. You’ve got a decision to make. And this time, it’s not just about you.”

You shot a glare his way before leaning closer to Russell. “Who the hell is this guy?” you whispered.

Russell’s answer was dry as his eyes stayed fixed on the man. “The greatest jackass of all time.”

This was James Rourke, head honcho at Horizon, the very top of the food chain in the world Russell once belonged to. Rourke looked out of place in his fancy brown suede jacket, like he’d wandered in from some luxury lounge instead of a prison cell. And his mustache — a perfectly trimmed little fucking pornstache, practically begging to be mocked — did nothing to make him look any less ridiculous.

Rourke’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying the tension. He glanced over at Emma, who clutched her stuffed toy tighter, her little eyes darting between you and Russell. “Sweet girl” he said, his voice soaked with fake warmth “you must be wondering what’s going on. Don’t worry, it’ll all make sense soon.”

“Leave her out of this,” you snapped.

Rourke tilted his head, smirking like he found your defiance cute. “Oh, sweetie,” he drawled, flashing that irritatingly smug smile. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands.” He glanced at Russell, his eyebrows lifted with mock surprise. “Come on, Russell. Did you actually believe you could just walk away?”

Russell’s jaw tightened. “I’m done playing by your rules, Rourke.”

Rourke’s eyes lit up with that twisted, almost playful glint, like he was savoring every second of Russell’s resistance. “Oh, Russell, you seem confused. There is no choice here. You either come back… or things might get, well, complicated.” His gaze slid over to Emma, who instinctively shrank back, catching the meaning immediately, even if not completely.

Your heart hammered in your chest. “You wouldn’t dare” you hissed.

Rourke laughed, sounding genuinely amused this time. “Oh, wouldn’t I? Let’s just say I believe in incentives.” He shot a dark look at Russell “So, either you get back in line… or your little girl here learns just how persuasive I can be.”

The room went ice-cold. Russell’s fists clenched as he glared at Rourke. “You leave her out of this. She’s got nothing to do with your mess.”

Rourke shrugged like he was discussing the weather. "Then stop pretending you’re free to leave. You knew the fine print when you signed up.” He stepped back, giving the guards a nod like they were his personal fan club. “Think it over, both of you. And just a heads-up… I don’t make empty promises.”

As Rourke strode out — with Emma being pulled by her tiny hand, crying out for wanting to stay with you — he shot a final smug look over his shoulder, and the guards followed, slamming the cell door shut behind them.

You sighed as the lock clicked, trapping you both in again. But Russell wasn’t about to throw in the towel. Staying put? Not a chance. Not with you and Emma tangled in this nightmare, and definitely not with Rourke trying to pull the strings.

His gaze swept the cell, then froze on something up high: an air vent, nearly hidden behind a stack of old crates.

“Perfect” he muttered, a hint of determination lighting up his face.

He grabbed one of the crates and slid it under the vent, then looked at you with that familiar spark in his eye. He hauled one of the crates over and tapped it, motioning for you to step up. “Give me a hand up, sweetheart. If we can get the screws loose, we’re gone.”

The nickname caught you off-guard. It fell so easily from his mouth, yet, it seemed so bittersweet now. “Sweetheart?”

He flashed a quick grin, already reaching for the vent. “Old habits die hard. Now, help me with this, yeah?”

You nodded, steadying him as he climbed up and started working on the vent cover. Using a rusty nail he pried from one of the crates, Russell twisted at the screws, working them free with grunts of effort.

With the last screw finally out, you both heard voices echoing from the hallway. Adrenaline kicked in as you climbed up and squeezed into the narrow vent, praying this actually led somewhere.

You hated this. Your claustrophobic ass was kicking you from the inside. How did you end up in a mess like this?

“How are you holding up?” he asked in a whisper, but the concern in his voice was unmistakable. Right. He remembered.

“Stop talking, continue crawling.” you said hurriedly. The less you acknowledged the suffocating surroundings, the better.

YYou crawled along, knees scraping, until you spotted a grate at the end. Kicking it loose, you dropped into a pitch-black storage room. Quietly, you slipped into the hallway beyond, letting Russell lead — his sure footing somehow both reassuring and a little unnerving.

“You know this place?” you whispered, trying to keep the nerves out of your voice.

“Nah” he muttered, casting a glance around. “Just following my instincts.”

“Oh, good. And what do your instincts say about where Emma is?”

Then, like something straight out of a scripted movie, you heard it: a small voice that was unmistakably hers. “Mommy?”

You turned the corner, and there she was, standing behind a closed door with a small window, clutching her stuffed toy. No guards in sight felt like a miracle. Relief and desperation flooded you all at once. The door was locked tight, and there was no key laying around, for obvious reasons.

You watched with a continuously racing heart as Russell pulled a paperclip from his pocket — of all things — and straightened it. “Can’t believe they missed this little bad boy” he murmured, working it into the lock. His gun and knife hadn’t been as lucky; those were gone in an instant. But the paperclip? Somehow, it had slipped right past their search.

With a quiet click, the lock gave way, and Russell shot you a quick, triumphant grin.

You threw the door wide, scooping Emma into your arms as her tiny hands clung to you like a lifeline. She was trembling. Crying.

“Shh, baby girl” you whispered, holding her close. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Russell debated to reach out, but decided now was not the time for a great family reunion. His eyes darted down the hall. “Alright, let’s get out of here before Rourke’s even had his morning coffee.”

“What about Colter?”

“I don’t know if he’s here. And the sooner we get her and you out of here, the better chances of… this ending good.”

He knew Colter could be in hot water, but he told himself he could handle it. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself to suppress the guilt. So far, there were no signs of Colter being around, and Rourke hadn’t mentioned him at all, which made him hope his brother was safely hiding somewhere.

And his priority right now was standing in front of him.

With Emma safe in your arms, you took a breath, steeling yourself for the final sprint to freedom.

You three tiptoed down the hallway when you turned a sharp corner and spotted a guy in black standing there. No visible weapons, which was a small victory in itself.

Your heart skipped a beat, but Russell quickly pulled you back next to the wall. He weighed his options, knowing he had to act fast.

“This ain’t going to be pretty. Just—“ he said as he motioned for you to turn around. You knew well what he was planning. And that indeed wasn’t going to be pretty. You nodded with a leaping heart and turned your back to him, clutching Emma’s head close to your chest, desperately trying to muffle any sounds that might come soon.

God, she's going to need a mountain of therapy after this. And maybe that puppy she’s been talking about.

Russell shot you a quick squeeze on the shoulder, a silent promise that everything would be okay. Then he stepped forward, moving with the kind of focus that made you hold your breath. You pulled Emma close with your heart racing as the seconds felt like goddamn hours.

There was a muffled thud.... and then silence. Russell’s hand on your back signaled it was safe, and you turned to see him standing over the guard, dusting off his hands with a grim, almost satisfied look.

“Alrighty” he whispered “no more interruptions, yeah?”

You let out a shaky breath and nodded, tightening your hold on Emma. Step by step, the three of you crept down the hallway, avoiding every echo and shadow, your goal almost within reach.

Then, up ahead, an exit sign cast a faint glow. Freedom was close enough to taste, and you exchanged a quick glance with Russell. You fult that tiny flicker of hope.

You took a deep breath, squeezing Emma a little tighter. Her small arms wrapped around your neck, a reminder of why you were risking everything. You need to stay calm.

Well, seemingly calm, at least.

You and Russell exchanged a look. Words weren’t necessary; you both knew exactly what was on the line here. Funny, you thought, how his combat skills now felt like a strange kind of comfort.

Just a few more steps down the hallway, and you ended up in a large, warehouse-style room, crates stacked high, lights flickering like something straight out of a bad action movie.

“Really? A crate room?” you muttered.

Russell scanned the area, eyeing a side door. “That might be our way out.”

“Oh yeah? Is that your gut talking, or do you actually know?”

Before he could shoot back, footsteps echoed down the hall. Russell hissed a quick curse and signaled for you to duck behind a stack of crates.

You crouched down, holding Emma close as the door creaked open and two guards strolled in, giving the room a once-over like they had it all under control.

