#Blood Opera band

[horrorpatch]

Exclusive Video Interview With BLOOD OPERA Frontman Maxxx Murder!

Canada’s reigning kings of horror metal, BLOOD OPERA recently dropped their debut full-length album, Songs In The Key Of Death. The band combines horror movies and heavy metal, a combination we here at Horror Patch are particularly fond of. Did I mention all the members of Blood Opera are zombies? Born in blood, conceived in Hell, and reanimated by accident! Bent on cannibalizing the entire…

[yaeggravate]

Is Capitano Anfortas Alberich?

Hiii, I have been losing my mind over this for months, and I needed to share my findings all in one place.

This might get debunked in a few weeks but until then there is actually a very high chance Capitano is Anfortas. …And not just because his constellation is a giant arrow pointing straight at him.

WARNING: This contains spoilers for the World Quest Shadows of the Mountains.

UPDATE (5.1): WE WON 🎉��

UPDATE (5.3): welp turns out i was wrong. well, i'll leave the ghost of a more interesting timeline here

As a refresher, Anfortas was the Knight Marshal of the Schwanenritter (German for Swan Knights), a Khaenri'ahn warrior band who went on to protect Sumeru from the onslaught of the "Dark Beasts" during the Cataclysm. The giant Ruin Golems scattered in the forest and desert of Sumeru were piloted by them.

Barely-Legible Bulletin In view of King Irmin's present indisposed state and the current unknown threats facing the Kingdom……Knight Marshal Anfortas has proclaimed that he will temporarily take up the post of Regent and lead the Regnum Concilium Ultimum until the Kingdom returns to a state of normalcy…

At some point, King Irmin became indisposed (unable to rule), which made Anfortas step in as a temporary regent until the Kingdom returned to a state of normalcy. (Didn't age well.)

Mysterious Box in a Secret Compartment: The writings are as follows: "Remember always that it was the Alberich Clan, who did not have royal blood, who stepped in as regents when the strength of the one-eyed king Irmin failed."

This is further confirmed in Kaeya's secret notes from the Hidden Strife event which implies Anfortas is part of the Alberich clan.

Later, Anfortas was betrayed by his comrade Hadura. He fought and executed them, losing his left eye in the process. With Hadura, the last of his comrades, gone, the Schwanenritter are no more.

The ultimate fate of Anfortas is currently unknown as is his exact relation to Kaeya and Chlothar. Whether or not Anfortas is Kaeya's father/uncle/grandfather/secret older brother is not the point of this post.

This is specifically about the connection between Capitano and Anfortas.

I will start by listing the reasons why he could be Capitano and then consider the reasons why he's not.

THE THREE NAILS

Capitano's constellation is likely the three nails which is a reference to the crucifixion of Jesus.

Triclavianism is the belief that three nails were used to crucify Jesus Christ.

I do believe it belongs to Capitano, since he said he would pick up the mantle of "salvation" and is in the nation where people can be resurrected. …Needless to say, we can assume there's not going to be 50 plot twists behind this.

The three nails symbolize salvation and redemption, as well as the suffering of Jesus. You can also think of it as a symbol of martyrdom.

Anfortas is named after the Fisher King from Arthurian legends, who guarded the Holy Grail. The Fisher King was cursed by an incurable wound, stuck between life and death, doomed to suffer for eternity. There are several versions of the legend, with differing names for the Fisher King, "Anfortas" being one of them.

As it happens, the Fisher King is likened to Jesus on the cross quite prominently, both in art and on stage.

Carman explores the use of Christian symbolism in Perlesvaus. He connects the Fisher King with Christ himself, noting his name, Messios, his function as a sufferer, and his death symbolizing the Crucifixion.

In the version of Wagner, he even gets stabbed by the Holy Spear in the same side as Jesus while he was crucified!

Parzival became the primary source for Richard Wagner's 1882 opera Parsifal, in which the Fisher King is wounded by the spear that pierced Jesus's side.

As if that wasn't enough, one of Anfortas' knights left a note inside a Ruin Golem. They state they don't know whether they will be seen as sinners or heroes but believe Anfortas will find a way to save them.

An Abandoned Letter ...I often think lately about how future generations will tell my story. Will I be a sinner? Or a hero......The situation here is dire, but I believe that our Marshal will find a way. I believe... We once fought bravely here, doing our best to prevent this inglorious war. I believe that when it is all over... we shall recover our past splendor...Glory evermore... to Khaenri'ah...

This thematically fits the three nails. Unfortunately for this knight, Anfortas was unable to save Khaenri'ah and their people were condemned as "sinners" throughout history.

At the time of writing, Capitano says something curious in the trailer for 5.1:

Humanity's survival is worth any price If I could go back I would do whatever it took to ensure their survival. You've experienced something similar, Mavuika. You should know exactly what I mean.

Though we don't know the full context yet, this is not a surprising revelation if Capitano is Anfortas; he lost his homeland Khaenri'ah, "the pride of humankind," after all. Furthermore, he compares his suffering to that of the Pyro Archon, the ruler of Natlan. Anfortas was also briefly responsible for the survival of a nation, acting as the KING regent of Khaenri'ah.

Another incredible parallel to the Three Nails can be found in the influential poem The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot which is about the Fisher King.

The Man with Three Staves (an authentic member of the Tarot pack) I associate, quite arbitrarily, with the Fisher King himself.

In the poem Eliot associates the Fisher King with the tarot card the Three Staves.

(The Three of Wands/Staves in Thoth and Rider Waite decks.)

The poem is actually important enough to be referenced in the game a bunch of times. If you recall, in the Veluriyam Mirage event, we ran into three brothers, two of which argued in front of Kaeya and Klee. Turns out the names of these two brothers are in the poem, with the game possibly using them as stand-ins for Anfortas and Chlothar. You can read more about it here in a separate post.

My point is, since the poem is a source of inspiration, it can be assumed the writers are aware of the association of the Three Staves with the Fisher King, aka Anfortas.

If true, I think they did something really clever here by combining the Three Staves with the Three Nails.

THE BLACK SERPENT

I think most people have noticed the draconic/serpent imagery on Capitano's outfit. He has black scales, makeshift claws and a bunch of infinity symbols.

It is curious then that Capitano is essentially dressed as a black serpent/dragon.

Dainsleif: Black Serpent Knights. They once belonged to the Royal Guard of Khaenri'ah.

(...Yet unlike Capitano, the Black Serpent Knights don't look anything like black serpents.)

Little known fact is that even though Anfortas was the leader of the Schwanenritter, his knights still wore the Black Serpent armour. Ynghildr, one of the Swan Knights, turned into a Shadowy Husk that used the Windcutter model.

Mysterious Chronicles: "…Ynghildr, Schwanenritter, 'Damsel of the Dale' …Went missing in the battle against the Onslaught of Dark Beasts. Only her … and signet ring were recovered. A proper knight's funeral was arranged for her…"

(We even end up fighting her during the WQ Vimana Agama 💔.)

In the Shadows of the Mountains WQ, we find out two Khaenri'ahn knights, also using Black Serpent armour, went forth to Natlan to stop the Abyss; their sacrifice turned them into statues for 500 years. I think it's highly likely they were sent there on Anfortas' orders.

This is because one of the knights has interesting lines before and after you bring him peace:

"Irizar": "Leave! Go… I don't want him to see me— like this—" (The voice seems to come from the very depths of the unmoving statue. There is a hint of respect toward someone remaining within…)

Irizar: Did you see? Your orders have been carried out… You�� won't be disappointed…

The thing is one of Anfortas' Ruin Golems is right next to Natlan.

This is also where you find the note written by the knight who worries if they'll be seen as sinners or heroes. I do not think they were ordered by Dainsleif, as his last order before he returned to the palace was "to protect the people of Khaenri'ah" while the last will of the Schwanenritter was to destroy the Cataclysm, which is an interesting contrast in itself…

Dainsleif: To this day, I still remember the final orders I, the Twilight Sword, gave to Halfdan on the day of disaster in Khaenri'ah, before I made haste back to the palace... "Inform all Black Serpent Knights to protect the people of Khaenri'ah at all costs." Zurvan: They said that those heroes (Schwanenritter) had walked their path despite the ill repute they had garnered… And that it was to carry the will those heroes had borne, and to completely destroy the disaster from the dark depths that they had followed the heroes' path to this place.

My personal speculation is that the Schwanenritter was a special division from the Black Serpent Knights. From the book Perinheri, we know there was an Alberich who was "commander of half the knights". As stated by old man Pierro himself, the reliability of this book is a bit dodgy, but this might give us a clearer vision on who was in charge.

Anyway, if those knights were sent by Anfortas, there's a chance he might have ended up in Natlan himself as they were heavily affected by the Abyss. Perhaps something funky happened to him there amidst all the chaos… who knows? If we consider the three nails and what it represents, perhaps Anfortas died; but since he's a Khaenri'ahn likely cursed with immortality and Natlan's leylines are weak, death won't come to him that easy.

One other thing: on either side of the door to Khaenri'ah, there are two reliefs that show a guardian holding a sword. As it happens, their helmets are flat and have a huge 8-pointed star in the middle... just like Capitano.

OTHER SIMILARITIES AND SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR 🤨

–Both Anfortas and Capitano are commanders of an army. To paraphrase @kaeyacollection, if I was Pierro, I would want someone with experience to lead my army and not some random bloodstained guy from Mondstadt, right? Pierro and Anfortas would have undoubtedly known each other as Pierro was a Royal Mage and Anfortas was part of the Royal Guard, so it wouldn't be strange for Pierro to recruit someone who he's already familiar with and can depend on.

Mocking Mask (Pierro): Since my level of learning could not compare with the sages, I failed to earn the favor of the previous ruler.

Furthermore, Pierro refers to King Irmin as the "previous ruler" which is an odd choice of words as it could either imply there is still a current ruler out there or Pierro simply acknowledged Anfortas as the last one, which has some interesting implications seeing as he only took up the position temporarily.

–Anfortas is highly respected, as shown by the note written by the knight who believed in him until the end. Someone even tried to write a letter to him begging him to petition the king. And if that knight who was sent to Natlan was referring to the Marshal, it means his main concern was that he would fail Anfortas.

Furthermore, there's a message left scattered across Ruin Guards with the encryption key being Anfortas' name…

Decoded message: We Schwanenritters have fought to the last one

We don't know who left it there, and hell it might be Anfortas himself, but whoever it was certainly valued the name. Fun fact: the achievement you get when you interact with all the Ruin Guards is called In the Name of Anfortas. This is similar to the achievement In the Name of Favonius, which you can get after completing a daily commission that indirectly involves Kaeya!

As far as we can tell, Capitano is also highly admired. Viktor would rather work for him, Varka wrote an entire love letter about him and the voicelines of the Harbingers confirm he's respectable man. (Although Wanderer and those of us who have run into Cap's animal lava farm may have some questions 🤨)

About The Captain "The ever-righteous Captain," "the brave and fearless Captain," "the nigh-invincible Captain"... Even my mechanical ears demand maintenance after listening to so many compliments from the members of the Fatui. Don't you think that possessing absolute righteousness is actually a latent danger? And that's without taking his great personal strength into account.

According to Wanderer, Capitano is seen as extremely righteous. We don't know enough about Anfortas to compare his morals with Capitano's but we do know that he executed his own comrade after a betrayal yet still gave them a proper knight's funeral since they were the last one left. This could allign with Cap's extreme righteousness and honor.

–Capitano proclaimed to the Pyro Archon that someone needs to pick up the mantle of salvation during a crisis…. which is exactly what Anfortas did. He stepped in when Irmin was busy poking holes in the veilussy of sin. Who knows? Perhaps Capitano doesn't want history to repeat itself.

–There could be another reason, though. You see, The Schwanenritter is named after the legend of the Swan Knight. These were an order of Grail Knights who would be sent out in secret to provide a ruler to a kingdom if there was none.

Members of this order are sent out in secret to provide lords to kingdoms that have lost their protectors

Furthermore, the Swan Knight had to hide his origins and name; same thing Capitano is doing.

The story of the Knight of the Swan, or Swan Knight, is a medieval tale about a mysterious rescuer who comes in a swan-drawn boat to defend a damsel, his only condition being that he must never be asked his name.

Varka: The man hides everything under the mask he wears, so no one can know his past or his origins.

–Speaking of which, when Capitano was first mentioned in Varka's letter, guess who was there to witness it?

What's funny is he doesn't even speak during this entire scene. They just forced him to stand there for seemingly no reason.

–Capitano is in Natlan. In Kaeya's hidden letters, there is a lot of fire imagery. Kaeya's father takes this even further by practically quoting Natlan's rule of resurrection. They even use the same term for ashes/embers in the original CN.

Mysterious Box in a Secret Compartment: A piece of it has been burned away, and the remaining parts show signs of having been rescued from that same flame.

Mysterious Box in a Secret Compartment: (Kaeya's father): "Though we could not restore Khaenri'ah to life, we of the Alberich Clan should lead lives as those who blaze like fire, rather than those who wallow in the embers." Dainsleif (Travail trailer, Natlan): The rules of war are woven in the womb: the victors shall burn bright, while the losers must turn to ash.

Mysterious Box in a Secret Compartment: (Kaeya): "Now that I look at it, his handwriting was as grieving as a smoking ash pile."

I don't know what to make of it and perhaps there's no deeper connection, but you have to admit, it is a little odd…

–The name Anfortas is speculated to be derived from french "enfertez" which means infirmity or weakness/illness. This is a very interesting contrast to Capitano's strong man persona. Not to mention, Capitano's commedia dell'arte counterpart is a braggart who only boasted about his strength. Who knows, perhaps Anfortano is suffering from an ailment/curse and is using whatever means he can to make himself stronger. (Such as the "presence" inside him.)

That being said, in the book Perinheri, the Alberich who was commander of half the knights was part of the "mightiest figures in Khaenri'ah".

–For some reason, Kaeya has what looks like snakeheads with a split tongue on his pants. You can also find a version of this on Capitano's outfit. …Yeah, I don't know either.

Jokes aside, Kaeya is wearing the top half of Capitano's modified Fatui coat complete with weird double flaps and fur boa. (There was a Hoyofair fananimation a year ago where the artist portrayed Anfortas with black fur which is pretty funny in hindsight.)

If Capitano isn't related to Kaeya, I'm going to need a very good explanation for why they share the same terrible fashion sense.

–Both Chlothar and Caribert have black hair and blue eyes... just like our buddy Capitano. While that's not enough to claim they're related, it is certainly a point in our favor.

–Since Pierro was original enough to give the title of "the Doctor" to a doctor, it wouldn't be too out of place for him to dub a marshal "the Captain".

–Kaeya was adopted by Crepus, who owned a Delusion. Is it really a coincidence that Kaeya was taken in by a man with ties to the Fatui? If any of the Harbingers are connected to Kaeya, Pierro (Khaenri'ahn) and Capitano (identity unknown) would be the two biggest suspects, right?

WHY CAPITANO CAN'T BE ANFORTAS…HAHA UNLESS?