“Think they’d make it this far?” one guard muttered.

The other chuckled. “No way. Shaw’s decent, but those two he’s with? Dead weight.”

Russell sized them up and he leaned in close. “Stay low.”

You gave a small nod, clutching Emma tighter.

Russell edged closer to the guards, blending into the shadows like a pro. In one smooth motion, he slammed the first guard into the second, and they both crumpled to the ground like a pair of falling dominoes. Before they could even register what was happening, he struck with quick punches and a perfectly timed knee, leaving them both out cold and wondering what just hit them.

Once they were on the floor, Russell wasted no time. He crouched down, quickly rifling through the guards’ gear. “We’re gonna need these” he muttered, pulling a pistol from one guard’s holster and a knife from the other. With practiced ease, he tucked the pistol into his waistband and handed the knife to you. “Think you can handle it?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looked you over.

You raised an eyebrow at the guards' bodies, really, desperately trying to convince yourself they’re just sleeping. As you gripped the knife, you tried to motion your position to cover most of the scene from Emma. It worked, she was only focused on you. And you were only focusing on the difficulty of keeping her close with one hand.

Man, she is getting big.

“Well, my self-defense teacher never covered how to use a knife” you quipped.

Russell chuckled softly, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Just use it on instinct. Don’t hesitate when it counts. And remember to—”

“To aim for the balls” you finished with a smirk.

“I’d really like to meet your teacher. Must be a real pro” he said with a smirk.

You shrugged. “Eh, he was handsome, sure. But turned out he kept secrets.”

“Sounds like a total douche” he muttered, though you caught the guilt in his voice.

“Yep. Was a major douche.”

“Was?”

You gave him a teasing glance. “Well… I’m still trying to figure out what he’s like now.”

With a small smile and a quick glance at the guards, he pocketed extra ammo and anything else that might come in handy. Armed and ready, he led you both to the side door.

With Emma snug in your arms and a renewed sense of determination, you stepped into the night together.

For a second, the three of you standing there almost looked like some offbeat family photo… bittersweet, and about as far from normal as it gets.

But the moment you took in your surroundings, you felt a chilly sensation. This sure as hell didn’t look like Idaho Falls. Nor the rundown warehouse you’d started in.

You had no idea where you were.

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Next on Tuesday’s Gone (Sneak Peak from Chapter 5)

Emma tilted her head while her expression turned adorably thoughtful. “You’re hairy. Like grandpa.”

Russell chuckled as he ran a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s my pirate look.”

Her eyes lit up at the word pirate. “Are you a pirate?! Can I be one, too?”

“Absolutely” he replied. “But we have to be sneaky pirates, okay? No one can know we’re here.”

Your heart did a little flip at the sight. The way he talked to your daughter — his daughter — his voice surprisingly soft and sweet, even in this situation. Emma’s reaction wasn’t a shock, though. She had a habit of linking beards (like the one your dad rocked) with safety and familiar love.

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Whoa, we finally got that wonderfully chaotic family reunion! Can’t wait to dive deeper into Emma and Russell’s relationship in the upcoming chapters.

I hope you enjoyed reading.

Read Chapter 5 here

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989

[uglypastels]

Corroded Coffin, Corrosion (1988)

Corrosion is the debut release of heavy rock band Corroded Coffin. Taking influence from Black Sabbath, Metallica and Judas Priest, this up-and-coming act throws heavy punches with their instrumental skills.

"We write of what we know," explained band lead guitarist, Eddie Munson, "and what we know is that the world is fucked, unjust and terrible to anyone that doesn't fit the narrow mould that society's created. We grew up in a place that would have rather seen us dead than achieve anything."

With tracks like "Don't Panic", "Delight in Me" and "Circus of the Damned", the band expresses their critique in a not-at-all subtle manner on the ideals and expectations of upper-class suburbia. Their lyrics cut deep into the trauma of being unwanted in your own community and what seems to be a national prosecution of social outsiders.

"Freaks," Munson clarified, "that's what they call you, and once that label sticks, you're stuck with it for life. At first, you don't take it personally; try to wear it with pride, but that shit just slowly eats away at you from the inside. You just have to live your life everyday knowing everyone around you is waiting for you to become the monster they already think you are."

The record, however, showcases both sides of the coin, along with the struggles, and there are plenty of references to what brought the band members together as a group. It is the problem as well as the solution. The songs hit you with the deep, unnerving truth but give you the getaway to escape from it right after.

"For us it was games. Video games as well as tabletop. People called us satanists because we played games with dice instead of balls. Make that make sense."

The album is as tragic as it is energetic and lively. Although the band members have yet to perfect their sound, they know what they are doing and possess the potential to gain a seat amongst the artists that inspired them in the first place—and this status might come sooner than we think.

Their single, "Silverlined Black Cat" has topped the Rock charts since its release at the beginning of this year, with the entirety of the album following it's lead just as well. The band announced their debut nation-wide tour dates earlier this month and all shows are already being close to sold out, with additional dates being added to the schedule any time now.

With the undeniable critical and commercial success, it is easy to say, that '88 will be, without a doubt, Corroded Coffin's year.

- the Corroded Coffin Archive (Source: The Rolling Stone)

[choke-me-joey]

Eddie Munson x fem metalhead cheerleader

Summary: Based on this - how Eddie met his not so typical cheerleader girlfriend and a little exploration of their relationship.

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, smoking, underage drinking, drug use, swearing, flirting, smut.

AN: there is a scene in this based on a ✨️video✨️ i had sent to me by a beautiful anon and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. If you want the link you can find it on my page or message me and I'll try to send it!

📢 TAG LIST IS NOW FULL 📢

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 4

The following Tuesday, after practice and your homework, you'd driven over to The Hideout to see the famous Corroded Coffin play to their crowd of regular drunks. You parked your car in the lot, getting out and straightening out your cropped Iron Maiden shirt. You'd paired it with some shorts and fishnets, as well as your Docs and your jacket which, courtesy of Eddie, now had a WASP pin resting proudly on the lapel.

You made your way into the, quite honestly, dump of a bar, impressed that you didn't even need a fake ID to get in. You grinned when you saw Corroded Coffin setting up on the small stage and made a beeline for your friends and your....Eddie.

"What's up, rockstars?" You smile, giving Eddie a cheeky pinch to the butt as he was bent over with his back to you sorting out his peddle. He angled his head to look at you, and nearly keeled over at the sight of your outfit. He recovered, standing up to hug you.

"Now this just isn't fair, sweetheart, gonna be playing our set with a fucking boner," he groans into you ear, making you giggle. He subtly kissed your head.

"Holy shit you actually came!" Gareth said, grinning at you from behind his drum kit. "Eddie said you might not make it because of practice."

"Like I'd miss the infamous Corroded Coffin live in concert," you gesture to the homemade banner behind them. "I'm excited!"

"You're probably the only one in the audience who is," Jeff laughs, glancing over the few people who had come to the bar to watch them play.

"Well, just remember who your biggest fan was in the early days, yeah?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Eddie winks at you and you have to wrestle down the urge to kiss him, not knowing how he felt about your...whatever this was between you being made super public yet. You instead settle on shooting him a wink and going to get yourself a drink whilst they finished setting up, patiently waiting for their set to start.

You were surprised when the bartender handed you a beer, apparently Eddie had sorted you with a drink before you'd gotten there, and again that meant nobody was checking your ID. You said nothing, taking your beer and sitting at a table close to the stage where you had a good view and Eddie could definitely see you.

The band start their set and you're completely blown away. Not only are they actually pretty damn good, the way Eddie carries himself on stage is incredible. He's confident, charismatic, nothing new there, but he eludes this sexy rockstar attitude that makes your pussy clench as you watch him. He plays with an energy that should be for 80,000 people not just 0.01% of that.

You watch his skilled fingers running up and down the frets, effortlessly playing chords without even glancing down. And when he sang, god your heart skipped a beat. His voice was the perfect mix of soft melodic singing and raw yells and shouts. They played a mix of covers and their own songs, their musical influences clear in those original pieces. Your favourite so far had been their rendition of Paranoid by Black Sabbath, and a song called Shallow Grave of their own. You had screamed and shouted and applauded, probably too enthusiastically really, but you didn't care. They were good, and Eddie was hot.

As the notes of another original song, Strangers in the Dark, came to an end, Eddie spoke into the microphone.

"We're going to change things up a little bit now folks, with a new cover dedicated to a very special person who happens to be our number one fan. This one's for you, airhead." He shot you a smirk and you grinned back at him, your cheeks flushing. "Sing along if you know it, maybe even dance a little if you're drunk enough."

The opening notes of Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks, but with a Corroded Coffin touch, began to play and your jaw dropped. You fucking loved this song, and your mind and heart race when you remember you had told Eddie that, probably about 3 weeks ago when you'd first started speaking properly, only mentioned it briefly when he'd seen the tape of Bella Donna sticking out of your bag.

He'd...learnt this, for you? Made his band learn this for you without even knowing if you'd ever come to one of his shows?

It's a good thing you were sat down because your knees felt stupidly weak.

"Just like the white wing dove, sings a song sounds like she's singing, ooh, ooh, ooh," Eddie croons; his voice could have brought tears to your eyes. He wasn't playing guitar for this, cupping the mic in his hands in a way that should have been illegal.

You sit in your seat, singing along, watching as a few drunks get up to dance, mostly middle aged women who look as if Stevie Nicks is their lord and saviour.

"Come on honey, your boyfriend is singing this for you! You gotta dance!" One of the Stevie-ites grabs your hand and tries to pull you up to dance.

"Oh, I cant-" you start, feeling a little embarassed. Ridiculous really, seeing as you were in front of two entire high schools nearly every week dancing and cartwheeling and splitting. Why the fuck was dancing in front of Eddie making you shy?!

You catch Eddie's eye as you're dragged onto the small dance area in front of the stage, the woman lets go of your hand to do her own Stevie style twirl, and you laugh, doing the same when she encourages you to do so. You glance up at Eddie and he grins back at you, still singing away as he pulls you up onto the small stage, twirling you around. You stay next to him, wrapped in his arms as the band finishes the song. When the last note plays, Eddie grabs you and you kisses you hard on the lips and you wrap your arms around his neck, the small crowd whooping and cat calling as you break apart, both of you panting and grinning like fools.

"You're amazing," Eddie says breathlessly, looking into your eyes.

"Me?! I'm not the one who just turned Stevie Nicks into a bad ass metal anthem! You gotta record that, you...you're incredible!" You pant, your face starting to hurt with how much you're smiling. You run one finger down his chest whilst looking up at him through your lashes. "How much longer is the set, rock star?"

Eddie swallows hard.

"Uh, th-three songs."

"Perfect, I'll be waiting by your van when you've packed up." You shoot him a sexy smirk, pecking his lips once more and hopping off the stage to watch the rest of the set.

*

True to your words you were waiting, leant up against the side of Eddie's van as he finished loading up his equipment.

"So, I've been thinking, that bed you've got in there?" You gesture to the back of the van. "Super fucking comfortable, perfect for laying down after a successful show, don't you think?"

"While every fibre of my being is going to hate me for saying this, Y/N-"

"Who said anything about sex?" You cut him off and he looks at you, confusion etched on his face. "Just wanna show you how appreciative I am that you learned a song for me, very cute by the way."

"Well, I have been known to be pretty cute," Eddie grins, letting you pull him into the back of the van, kicking the door shut. He grunts, letting out a breathless laugh as you push him onto his back and straddle him, pushing his shirt up his stomach. "Hey, you know you don't have to do anything you don't want to, right?"

"What about if I want to?" You smile, rocking your hips experimentally against him. Eddie groans, fingers biting into your hips. You lean down and kiss him, tongue immediately finding his. Eddie's hands travel from your hips to your ass, squeezing it softly at first, then harder as your kisses grows deeper and more desperate. You pull away from the kiss, sitting back on your heels and your hands hover over his belt buckle. "Can I?"

"Yeah, yes, shit, you can do anything you want to me right now, sweetheart." Eddie groans as you undo his belt, your hand ghosting over the bulge in his jeans. Once his jeans are also undone, he helps you by lifting his hips so you can pull his jeans and boxers down to his mid thigh. You can't help the gasp that leaves your mouth as his cock springs free, slapping his lower stomach.

"Holy...what the fuck, Eddie?!" You laugh, unable to process what you're seeing. He's big. And not just big, but thick too. Uncut, with a delicious thick vein running along the underside of his cock. His balls are - is it weird to say perfect?- big and round and your mouth salivates at the sight. Would you even be able to wrap your hand around him? Swallow him down? Would your cunt stretch enough to accommodate him? Your brain buzzed with arousal.

"Not really something I go around showing off," Eddie chuckles, hissing as you attempt to wrap your hand around him, slowly stroking him. You pull back his foreskin to expose the head of his cock, the same beautiful shade of reddy purple as his lips, and you watch in fascination as a small bead of precum blurts out and over your fingers. "Shit, Y/N, your hand feels so fucking good."

"I haven't even done anything yet," you giggle, moving a tiny bit faster, your other hand gently cupping his balls. You make sure he's looking at you before you let a glob of spit fall from your mouth onto the head of his cock, using it to lube his shaft for your hand to glide easier along it. Eddie fucking whimpers, whimpers, at that, his head dropping back onto the pillow beneath him.

"Fuck, babe, you're fucking...you're a dream."

"A wet one, I hope?"

"You're...everything. God the amount of times I've thought about this, about you...Jesus, how are you fucking real?" Eddie sighs as you work your hand over his cock faster, the mix of your spit and his precum making it easier. "Can I...fuck, can you take your shirt off? And...and put my jacket on?"

He prayed silently that you'd agree, it was all he'd been able to think about for about 3 weeks. You smile, nodding, taking off your shirt. Eddie almost blows his load there and then. Not only were you braless, but you also had your fucking nipples pierced, the two silver bars winking at him in the dim lights streaming in from the car park. You send him a knowing smirk briefly letting go of his cock to grab his previously discarded jacket and slip your arms into it, the leather cool and somewhat a little sticky against your damp skin.

"How do I look?" Your voice is low and sultry, laced with arousal. The throb between your legs is almost unbearable now, and you grind your crotch against his leg for some relief.

"Like every wet dream I've had since I was 13," Eddie groans as you spit on his cock again. "Shit, never thought you'd be so..."

"So what?" You challenge with a smirk, one eyebrow cocked as you continue to jerk him off.

"Jesus, so fucking...filthy." Eddie gasps as you run your other thumb over the slit of his cock, gathering some precum on the digit and sucking it into your mouth. You exaggerate a moan, this was purely for him right now but he did taste really fucking good. "Shit, gonna cum soon, don't stop baby."

"Not going to Eds, want you to make a mess all over me." You push the jacket off of your tits so he can clearly see them. Your free hand pinches one of your nipples, making you moan and grind down onto him again, a whimper leaving your mouth.

"Jesus fuck!" Eddie grunts, his cock twitching in your hand as he cums, streaking your tits, stomach and a little bit of his own jacket with thick white ropes. You stroke him through it, letting go of his thick cock when he starts to hiss in discomfort. "Fuck, princess, easy, easy," he lets a breathless laugh as you scoop up some of his cum off your tits with your finger, popping it into your mouth and sucking it off. "Jesus H Christ."

"I prefer Y/N." You grin, letting out a squeal as Eddie pins you down onto the floor of the van, kissing you hard. His hand wanders to the button of your shorts. "Hey, don't worry about me, handsome. This was all for you."

"You sure? I want to." Eddie's eyes flick to yours and you smile.

"I know, and believe me I really want you to but I have to get home, school night and all that." You sigh and Eddie groans, dropping his head to your shoulder. "My fingers will just have to do tonight."

Eddie groans even louder.

"Shit, Y/N, that isn't fair."

"Relax, Eds, my parents are away this weekend, so I'll have that big, empty house all to myself. You wanna come over and protect poor little old me?" You put on a fake pout. Eddie smirks.