–As mentioned before, Anfortas lost his left eye. From Mika's character story, we know Capitano has glowing dark blue eyes plural. However, it's unclear whether he lost his eye in the literal sense or was only blinded. It's possible Anfortas simply grew the eye back but if that's the case I don't see the point in mentioning the loss in the first place, other than to draw a parallel to Kaeya (who didn't even lose his eye either…)

–Capitano uses a strange power that looks related to Nightsoul… …Whatever it is, it could point at him being from Natlan. However, the Traveler can use Phlogiston despite not being from Natlan. We don't have Pyro Traveler yet but I suspect they will be able to use Nightsoul as well.

Mavuika also says she sensed an "unsual presence" inside Capitano. This "presence" could explain his ability to use Walmart Nightsoul and why he has knowledge on a secret oath made 500 years ago (and why he has two eyes again).

–I think it's possible Anfortas is either Kaeya's "pirate" grandpa or his father and if that's the case the chances of Capitano being playable are abyssmal 💀. However, Arthurian Anfortas was famously saved by his nephew Parzival. If they go by the legend and Parzival is the equivalent of Kaeya, Anfortas could be his uncle instead.

In any case, we'll have to wait and see where the story goes from here. Even if Anfortas isn't Capitano, he still has major relevance that has yet to be revealed. Until then, much like Anfortas and Capitano, all we can do is suffer on the cross 👍🏽

*UPDATE 5.1: CAPITANO'S LINES FROM THE AQ

"The Captain": Why...? Because I am a survivor of Khaenri'ah. I've witnessed the devastation and terror of the Abyss with my own eyes. "The Captain": That's right. My family, my comrades, my homeland... were all lost to the Abyss. It is an unforgettable pain, one that no amount of time could ever dull... not even five hundred years. "The Captain": If I could go back, I would reject all false hope. I would do whatever it took to ensure their survival.

"The Captain": That story begins with the cataclysm five hundred years ago.... I failed to save Khaenri'ah from the rampage of the Abyss. When the situation became unsalvageable, I fled to Natlan with the remainder of my platoon. "The Captain": Only to find that Natlan had fallen victim to the same tragedy. I defended this land for quite some time and, in the process, met the chief of the Masters of the Night-Wind, Ayizu. I'm sure many people viewed Khaenri'ah as the cause of the tragedy, but Ayizu was kind to me all the same, and even helped me in my time of need. "The Captain": From that moment, I made it my mission to aid Natlan. In battle, a warrior fights to win. Even though my homeland was lost, I was already committed to this fight.

"The Captain": Heh, even without the mask, my past appearance is long gone. Even with the curse of immortality, the flesh still rots. Paimon: Wait, do you know someone named Dainsleif? That problem doesn't seem quite so... extreme for him. "The Captain": You've met him already? Paimon: Yeah, a bunch of times. Sounds like you know him, too. "The Captain": During the age of Khaenri'ah, all I knew was his name. The last time I saw him in person, he was traveling with the Prince. He carries a degree of pain and hatred that far surpasses my own.⁸

[jinuaei]

What if instead of famous!reader we got famous!Tarn who is in a band (after the war the djd had to pay the bills somehow) and meets reader again by chance (sound technician? Roadie? Friend of a fan that brought them to a concert?) and he starts writing this heart wrenching love songs full of yearning.

"Here's a power ballad about guts and blood spilled for the glory of a higher cause. And here's five minutes of me basically going PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE-"

Yes!!! Singer Tarn! His voice is so deep it rattles the insides of everybot/human that hears it. His passion for music is evident in every concert and every song he sings, and that rough demeanor (though traumatizing to some) is a big hit for every audience but you will find that he's more popular with the ladies.

And you, his newest manager is his most recent muse. After his old manager pissed him off, he had Kaon find a new one, and by Primus, Kaon chose well. Gone are the days where he sings in support for Decepticons, now all he can write and sing about are love songs.

It's an instant hit! Fans swoon when they hear his voice yearning for his beloved, some supportive of his love, while some are jealous. But the very being that became the center of every music he creates is oblivious to his affection.

Who can blame you? You are too busy to properly relax and listen to Tarn's music. Yes, you are a fan but his popularity and current tour means you have to prepare a lot of things, you don’t really have enough time to listen properly unless you are there during the recordings.

Speaking of recordings, even that is not safe from his longing gazes, he’s often found staring at you as he sings songs of love. It becomes slightly awkward when the sound engineer asks him to start over again because he accidentally used his outlier ability and fucked up the whole set up while he’s too busy lovingly looking at you. The sound engineer squeaks in fear when Tarn only responds with a glare.

(Sound Technician also sounds good ngl because imagine the reader getting pissy at Tarn because he destroyed your equipment for the 4th time that month while he’s blowing kisses and sending EM fields of obsessive love. It’s him who has to pay for it but it’s delaying the concert so much and ughhhhh your shit broke again)

And there’s a scenario for a concert that I conjured up and rewrote because the original one was too wordy? Fancy? You know that type of writing I do when I write it too seriously and the fic becomes good but also theatrical? Wanted this one to be more light hearted but I will post the original one after I make it coherent enough.

It’s the day of the concert and you are stressed out of your mind, but somehow you guys pulled through and the DJD are now on stage performing their hit songs. However, one of the sound crew fucked up something because one moment Tarn hears the familiar sound of the metronome on his earpiece and the next, he hears your voice, screaming words of encouragement and singing along with him.

He freezes, not prepared to hear you praise him, but it only lasts a moment before he continues, now energized and spark warm. He is used to hearing you always stressed out and hearing you enjoying yourself is such a treat to him, he hopes that the sound crew doesn’t notice their mistake and keep you on the line.

Luckily for Tarn, they did not catch it and he got to listen to you sing your heart out alongside him, which by the way — is so beautiful to him. Like a siren luring men to their death, it makes him want to run to you and beg you to sing for him. (mhhh phantom of the opera Tarn)

He can still hear you in his earpiece even when they are near the end of the concert where they are thanking people. It was going so well, so swimmingly well until he heard a phrase roll through his audials. That damned phrase that triggered his outlier ability.

‘That’s my Tarn!’

…

My Tarn…

Your Tarn?

YOUR TARN???

Suddenly all lights and sound cease, and the fans gasp in shock and panic as they are bathed in darkness. One of the DJD, probably Kaon, reassures the crowd, asking them to calm down, but Tarn is oblivious to it. The phrase keeps echoing through his processor, and his fans whirs on dumbly looking at the panicking crowd. He manages to snap out of it when he realized he couldn’t hear you anymore, and he himself panics. 

He abandons his post and rushes backstage, trying to find you in the swarm of stressed out crewmates. He grabbed you as soon as he saw you, swiftly guiding you to his makeup room. The large mech asks you to sit down and once you do he begs you to call him your Tarn again. 

“PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE—!”

“PAUSE!!!!! We need to get you back on stage!” You scold him, trying to stand back up but you are once again forced back down when he laid his helm on your lap.

He continues muttering his request, wrapping his arms around your legs. Unbeknownst to him, the power managed to turn on again and the fans can actually hear him beg for you to call him yours again because this love sick singer forgot to remove his mic when he left the stage. However, you were not as engrossed in your delusion so you can hear his voice echo through the whole stadium, you can already feel the headache that this will cause you and his PR team.

You shut yourself up, trying not to expose your voice to the public before removing the mic attached to his helm and throwing it away where it hopefully does not catch your voice. Since he is still insistent and you cannot simply push this whole aft mountain from your lap, you chose to indulge in his request.

Tarn is so lucky to have that outlier ability because if his ability didn’t trigger and shut down the stadium again the moment you said it, he would have to explain so much about that choked moan that came out from his intake. 

You, however, are not as lucky as you almost slipped and fell from his fluids on the floor, he managed to catch you but he had the audacity to look ashamed when some of that spilt transfluid actually clung to your legs.

This went completely the other way and I am sorry

[vintagehellfire]

Danse Macabre | E.M x Reader

summary: Your best friend invites you to a concert that you're less than keen on but you get much more devil worship than you bargained for.

warnings: porn without plot, plot? What plot?, choking, nipple play, blood play, bruising, oral (m receiving), sacrilege, bdsm, dom sub dynamics, just really stupid horny honestly. Eyefucking, teasing, edging???? Spit kink, mask kink, devil worship. This is just pure filth honestly, piv, unprotected sex (don’t do this with strangers ya’ll pls I’m begging) mdni 18+

word count: 8.6k

Thank you to @the-unforgivenn for beta reading this pure filth for me and for correcting my atrocious keystroke mistakes. I love you so much babe.

part two

How you got dragged to some sort of musical satanic ritual by your best friend Lilly was far beyond you. The heavy instrumentals contrasted too harshly with the light and theatrical vocals. If looks could kill, Lilly would be dead. This wasn’t your scene, it never would be, it’s what you told yourself. Sipping your gin, arms crossed, you scrunch your face, the bartender having been too busy staring at your chest while he poured your drink, resulting in a rather disgusting concoction. As if the night couldn’t get any worse. 

One of the lighter intro songs came to an end before the pyrotechnics roared to life next to you, one of the guitarists emerged from behind the waft of smoke. It was then that your breath caught in your throat, the way that he played had you hypnotised, placing you in a trance so deep that you couldn’t tear your eyes from him even if you wanted to, veins protruding. Your eyes trailed over his body, tight jeans fitting to his body and a uniform dress shirt adorning his torso, long sleeves and turtleneck underneath, hiding any soft skin. As you would be met with a face, you were surprised to find that you were met with a helmet of sorts, breathing tubes and other such accessories adorning it, as well as sticking out the top. His eyes burned red like embers behind the wide goggles, a darkness swallowing the man behind the mask and drawing you in. Curiosity got the better of you, you watched closely  when he stomped to the beat of the songs. he fans collectively let out a wave of screams, throwing flowers on stage. You rolled your eyes so hard they probably should have rolled out of your head. Were you attracted to the masked musician? In some capacity sure, but wholly? No. They just… they knew how to play well and those hands… you could admit those hands were something. You shook your head to rid yourself of impure thoughts, it wasn’t like you liked the music anyway. 

Your face was stone cold and your arms were crossed over your chest unhappily, cleavage pushed up, and the leather of your jacket creaking. That was the thing about you, you’d rather die than remove your prized biker jacket. It was your battle armour, much like the guitarists get up seemed to be the band’s uniform. To them, it protected their identity, and it protected you – you wouldn’t be caught off guard, you wouldn’t be vulnerable, you couldn’t. Your icy stare pierced through the smoke, through the flames, as you focused your gaze on the guitarist in front of you. His white guitar distinguished  him from everyone else just as your expression did you –perfectly sour.

The crowd behind you chanted along to the songs, screaming about Lucifer and the congregation and whatever other shit you chose to ignore in favour of your best friend. Lilly was one of them, jumping up and down, chanting every word of the hymns the lead singer belted out to the tune of the strong bass line and the chugging of guitars. As much as you wanted her to have fun, you rolled your eyes, this wasn’t your scene. Every song that started out heavy led to a disappointment with the vocals or the rock opera and so you just opted to be the designated party pooper and give your best glare towards the lead guitarist who seemed all too interested in your corner of the stage. He wailed on his guitar harder than you’d seen anyone wail on one before, a flash of worry briefly crossing your mind but you quickly pushed it down. 

The masked man played through his songs flawlessly, fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, mind and body completely in tandem; however your pout, your knit eyebrows, and crossed arms caught his eye, he’d stare back at you through his tinted goggles, smiling softly to himself at how adorable you looked when you were so grumpy. He could tell this wasn’t your scene and so during the slow and long intro to a song he walked over to the very front, standing just a few feet above you.  He tilted his head to the side, his mask listing as he stared, playing the intro as his eyes never left yours. 

The small movement caught your attention, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you felt like the glowing embers behind the goggles were burning into your very soul, dissecting every little secret. He slowly points to himself before he gets his queue to jump into his next riffs, stomping away as he pushed through the heavy chords that thundered through the concert hall. You dared not admit it to yourself, but something inside you snapped, a warmth starting to spread between your legs. No, no you couldn’t possibly be attracted to this, right? But just as that thought entered your mind, it shot out of your head and straight to your heart when you saw the man before you strut over to his bandmate. The two bent over backwards together, the taller of the two supporting the back of the man with the white guitar. A cute moment, or so you thought, but as soon as the shorter was up for his solo, the taller wrapped an arm around him and pawed at his cock, tugging him into his muscled body, catching the one you had your eye on off guard. He rocked his hips into the other and rested his masked head on the shorter shoulder, fake panting. He did not falter however, and that had your brain reeling. 

With a small smack on the ass, the taller let him go, strutting away as the crowd erupted in ear shattering screeches, and if what had just transpired wasn’t one of the hottest things you’d seen, you would have absolutely rolled your eyes, but instead it had you shifting in your place, all too keenly aware of the small flare of heat that lapped at you and the proximity of the other bodies surrounding you. You suddenly felt small, trapped; and you wanted nothing more than to run out and dunk your head under some ice cold water. What was wrong with you? Your eyes darted from side to side, hoping your best friend Lilly wouldn’t notice. 

What went on next was just about to make anyone lose their minds, the lead guitarist started to throw guitar picks into the crowd, plucking one last one from his guitar and marching over to directly in front of you. The song they played next was clearly well known but it was only vaguely familiar to you, it was one you would listen to ironically while doing the dishes, one that you didn’t care much for, but was catchy nonetheless. What you didn’t realise was just how suggestive the lyrics were – and so when the man with the white guitar stood in front of you, spreading his legs to put himself in a more comfortable playing stance you thought nothing about it but his next motions had your panties soaking themselves in your slick. A long and crooked finger pointed to himself quickly, then he went back to wailing on his precious guitar just before giving himself a window of about a second to stop, his ring and middle finger very rapidly turned upwards, flicking rapidly as if motioning fingering you, his goggles deadlocked on your eyes. You could tell he was watching you for a reaction, and how you knew you wouldn’t be able to tell. Christ, maybe you should have listened to Lilly when she was telling you this band was horny. Truthfully, you had shrugged it off, what, some singer in a pope mask acting all horny? That didn’t exactly get your rocks off, but the moment you laid eyes on the masked men playing their instruments, all rational thought flew out the window. 

Little did you know that the guitarist did have his eyes set on you, all queues already learned, his body moving on auto pilot, his performance was deliberately exaggerated just for you, his motions tailored to get you hot and bothered. He knew he played the best role, and as the show went on, with the lack of water, and the horrid head, he knew his veins were pronouncing themselves even more, fingers sliding around, fingering the fretboard with an expert speed. Every nook, cranny, and metal notch memorised by the calluses on the pads of his fingers, like an old lover he’d always know how to please. He would pride himself on it, on his accuracy, and he was thankful, oh so thankful, that his death metal band had allowed him the dexterity to pull something such as this off. 

Your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from his figure, stalking his every move like a predator with their prey, A game of cat and mouse you both played with each other from the stage and the crowd. At this point, all shame was thrown out the window and you were openly eye fucking him, blood boiling in your veins and mouth starting to run a little dry. 

The final nail in the coffin was during their heaviest song during the show, a calm moment before the storm, before the stadium exploded in a downpour of black and white paper confetti. Your eyes fixated on the man before you as the song slows to a steady chug, breathy whispers sung into the microphones. It made your head spin as you were trying to compose yourself, breath hitching as the object of your lustful affection met your gaze. His black inky goggles bored you as he brought a shaky hand up, his other hand chugging the low E of his guitar. You were transfixed by the man, unable to peel your eyes from him as he slowly and seductively licked his hand, tongue expertly flicking between his fingers, his shaky breaths becoming ragged and exaggerated. Pressing his hand to his chest, he threw his head back in a moan, sliding his elegant fingers down the front of his uniform until it was level with his guitar, and exactly in time with his strumming, he fisted his hand and with a teasing motion he tugged at the air. Your mouth ran completely dry as you registered that he was feigning masturbation in front of thousands of people. He had you caught in a trance, hypnotised by his agonising motions, his eyes seemingly staring into your very soul, picking apart every last bit of you - he saw the scars inside and your desires all rolled into one. As his actions picked up, one hand still busy on his guitar, you let out a choked breath, transfixed by the man, ghoul, whatever he was, before you. He commanded all your attention, causing your mouth to run completely dry but it couldn’t have prepared you for his “release”--  letting go the moment the confetti cannon exploded. Your jaw slacked, a strangled moan flying from your mouth as you clenched your thighs together, mouth slightly agape. 

The guitarist knew he had you in a chokehold at that very moment, smirking from underneath his coverings. Flawlessly he jumped back into the song and turned away from you, the game of cat and mouse had become too much, too real. It had only taken him an hour and a half to break you down, but once he did he felt a satisfaction he couldn’t explain, and of course he would try to hide it as he continued to strut across the stage as if he owned it. The reality was that he didn’t want to give away just the way this little game had affected him as well, an undeniable strain in his lower half. If his bandmates had noticed, they had clearly made it their mission to torture him, the rhythm guitarist getting on his knees in front of him during a solo, fucking into his own guitar as he pressed his head to the lead guitarists thigh. It wasn’t until the lead placed a boot on his shoulder to push away from him that the one on his knees relented, the crowd exploding in a rain of screams, and yet all you heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You resigned, the game had been won.

As you tried to catch your breath, you looked over to Lilly, thanking Satan that she hadn’t noticed your turmoil. The rest of the show had you holding your breath, knowing that the masked musician had made it his mission to play games with you.  the show ended, you were relieved, you might have a moment yet to go home and get yourself off, forgetting the whole of the events that transpired. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here and to the merch table before it gets too crowded!” Lilly cheered, sticking her handout for you to take, but as soon as she looked over your face her eyes drained of excitement. “Oh, are you okay? You look a little pale,” she noted, tilting her head to the side. 

“Y-yeah, I,” You cleared your throat, “I’m fine, just feeling a little warm. I think I might head home but you go grab some merch. I’ll text you,” you lied cooly. You didn’t want her to know the profound effect that the lead guitarist had on you. With a nod she gave your shoulder a squeeze and darted off. 

You could finally breathe, the suffocation that gripped at your throat just moments earlier had slightly dissipated. As dirty as your thoughts were at the moment, it was in your best interest to get moving, and so, as if on autopilot, you let your feet carry you as far from the stage as possible. You slipped past the crowd, weaving in and around groups of friends, teenagers reeling about the show, displeased parents. You wanted to beeline it out of there before anyone noticed you but unfortunately your plan was short lived as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and tug you behind a closed door. 

Your brain ran at a mile a minute, trying to figure out whether it was cause for alarm, but as your back collided with the wall behind you, you were met with the masked ghoul from the stage pressing his knee between your legs, pinning you in place. All colour drained from your face as your breathing laboured. There wasn’t any fear in your body, not any longer, and if there had been any,it had been replaced with undeniable arousal, heat being sent straight to your core. It took all your willpower not to grind into his thigh.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The husky voice purred, a small accent peaking through. He smelled intoxicating, like amber and cigarettes, a tinge of iron poking through in the softest of undertones. It drove you crazy, mind spinning, dizzy with want. He cocks his head to the side, his nautical mask tilting, the black goggles seemingly bottomless, swallowing his eyes. The musician’s expression is completely unreadable and if you knew any better you’d say it was like a predator who had caught his prey. Your mistake was thinking the little game you both played was over, yet now it seems like it had just begun. The man leans into you, invading your space completely, his covered mouth coming up beside your ear. “Oh you thought our little game was over, didn’t you?” He pulls back, allowing your caged body some space. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, little one.” His sweet voice purrs, setting you over the edge, hips finally pushing into his leg as your head tilts back, smacking softly into the wall.

“Fuck…” The syllable leaves your mouth as a groan before you can do anything about it. Surely you were dreaming this, but when you opened your eyes, you were met with the same mask, the same expression that stared at you from the stage. 

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart, I’ll have to bring you to the green room. We’ll paint it red in sin .” You swore you could hear him wink from behind his coverings but you didn’t care, satan, you didn’t care as long as you could have him. You’d worship him in uniform, all sweat slicked and bloody if you had to. In this moment you had a one track mind and you’d be damned if you didn’t act on your desires… but maybe having these desires meant that you were already damned. “What, not as bold anymore? Devil got your tongue?” He mused. 

“Are you going to run your mouth or are you going to fuck me?” You spit out at him, a feigned venom behind your words, but they were too lust drenched to be taken harshly. In an instant his body was against yours, thigh pressing into your cunt, slowly rubbing back and forth.

“Earn it.” He growled out, face burying itself into the crook of your neck to pepper both kisses and love bites across your jugular. Your body caught fire, desperate to be taken by the mysterious man then and there. You hadn’t seen his face and you were mildly worried that seeing it would ruin the illusion. Would you even find him attractive under all his coverings? You didn’t have time to think about it before his hands came to the meat of your ass, tugging you against him with a burning desire, fire coursing through his veins. The strangled moan that ripped from your throat was one you weren’t expecting, but did it ever feel right, his strained cock digging into your hips as he pushed your body closer to his. You could tell he was well endowed even through the fabric of his trousers, a heat creeping up your neck at this realisation. 

“Don’t tease.” You spat, hands coming up to grip his slightly torn jacket, his arm coverings hiding any identifiers. You were going off of nothing aside from the little fire element pin that was securely pinned to the lapel of his uniform. Your hands found themselves tugging him forward, daring him to kiss you. 

“Don’t be a brat.” The stranger growled, swiftly lowering the cloth covering his mouth before assaulting your lips with his. It was all teeth and tongues, pure lust taking over every one of your senses, and it seemed to be true for him as well. You kissed back furiously, nipping at his bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from him that would turn into a groan as you rolled your hips against his, begging for some relief. “Easy, pet.” He muttered against the plushness of your mouth, a small tender moment slipping through the cracks. As much as you enjoy rough, there was a certain swell that filled your heart in knowing that he wouldn’t push too far. 

Your escapades were all tongue, teeth, and lips, strangled moans, and tugging at each other’s clothes until you both reached the green room wherethe band was supposed to be, however, your mystery man had ensured to clear it before he went out to find you. The only time either one of you broke from one another was for air or to push the door closed, locking it in the process. Both of you were too impatient, a carnal desire for one another pooling into your veins, fire spreading through you both and kindling in that very low spot in your abdomens.

“If you need me to stop, the safe word is Beelzebub.” The man’s husky voice cut through the groans, tugging your hips forward into his by the belt loops. He gave you a moment to process what he had said, but instead you grabbed onto his mask and tugged his head forward, lapping at his bottom lip in order to gain access to his mouth. As soon as he parted his lips, you were welcomed by his tongue dancing in tandem with yours. He tasted of wintergreen and cigarette smoke, a combination so sinful, so depraved that you should have been turned off, instead it flooded you with desire. 

“Need you.” You panted out between kisses, the man unrelenting his assault on your mouth. You were utterly soaked through, and you were certain that the musician could smell you but you didn’t care, not right now anyway. You should have been embarrassed by being taken like this but it just turned you on even more knowing that maybe you would get to live out your newly discovered kink instead of trying to soothe — or smother — the flames by yourself. 

“Do you need me?” The man mused. “Mmm, prove it to me, my little devil.” His hand crept from your waist down to your hips, and from your hips down to between your legs, agonizingly circling your cunt, thumb pressing into the seam of your jeans in the exact spot your clit would be in. “Show me how needy you are for me… Go on…” His husky voice teased. When you didn’t react he spun you so your back would be to him, a strong arm holding you against his body while the other busied himself with teasing you. His breath was by your ear now, and his cock pressed into your ass. He was so worked up that he began to rut his hips forward, moaning at the friction. His moan elicited a reaction in you, causing you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, mouth falling open. The tassels on his overcoat swayed with each rut of his hips, tickling the side of your face. You couldn’t imagine he wasn’t warm in his get up but you were too occupied to do anything about it. 

“Please, fuck, I need you.” You choked out, eyes screwed shut as he teased. You felt him lick a stripe up your neck before nipping just underneath your ear as a small warning before latching his lips to the sensitive spot, sucking a dark bruise into your skin. The sickening combination of his lips on your neck, his hard on rubbing against your ass, and his fingers teasing your clothed cunt was becoming too much, driving your senses crazy. A low growl emanated from deep within his chest, reverberating across your back from the proximity.

“Then get down on your knees….” He spins you around, voice low and husky as he shoves you down, a mix of fear and burning desire settling in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your knees hit the ground with a thud and you’d be sure to bruise later, but that was a small price to pay. You watched him undo his belt and pull his zipper down before bringing his hand back up to his face, licking it slowly like he had during the show. You knew what was coming but what you didn’t expect was him to give you one last order as he spidered his fingers down the ruffled fabric of his shirt. “And pray.” An animalistic snarl came from beyond the mask as his fingers trailed into his boxers this time. The man tugged his cock out and began to stroke himself, chest heaving, his breathing became laboured. 

“Oh, god.” You uttered, but the musician didn’t seem to like that. He let go of his cock, allowing it to bounce against his stomach, a stark contrast with his black attire. It looked delicious with the little opalescent bead of precum nestled on the very tip. 

“No, my pet,” he purred, his thumb coming to your lips, slipping past them and into your mouth. It tasted of brass and sweat yet you opted to hollow your cheeks around it anyway, “you answer to our savior, satanus here. You are no longer in the house of god.” There was a cruelty behind his voice, corruption on his tongue. You would have thought the theatrics would have instantly had you shoving him away, but instead it left you craving the masked man, mouth salivating at the thought of him completely ruining you. 

Without much warning, he tapped his cock on your lips, his precum smudging across your lips, and satanus, was it going to be his death. Your dark smudge of red lipstick would become ruins in the wake, the thought of a red ring around his member had his brain short circuiting, if you didn’t take him in your mouth soon he was going to lose it. Luckily you complied, opening wide to accommodate his size, letting your tongue lap at his tip as he slid in. He started slowly, almost carefully in order not to hurt you but soon enough you pushed his cock to the back of your throat, eliciting a strangled moan from him. His hands flew to your hair, desperate to hold onto something, anything, and he tugged you forward, pulling a moan from the very back of your throat. You pulled back, saliva building up in your mouth mixing with the salty taste of his seed.It wasn’t something you expected to like but you found yourself chasing it, craving more. 

Your head bobbed over his length, your moans muffled as you tried to take him deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. His delicate resolve broke then and there, slamming into you at a frantic pace. He chased his high, immense pleasure searing through his veins as he fucked into your mouth like an animal, all sense of self control was gone. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, giving him the most innocent look you could muster as you flicked your tongue over his tip, lapping at his slit. Agonisingly you pulled back, employing the aid of your hand around his length, taking only part of him in your mouth. You jacked him off as you hollowed your cheeks around his tip, tongue expertly flicking over his frenulum and eliciting the most pornographic moan from him.

“Satanus, save me.” The man hissed from above you, pulling on your hair to draw you closer. He was losing control, babbling about how pretty you looked on your knees for him. “You are so exquisitely sinful, my pet.” His chest heaved with every breath he took, fingers tangling themselves further into your head of hair, fingernails practically at your scalp. 

You take the praise and you run with it, taking it as a signal to keep going, and this time you move your free hand up his leg, rubbing over his thigh as a tease, a preamble to what you were going to do next. You took his groan as a confirmation to continue, his breaths coaxing you to keep going. You slid your hand up, opting to rub his thigh teasingly, savouring the feeling of the looser material under your fingertips, toying with it before you continued your journey up. While your mouth and right hand busied themselves with his thick cock, your left hand came up to fondle his heavy balls. Who knew that praying to a false idol could be so pleasurable. 

“Oh, oh, f-fuck.” The taller threw his head back, voice gruff and fucked out, clearly enjoying this more than he should have been. He was rapidly losing any grip on the situation and he needed to extract himself from it unless he wanted to spill into your mouth. It was his nightmare, his most sinful fantasy, having you like this after the show – a stranger, a person in the crowd. The amount of people that would absolutely kill to be in your position and it was likely that you weren’t appreciating it as you should have been. The man keened before tugging you back harshly, his hips stuttering at the sudden loss of contact from your mouth. “If you keep going like that, I’m going to cum down your throat, sweetheart.” There was a certain level of concern laced into his tone, one that you glossed over through your lust. 

“Holy shit…” You breathe out, pupils completely blown, the colours of your irises practically disappearing due to how clouded your mind was with him, only him, nothing but him, and how divine his cock was. At your words, something inside him snaps and he grabs your throat, pulling you up. You could feel yourself growing more aroused by the minute. How he had guessed that you’d be into choking was beyond you, but fuck was this doing things to you that you hadn’t even thought possible. 

“There is nothing Holy here.” He growled out, a darkness overtaking his voice. His words sent a cold shiver down your spine, one that found itself shooting down towards your core, causing you to press to him. The ember glow from behind his goggles scanned over your face, flickering, igniting a fire in the bits of your belly. “Here we succumb to our lust.” He breathes before letting your neck go only to bring his hand down to your chest and massage your breast, pinching gently through the fabric of your tank top. In an instant, his mouth attacked your neck savagely, teeth nipping at the thin skin, tongue flicking over the bites to soothe them. You tilt your head back to accommodate him, your breathy moans coming up right beside his ear as you rut into him. You’re desperate to be fucked at this point, needing him more than you need to breathe. 

He pierced your skin with his canines, an animalistic desire for you taking over him. He could no longer think, all consumed by his desires. You felt his lips trail down, soft as a butterfly’s wings, stopping at your jugular vein before he bit down, causing you to let out a yelp. Your cry of pain turned into a pornographic moan as he sucked and lapped at your salty skin, a small sheen of sweat starting to gloss over you as you burned up. If this was what being in hell was like, you’d have a hard time coming up with reasons to wind up in heaven. Your torture didn’t end there; however, as he snaked his free hand up to your cheek, holding you in place tenderly as he continued his assault on your neck. He made it his mission to mark you up as his but you were too far gone to care. 

“Oh Christ.” You moaned as he lapped at the bite marks he left, but he didn’t seem to like this. Not that you could see this much, but his eyes turned dark as he trailed his lips farther down, burying his face in the crook of your neck before he bit down hard enough to draw blood. Your pain was immediately covered in a strangled cry of pure ecstasy as he tugged you towards him, his hand on your breast moving to your hip, surely bruising it, fingerprint embedded in the skin of your hip bone. 