"And by protect you mean-"

"Fuck my brains out until I can't fucking walk and make me scream so loud the neighbours will know your name? Yeah, that's what I meant." You giggle, pecking his lips softly.

"Oh, I'll be there baby, I'll protect you so hard, don't you worry."

Taglist:

@big-ope-vibes

@50shadesofuncomfortable

@bibieddiesgf

@josephquinngirly

@mich-13

@wintersoldierbaby

@gracieluvthemoon

@lilmisssimp

@cutiecusp

@lovelylittlemetalhead

@angelina16torres-blog

@ceriseheaven

@icallhimjoey

@harrys-four-nipples

@chaoticgood-munson

@quinnypixie

@joesquinns

@quinnsbower

@ghostinthebackofyourhead

@joejoequinnquinn

@ches-86

@mystars123

@micheledawn1975

@tlclick73

@emxxblog

@bakugouswh0r3

@bellamy1998

@dylanmunson

@avalon-wolf

@pastelorangeskies

@letme-simp

@them-cute-boys

@beeblisss

@aol19

@sadbitchfangirl

@spacedoutdaydreamer

@0o-venus-o0

@bexreadstoomuch

@l0st-f1ow3rs

@kaitebugg03

@yeehawbitchs

@latebread

@steveharringtonisbae

@alexa-33

@shotgunhallelujah

@coffeeaddictednymph

@angelsarecallin

@eddiessweetheart86

@daysinthephoenix

@squishyturtle

[quirkwizard]

Hi. Why do you think Hawks chose Tokoyami to join his agency? How did he know he could keep up with him? What about Shoto and Bakogo? Don't they have the potential, too? I ask because I think their quirks had the most influence on his choice.

So there are a few reasons why Hawks took Tokoyami under his wing. First off, fifty percent of the reason was that Hawks wanted someone from Class 1-A to get some info about the League of Villains and wanted a first-hand account, likely for personal curiosity. Keigo knew Tokoyami could keep up since he was in the top three of the class in the Sports Festival. As for why he didn't pick Shoto or Bakugou, that comes down to the other fifty percent. First off, they were both birds. Yes, this was a joke, but Hawks does confirm that is at least twenty percent of the reason. Hey, sidekicks with the same gimmicks are good for branding. Then there is the other thirty percent: potential. Yes, both Bakugou and Shoto had potential, but they were already using their powers well and were amazing students. They could be exceptional heroes, regardless of where they went. Tokoyami could have been an exceptional hero, but he was wasting it. Tokoyami was relying way too much on Dark Shadow as it is and wasn't using it anywhere nearly as creatively as he should have been. And with Hawk's encouragement and teaching, he saw marked improvements and changes, such as his Black Abyss and Sabbath.

[shares-a-vest]

@flufftober Spring Edition Day 7: Giving someone a present

wc: 886 | Rated: T for Canon-Typical swearing, some suggestive language | cw: None

Tags: Pre-Birthday, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Cuddling, Spoiling Presents, Wayne Munson Takes a Pottery Class (it's only a throwaway line, but it's a headcanon I have rotting my brain rn)

Note: I just want to shout out the lovely comment @withacapitalp left on my ficlet from yesterday. It definitely influenced today's fic, as Steve reflects on the life he has in this AU. Thank youuu so much Liam for recognising an underlying theme/nuance in this universe.

‘The Best Present of All’

“What’s got you all giddy?” Steve asks, watching Eddie practically strut across their bedroom as he heads for his side of the bed.

He looks ridiculous – like a headbanging, scruffy chicken. Eddie pauses by the side of the bed and rips off his loose, cut-off Black Sabbath shirt. He hurls it halfway across the room, the discarded almost-terrycloth fluttering to the floor as he jumps on the bed and lounges across Steve’s legs.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow, precious,” he coos, rolling awkwardly on his back and grimacing.

He brushes it off as if Steve doesn’t know the telltale signs of his partner twinging his back – never one to exactly take it easy after almost dying in the Spring of 1986. Eddie puffs out a breath to blow hair from his face and giggles.

“I bought you the best present,” he continues, looking at the ceiling.

“That so?” Steve teases, knowing all too well that whatever said material item is, it will be nothing compared to the mischief Eddie surely has cooked up.

And Steve is going to love every minute of it. He loves every birthday he gets to have with Eddie by his side – and that’s something that can’t be bought.

Eddie turns his head and grins.

“I’m going to gift-give so hard,” he quips, scrunching his nose and clenching his jaw.

Steve supposes it is meant to come off, well... seductive, or something – but Eddie simply looks like an utter lovesick dork with those glee-filled eyes peeking out from under his unruly bangs.

“Did you help Joanie with something, at least?” Steve chuckles.

“Of course,” Eddie says, tenting his fingers together, “Prepare for a macaroni-encrusted card and the wobbliest, most unusable coffee mug in human existence.”

“Wow,” he laughs and swipes at his partner with his pillow. Eddie splutters away, spitting like a cranky kitten as Steve chides, “You cannot keep a secret.”

“I blame Wayne for the mug idea.”

“Stop making fun.”

He tugs on Eddie’s bare arm – if he has the man shirtless in bed, he at least wants to cuddle (and stop his legs from being crushed). Eddie goes limp, forcing Steve to all but pull his dead weight upright and into his arms, mussing and twisting their oft-abused bedding into a crumple – the blue patterned lines now a wavy swish.

“But the old man is taking a goddamn pottery class like he’s Demi fucking Moore,” Eddie cackles into his chest.

Steve shushes him and presses a kiss to the top of his head just to be safe. He holds Eddie close, breathing in the smell of fruity shampoo. Feeling the warmth of his skin against his own – the touch of flesh under his fingers.

He shifts on the spot and bites his lip.

“Eds?”

“Mmmhmm?” Eddie hums and Steve can feel his mischievous smirk.

“Since you’re spoiling presents…” he wonders aloud, removing his hand from his partner’s shoulder so he can attempt to flick back the blankets, “What if I got one of my presents now?”

Eddie untangles himself and bolts upright, scrambling with the bedding instead.

“Thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.”

They make quick work of slipping under the covers, righting their bedding as much as possible – even if it all somehow ends up on a forty-five-degree angle in their haste. But once they get settled, all cozy and warm and impossibly close as they roll into each other’s embrace on instinct, Steve feels his heart skip a beat.

“Eddie…” he whispers, letting his partner’s name linger on his tongue.

“Yeah?” Eddie whispers back, his big brown eyes glistening from the reflection of the light on the nightstand.

Steve shuffles closer, closing the already tiny gap between them and loops his arms around Eddie’s middle. He simply holds his partner for a moment, looking into those beautiful eyes – watching as Eddie breathes in and out and blinks. He leans in and presses a kiss to his lips, clinging to Eddie tight as he begins to kiss back. It deepens almost instantly and Steve hums, stifling a gasp as tears begin to prickle up.

Over the years, he has turned into a total sap, the waterworks turning on so easily sometimes that it worries him.

But he just feels so much – so much love – with his family. With their silly cats, first in Chicago in their tiny apartment, then in their slightly bigger but nonetheless cramped apartment and now in their home. A four-bedroom house with plenty of room to live and build. A house with a yard, a garden and a garage big enough for Eddie to jam with Freak on weekends.

The best gift life could have given him.

He used to be scared that he’d be stuck in Hawkins forever, working for his father and trying to please his mother all the while failing and remaining lonely.

But all that changed with Eddie. Even if it first started during that awful Spring Break back when he thought they might not even survive long enough to see where things could go.

“I love you,” he whispers when they break apart and come up for air, “Love you and Joanie so much.”

“I love you too, Stevie,” Eddie says, wiping a stray tear from his cheek, “Happy birthday.”

[ahummingbirdwitch]

FOR FANS OF GHOST!

Desperate for new Ghost songs and looking for music that captures a similar feeling and energy? Check out these bands! (And some recommended songs by them)

Vexing Hex — slow-paced occult rock, VERY reminiscent of the Opus and Infesstisumam albums

“Thy Will Be Done”

“Revenant”

Year of the Goat — doom/occult rock with similar Satanic storytelling

“I’ll Die for You”

“Superbia”

Lucifer — classic metal sound reminiscent of Ghost and Black Sabbath, religious themes and imagery

“Cold as a Tombstone”

“Bring Me His Head”

Green Lung — fun psychedelic rock with some doom aspects, frequently references witches/Lucifer, singer even sounds a little bit like Tobias!