The taste of iron filled the musician’s mouth, his hard on reacting to your metallic taste, pressing into your hip involuntarily. He couldn’t get enough of you - the intoxicating smell of amber and palo santo mixed with the salt from sweat, and the citrus of the gin… He wanted to ruin you once and for all. 

“No, my pet, you are not in the house of God. Only the devil resides here. Will I need to have you pray to me again?” The growl that ripped from his throat has you soaking your lace panties, a choked sob escaping from your parted lips. As he took you in, he noted that you already looked completely fucked out, the bruising on your neck blooming like deep red roses, a symbol of both love and devotion. The only thing you could do was shake your head in answer to him. “Mmm,” the stranger hummed, “your body and blood are mine, sweetheart.” He teased you. As your chest heaved, you examined him, traces of your blood down his chin, and some smeared across his mask, his lips were swollen from the harsh and animalistic kisses he was giving you, and satanus were you ever attracted to him in this moment. 

“Please… Can I see you?” You plead, your hands coming to his waist, trailing down slowly, your right hand making contact with his cock. The soft cant of his hips encouraged you to grip it gently, stroking him languidly as you await his answer. “Please…” You repeated, eyes desperately boring into the void behind his goggles. 

“Oh, is my little pet desperate to see me?” He cooed out, his fingers skillfully finding your belt, undoing it at a painfully slow pace. It was your turn to buck your hips into him, rolling them into his touch. “Mmm, such a little slut, can’t wait until I get my hands on you, can you?” He teased. 

“Satanus, yes, please! Wanna see you.” You groaned, breath catching as he slowly teased you through your jeans. “Need you, need- need- ah!” You cried, throwing your head back once again, eyes fluttering shut from absolute pleasure. It’s then that the man opted to unzip your fly, pausing his animalistic activities to gently tug your jeans over your hips. You weren’t having any of this slow and sweet shit; however, and kicked them off as soon as you got the chance to, allowing him easier access to your sopping cunt. The smell hit him immediately and he moaned, head falling against your forehead, his breathing ragged and strained. His cock reacted, bouncing in your hand and you continued your teasing. 

“Then beg me for it, pet. I don’t think you’ve earned the opportunity to unmask me just yet.” His resolve crumbled with every soft touch, every stroke. He pushed into your hand and you took that as a sign to speed your motions before you pushed him back. Confusion was written across his features, that was until you let a healthy glob of spit hit his angry cock. “Oh mother fuck.” The man hissed out, crashing his bloodied lips into your own, allowing the metallic taste of your own blood to permeate your tongue. You reciprocated, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He parted his lips, granting you access, as he swiftly moved your panties to the side, his thick fingers slipping between your weeping folds. It took everything in him to not take you then and there, your pussy sucking his fingers in, tight and wet. 

“Please, please, I need to see you.” You sobbed out between kisses, but it was clear that it wasn’t enough. The musician growled at your words, dipping his index into your slick and using it as a lubricant to tease your clit with, it took him a moment but he found the bundle of nerves. The instanthis calloused finger landed on your clit, your vision exploded into stars, mouth practically running on its own, incoherent pleas and various iterations of “more” tumbling from your swollen lips. You were finally giving him something to work with, the pleas, the praises. He continued working your cunt, curling his fingers into the sweet spot deep inside you, warm walls squeezing against him. 

“Oh, darling. I’ll give you whatever your sinful heart desires.” He nipped at your bottom lip, splitting it with his canines before he pulled back, panting as he tried to catch his breath, however he refused to remove his hand from your cunt, slowing his movements only a fraction so that he could catch his bearings. “Are you sure?” He asked you, a worry laced in his voice. You nodded fervently, a saccharine look in your eyes peeking through beyond the undeniable lust. Whether you understood he was anxious about what you would think of him or not wasn’t apparent but regardless, you wanted to know who the man you were bound to fuck was. 

With a swift move he tugged the mask off, tossing it to the couch behind him and removing his balaclava. What you hadn’t expected was the sight to take your breath away completely. His hair tumbled out of the bun he had it tucked into, and the messy curls cascaded down his shoulders, doe eyes framed by the prettiest eyelashes you’d ever seen, and his swollen lips? God you couldn’t even think anymore. You immediately kissed them, nipping at his lips, taking his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking, tearing a moan from him, his lust filled eyes expanding even farther as you continued your assault on his lips. You bit down harder this time, cracking his lip. This time the metallic taste belonged to him and you couldn’t help but moan at his taste. You needed more. 

“Please, I- I need you…” You panted, eyeing the man with carnal desire. 

“Eddie, my name is Eddie.” And with that final confession he grabbed you by the hip and dragged you back to the roomiest surface he could find. It was all teeth, tongue, and the metallic taste of each other’s blood. Your hand on his cock and his fingers still working you open, movements becoming more erratic as he practically drilled into you with his fingers, setting an unrelenting pace that he seemed eager to keep up. Your knees hit the back of a couch, and his arm immediately shot to the small of your back, gently lowering you, a contrast to how he was abusing your needy body. Your hands moved to his hair in preparation for what was to come, yanking at his soft locks, releasing a deep moan from low in his chest. His hair was silky underneath your fingertips, few tangles in the way or your mission. 

“Eddie, please.” You whined, flush with desire, unable to think of what you wanted anymore than wanting him. A smirk adorned his lips and he sank his knees onto the soft cushion, knees bracketing your hips perfectly, his hands coming up to frame your face, curls ticking your cheekbones as he did so. 

“Open up, sweetheart.” He cooed. Instinctively you parted your lips for him only to feel a glob of his spit fly into your mouth. “Now swallow like the good devil worshipping slut you are.” You obeyed without question, swallowing down his spit with a pornographic moan. As you did, he took a moment to line himself up for you. “God, you look so beautiful, blasphemous doesn’t even begin to cover it, pet.” He praised as he rubs his dick against your soaked entrance, your hips rocking into him, threatening to suck him in. He hissed but slid his hand down your body, tracing your figure with his fingers, teasing in the most tantalising way, once he reaches your ass, he gives it a harsh slap at which you gasp out, choking on your breath, the sting of his hand making contact with your ass radiating a heat you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t expected it in the least but it was welcome nonetheless. “Behave.” He growled out, a darkness seeping into the word.

“P-Please, Eds… I need - I can’t, please.” You babbled, words completely incoherent. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for at this point. His cock? His fingers? Were you asking to be fucked stupid? In all your incoherent ramblings and begging Eddie caught one thing that made his brain fuzzy around the edges. “Corrupt me satanus, corrupt me, please.” Playing into the whole devil worship aspect had him gone, his hips violently snapping into yours, completely disregarding that you might need to adjust to the stretch. Part of him felt bad, but your immediate response was to wrap your legs around his waist, crying his name out as tears brimmed your eyes, mascara beginning to run down your cheeks. To Eddie, you looked absolutely perfect. He leaned in and peppered kisses across your face to wipe away the tears that trickled down. 

“S’this what you want, my little pet? You want me to ruin you?” His husky voice was in your ear as he dipped his head lower, his hips rolling into yours slowly. He moved masterfully for someone so scrawny, cock buried to the hilt as he rocked into you. Your mouth fell slack, tightening your legs around his waist and tugging him into you. “Come on, answer me, sweetheart.” He coaxed, pulling out of you slowly before snapping his hips into yours. The pleasure and pain mixed together in a teasing dance, keeping you on the edge and overwhelming your senses all the same. You couldn’t verbally answer and so you turned your head, tucking your face into his neck and kissing up to his ear. About halfway up you landed on a sensitive spot, causing a moan to tumble from his lips, a shiver running down your spine. You latched on like a vampire, sucking over the spot, lapping over it with your tongue to soothe any violent bites you inflicted upon him. In turn he bit into your shoulder, trying to ground himself in reality instead of losing himself to carnal pleasure, the coil in his abdomen tightening evermore. His plan had gone to shit the moment you continued to nibble on his neck, your hands tugging harder at his lock, pulling him further into you. With a slight upward tilt of your hips, Eddie hit a new angle when he snapped his hips into yours, ploughing deeper into you. The both of you moaned in unison before he released a strangled whimper. It was your turn to break skin, your mouth filled with the crimson substance that sustained Eddie’s life. Releasing your lips from the wound, you kissed over his neck and to his shoulder, smearing the fluid across his upper half. 

His pace picked up, slamming into you, deeper and deeper, nothing but the sound of breathless lovers, bodies colliding, and the sweet ecstasy of carnal desire flooding the green room. Your hand then came to his back, scratching down it and eliciting a whine from the man above you. 

“Please, please, please.” You chanted into his neck. It was as if he understood what you meant, his hand coming down between your joined bodies to rub over the bundle of nerves, little figure eights being drawn over your clit. You were going to lose your mind, and maybe even your soul. Would selling it to the devil be so bad? It didn’t take long after that for a white heat to build, a pressure that you weren’t used to building, the coil tightening, threatening to snap like an elastic band. 

“Oh, shit, sweetheart, I’m close.” The man turned his head, kissing up your neck, over your cheek, and found your lips. His kiss was searing hot, burning with need. He chased his release with you, trying to bring you as close to the edge as he could, hoping you might be able to finish at the same time. “Don’t want to finish until you do.” The devil could be generous if he wanted to be.

“S’close.” You panted against his swollen lips, unable to give any coherent answer to him, not that you cared. If laying in sin felt this good, you’d bed the devil any day. “Please, Eds… Don’t stop.” And somehow he kept at it, the same pace, same pressure, same rough and unrelenting fuck that he had been using for the past few minutes. He knew that don’t stop also meant that he shouldn’t change a single fucking thing he was doing, and rightfully so. With a cry, you closed your eyes tight, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you came, the elastic finally snapping, and your release soaking Eddie’s stage uniform. 

“Oh- fuck!” The man squeaked, his own release following shortly after. He could have sworn he saw stars in that moment, arms shaking beneath his own weight. His body fully collapsed on top of yours, your arms wrapping around him tightly, kisses tenderly placed on his shoulder. “So perfect f’me.” He mumbled into your sticky skin, reluctantly peeling from you. His brutal and domineering demeanour melted away, replaced by a certain level of care. You could see it behind his eyes clearly. “You okay, sweetheart?” He cooed, brushing your hair from your face, a few strands sticking to your forehead. 

“Y-yeah.” You shakily breathe out, your voice hoarse from the activities that had just taken place. As you try to prop yourself up on your shoulders, you wince, a pain shooting through you. “Just sore.” You murmured, suddenly shy under the musician’s gaze. You didn’t dare look at him anymore, a twinge of shame filling your heart. 

“Hey, sweetheart, come here.” He mumbled, scooting closer, not daring to pull out just yet. He pulls you up, legs entangled with each other in a pile of limbs, unsure of where one person ended and the other began. He pressed your warm body to his, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, rubbing soothing circles over your back, his gentle voice whispering sweet nothings to you. 

“Thank you, Eddie.” You mumbled into his skin, placing a tender kiss over a forming bruise. “That was something else.” He hummed in agreement, allowing his eyes to flutter close for a second, letting himself enjoy a fleeting moment of human contact while he was on tour. While the guys were wonderful and he loved them to death, there was a certain intimacy that he missed in lovers. One that he didn’t indulge in as much these days. 

Reluctantly, he pulled out and you pulled away, debating whether to say anything to him, or whether you wanted to indulge in some more pleasantries. If you were any wiser and more observant you’d have noticed the longing in his eyes, his gaze trailing over your figure as you pushed away to gather your belongings. It was odd to say that the musician would have wanted you to stick around for some more aftercare, it would have been even stranger if he admitted to you that he just wanted you to stick around post coitus and have a drink, maybe a smoke, and get to know each other. 

“Hey, hang on, let me clean you up.” His voice softened, taking you aback. “Come on, pet, I’m not gonna leave you like this.” He gets up only to tuck himself back into his slick soaked uniform, cringing as he does so. He grabs a water bottle from the nearby table and a small cloth kept on the vanity in the far corner of the room. “Come on, just sit.” He motioned back over to the couch and watched as you hesitantly padded over. You sat down on the cleanest area you could find, squirming as you began to feel Eddie’s cum slipping out of you. 

“S’fine, you don’t have to.” You mumbled, turning away from the man. He sighed as he approached you, sinking to his knees before starting to clean your thighs. He worked his way up between your legs, cleaning the leaking spend from your cunt. He placed a few gentle kisses to the tops of your thighs, your eyes flicking over to him as he did so. That was the moment you got a good look at the man. Dark ink littered his skin, barely an inch was pure, untouched, the only areas you couldn’t see his tattoos were the areas in which you had drawn blood, the dried fluid flaking slowly. He continued cleaning you up, rubbing gentle and warm circles with the wet cloth. Part of you couldn’t help but find this incredibly thoughtful, your heart squeezing at the gestures, but the other half of you believed that you were probably just an easy lay. 

“Hush, yes I do. It’s the least I can do.” His doe eyes met yours as he looked up at you through his lashes. “I made a mess of you, darling, and I need to clean you up.” His voice was sincere, soft even, and you couldn’t help but melt. You allowed him to tend to your tired limbs, and once he got to your neck, he apologised, knowing that it would probably hurt. You couldn’t help but stare at the softness behind his eyes, the fire that burned within had fizzled out and was replaced by some unnamed emotion. As the towel made contact with your neck, you winced, earning yourself a kiss from the musician. It shocked you that even after the heat of the lustful moment he was still willing to kiss you but you accepted it, melting into his lips. They were soft, a little chapped, but inviting nonetheless. 

“Thank you.” You whispered against them, afraid your voice would give out if you spoke any louder. Your hand came up to his face, brushing your thumb over his sharp cheekbone before placing your forehead against his. “You’re sweeter than I anticipated.” 

“And you’re kinkier than I anticipated.” He retorted and moved back gently, only to give himself room to fold the towel over to a clean side before cleaning up your face with a gentle hand. “Thank you for indulging me.” He cooed out to you, his sincerity going straight to your heart. You couldn’t help but nod. 

“I should go.” Your voice broke, and in that same moment, so did Eddie’s heart. There was something to you that drew him in, that he wanted more of, that he craved. It flew past just the need for human contact, part of it had to do with the way you ran with the punches he threw, you went with the game you played from the stage all the way to the back room. Eddie nodded solemnly, pushing away. 

“Yeah, uh…” He bit his lip, tossing the washcloth on the coffee table. Surely worse things had been on that surface in the past, but right now Eddie didn’t care about that, not about what was on that table, what would be in the future, or what he just threw onto it. “You don’t have to, I actually, I don’t know that I want you to. Can I at least buy you a drink?” He asked, standing up straight. You turn around, grabbing your pants so you could slip them back on over your legs. 

“You want to buy me a drink?” There’s a hopeful tinge to your voice, head shooting over to look at the musician in question. As you did, you hissed out gently, the garden of blooming roses on your neck blossoming farther across your neck, bite marks adorning your skin like dark tattoos. There was no denying what had gone on. 

“Sweetheart, I think we both left a mark on one another,” he teased, “when you pray to the devil so well, I think it’s hard for him to resist.” A twinkle in his eyes told you it was more than just the sex you both had. “Besides, it might help with the pain. What do you say?” 

“Mhmm,” you hummed as if you were deep in thought, “only if the devil can treat me right.” You mused. “You going to change first?” You waggled your eyebrows, referring to his squirt-soaked trousers, only to receive a smirk in return.  “Oh no sweetheart, I wear my battle scars with pride.” With that, he pushed back to grab his helmet, slipping it back over his head before taking your hand in his and leading you off to the bar. He wasn’t what you expected, none of it was, the show, the music, Eddie, but as you took his hand you couldn’t help the feeling brewing in your chest; the feeling that maybe the unexpected was exactly what you needed.

taglist: @munson-blurbs @the-unforgivenn @littlesubbyflower @word-wytch (if you want) @rip-quizilla @hellfire--cult @mystish

[cruesuffix]

Another Crüe Interview

From: The Observer (January ‘05)

Transcribed by: Miss Lily (me)

Tagline: ‘Sex, drugs and hip replacement surgery... the continuing adventures of Motley Crue, the most notorious rock'n roll band in the world.’

Wrecking Crüe’s Return

The most obnoxious and excessive band ever are back. In Los Angeles, Caspar Llewellyn Smith asks Mötley Crüe about facelifts, Pamela Anderson and hip replacements. Photographs by Jamie-James Medina

IT IS A CHILL winter night in Los Angeles when the four members of the band billed as the most notorious on earth unfurl themselves from unfurl themselves from their hot rod hearse. The two figures that loom largest are Tommy Lee, with all the goofy energy of a maniacal drummer and former husband of Pamela Anderson that you might expect, and the vampiric Nikki Sixx, bassist and de facto leader of the group in its present incarnation. Less able to command the flashbulbs and TV carnera booms - less able to extricate himself from the vehicle - is guitarist Mick Mars, who is more the wraith, bent double and stick thin, barely mobile following his hip replacement operation less than five weeks ago.

Despite $70,000 worth of plastic surgery, courtesy of MTV which has been filming him for a reality show, singer Vince Neil looks puffy in the face, not the lip sticked blonde pretty boy who fronted the band when they were the most baroquely glamorous and barbarically decadent act ever seen. But as the group forge, and in one instance, hobble their way into the venue, is the serpentine way in which Vince's tongue flickers from his mouth that makes the fans outside the Palladium - chanting “Crüüüüüe! Crüüüüüe!” as if a moratorium on umlauts has expired - believe this is the day they feared would never come.

Vince's reptilian aspect is repulsive, frankly, but this band more than any proved that when it comes to heavy metal, a little sleaze surely never hurt. So, after the several overdoses and deaths among their circle of friends, after the soap operas of their many and varied lurid relationships, after all the all the bad-blood between them.... more than five years since they spilt, seemingly for ever. Mötley Crüe have risen.

Alas, from the media's vantage point, impossible to discern the precise object of Vince's desire. That is because the Crüe's arrival at the venue has been fraught, and the reporters gathered - from publications including the Wall Street Journal and Metal Hammer (Germany) - are already listening to five men in suits at a press conference, as silent video footage behind them describes the scene outside. It could be an accountants' convention, as Dennis from the American booking agency explains that this reunion, encompassing a global tour, has come about because Nikki was 'treated like an icon' by fans when he toured with his own band following publication of The Dirt, the Crue's bestselling autobiography (described by Rolling Stone as the most detailed account of the awesome pleasures and perils of rock'n' roll stardom ever'). Nikki was busy writing his own Heroin Diaries, an account of his old addiction, but finally capitulated to the demands of promoters, rang the other guys, and lawyers smoothed it all through.

Since the group fell apart, Neil too has had his own band, as well as his fledgling TV career (Remaking: Vince Neil started airing in the States this month) and interests in motor racing and golf. Likewise Tommy, presently in the middle of recording the “best thing I've ever done” with his outfit Methods of Mayhem, also the star of a forthcoming reality show for NBC TV (in which he gets sent to university to take classes in chemistry, literature and horticulture). Then there was last year's autobiography, Tommyland, in which he said that his long standing antagonism towards Vince would prevent the Crüe ever reforming

Mick, the eldest at 48 by two years, has been mostly laid low by his ankylosing spondylitis or the 'grey ghost’ as he calls it - a genetic bone disease that is slowly fusing the joints in his body and which necessitated hip surgery.

Vince, Tommy and Nikki talk with relish about their extracurricular activities, and Tommy has already disparaged four new songs that the band have recorded (“they're wack!”). As for Mick, it seems an act of demonic sadism to force him to throw himself into the demands of a crushing rock tour. But next, at the press conference, Rick from VH1 notes that “our audience has a great interest in metal overall right now,” while Jim from Clear Channel Entertainment, the dominant media force in US rock, admits to having “recently refamiliarised myself with their hits' like 'Girls, Girls. Girls'.” He announces that one of the 'polished new numbers, 'If I Die Tomorrow,’ “will definitely be a hit in 2005.” Rick and Jim are as heavy metal as the Olsen twins and their dour rapaciousness feels depressingly at odds with the vaunted spirit of this particular group

It is to a more romantic view that Tommy subscribed earlier, during the band's only formal interviews on this occasion. They have gathered at a studio rehearsal space in outlying Burbank and plan to board a helicopter painted in their livery to fly to this evening's show. While Nikki is having his hair teased ("Make it bigger!”), the wolfishly grinning drummer responds to the suggestion that the Crüe have always been the quintessential LA band because all the madness of the civilised world washes up here - you go west and then you can't go any further - “So true,” he laughs, “so true!”

Tommy is wearing a baseball cap, a singlet and combat shorts, revealing several tattoos. He talks fondly of Pamela Anderson. but says he advised her not to come to the gig tonight because of the anticipated press 'clusterfuck'; confesses to drinking 'a bit' still; and enthuses about groups such as Snow Patrol and Sigur Rôs (who left him on the floor 'curled up like an infant’ when he heard them for the first time).

“I know, it's kind of crazy." he says of the reunion, “but I just go with whatever seems to be fun at the moment. Wherever my heart is. First I was like. "Ah no, fuck I'm busy." But then there was this overwhelming demand from the fans.” The band constantly pay tribute to their fans. “I'm not stupid, so fuck, let's go!" Of the Crüe's early days, he reminisces: “We were just rebelling against everything else that was fucking going on. Fucking wearing girls make-up… fucking crazy hair and leathers and spandex!"

THE BAND'S ORIGINS LIE GENERALLY IN the decline of Western civilisation, but specifically in a West Coast music scene that had fallen for English pop groups like Haircut 100 and local new wave bands.“Skinny ties with the short hair... we were like, "No fucking way!". The band had come together by April 1981, and Nikki, Vince and Tommy lived together in a two-bedroom cockroach invested apartment on Clark Street, 50 yards from the Whisky A Go Go club on Sunset Strip.

"We'd get drunk, do crazy amounts of cocuine, and walk the circuit in stiletto heels, stumbling all over the place," Vince said in The Dirt. “The Sunset Strip was a cesspool of depravity.” “Is it still like that?" I ask Vince, who is wearing a T-shirt with a pink slogan ('I think that stripper last night liked me') stretched over a waist that belies the fact that he still boozes, It's arguable whether his brow-lift, partial face-lift, check implants, nose job, and jaw-line sculpturing have improved his looks.

“I don't know, he says. “Nobody in the band lives there any more. I'm sure you still have the same wannabes and poseurs who act like rock stars. It's the same old scene. It’s cool.”

Tommy, who has seen Vince perhaps twice' since the band split, begs to differ: “Everything's way different.” He says the local LA scene is on its ass and that “a lot of weird things have happened between from the time we started ‘til now. People wear condoms!"

If Tommy as a kid was a shy outsider, being in Mötley Crüe changed him, as it changed them all. Certainly, girls came flocking, and in the early days there were endless hilarious escapades - like the time that Nikki tried it on with Tommy's mum (“If you can get in there,” said Tommy's father, “you can have it”). And while the drinking and the drugging and the fighting curdled into something darker - the routine humiliation of groupies in ways that make the fable of Led Zeppelin and the mud shark seem quaint, for instance - the band grew closer to each other.

“It was about being in a gang.” says Vince. "People said we wouldn't make it, that we sucked. We were like, "Fuck you!" We just went ahead and stuck to our convictions." The band self financed their first recordings (known as the Leathür tapes) and carried out their own promotional duties, “driving around putting up fucking flyers on telephone poles ourselves,” as Tommy recalls. “There was something really special about that,” he continues. “We fucking made it happen, you know what I mean?"

Finally signed to Elektra Records (despite the label's boss complaining. "I'm not in the circus business”), the Crüe swiftly became the hottest heavy rock act in the States. Records such as Shout at the Devil led to trailblazing tours across North America and Europe. Only Ozzy Osbourne could out-gross them - in a literal sense - as the carnage reached its zenith. (See box page 17.)

Is rock'n'roll a more conservative business these days, I ask Tommy? “Oh my god, it's completely different, it's fucking retarded. Knowing more about it makes me appreciate how the West was won in the old days, how we did it.”

All this time, Nikki in the background is explaining why the group won't take their shirts off for a photograph - nothing to do with their collection of sagging tats, it's because “we're not a fucking boy band!"

Meanwhile, outside on his own in the tour bus sits Mick Mars. Dressed all in black - black sunglasses and a black blanket on his lap, too - he repetitively tugs at the folds of loose skin on his hands. Tommy only met him for the first time in six years three weeks ago and say “he's anti-social - he hates everybody,” as if the prospect of meeting any of the band wasn't potentially intimidating already, But while his condition means he can't turn his head to mect my gaze, Mick seems relieved and pleased to have someone to talk to, and he discusses President Bush's opposition to the stem cell therapy that might help others with his disease with grace and humour.

While Vince is nervous about this evening's imminent performance - “If we screw up, we screw up in front of the world….. it might be the most important gig of our career” - Mick is confident that despite his AS, he can give it '11o per cent'. Forget the sex and drugs, I say, that never-say-die attitude is true rock'n'roll. “That's right."

Nikki suddenly appears and interrupts. The helicopter journey has been cancelled - something to do with the LA Fire Marshall and the negotiation of a landing fee. “That sucks!” shouts Tommy outside. According to the bass player, there's a different reason anyway. "We're the fucking Crüe - that's why!”

Tickets for the Palladium show this evening have been distributed for free to 2,000 fans, who have queued for them outside the Hustler magazine store on Sunset Strip. It is a mostly male crowd, and judging by the faded T-shirts and engorged guts, most of them have been fans since the outset. Thirty-six-year-old Sean Warner, who first saw the group in 1981, and calls the swimming pool cleaning business that he runs 'The Pool Crüe', has however brought his two young sons with him. "It's important that they see the original line-up,” he insists.

The calculation is, of course, that a younger generation will fall for the band's charm given the success of contemporary cock rockers such as the Darkness (at whose gigs the Crüe’s promoters have run teaser ads for this reunion). Also present in the queue, more improbably, is current Los Angeles resident and British pop star-in-the-making Har Mar Superstar. Indeed, it transpires that Har Mar is such a fan that he is living in the Crüe's old apartment. And given the enthusiastic response to this comeback from whippersnappers such as Slipknot, perhaps the Crüe have tapped into the rock zeitgeist. It's mean-spirited to suggest that the spectacular interest in their coming together again reflects a modishly ghoulish desire to learn if they can escape their latest escapades alive.

IN THE YEARS THAT FOLLOW THE BAND'S first flush of succers, the lunacy is pandemic. Nikki starts shooting heroin and coke; the reliably priapic Tommy marries TV starlet Heather Locklear; and on the fourth night of a party to celebrate the release of the band's third album, *Dr Feelgood, a drunken Vince crashes his Ford Pantera into an oncoming vehicle, killing his passenger, leaving the young couple he hits both brain-damaged. He serves a short prison term and enters rehab. Certainly, the pages of The Dirt would make Caligula blush, let alone the band themselves. "The book showed us as assholes,” says Vince, "because for most of the time, that's what we were.”

Nikki goes on something of a drugs bender in Hong Kong - hiring a gaggle of prostitutes dressed as Nazis and nuns for his embarrassed manager - and almost dies of yet another overdose back in LA. The whole band are in and out of rehab, before Vince is fired in early 1992 after falling out with Nikki and with Tommy in particular for the umpteenth time. Tommy weds Pamela Anderson six weeks into their relationship The marriage lasts three tempestuous years and ends with Tommy spending three months in jail on charges of spousal abuse. Hen-pecked and drinking heavily, the reclusive Mick comes close to committing suicide. His extreme case of AS steadily worsens, leading to chronic depression. The others are too preoccupied to really notice. No wonder Tommy tells me: “We are all still alive, right? How crazy is that?"

——————

[Eyes blazing and mouth wet with urine, Ozzy looked straight at me: "Do that, Sixx'

In 1984, Motley Crüe supported Ozzy Osbourne on tour - and finally met their match, as Nikki Sixx relates below

OZZY HARDLY spent a night on his tour bus: he was always on ours. He'd burst through the door with a baggie full of coke, singing. “I am the krelley man, doing all the krell that I can, I can,” and we'd snort up the krell all night long. until the bus stopped and we were in the next city.

In one case, that city happened to be Lakeland, Florida. We rolled out of the bus and went straight to the bar, which was separated from the swimming pool deck by a glass window. Ozzy pulled off his pants and stuck a dollar bill in his ass crack, then walked into the bar, offering the dollar to each couple inside. When an elderly lady began to cuss him out, Ozzy grabbed her bag and took off running.

He came back to the pool wearing nothing but a little day dress he had found in the bag. We were cracking up, though we weren't sure whether his antics were evidence of a wicked sense of humour or a severe case of schizophrenia.

We were hanging out, us in T-shirts and leather, Ozzy in the dress, when all ofa sudden Ozzy nudged me. “Hey, mate, I fancy a bump.”

"Dude," I told him, “we're out of blow.”

“Maybe I can send the bus driver out for some.”

"Give me the straw,” he said, unfazed.

“But, dude, there's no blow.”

“Give me the straw. I'm having a bump.”

I handed him the straw, and he walked over to a crack in the sidewalk and bent over it. I saw a long column of ants. marching to a little sand dugout built where the pavement met the dirt. And as I thought, "No, he wouldn't," he did. He sent the entire line of ants tickling up his nose with a single, monstrous snort.

Then he hiked up the sundress, grabbed his dick, and pissed on the pavement.

Without even looking at his growing audience - everyone on the tour was watching him while the old women and fimilies on the pool deck were pretending not to - he kneit down and, getting the dress soggy in the puddle, lapped it up. He didn't just flick it with his tongue, he took a half-dozen long, lingering. and thorough strokes like a cat. Then he stood up and. eyes blazing and mouth wet with urine, looked straight at me. “Do that. Sixx" I swallowed and sweated. But this was peer pressure that I could not refuse.

After all he had done so much for Motley Crie. And. Ifwe wanted to maintain out reputation as rock's most cretinous band, I couldn't back down, not with everyone watching. I unzipped my pants and whipped out my dick in full view of every. body in the bar and around the pool. ‘I don't give a fuck,’ I thought to steady myself as I made my puddle. ‘I’ll lick up my piss. Who cares?’

But, as I bent down to finish what I had begun, Ozzy swooped in and beat me to it. There he was, on all fours at my feet. licking up my pee. I threw up my hands: "You win.” From The Dirt by Motley Crüe and Neil Strauss (HarperCollins).]