“Maxine (Witch Queen)”

“Reaper’s Scythe”

Unto Others — gothic metal/rock band with playing that evokes a strong Ghost feeling even though the singer has a unique voice

“Summer Lightning”

“Over Western Shores”

Mountain Witch — classic-sounding psychedelic rock reminiscent of Blue Öyster Cult

“The Dead Won’t Sleep”

“The Cold Hands of Fate”

Blood Ceremony — psychedelic rock, witchy/Satanic themes and imagery

“Goodbye Gemini”

“Witchwood”

Haunt — fast-paced heavy metal with a slight thrash influence, playing is very similar to Ghost at times

“Face of Danger”

“Windows of Your Heart”

Candlemass — the OG doom metal band from the 80s and one of the biggest inspos for Ghost!! Heavy, sludgy sound and operatic, dramatic vocals

“Bewitched”

“Sinister and Sweet”

Witchcraft — alternative rock/psych rock with a Ghosty playing style

“Democracy”

“By Your Definition”

Khemmis — doomy classic heavy metal with powerful vocals and playing that brings Ghost to mind

“An Empty Throne”

“Isolation”

And of course, don’t hesitate to check out the bands Tobias has been a part of in the past, plus music some of the Nameless Ghouls have made!

Magna Carta Cartel — alternative rock band Tobias used to be a part of and some members of MCC were even Ghouls at one point! Very atmospheric music with a melancholy feel

“Counting Down the Days”

“Blue Hour Gate”

Subvision — pop rock/alt rock band that Tobias was a singer for; fun, slightly punk sound and great if you wanna hear more of Tobias singing

“Room 611”

Jutty Taylor — Swiss Ghoul; makes great vibey rock music

“Dogs”

“Pushing My Love”

Cos Sylvan — Rain Ghoul; killer bass music

“The Damned”

Katatonia — heavy gothic metal band that Dew/Per Eriksson used to play for; hard, atmospheric music that evokes strong emotions

“Behind the Blood”

“My Twin”

Mad Gallica — Cumulus Ghoul; absolutely amazing vocals and synth/piano playing

“Souls on Fire”

I know there’s music by other Ghouls I haven’t touched on, but everything listed above is just the stuff I’ve listened to personally. All of these artists and songs can be found on Spotify!

[sneakyfordethklok]

Murderface Headcanons

Appearance, backstory, and other related hcs for my favorite stinky scrimblo.

He's 5'11", surprisingly tall. He's about a quarter of an inch short of 6 feet. Though, honestly he would look taller if he wasn't around Skwisgaar and Nathan all the time.

He's quite heavy, over 200 lbs. However, despite his physique, there's an surprising strength to him, especially in his arms. He worked outside for most of his life before joining Dethklok, and he retains some of that muscle to this day. However, he lacks the stamina and determination to ever really defend himself, and can't fight worth a damn.

He's around 28 years old.

He deals with eczema, specifically atopic dermatitis. He is unfortunately very bad about genuinely taking care of it, even though he has creams for it. He's just very stubborn.

How I draw his hair is more closely inspired by Geezer Butler, the bassist of Black Sabbath, whom Murderface is based off of. Dense dark brown curls, but Murderface as usual takes poor care of himself. His hair is dry, his scalp oily and rife with dandruff, and he rarely brushes it. As a result, its quite matted and frizzy, with lots of dead ends and uncontrolled curls.

Speaking of taking poor care of himself... He's a bit stinky.

Seriously. He doesn't shower enough. And rarely wears cologne or deodorant. Though, rather than necessarily being a gross slob, it comes from him never being taught to look after himself as a child. He was quite neglected, and so he never even was taught how to properly wash his hair or himself.

He grew up in the deep south, but his parents were living in Jersey before their demise. His grandparents' house is a simple one-story property, with white siding and a green roof. The windows were always covered with thick blinds, and the porch had a ramp up the three steps for Stella and Thunderbolt. An ancient porch swing that didn't exactly look safe anymore sat on their porch for as long as he could remember.

Stella and Thunderbolt Murderface were terrible hoarders. Really, the whole house was a maze of trash and rot. The second you stepped inside, you could smell the piss and shit from Stella's yappy little dogs that William always despised. How much of a fire hazard and generally unsafe environment it was influenced his interest in fire safety as an adult.

His grandparents abused and neglected him frequently. Murderface was never given affection, positive reinforcement, encouragement of any kind really, and not an ounce of acceptance or interest in who he was. It was always expected that he do whatever they say without question.. else his grandfather would get The Belt.

Murderface lived in the basement of the home, which was surprisingly one of the least cluttered parts of the house. He had his own bathroom and living area down there, on top of his room, and he spent most of his youth in that cellar. He picked up his first guitar, acoustic, at age 13, and bought a bass at 15. He's been playing ever since.

His internalized homophobia was heavily fueled by his abusive upbringing, and generally unaccepting environment. Murderface knew there was something different about him, but he always overcompensated for his bisexuality by fixating on perving on women. His childhood room's walls and ceilings were plastered with cut outs from nudie mags and the Victoria Secret and Sear's catalogues by the time he was 15.

He was a chronic bedwetter until he was almost 10 years old, and the ridicule and beatings as punishment didn't exactly help him improve. Part of his fixation on urinating in inappropriate places may be fueled by this trauma.. not to mention the cause of the bedwetting itself stemmed from the abuse he suffered at their hands to begin with.

He joined Dethklok a few months after he turned 18, and was almost 19 when Toki joined af 16. They've been close friends since Toki joined, being the two youngest members of the band. Despite their arguing, it's a beneficial relationship.

Personally, I like to think the band is in a big polycule, but Murderface and Toki (Warface) is one of my main pairings.

NSFW BELOW THIS

LAST WARNING

His main kinks are BDSM, degradation, humiliation, impact-play, pet-play, bondage, edging, masochism, and body worship.

He can get overly excited from the smallest things. Just a gentle touch on his arm, looking at him a certain way— it all gets him going. He's big on physical touch, though he would never admit it, and not only desires affection but gives it constantly. He caresses, touches, and kisses at any chance given. In general, he's very needy. Especially during sex, he wants all of your attention and affection and gets very upset when he's denied.

Mostly the submissive type, but he can get in a mood sometimes where he just needs to fuck. And he can be very aggressive about it. Because he's likely much bigger than most partners he'd have, he can overpower easily and be pretty rough if he's in the mood for it. Spanking, choking, hitting, biting, etc are all on the table with him.

When he's in a subby mood (which is usually), he's a total brat until he's pushed to the edge. Defiant, snarky, and mouthy. He'll disobey orders, talk back, and generally be a disobedient slut. That is, until he's edged, teased, and overstimulated enough. He'll go from complaining to begging pretty damn quickly.

When it comes to his downstairs... William is excessively hairy everywhere, but especially in his pubic area. There's a thick nest of hair above the base of his dick, so dark brown its almost black. He's about 6 or so inches in length, but he has a pretty.. well, girthy one for lack of a better word. It has to be big enough to play bass with, after all.

Yea. He has calluses. On his cock. Its Murderface idk what you expected.

He won't admit it, but he loves being on bottom with male partners.

[forestdeath1]

Hopelessness

@prongsfoot-microfic

It turned out that this microfic is 1600 words long, so if it's more convenient for someone to read on AO3, here's the link.

It's jilypad.

---

Sirius kisses Lily’s belly, stretched by a muggle T-shirt with Black Sabbath on it, his gift. The air's filled with the light scent of jasmine from the open window, letting in the cool June breeze. Lily isn't really into Black Sabbath, but Sirius hopes the band's symbolism might somehow influence Harry’s musical taste, since he’s got no hope with Lily and James. As Lily recently said, she wears that T-shirt solely because it features a "handsome vocalist" who reminds her of Sirius.   Sirius is quite pleased with that outcome.

They're sprawled on a wide sofa under a soft blanket, Sirius snuggled up beside Lily. The quiet of the Potter home, only interrupted by the ticking of antique clocks, always puts Sirius in a peaceful state. Lily gently strokes her rounded belly, while Sirius, with his arm around her waist, draws patterns on her skin, occasionally leaving soft kisses in response to the baby's sharp kicks. James, sitting opposite in a battered chair once favoured by Fleamont, reads the newspaper, his eyes scanning the pages gloomily.

"Oh," Lily exhales lightly. "He's been kicking all day. Extra lively today."

"Harry," Sirius murmurs softly, amazed at the depth of feeling he has for a child not yet born. "My handsome, smart boy."

"When did you get so sentimental?" James asks, not looking up from his paper.

"Since you married this incredible woman and started your own amateur production of 'Tiny Humans.' Even my frostbitten heart had to defrost for the premiere."

"Oh, my love," Lily, smiling softly, reaches out to gently ruffle Sirius's hair, "sometimes I think, what if I'd married you instead of James? How much prettier would my child be?" Lily's light, carefree laughter makes Sirius smile.

"Hey," James perks up, pretending to be offended. "There’s a lot of Blacks. And only one of me. Harry's gonna have the most unique hair in all of Magical Britain."

"And the dullest sense of humour," Sirius shoots back, still focused on the belly, speaking in a teasingly sweet tone as if talking to Harry. "Hopefully, you’ve got a better one. You got a bit short-changed on the genes from one side, but I promise to teach you."

"At least my humour doesn’t make people want to off themselves," counters James.

"You adore my jokes, don't kid yourself."

"Haven't heard one yet."

Sirius flicks his middle finger at James, who just chuckles, then removes his glasses and rubs his nose bridge in mock exasperation.

"Everything alright?" Lily asks him, concern in her voice.

"Yeah," James replies, trying to mask the worry in his voice. "Just going to make some tea."

Rising from his chair and heading to the kitchen, James leaves a trail of unspoken thoughts behind him. Sirius watches him go, and Lily, with a soft sigh, shakes her head.

"He's like this all day. Lost in thoughts about the war. Sticks to me like glue. Fancy taking him out somewhere? Hit a pub? Even stay out all night. He needs to get out more. He can't keep guarding me from God knows what," Lily adjusts a stray lock of Sirius's hair, a simple, familiar gesture.

"Alright, but not tonight," Sirius responds tenderly, kissing Lily's belly one last time before gently running his hand over her soft skin and carefully standing up from the sofa to not disturb her.

"Patrol?"

"Yeah," Sirius glances at the old wall clock, "and I'm already late."

"Why don't you move in with us?" Lily stops him with the question she poses every month.

"Don’t start," Sirius says with a light reprimand. "I'd end up covered in old people's dust here, sipping teas and reading newspapers. Tea? Seriously? When was the last time I drank tea?"

Her laughter, bright and full, fills the room, reflecting off the warm glow of the candles. She could easily shift from a pensive mood to mirth, and really, it took nothing to make her laugh. Lily was always so light, Sirius adored that about her. Like an autumn maple leaf playfully dancing with the wind – always ready to soar at the slightest breeze.

"Come here," she extends her arms, and Sirius leans in, allowing Lily to plant a tender kiss on his lips. "I love you," she looks at him, her gaze filled with care and tenderness, "Be careful."

"You too," Sirius smiles and ruffles her hair. "Look after Harry."

Stepping into the hallway, leaving Lily resting on the sofa, Sirius grabs his jacket from the coat rack and pulls it on, whistling a tune he caught in some noisy muggle café.

"James! I’m off."

James peeks out from the kitchen, holding a pack of tea.

"Not staying for tea?" he asks, knowing the answer already.

Sirius isn't much for tea, yet James has been offering it to him for years. In an attempt to make the drink more appealing, he once even started spiking the tea with Firewhisky. That gimmick worked for a while, but soon not even Firewhisky could dispel Sirius's irritation with the whole tedious, monotonous process.

"No, got patrol."

James looks slightly disappointed, tosses the tea pack onto a table cluttered with books and newspapers, and approaches Sirius.

"Lily suggested we should hit a bar," Sirius mentions.

James shrugs, adjusting his glasses absently.

"I can't leave her alone. Every time I go on patrol, you know it’s torture for me. I keep thinking something might happen, that they might attack our home, and…"

"I know," Sirius cuts him off. "That’s why I’m not inviting you. Just passing on Lily’s words."

James gives a soft smile, tilting his head slightly.

"You’ll come over on Friday?" he asks.

"Yes."

"And stay the night?"

"Of course."

James nods and hugs Sirius, pressing his face to his neck. Sirius leans into his ear, kissing it and breathing in the scent of earthy moss and the morning forest. James's scent always carried the notes of their moonlit adventures, as if his skin had absorbed the essence of those nights. They stand in silence for a moment until the soft hum of an old radio playing a vintage jazz tune Lily adores drifts in from the living room.

"Everything will be alright, James, hear me?" Sirius whispers, probably a bit too roughly patting James on the head as his movements have grown more abrupt lately. "I promise. Everything will be alright. With Lily, with you, with Harry."

"Yes," James says, rubbing an eye then running a hand through his hair. "Of course. It'll be alright. With you too."

"I'm not that important."

"Don't talk like that," James responds in a strained voice.

"I’d do anything for you, whatever it takes," Sirius says in a matter-of-fact tone, as if they’re discussing a Christmas dinner menu, not talking about things people usually don’t say to each other when everything’s fine.

James steps back, looks up at Sirius, and smirks, chasing away the worried shadows from his face.

"Have I mentioned you’ve become sentimental?"

"I've spent too much time around a mushy sod like you," Sirius grins, shrugging. "Bad influence."

James laughs, shoving Sirius's shoulder then pulling him in close, as if wanting to hide away in Sirius's broad embrace.

"I love you, you idiot," he kisses him, fingers threading through Sirius’s hair, tousling it. "Don’t be late on Friday. Lily’s making your favourite blueberry pie."

"I won’t," Sirius breathes out huskily.

James nods, and Sirius steps out the door. The June air hits his face, a warm breeze flicking a lock of hair from his forehead. The scent of night flowers mingles with the smell of fresh paint – someone nearby decided to give their fence a fresh coat.

Sirius moves a few meters away, casting one last glance at the Potters' house. James stands in the doorway, leaning on one shoulder against the frame. Sirius catches his worried gaze and nods subtly in response.

A moment later, Sirius apparates, but James's troubled face lingers in his mind like an echo. Usually, James's face brings peace, but this time it leaves a quiet itch, a reminder that Sirius is missing something, yet can't quite grasp what it is.

The war makes everyone nervous, anxious, and lost, and Sirius knows better than to succumb to these draining sentiments. But seeing those feelings in James – the person who made Sirius believe that even in the coldest winter, there's an unbeatable summer living inside him – Sirius realizes things are grim.

Of course, Sirius will come over on Friday. Perhaps he'll stay for the weekend, and they'll spend it together, like old times, before the threat of war knocked so clearly on their doors. They'll wake up to a late breakfast in the garden, reminiscing about school under the rustling of green leaves and birdsong, and perhaps even making plans for the future where the war is just a distant memory—a future where Sirius already knows exactly how to raise Harry and what gifts to give him from the very first months of his life.

A future where they're together.

After breakfast, they'll apparate to the lake, where James will set up broom races, beating Sirius yet again.  Lily, always rooting for Sirius, will put on a theatrical display of disappointment and spend the day cheering him up, recounting for the hundredth time the tales of James's rare Quidditch misplays at Hogwarts—as if Sirius didn't already know each one by heart.

After dinner, James will suggest a game of wizard chess, and Lily will pick out a book to read aloud by the fireplace. Soon, she will head to bed early, as has become more common since she got pregnant, and James and Sirius will go out to the garden, lie on the grass, and spend the night forgetting all worries, remembering that it's moments like these for which they're fighting and ruthlessly suppressing the hopelessness that seeks to consume their souls.