——————

When Vince is kicked out of the band there is an ill-fated diversion into more experimental musical territory with new vocalist John Corabi. Truth be told, the band's pop metal was never wholly original - Mick argues that the Leathür tapes (collected on the tastelessly titled Music to Crash Your Car To box set) show them at their best, rather than the mooted classics on a forthcoming Greatest Hits. But the new album with Corabi flops and on the accompanying tour the band finally, albeit metaphorically, stiffs.

It is during this period that Nikki takes umbrage in an MTV interview when asked about the plentiful women, fire, and hairspray in their videos. “That's a silly question. Women, hairspray and fire?!”

In late 1996, Vince (whose four-year-old daughter, Skylar, has meanwhile died of cancer) returns to the fold. According to the singer: “I wouldn't have gotten defensive like Nikki. I wouid have said, “You know what, we are about fucking fire, we are about chicks, and we are about hairspray. And that's a whole lot better than being about boredom.”

The band disintegrates again in 1999 - Tommy leaves, the others limping on with a drummer called Randy Castillo for two more years (Castillo then leaves, and dies of cancer shortly thereafter).

No wonder that now, within the next six months, filming is due to start on a screen version of The Dirt. “I want Brad Pitt to play me,” says Tommy. So does Nikki. Vince reckons Val Kilmer could get him down pat. And you, Mick? "Jennifer Aniston,” he says deadpan. “I want her to play me."

AT THE PALLADIUM, AN AIR-RAID SIREN announces that the original line-up of Motley Crüe is about to take the stage for their first live show for more than five years. Vince and Nikki stride on, Tommy hops up to his drum riser and Mick hobbles right. Down in the crowd, Sean Warner rocks out as 'Dr Feelgood’ lurches into life, with bemused ten-year old McKay and eight-year-old Markus squashed beside him.

“This is a monster that's been sleeping,” shouts Vince as the song ends. "It's reared its head again!" Then it's ‘Shout at the Devil,’ 'If I Die Tomorrow' and 'Girls, Girls, Girls'.

Nikki is struggling because he can't hear the click track that the band now use to keep In time, and Vince is prancing around the stage doing more of the tongue thing. The show staggers the thin line between organised chaos and total collapse, much as Mick finally managers to stagger 15 feet across the stage to join in.

"Can I get a "fuck yeah"?” Tommy asks the crowd.

"Fuck yeah!"

“Can I get a motherfucking “fuck yeah"?"

"Motherfucking fuck yeah!"

“That - that is why we fucking love you!"

Show over, Tommy, Vince and Nikki dole out soundbites for TV camera crews, An exhausted Mick (who can't drink after his operation) has gone home. Nikki (who can't drink because "if I drink I die, simple as that”) follows him shortly afterwards. Vince and Tommy head on to a party at the Whisky A Go Go. Vince then slinks off into the night, while Tommy mans the decks and, shirt akimbo, plays a set of techno.

In the morning, it's back to business as the band minus a recuperating Mick sit through a succession of brief interviews with local radio stations across America. They give stock answers to a succession of the same questions: it's for the fans; they’re all getting on just like brothers; lock up your daughters when we hit Wisconsin!

The truth is that the four members of the band will travel on tour in separate buses. But the bonhomie doesn’t seem forced. “It's been like getting back on a bike,” says Tommy off air on getting back together.

“Without a saddle,” says Vince.

"Yeah..” says Tommy. “Woah! My mind was already going to sniffing the saddle.. but then I realised what you were saying.”

I tell Nikki that, if possible, we would like to shoot pictures of the band back at their old apartment, where Har Mar Superstar is now living. “Superstar?” says Nikki. “There is a superstar living in our place?” Even Tommy, more au fait with contemporary music, is utterly baffled.

Of all the band, Nikki is the most sensitive to the accusation that they are only back together to pick up a final pay cheque. “What does money have to do with anything?” he asks when we talk separately.

"When you see Lennox Lewis get S14 million for a fight, do you say he's doing it for the the money? Of course not, 'cause he's got the fucking eye of the tiger. He wants to kill his opponent. That's me. I'd do this shit for free.” Is it all for love or money?

Two days later, all four members of the band make it to Hat Mar Superstar's apartment on Clark St to have their picture taken. The place is tiny and kept in appropriately squalid fashion. Tommy has brought a bottle of cheap white wine with him, which he and Vince chug together out of Har Mar's mugs. They reminisce fondly about how they used to use the balcony as a trash can and came close to being evicted - and how they used to kill the cockroaches with their hairspray and lighters. “This is so sick, dude!” Tommy says by way of general approval.

A month after we meet, on 9 January, Vince gets married for the fourth time, to his gitifriend Lia Gerardini. Officiating at the ceremony in Las Vegas is newly ordained minister and former hip hop star MC Hammer, Vince's personal manager stands in as best man after his first choice is hospitalised. The original best man had been found with serious injuries in a drainage ditch following a party at the Neil household two days earlier. This is but the latest surreal chapter in Vince's life - and in that of the Crüe too, because also present at the wedding are a reconciled Tommy and Nikki.

"Do you think the drink, drugs and women overshadowed the music for a while?” I had asked Mick. “Not for me it didn't. It may have for the other guys but my shadow was AS.”

Nikki had insisted that: “The real thing that brought us together was music. The pussy and the drugs was the icing on the cake. The music was the cake.”

Vince had had the final word: "It's always gonna be with you, the band, isn’t it? It's like a life sentence." And then mixing his metaphor: “The whole band is like an old tattoo.”

All being well, Mötley Crie will enchark on a UK tour in June.

OMM

(this one took way too long and I almost lost my transcription twice… yet i still love to transcribe these things!) (*editors note: the third album was Theatre of Pain, not Dr. Feelgood. think if you publish an article in a magazine, you should do some basic fact checking before hand. for that alone, if you see any more mistakes here, i am terribly sorry, i really tried with this one.)

[archive-of-artprompts]

Send in a number + Character/s and I'll draw them in that AU

Alice in Wonderland - characters now take on the roles from this story.

Aliens - someone, or everyone, is an alien from the stars.

All Humans - the non-human are now humans, with corresponding changes to their backstories.

Alternate history - The past was changed, this is the new present.

Amnesia - a character has forgotten themselves, and everyone else.

Angels and Demons - a classic dichotomy

Athletes vs Band - a college au, typically involving sports and clubs

Candyland - everyone and everything takes on a sweeter appearance

Carnival / Circus - characters are now apart of a circus troupe 

Coffee Shop - typically a romance between a customer and the barista 

Comedy/SitCom - story is now more lighthearted and jovial. 

Crossover - Characters from one media are combined into another one.

Dark Fantasy - the story’s setting is now fantastical and dark. 

Dracula/Vampire - a blood drinking monster is now among them.

Fairytale - story now takes place within a fairytale setting.

Fantasy - the story now takes on a more D&D style imagining.

Fork-in-the-road - a crucial choice a character has to make is changed

Good & Evil - Protagonist and Antagonist switch places.

Horror - story is now more dark and unsettling. 

Infection - there’s a mystery infection spreading throughout the story.

Medieval/Royalty - the setting is now medieval Europe.  

Merpeople - Turning a character into a merperson , and or a character meeting a merperson.

Murder Mystery - its a real whodunit now

Pirates - adventures on the high seas

Post-apocalyptic - the characters are attempting to rebuild society after its collapse 

Role reversal - two or more characters trade roles in the story.

Romantic comedy - the story is now more lighthearted and romantic.

Soap Opera - its very dramatic now. And the plot is ... complicated.

Steampunk - its very Victorian and steam powered. 

Superheroes - Off to save the day, for the most part.

The villain wins - a bad ending, depending on perspective. 

Werewolves - a character/s finds themself cursed with lycanthropy 

Western - yeehaw cowboy

(AU list by @actualodinson --- List of Tropes in Fanworks from Fanlore)

[archangeldyke-all]

Angel, for my second ask I kinda want it to hit close to home.

Im a medical resident and most of my day is spent in a hospital. It’s a tough job and if you could write sevika comforting me in like any way that would literally make my day much better. I don’t have much time during the day to read and haven’t been on here as my vacation ended and I’m constantly busy. If you could work these details into sev comforting me I’d greatly appreciate it. I’ll hopefully read it!

Love your work Angel

medical residency is CRAZY that is so fucking impressive holy shit?!!? best of luck babe, i hope this gives you a smile :) <3

men and minors dni

oh my gosh, she'd find out your in your residency on your first date and her eyes would light up and she'd be like "what's the most blood you've ever seen at once?!"-- and when you just grin like a maniac right back across the dinner table at her and launch into your best, goriest story-- sevika knows she's met her soulmate.

i imagine sevika has a pretty crazy schedule too. but, with a little extra effort and a shared google calendar, you guys manage to find moments to meet almost daily.

whether it's an official fancy date on a rare shared day off, or it's sevika visiting you to split a lunchable on a bench in your hospital parking lot during your thirty minute break at two in the morning; you always find a few moments to cuddle up together.

be prepared for sevika to constantly milk the most minor injuries just for your attention. like, she'll get a papercut, and you think she's chopped her entire finger off the way she's wailing and screaming for you to come into the room.

you give her your best death glare each time when you realize she's fine-- and she just giggles and blinks her eyes innocently at you. "i need a doctor." she pouts, showing you her barely scratched thumb.

"i fucking hate you." you grumble as you walk to your bathroom for a tiny band-aid.

she puts on hospital based soap operas just to annoy you. she loves when you go all nerdy-mode and start to correct the medical inaccuries. she thinks it's so fucking hot how smart you are.

oh, she'll constantly be throwing out teases like "wanna study my anatomy? wink wink?" while she starts getting naked. she's so silly hehehee.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @micronreadzztuff22

[that-one-unfunny-hoe]

SETH STOMPED PAUL INTO THE EARTH AND THEN HAD THE AUDACITY TO SAY,

“NOW YOU OWE ME.”

LIKE???

WHAT KIND OF MAFIA BOSS PSYCHOLOGICAL WARFARE IS THAT???

Paul was LITERALLY lying there like a broken Victorian woman on the fainting couch, and Seth’s just hovering over him with that “burn it down” energy like:

“I gave you trauma. Now give me loyalty.”

THE GASLIGHTING. THE NARCISSISM. THE THEATRICALITY.

This wasn’t a wrestling segment, it was a villain monologue in Act III of a tragic opera.

And now Paul?? That poor, trembling man?? He owes BOTH CM Punk and Seth Rollins something… and Roman’s gonna want blood too????

HE’S IN A TRIPLE THREAT OF EMOTIONAL BLACKMAIL.

I swear this man needs a lawyer, a therapist, and a hug.

Ya'll ready for Mania? Because this match is gonna be violence + betrayal + sobbing.

ALSO DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON RHEA RIPLEY!

“REPRESENTING JUDGMENT DAY, RHEA RIPLEY”

WHEN THIS WOMAN LEFT THE GOTHIC BOY BAND A WHOLE YEAR AGO?!?!?!?

WWE really said:

“Facts? Timeline? Continuity? We don’t know her.”

LIKE BABE.

This woman:

Was betrayed by Dom, left Judgment Day in full black eyeliner and emotional DEVASTATION, rebuilt herself in solo Mami mode AND IS NOW A WHOLE DAMN FORCE OF NATURE ON HER OWN...

AND THEY’RE STILL ANNOUNCING HER LIKE SHE’S IN A GROUP CHAT WITH FINN AND DOM???

The disrespect.

The AUDACITY.

Rhea heard that intro and probably whispered backstage:

“Who the fuck wrote that??”

LIKE… YOU JUST ANNOUNCED HER TO THE WORLD AS PART OF A FREAKING FACTION SHE LEFT IN FLAMES

and then casually go

“teehee whoopsie daisy, silly lil lore mistake xD”

BABE. YOU’RE WWE.

YOU CONTROL THE SCRIPT.

WHO. PRESSED. SEND. ON THAT PROMPT???

Meanwhile Rhea is probably backstage filing her nails with a dagger and muttering,

“You’ll get it right when I take the title back.”

This is now canon:

Rhea is SO powerful that the announce team just defaulted to putting her in Judgment Day because they can’t process her existing as a solo force.

Even when she leaves, she’s still the whole brand.

Bianca was giving “I’m not scared of you but also VERY scared of you so let me talk fast and loud” energy and it was ICONIC.

She really hit Rhea with:

“You’re not the champion anymore, sweetheart, so sit down, shut up, and sign the contract before I braid you into the mat.”

AND RHEA???

She was about to respond, voice low, rage bubbling, probably about to say something that would’ve made the ring catch on fire... and Bianca just went full-on

“NOPE. Don’t even open your mouth. You’re here to sign, not speak.”

THE AUDACITY. THE DELUSION. THE SASS.

And Rhea?? That little tight smile of pure violence??

You know she filed that moment away for “Future Spine Removal Plans” at Mania.

We’re gonna get to that match and Rhea’s gonna whisper:

“Say shut up now, bitch.”

before hitting a Riptide through the announce table.

Honestly? I love it. The energy. The tension. The “bitch, I dare you” dynamic.

Also

THE ZIP TIES HAVE BEEN DEFEATED.

Jey Uso is loose, free, and out here cutting emotional promos like he didn’t just spend a full week tied up like it was Saw: WWE Edition.

WWE really said:

“We’re not gonna explain how he got out. Just… trust that he’s fine now.”

And Jey pulled up like:

“Yeah, anyway, I’m gonna beat Gunther now. For Jimmy. No further questions.”

Like SIR. I HAVE QUESTIONS.

Who freed you?? Are your wrists okay? Do you have zip tie trauma flashbacks?? Did anyone at least bring you a snack???

But nah, he just walks out like the traumatized king he is, doesn’t mention it, and fully channels that experience into fighting for his brother.

He’s officially in his “I survived zip ties and now I want a title” era.

And honestly? I’m proud.

We need to update the conspiracy board(Yes i have conspiracy board, ya'll not ready for that one lmao) :

ZIP TIE STATUS: DESTROYED.

EMOTIONAL DAMAGE: ACTIVE.

REVENGE ARC: LOADING…

[demelzathemer]

My Heart Is a Haunted House

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘗𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 + 𝘗𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘪, 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘛

@dbdpromptober Day 7: Blood (words: 1600)

First Previous Next

(We All End Up Remains of the Day)

“Now that’s a story,” said a disembodied, purring voice.

There was a burst of violet flames on the counter and then, there was a cat. Charles let out a startled laugh. The Cat’s yellow eyes pierced him, before it sauntered past him to Edwin.

“A story of the ages,” it said with flair and ignored Charles’ bewildered staring.

“Of love, trust and betrayal most vile.”

The way the Cat sat back on its hindlegs to emphasize with its paws made Charles suppress another laugh.

“We don’t need to do all that,” Edwin said bitterly, like this conversation had been over with many times.

“Oh, but we do,” the Cat gasped theatrically, “how else is the fiancée here supposed to know anything about you, dove?”

Edwin sulked, rolling his eyes. Charles was far too amused watching the enigmatic Talking Cat that swayed its way across the counter like it was its personal catwalk. Jenny leaned back on the shelves, completely unbothered by anything that was happening.

The Cat twisted its sleek body in a way that probably wasn’t possible, the candlelight hitting ink black fur and making it shine. Then it leapt into the air and before it hit the ground, the violet flames had swallowed it again.

The flash of fire reappeared on top of the piano. But instead of a cat, it was a man with slicked black hair in finger waves. He was wearing a luscious satin robe with a fur trim, loosely tied around his waist.

He snapped his fingers in the air.

“Hit it, boys,” he smirked, lounging on the piano, eyes fixed on Charles and Edwin.

The skeleton sitting there jerked into action, hitting a rhythmic tune on the piano.

“Please, pay him no mind,” Edwin leaned over to Charles. “He does this every time someone asks.”

“Hey!” The Cat yowled, getting everyone’s attention.

He leapt on to his feet between the band, summoning a spotlight on him with another snap of his fingers. The bass, the sax and the xylophone made out of bones came alive around him, the skeletons reanimated by their love of music.

“Give me a listen, you corpses of cheer

Least those of you who still got an ear”

There was a mischievous grin on the Cat’s lips when he sauntered over, the crowd parting before him. He approached Edwin, standing eye to eye with him when the other was sitting down. Charles saw his gaze flash yellow, with slit feline pupils.

“I’ll tell you a story, put you out of your gloom

Of our own tenaciously gentle corpse groom”

His hand brushed a caress on Edwin’s cheek, before reluctantly pulling back. Edwin’s expression was steely, without betraying any emotion.

Charles wasn’t sure what was going on but he was stoked they had a song about Edwin. The tune was plenty dramatic, like something from a soap opera, performed with the same fervor.

The Cat turned with a flash, reappearing on his spot on the raised stage. Multicolored spotlights danced around him, breaking off and stretching the shadows.

“Well

Our son is a sweetheart and a real catch, too

Dreaming of a boy he could call his boo”

Behind him on the wall, a silhouette of a young man appeared, moving like a puppet, representing Edwin.

Charles moved to take a sip of his drink while keeping his eyes on the show, when Edwin put his fingers on the rim of his glass. When he gave him a puzzled look, Edwin’s eyes were serious.

“You must know about the rule of eating or drinking anything while visiting,” he leaned in with a low murmur, close to Charles’ ear.

Charles put down the glass discreetly. He wasn’t sure what Edwin was referencing, but he had a feeling it was better to listen.

“Then here’s a new guy, an older lad

Who could've guessed his heart was bad”

The Cat summoned another shadow figure on the wall. The taller man circled Edwin’s puppet like a shark.

“He fell for a man with grace and tact!

With violence and greed, now that’s a fact

For he was a fake, his plan’s so foul

Told him to pack, now where art thou?”

The Cat’s voice roared, his tale enrapturing the audience. Everyone except Charles probably knew this already, but every soul inside the bar was holding in their shocked gasps.

“Down to the basement he took our son”

The Cat lowered his voice, the lights going down. A shiver traveled up Charles’ spine, making him shift uncomfortably.

“For he knew already that he had won”

Yellow eyes shone in the darkness. Not once had Charles been scared here, but looking at those eyes, he grasped a hint of a much scarier, much more powerful nature. He was suddenly aware that he was the only person here who was alive.

Everyone else had already met their demise. And some of those fates were unfair, violent or sudden. Anyone could die, at any time, without a warning. It only took a moment of bad luck, one misstep or an ill-advised decision. Sometimes it was as simple as trusting the wrong person.

“And then?” Came a breathy question from the dark, urging the Cat to reveal the twist.

“The shadow looms”, the Cat whispered. Edwin’s silhouette flickered on the wall, looking around, confused.

“And then?” Another one demanded.

“There’s nothing there.” The basement is empty. Behind Edwin’s back, the man’s shadow grows larger and more beast-like.

“And then?!”

The Cat’s eyes are somber. Charles wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but he could swear that gaze was fixed on Edwin.

“Then, baby… it was all over.”

It was a mere husky whisper. Even though Charles had known it was coming, he could still feel his heart seizing with a cold, painful squeeze. On the wall, the large shadow jumps on Edwin, swallowing him whole. A choked sound got caught in Charles’ throat.

A life, ripped away just like that. Edwin, dead before reaching even twenty years of age, without any fault of his own.

The lights turned back on all at the same time. The Cat had ripped the satin robe off his body, revealing tight leather pants and black mesh shirt covered in glitter. He was a sparkling, glimmering sight, when he strutted on the edge of the stage.

“A strike to the head, it was quick as a flash

Now the body’s disappeared with all the cash”

He shook his head and closed his eyes in an act of pity. He had a tantalizing way of moving, light on his feet, making it impossible to look away. He sat down on the ledge, one leg up, to tell the story.

“Now our son’s gone missing in an “act of God”

A verdict so twisted that’ll make you sob”

The music swelled, reflecting the growing anger towards the injustice of Edwin’s death. The Cat’s voice was but a snarl when he hissed out the following verses.

“Yet God had no part in it nor a hand

It all comes down to the cruelty of man”

Charles felt the hair on the nape of his neck standing up. He tried to ignore the full-body chills that were way too familiar, the slight quivering of his hands when fear tightened its grip on him.

He was intimately acquainted with what that cruelty entailed. He wished Edwin would’ve been spared from that.

Charles stole a glance at Edwin, whose face stayed neutral. From the side, you couldn’t see the blood covering the other half. His skin was smooth and unblemished. So young. So soft.

Trailing his gaze on the grooves of that striking profile, Charles landed on his lips, staring at the jagged line where a piece was missing. He had an urge to reach out and touch it.

The Cat’s song turned softer, a ballad-like lament. In one swift spell he was back in front of Edwin, a smile spreading on his lips.

“Left without love, he settles in to wait”

The Cat pulled Edwin up and stole him away, one hand on his waist, the other clasped with Edwin’s.

“For the groom of his own, swagger to his gait”

The way they waltzed was so smooth and seamless, like they were gliding across the floor, weightless and graceful. Charles couldn’t stop looking, even if the other man’s possessive hold awakened something ugly inside his chest.

Edwin was mesmerizing to watch. His movement was elegant, almost alluring, the white of his suit glowing in the lights.

Charles wondered, how had an angel ended up here, amidst regular mortals?

He yelped when he was shoved from behind and stumbled forward, barely keeping his footing.

“Confesses his love, whips out a ring”

Charles was pushed by the enthusiastic crowd and suddenly he found himself chest to chest with Edwin.

“One living, one dead, now they’re a thing”

Without more than a nod, Edwin picked up Charles’ hand. He put it on his shoulder and wrapped his own arm around Charles’ waist. Their fingers intertwined naturally, slotting perfectly together.

“A match for the ages, their love in a bloom”

Edwin took Charles along, leading him with confident steps. Charles picked it up quickly and was rewarded with a satisfied smile, something so endearing it made his heart leap in his chest. He’d do anything to please Edwin, if he could just see him smile again.

The colorful lights washed over Edwin’s shoulders, reflecting from the bottomless depths of his eyes. They were looking at Charles, now, full of pure contentment and love.

“And that’s the happy end for our corpse groom!”

[thenightling]

Unexpected Goth music

In the 90s you had the curious dilemma of both trying to avoid the title of Goth and also being accepted in the perceived Goth community. And there was an unfortunately high number of gatekeepers. You'd get asked what your favorite Goth artist or song was and for whatever reason "That doesn't count." or "That's actually Punk." or 'That's Death Rock, not Goth." or "That's too mainstream, that's not REAL Goth." And it got very irritating. So I'm going to list some of the things I think fit under the Goth genre that many would either not consider at all or would think "don't count." Disclaimer: This list does not contain obvious bands like The Cure, Siouxsie and the banshees, or Bauhaus. Once you remove those you'd be surprised how limited the selection of "real" Goth starts to feel. ______________________ And now here are the things that have (in my own experience) been classified as not Goth despite really fitting the criteria. Aurelio Voltaire - Sometimes considered Goth folk or "Dark Cabaret" or even "Death Rock" (1988 version of The Night) Aurelio Voltaire pretty much personifies Goth music. From his Gothic Neo Victorian / pirate look to such songs as Raised by Bats, Land of the Dead, Vampire Club, and the Neil Gaiman's The Sandman inspired "Come Sweet Death." Aurelio Voltaire is so Goth that I can't help but think there are other reasons people may not want to count him such as unconscious racism. (He's Cuban and has released Spanish language tracks.) Danny Elfman - Perhaps today most well known for his movie scores, particularly the iconically Gothic Nightmare before Christmas (where he was multiple voices including Jack's singing voice), Danny Elfman used to be the front man for the band Oingo Boingo where he had such songs as Dead Man's Party, Flesh 'n blood, Weird Science, No one lives forever, and No Spill Blood. These are arguably Gothic themed but not Gothic "style." However I do feel there is some Goth leanings in his 2020 album Big Mess which was officially released as the genre Industrial Goth. The Hex Girls - This band was invented for the 1999 Scooby Doo animated movie, Scooby Doo and the Witch's Ghost. Representing Gothic fashion, Wiccan spiritual beliefs, and environmentalism the band was meant to be a Gothic inversion on The Spice Girls. Defined as "Eco Goth" though arguably pop their songs actually were really good including "Earth, Wind, Fire, and Air" (though admittedy it should be Earth, Water, Fire, and Air), The Witch's Ghost, and Hex Girl. Inkubus Sukkubus - Considered Pagan Rock, they are definitely Goth, including the songs Sweet Morpheus and Vampire Queen (and several other vampire themed songs!) Blackmore's night - Neo Medieval folk rock band. You know... I think once you get called "Neo Medieval" you get a free pass to call yourself Goth. That's just my opinion. Including the songs Locked Within the Crystal Ball, The Darkness, and Shadow of the Moon.

Within Temptation - Symphonic Metal / Gothic Metal. One question... have you listened to them? Just listen to Angel, Stand my Ground, The Fear, or A Demon's Fate. Eden's Bridge - Progressive Celtic Folk Rock. They have two songs dedicated to Oscar Wilde's The Canterville Ghost. I know one song isn't enough but still... Sonata Arctica - Metal but some of their biggest hits are about magic and more commonly werewolves. Cain's offering - Again, Metal, but the subject matter is decidedly Gothic. Kamelot - Power metal but they have two albums that retell Goethe's Faust parts 1 and 2 (Epica and The black Halo). In fact pretty much everything they do is of Gothic inclination. Richard Campbell - Metal but he did an entire metal opera retelling the novel Frankenstein. I think that's pretty Goth if you ask me.

Smashing Pumpkins - Considered Alternative rock. There was time where just about anything vampire related was advertised with Bullet with Butterfly Wings. And the band is named after a popular Halloween prank. The lead singer is also a professional poet.

Alice Cooper - Welcome to my Nightmare, Keepin' Halloween Alive, The Ballad of Dwight Frye (actor from classic universal monster movies), Gimme, Black Widow (With Vincent Price). He also performed in Tim Burton's Dark Shadows.

Marilyn Manson - Once Classified as industrial Goth, he was denounced by many Goths as "too mainstream" or "Not Goth enough." The man did covers of Danny Elfman's This is Halloween, David Bowie's Golden Years, Annie Lennox's Sweet Dreams, and Lost Boys' Cry Little Sister. That's pretty Goth if you ask me. My Chemical Romance (MCR) - Do I really need to elaborate wit this one? David Bowie - Mostly considered Glam Rock, Bowie has dabbled in all genres and Heart's Filthy Lesson was definitely industrial. Aurelio Voltaire did a Goth sequel to the songs Bowie wrote for Labyrinth. And Bowie's Scary Monsters and Super Creeps inspired Danny Elfman. You can't get more Goth than that (In my opinion). Even Bowie's album Hours drifts into Emo territory. Prince - At the very least he had a Goth aesthetic. I think if he wasn't black people would be quicker to realize he could fit as Goth. There's a lot of unconscious racism among some (not all) Goths. Michael Jackson - One word. Thriller. He also had The Boogeyman's Gonna Get ya with The Jackson Five, and later Ghost. But once you get Vincent Price to rap you should automatically count. The Rasmus - Rock but most of their songs are decidedly Goth and probably should count such as In the Shadows, Ghost of love, and Lucifer's Angel. Sarah McLachlan - Though considered pop let's be honest. Every Goth and person in the 90s "vampire Scene" had her Surfacing album or at least heard Building a Mystery. Before her music started playing in ASPCA commercials you heard songs like Adia on Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Savage Garden - Though definitely pop they get an honorary mention for having songs inspired by Anne Rice and for naming themselves after a phrase invented by The vampire Lestat to describe the nature of the world in The Vampire Lestat novel by Anne Rice. Sting - Though not always Goth, Sting was in the Gothic horror movie The Bride and wrote a song from the perspective of Louis in Interview with the vampire called Moon over Bourbon Street. Stevie Nicks - She got an American Horror story: Coven tie-in music video and practices witchcraft. That's like hitting a Goth bullseye. Johnny Cash - Wore all black all the time and did a cover of a NIN song that is considered better than the original version, Hurt. Sir Elton John - Glam / Pop rock but he gets an honorary mention for composing the Lestat Broadway musical and having a full demo album that was never officially released and can only be found through dubious / underground sources. (Or Ebay if you were lucky in 2006...) Honorable mention to Bobby "Boris" Pickett for having the first Gothic themed song to get banned in the UK (Monster Mash) for being "Too morbid." You can't get much more Goth than that.

[shivunin]

Oooooooh 👀 forget-me-nots and/or wisteria for lenore? If any of them strikes your fancy 🫶

ooh this got away from me a bit! Hopefully you don't mind the length haha. For Wisteria: Write a scene where Rook dances with their partner, here are Lenore and Lucanis after he is named First Talon:

Cut In

(Rook/Lucanis | 2148 Words | No CWs)

“If I don't say it someone will: the wind blows through the goldenrod like death flows through a crowd. I watch it from a distance as the whole field lifts and stirs.” —Ian Parks, “Goldenrod”

Rook was not entirely sure where the band had come from. 

Surely, Illario had not hired a quartet on the off chance he’d need a triumphal procession at this party. Still, there were the four of them, set up in the far corner of the opera house instead of on the stage, and so what had begun as a battle ended in dancing. She supposed Crows would not be very particular about getting blood on their shoes, no matter who it’d once belonged to. Still, watching from her seat on the edge of the dais, there was something a little ironic about watching the assassins leave trails of blood in the pattern of their dance. 

“Antiva certainly does know how to throw a fete,” Emmrich said from below, and Lenore drew her attention from the crowd to her colleague. “The music is exquisite, if somewhat unexpected. I cannot say that I have heard a group of this skill in some time.” 

“It’s quite good,” Lenore agreed, letting her eyes stray to the clear space around the musicians. 

Another day, she might have felt wistful at the sight of them. It had been a very long time since she’d played before a crowd, and there was nothing she loved so much as to play music for dancing. It was a great act of creation, one of the most profound celebrations of life one could be a part of. She’d always felt so, at least. 