[demonsatmidnight]

This is Part 7 of DEITIES/DEMONS OF INFLUENCE THAT MAY BE CHANNELED THROUGH U.S. BANKNOTES AND COINS

To Convince a Group Easily

This is a simple way to make a group likely to accept your message and become more convincing. This one relies on the spoken word and your physical presence in the room.

Deities/Angel to Call on: Orbeth and Kanum.

Preform protection and purification rituals. Then say:

I call on you, great angel Orbeth of this hour. By the words OUMES THAWTH I call on the great God Kanum to watch over this ritual. I call to you, great angel Orbeth. I ask that you give me the power to convince _______.

Name the group and describe the meaning to the angel.

Then say:

Great angel Orbeth, I give thanks for your help. As you came in peace, go in peace.

[cherrylng]

Great Guitarists 100 - Matthew Bellamy and Jack White [CROSSBEAT (November 2009)]

Matthew Bellamy Who is commonly known as "The Prince". It's an apt description. He is fluent not only on the guitar but also on the piano, and his beautiful melodies are worthy of such a name. Of course, the guitars he holds in his hands are all "prince" guitars. The custom-built guitars, assembled by a former Led Zeppelin guitar tech, are a perfect reflection of Matthew's taste. It even has a shiny aluminium coating and laser beams emanating from all over the body. When asked who his favourite composer was, he replied: "I guess the Romantics. I like Liszt, Rachmaninov and Tchaikovsky." Asked about his musical background, he replies, "Robert Johnson and Ray Charles". What is your background as a guitarist? "I was attracted to Spanish guitar and studied it for about six months." Of course, Matthew doesn't hide his influences from grunge and heavy rock, but he also blends them with non-rock elements, which is his style. However, even though it is mixed, it is not an American-style hodgepodge. It's smart. Gorgeous all the way. In his songwriting, he always pays attention to beauty, based on melodies of classical origin. His choice of notes, overflowing with such a narcissistic sense of beauty, is the main reason why he is nicknamed the "Prince". -Junya Shimofusa

Representative albums "Origin of Symmetry" (2001, photo) Muse "Absolution" (2003) "Black Holes and Revelations" (2006)

Jack White When the White Stripes first appeared on the scene, the simplicity of the band's formation - just a drummer and guitarist - was quite shocking, even in the garage rock revival, when guitar sounds directly connected to amplifiers were at their height. It was Jack's superb guitar playing that made this possible. “Falling Love With a Girl” distorts elements of his biggest influence, the blues, with ferocious fuzz, "Seven Nation Army", is a one-idea riff turned into a killer tune. And 2007's "Icky Thump", which strengthened the influence of 70s hard rock from Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and others, and also incorporated flamenco into their own style. However, the way he plays a series of creative riffs in a restricted space makes him truly the Jimmy Page of today. Jimmy himself has praised him as 'the best guitarist of recent times', and his popularity as an artist is extremely high. His sound, which is based on a thoroughly subtractive aesthetic, is a clear counterpoint to the post-rock/electronica that dominated the underground at the end of the 1990s and to the cheap guitar sounds of the mainstream. The impact of his music, along with that of The Strokes, defined the atmosphere of the 00s. -Hitoshi Sugiyama

Representative albums "White Blood Cells" (2001, photo) The White Stripes "Elephant" (2003) "Icky Thump" (2007)

Translator's Note: Well, this is the highlight. We've finally reached it. But we're not at the end yet.

[for-a-longlongtime]

On Dieter, Goya's Black Paintings, and Pedro on Talk Art 

Alright y'all, it's Saturday evening, I have nothing better to do (I actually do but I don't feel like it), so welcome to my mini TED Talk about 'how to pay too much fucking attention to the Pedro cinematic universe'. None of this is new, and maybe everybody already knew about this, but I didn't... so here's a nerdy tangent courtesy of googling/wikipedia-ing.

I was reading a Dieter!fic (this one right here by @chaoticgeminate - go read her writing!) earlier today, which refers to the 'Saturn Devouring His Son' painting - that giant mural Dieter is working on in The Bubble:

(his brush isn't even touching the wall tho, ha)

The original 'Saturn' by Goya

The fic mentioned its part of 'The Black Paintings', so I got curious and started googling. I'm no art major or expert, so please allow me to just paraphraze the Wikipedia page. 'Saturn' is part of a group of 14 Goya paintings that are called Pinturas Negras/The Black Paintings. They "portray intense, haunting themes, reflective of both his fear of insanity and his bleak outlook on humanity" --this was late in Goya's life, and was connected to several illnesses he had experienced (and the fear of relapsing) and political turmoil in Spain at the time (post-Napolean war, changing Spanish government, etc.

Trivia fact 1: Goya actually made these paintings right on the walls of the Quinta del Sordo (so-called Deaf Man's villa) where he was staying -- so I love that Apatow had Dieter also paint right on the walls.

Trivia fact 2: while Goya was living in this villa, he actually became gravely ill (again) - not by a pandemic obviously, but it's hard to not link that loosely to the COVID period. He had never intended for these 'Black Paintings' to become public; "these paintings are as close to being hermetically private as any that have ever been produced in the history of Western art" (the murals were eventually transfered to canvas by other folks once he had moved out of the villa). Switching back to The Bubble -- I love how the tragic influence of Goya's illness(es) and art/things 'made at home away from the world, not intended for an audience' (so obviously, in a bubble) has that connection to the COVID experience and how many folks were suddenly homebound, along with the burden of illness in many ways (lord knows this all did a serious number on our mental health). In the movie, Dieter and the others do not want to go into isolation again, but that solitude is what eventually led him to painting on the walls in his room. This is not a 'grand discovery' of any kind, but I got a kick out of the parellels once I read up on it - and honestly makes me appreciate the movie a bit more, haha.

Not happy about another quarantine period.

Alright, more hyperfocusing after the cut:

Some googling led me to a post from last year by @nicolethered (gifs in this post are hers), and she included screencaps of the walls of Dieter's room (during that drug scene), which I hadn't even noticed while watching the movie. Upon taking a closer look, I noticed they're outtakes from other pieces of Goya's Black Paintings! I thought that was really cool, they sure worked on the details with that set (there's one more that's shown in a different shot but I can't exactly figure out which outtake that is):

First one is a mirror image from Two Old Men Eating Soup and the second one is basically Satan aka 'The Great He-Goat' from the Witches' Sabbath painting. Which IMO makes for fucking hilarious perfection a.k.a. trivia fact 3 -- because we all know about Dieter and his little emotional support goat, LOL. Excellent connection.

*insert sound bit from Hot Ones interview* : "Just let me love you!"

Anywaaay there's more. The Bubble was shot during Feb 22, 2021 to April 16, 2021, right? Pedro has spoken about how his input in shaping Dieter was mostly regarding his outfits (the Crocs, the robe, etc). But then I suddenly remember the Talk Art interview he had done in 2018, and how he namechecks 'The Dog' by Goya - and lo, guess which painting is actually part of the 14 Black Paintings? Yeap - the dog! So I checked the podcast and he was asked, 'if you could be any painting, what painting would you be?' by Russell. Here is the painting, and below it is what he said on Talk Art:

'The Drowning Dog' by Goya

"I think… it's a Goya. Yeah, old school. I think it's called 'Dog Buried in Sand' or something like that. It's so… I remember feeling it was such a visual representation of helplessness, in such a… come on, let's all admit that helplessness is a very recurring feeling for many of us, you know what I mean? When it comes to so many things. I guess… I was in Spain, in Madrid, and I was 20. And I went to the Goya museum. What's interesting about it is that the head of the dog is really quite small and sort of adorable, it looks like a stray mutt, and the painting - if I can remember it correctly - is very rectangular. There's so much above him, like the world just seems so big. It's quite incredible, isn't it? I know it's really sad, and sort of dark, and maybe I really like enjoy perceiving myself like..." (He gets interrupted by Russell, and then continues;) "Yeah, he's certainly not dying, it's sort of - it's a moment", (then interrupts himself with;) "Maybe he's totally dying, there's no way that dog is getting out of that. That dog is SO fucked. Anyway, that's the painting that represents my life". (All three of them burst out into laughing.)

If you're still reading this - I am impressed with your dedication to my silly little post, haha. Anyway, I just thought it was so striking that there basically is a straight line from the painting he mentioned in Talk Art to what Dieter is painting in the Bubble. Makes me wonder if perhaps he - or even Russell/Robert - had any input in that part of Dieter's backstory.

Thank you for attending my TED Talk on artistic analysis of Dieter Bravo during COVID, we now resume your regularly scheduled program for Saturday night. 🤪

(Have I been smoking because a local dispensary actually had 'Mando' bud? I sure as fuck have and I blame that for this post.)

[propepsi]

Hi 🖤 So about your comment on anti-conformist goth Sebastian - you have my full attention. Do you feel like sharing any of your hcs regarding music tastes/subcultures of the Stardew npcs??

Holy. Fucking. Shit. YES I DO FEEL LIKE DOING THAT. First of all: I look up to you so much for your art skill and I am FLOORED by this ask 😭❤️ Thank you for this omfg

I wont cover ALL the bachelors and bachelorettes, just the ones who I have really strong headcannons for :)

(Most of these headcannons are HIGHLY influenced by my own music taste. A lot- if not all- of the artists I have listed are artists that I'm a fan of personally.)

Anyways. First off: I think Sebastian- in regards to goth culture- fits the description. I don't think he ever goes above and beyond with his fashion because of his depression (another hc of mine because I highly relate to him as somebody with depression), but he definitely leans more into that than he does emo fashion, that's for sure. He's highly nihilistic. He doesn't want to support the 'corporate fatcats' or big industries, instead self employed, and he hates every Joja gift. Overall there are MANY instances of Sebastian basically saying 'fuck the industry.' (We love him for that) Also, his thing with coffee and smoking is highly stereotypical goth shit. Though, when it comes to music, I definitely think he'd fuck with SOME goth bands very casually, like maybe a bit of Type O Negative, Christian Death, Birthday Massacre... but I think he tends to lean more towards punk/pop punk. Especially Green Day. (And, shamefully, Blink-182. He won't ever admit it, though.) I also think that Sam's music started accidentally influencing him. Like sometimes (a lot of the time) you'll catch him listening to rock, metal, alternative/art rock, and grunge. He got particularly attached to Rammstein, who Sam surprisingly doesn't actually fuck with very much. Also, hot take: I don't think he's emo. Some of the music he listens to (and some of the artists I've already names) COULD be argued to be emo, but he doesn't listen to like- EMO emo. I definitely think he casually likes The Get Up Kids, which ARE considered to be an emo band by some. It's a bloodbath tryna figure out the genre. Midwest emo, pop punk, regular emo... I dunno. I just think he likes The Get Up Kids.

Sam. Sam's music taste speaks for itself. He, as a character, is highly oriented around music and musical talent. I think he's huge on rock and grunge- like Nirvana, Foo Fighters, The Rolling Stones... all that jazz. He also likes metal bands, such as Judas Priest, Metallica, Black Sabbath (as well as Ozzie Osbourne as a standalone artist), Dio, System of a Down... all that jazz. He likes his music slightly hard but classy as well. I also feel like he would be big on Sublime. Idk. It just feels right. I also think he'd be casually into Midwest Emo, which he accidentally got Sebastian REALLY into for a bit. (Examples include The Front Bottoms, McCafferty, Origami Angel- great band btw, Modern Baseball, etc.) He'll sometimes go for some softer, electronic shit from time to time, like art pop/rock bands (so... Radiohead), but not super often. He ALSO accidentally got Sebastian into Radiohead. Like, Sebastian became a bigger fan than he did. Sam has a few guilty pleasures when it comes to music that he won't be very vocal about it, like some female country artists (Dolly Parton, Shania Twain, Carrie Underwood... stuff like that. He absolutely REFUSES to admit he listens to any of them.) He also probably dabbles in Weezer- which counts as rock but I felt I needed to put this at the end with the other guilty pleasures. (I could be projecting. I mean- hey. Look at my pfp.)

Abigail! (I love Abigail) She's into metal. Some heavy, screamo shit, but also some thrash metal. (She likes Judas Priest a lot. Could also be projecting, though. I fucking love Judas Priest.) I think she goes harder with her music than Sam and Sebastian do. She'd be the parent who picks their kid up from school absolutely BLASTING some metal. (For some reason I imagine it being Enter Sandman by Metallica in that scenario lmfao) She'll go for rock occasionally, something wilder like ACDC, but not as much.

(Ik a lot of the bands for The Trio overlap, but they're all really close and literally in a band. I think they would share a lot of music taste with each other. They are the local alternatives, after all.)

Emily is into stoner music. Like- Reggae, 60s rock and roll, Hip-hop, and indie. Her biggest bands/artists would be Sublime, The Beatles, Elton John, Bob Marley, Pink Floyd... stuff like that. I think she would also be into pop, but really eccentric pop, like Chappell Roan, Abba, Amy Winehouse, Whitney Houston, and Britney Spears. Perhaps Michael Jackson??? 👀👀

Haley is into 2000s pop. Kesha, Britney Spears, EARLY Taylor Swift (and ONLY early), Shakira, Beyonce... artists like that. Some music that she likes overlaps with Emily's, but then Haley is put off by the other music she listens to- or in her words: "hippy shit." There's a lot of Chappell Roan lover Haley talk, and I think it would be slightly true. She would find it weird and off-putting at first, but she would learn to secretly like it. Secretly.

Elliot is into classical music. Not orchestra, but very piano-y classical. He would also quite like folk. He could be persuaded into folky pop, like The Decemberists. He isn't really a music snob, but if you showed him a metal song, he would be quite confused. We love him anyway.

ANYWAY. Here it is! I'll admit- I got quite carried away with this. I just started typing and couldn't stop. 💀 My autism took over my body. (I'm so, SO into music right now) Also I wrote this entire thing exactly how I talk irl, so I apologize for that.

[nigrumnotcis]

I just wanna say "Children of the grave" by Black Sabbath is THE Marauders era song.

"Revolution in their minds, the children start to march

Against the world in which they have to live

And all the hate that's in their hearts

They're tired of being pushed around

And told just what to do

They'll fight the world until they've won

And love comes flowing through, yeah"

The first war with Voldemort is happening right in the time of their youth, in the time that's supposed to be carefree, simple, a time to learn, discover themselves and simply have fun. That was taken away from them and we know how much they wanted to fight back.

I think the last verses here are especially fitting for Sirius, who is a Black, who's family was very abusing, telling him what to do and pushing him around. He did get tired, so he fought back. He moved out.

"Children of tomorrow live in the tears that fall today

Will the sun rise up tomorrow bring in peace in any way?

Must the world live in the shadow of atomic fear?"

We know that Voldemort's tactic of recruitment was based on fear, a lot of his followers joined only because of that and I think this fragment shows just how much this fear and negative things overall in adults, the ones that are responsible for decision making, influences the children. Especially with the ones like Regulus, Evan and Pandora, or even Barty.

"Can they win the fight for peace or will they disappear? Yeah"

This one is so on point with the story of all of them tragic queers, I don't even know how to describe it. Some of them fought, some of them couldn't, but (practically) all of them dissapeared sooner or later. So, can they win?

"So, you children of the world

Listen to what I say

If you want a better place to live in

Spread the word today

Show the world that love is still alive, you must be brave

Or you children of today are children of the grave, yeah"

On one hand, we have those of marauders era characters that fought against the dark side, they did what the lyrical subject said to do. The saddest thing? They didn't get a better place to live in, because all of them didn't live long enough to see it. They still ended up as the children of the grave.

On the other hand we have those who found on the dark side. Those who didn't have any other choice. They were the children of the grave as soon as they took the mark. There's no hope for them. There never was.

Yet, Regulus Black decided to fuck that. He did become one of the children of the grave, but he did it on his own terms. He did "start to march" "revolution on their minds". He broke out of the fear, which brings us to the very beginning of the song, but even such an act of bravery didn't break the cycle of death.

So, the lyrics, the hope goes to the next generation. It's on them now.

"Can they win the fight for peace or will they disappear? Yeah"