Movement in the crowd around the edges drew her focus. Lucanis drifted through the crowd, slipping so easily between bodies that she almost might have thought they moved aside for him. Perhaps they had; it was difficult to tell from here. Every few steps, someone else caught his attention to congratulate him. She did not know why, but the sight of it caught at her heart and twisted it. She did not reach for her chest to rub her breastbone; she was as much on display as Lucanis was, for all that he walked among the rest of them and she sat apart and above the crowd. 

Whatever she did now would not go unnoticed amongst this crowd. She knew enough about the Crows to know that much for certain.

Already, she could see the little pairs and knots of assassins huddling together on the high balconies and in the corners of the room. Even Viago and Teia had tucked themselves off to the side of the milieu, a precise distance held between them. There would be jockeying for position tonight, would be alliances forged and plotted against. She was certain if she looked hard that she could meet the eyes of whichever Crow would try to kill Lucanis first. It was a bloodsport, being one of them, being first among them. She was certain that nobody knew that better than him. He would not be surprised by the knife in the dark, whenever it came. 

Whatever loyalties they had were won in blood and signed in the same. She did not understand them, would never be one of them if she lived a thousand years in exile from the Necropolis; that did not mean she would ever underestimate them. 

Already, she had been watching him too long. Lucanis caught her eyes as if he’d felt her mark his progress through the crowd. She smiled and shook her head to tell him that she didn’t need him, hadn’t meant to call his attention. Lenore hadn’t even known she was staring, in truth. Sometimes her thoughts took her like that: as if they stole her from her body for a moment, consumed her attention so wholly that there was none left for fingers and eyes and skin. When she had been younger, her foster mother had tried to train the habit out of her. As in many things, she had not been successful. 

Lucanis’s face was considering, as if weighing some significant thought. She wondered if he would tell her that he was leaving, that the office of First Talon demanded all of his attention and loyalty. She wondered if he was deciding how to tell her now. The smile on her face became fixed, an affectation of long practice, and she was relieved beyond words when the song drew to a stop and another began. 

“I don’t suppose you know how to dance, professor,” she said, returning her attention to Emmrich. He looked up at her, brows raised. 

“I feel a bit unnecessary here,” she went on. “If we’re going to be at a party, we ought to make use of the band while we can.”

“Of course, Rook,” he said, and lifted a gloved hand. “It would be my pleasure. I fear it has been many years since I have had the opportunity.”

Lenore took his hand, hopping easily from the stage to the floor. The two of them joined the lines of dancers, two strokes of verdigris against the violet and black of the assembled masses. Long ago, she might have felt as out of place as they looked. Now, she was just grateful for the distraction of the music. 

“I had heard that the Dellamortes were patrons of the arts,” Emmrich told her. They pressed the sides of their wrists together over their heads—or as closely as they could manage, anyway, given Lenore’s height. “Many an opera has premiered here, as I understand it, and at no inconsiderable cost to the family. It is an impressive building.”

“It certainly is,” Lenore told him. She didn’t continue the thought: as fine as this place is, I’m sure it’s as much a way to show off as it is to pay the artists. There were many ears in the crowd. She should assume their entire conversation would be overheard; likely, this was why Emmrich had chosen this topic of conversation. 

It was unfortunate that she did not want to talk about the Dellamortes at this precise moment.

“Where did you learn to dance?” she asked him. 

Smoothly, they let go of each other and turned the opposite direction. It felt odd to be dancing in her armor, but there hadn’t exactly been an opportunity to change after the battle and the subsequent announcements. Ah, well; at least it was light and didn’t inhibit her movements.

“I decided to learn when I was still in training,” Emmrich said. She tried to focus on him and not the whispers around her, the dizzying whirl of the crowd. “At the time, I admit that my intentions were largely to prove a point to a friend. However, I found that experience invigorating both physically and mentally. Over time, I came to enjoy it far more than I might have supposed.”

Lenore laughed, as he’d likely intended, and they turned again, feet moving in mirror to each other. The dance itself was not a challenging one; barely two steps above one of the old processional dances. Still, it was pleasant enough to know that she’d remembered how to do it. 

Someone bumped into her as she turned. Lenore held back a shudder at the sensation and caught a murmured apology from somewhere to her left. 

“I prefer playing over dancing, but it’s still nice to take to the floor sometimes,” she told him.

As she spoke, Emmrich’s eyes focused on something behind her. Lenore’s feet lost the rhythm for a moment, already certain she knew what he was looking at. 

“If I may interrupt,” Lucanis said behind her, voice barely louder than the music. Emmrich bowed with a flourish and stepped away. He said something—or at least, his mouth was moving—but Lenore did not hear what it was. 

The next step was to turn again, to lift her arm. When she did so, the side of Lucanis’s wrist met hers. It was a childish impulse not to look at him, not to seek his impending departure in the lines and angles of his face. She knew this was foolishness. He would no more discuss such a thing here than Emmrich would discuss anything more serious than dancing lessons or operas. Still…

“I didn’t figure you for a dancer,” she told him before he could say anything. She took in the sight of him in glances, out of the corners of her eyes. Whatever he was thinking, he kept it tucked neatly away. This would not be the place for serious conversations, for baring of their souls. 

Don’t go, she thought, looking anywhere else. I can’t do this without you. 

“I am not,” he told her.

His arm was warm against hers. Rook moved away in time with the other pairs on the dance floor, stepping away and turning in place, then reaching forward and linking her hands with his, one at her waist and one in the air between them. He had lost the gloves at some point in the evening. She could see them tucked into one of his many belts now. Better to focus on that than how warm and solid his hands felt in hers. 

She wished he had kept the gloves on. It was worse, somehow, to feel his skin against hers when she didn’t know if he would leave them.

“Sometimes, a contract calls for it,” Lucanis was saying. Lenore had been watching their hands for several moments, as if the sight of his hands in hers would tell her something she didn’t know and couldn’t ask. “As you know, we do not abandon a contract.”

Lenore did know. What was he saying? He was looking at her, she thought. She wasn’t certain if she could look back.

“That makes sense,” she said. 

“And you?” Lucanis asked. 

They let go of each other and moved in a tight circle, always moving toward each other and never quite touching. 

“Why did you learn, Rook?”

She lifted her eyes, hoping to catch him when he was turned away, but she had miscalculated. Lucanis was watching her intently, eyes fixed on hers as if they weren’t dancing in the middle of a pit of knives and poison. She supposed he would know immediately if anyone around them made any wrong moves. Even so…there was something intoxicating about his attention, something that tingled in her fingertips and burned in her ears. 

“I didn’t have a choice. My foster mother decided I ought to know and she wasn’t the sort to take no for an answer. Not something you have any familiarity with, I’m sure.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, just a little. Neither of them looked up at the stage where Caterina held court. When he reached for her hand again, she took it without looking away from his eyes.

“You are well?” he asked quietly, and deliberately glanced down at a long cut in the leather of her armor. The blood there had long since dried, the wound beneath closed up, but he would not have known any of that. The crowd had swallowed him as soon as he’d been named First Talon. 

“Perfectly,” she said.

Too dangerous to return the question; she lifted a brow instead and he inclined his head. Whatever wounds he had taken in the fight against his cousin, they were nothing that bothered him. It was a relief; a small relief against a greater worry. 

The song was coming to its end, cascades of notes rising around them, and they turned with it. Lucanis lifted their left hands in a sort of arch above them and they stepped closer, still watching each other. Around them, some of the other dancers reached out and dipped their partners or spun in a final flourish. Rook and Lucanis held the pose instead, his grip gentle around her hand. She searched his face for any sign of what he might be thinking and came up short. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked him, as quietly as she could. 

The other couples around them broke apart and clapped. Cheers rose from the crowd, nearly swallowing his answer. 

“You already have,” he said. 

His eyes were soft. She didn’t know what that meant. Whatever she might have said, might have asked in return, it was caught in her throat along with her breath. The moment stretched, his hand in hers, and might have done so for longer if the cellist hadn’t played a low, testing note. Lucanis nodded to her and let go, stepping back. While her hand was still dropping, he melted back into the crowd and was gone. 

Lenore did not watch him go. Instead, she turned and walked in the opposite direction as calmly as she could manage. At some point, she had stepped in some of the blood strewn across the floor. A trail of red followed her through the ebb and flow of people, fading somewhere between the dance floor and the exit.

[thedevilsoftruth]

Hello darling,

Welcome to the Devils of Truth blog. Enjoy your stay here. Read a fic, request a fic, do as you wish. Just don't be a cunt.

"My sinful confession, you're my obsession."

This is an 18+ blog. Absolutely no minors are allowed on here, and will be blocked if caught doing so.

About the author

Hello, gorgeous. Call me Mama Devil (she/her.) I am an erotic fanfiction writer; I typically write marvel x readers targeted specifically towards women. I write all of my fics with plus size inclusivity because I, myself, am a thick bitch and like self indulgence. Please keep that In mind as you read.

I am an Enfp-a and have diagnosed adhd. My favorite bands are NIN, Depeche Mode and Soft Cell. I might make references to their songs from time to time in my fics.

I am the owner of the blogs @congressmanjb-barnes and @2mama2devil

Some of my long term interests include - The manga versions of JJBA and KNY, the Moon Knight comics, the MCU, the Big Bang Theory, Phantom of The Opera, Hamilton, and Stardew Valley.

My masterlist's

I have written for a large variety of characters. The character I currently am obsessed for and have written for the most Is Bucky Barnes.

Loki masterlist

Moon Knight masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

Gyomei Himejima masterlist

Kyojuro Rengoku masterlist

Sdv Shane masterlist

My request box Is currently open!!!

For requests,

Like any other writer or human-fucking-being, I have boundaries that I expect you to respect if you decide to request me something, those being;

No dbf, no ddlg, mlm (sorry! Only write for g/n or female protagonists,) anything remotely having to do with the reader and the pairing character being related (even if they arents blood related.) I also don't do teacher x student, omegaverse or mafia/ceo bullshit.

Characters I will write for

For requests and just in general, I will write for a selected few of marvel characters including:

Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, and Steven Grant.

Any other characters I didn't mention I probably won't write about unless your request is irresistible to me.

[saisons-en-enfer]

What are the best live gigs you saw and where were they? And what are some acts you would like to see?

Hope you are doing good 🤗

Hope you’re doing well thanks for the question

So I don’t actually take much pictures or videos at concerts and because of ADHD I plain forget sometimes which concerts I’ve even been to in my life (like just a few months ago i found a ticket for autechre and just then remembered I’ve seen them)

Anyways in no particular order:

The knife (April 25, 2014, Kool Haus, Toronto)

Godflesh and Prurient (The opera house, Toronto) I went to this concert because again I wouldn’t be alive without frozen Niagara Falls and this concert was after the release of that album so I went purely for prurient and didn’t know godflesh at all and was completely blown away by them ofc

Posh Isolation showcase (June 11-12 2016, Montreal, various venues) during the showcase I saw Damien Dubrovnik, xarah Dion, lust for youth, varg2TM, Marie Davidson (back when she was just a local hero before her big breakthrough via ninja tune) and Croatian amor. The last three performed from 2 am till 7 am in an abandoned building that was burnt down years prior, also pharmakon was there the whole weekend chilling with everyone

Nicolas Jaar & Actress (Massey Hall, Toronto)

Years of Denial & SMFORMA (Urban spree, Berlin) this was the first ‘concert’ I went to after something about 7 years of hiatus because I stopped going altogether in Toronto around 2017 (literally after the actress and Nicolas jaar concert) due to depression and anxiety getting really bad

Bonus

Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry (SOLE DXB 2019, Dubai) sole is a streetwear fashion ‘festival’ with live performances and I literally only went for Lee Perry, skepta (who performed in a crammed replica of a London bus that was like part of the exhibit), black star (mos def and talib kweli) and wu tang (I think it was Raekwon, inspectah, gza, cappadonna and masta killa) I didn’t care about the ‘fashion’ frankly streetwear is so boring to me especially because rich assholes wear them as a substitute for not having their own style

Bonus bonus:

If memory serves, I went with a beloved tumblr mutual for their birthday ( @trekkiee hi hellloooo) to a death metal show and it was all local bands and that was really fun I distinctly remember there was a band of dudes wearing nun outfits all covered in blood

Bonus bonus bonus:

I met said mutual in a Ty Segall concert and it was the first time in my 20’s I fought back anxiety and just said hi to a person I thought looked rad af and it turned out lovely soooo ye the concert was hella fun too

Bonus x4: completely forgot I’ve seen rose mcdowall (at smiling Buddha bar I think lovely bar) and death in June as well they are definitely up there and I got to meet and have a conversation with Douglas and I know at least for myself he’s not a bigot, I still have the shirt from that concert it’s just the death in June symbol instead of the maple leaf of the Canadian flag in black and whiteee

Thank you so much hope you’re doing well

[hailturinturambar]

THE PAZZI CONSPIRACY sources: Britannica & Opera Magazine

“On a sunday in April 1478, in the cathedral of Florence, a band of conspirators tried to murder the two heads of the Medici family: Lorenzo the Magnificent, unofficial head of state, and his younger brother Giuliano. Known as 'the Pazzi Conspiracy', the plot failed, and in reprisal a bloodbath followed.”

― April Blood by Lauro Martines

[trypano]

valentines LADS raf rant

Sad. Angsty. Like. It was full of miscommunications and i was kind of confused with some of the things the mc said or did. Lots of phantom of the opera connections i saw. Dark romance with angst.

Praedators reminds me of vampires with all the blood sucking and biting, but i feel like thats a “duh.”

It was like haters to lovers to hated lovers to loved haters to lovers

Anyways i think rafayel is a “id sacrifice the entire world for you” in every universe

He lost his memories but never forgot his artistic sensibilty. His sense of self is something he holds in high regards but he doesnt know what he wants (up until he met the mc). I also found out he lived in Italy. Im stupid and didnt know this until the event. He speaks multiple languages as well, hes so smart and artistic. Also I believe since he was an opera singer in this timeline, it means he could also sing very well in our current story?

I like that in every timeline theres motifs of the mc and raf loving wach other for eternity. That they will be together forever.

And in every timeline he always holds an affinity for art

And his sense of humor is very much evident in this timeline as well. Trickster.

And lastly. Raf with a mullet looks like hes in a boy band. Thats all.

[lapsusophobia]

The Things Your Heart May Well Regret

T EVENTUAL M | WIP | FIX IT (even thought the author refused to acknowledge for a year) | READ IT NOW ON AO3

“When you spend the majority of your existence in a heart-shaped box, any kind of life is welcome once you are given the chance to get out of it.”

The Opera Ghost is dead.

Eighteen years later, someone else is hidng in the catacombs of the Palais Garnier. Evangeline has been despised and hunted down her whole life for a crime she had never committed: being born with a grotesque appearance. Raised by a band of thieves and damned to fulfil a lifelong debt to the ‘family’ that raised her: to be their living gun.

Colette ‘Lotte’ de Chagny seems to have the most perfect life one girl could ask for: an adoring mother, a father that spoils her to the core and a pristine position in the Parisian society. But deep down, the truth is clear as daylight: that she’ll never truly find her place among the other aristocrats.

Lotte and Evangeline are nothing alike: a blooming rose, the jewel of a respectable family; a thief, a criminal whose hands will never be cleaned of crimson blood.

Their fates were never supposed to collide, but the two of them somehow did.