#bass player magazine

[musicmags]

[joshhaden]

[eroticlamb]

duff mckagan photographed by robert john, 1991

all i want in life is to be reincarnated as a bass guitar 🙏

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

THE SITH LORDS OF '70s HARD ROCK -- DEMENTED, DOWNER, DARK SOUNDS RISING.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on bassist/lyricist Terence "Geezer" Butler of the mighty BLACK SABBATH, performing live during the band's "Vol. 4" era, and playing his now maligned Dan Armstrong plexiglass acrylic bass guitar, from the pages of "Ciao 2001" Italian-based music magazine, c. 1972.

Source: http://velho-coyote.blogspot.com/2019/06.

[f0point5]

i NEED jealous Max. Please 🥺🥺🥺 I love jealous/possessive guys haha the feminism just leaves my body

Me too! GOD. Me, too.

It took me ages to decide how to go about this because I had soooo many ideas but I hope you like it!

✨set during the Miami GP weekend 2022✨

Everybody wants you, but I don’t like a gold rush

Max glances down at his watch. 17 minutes. 17 minutes you’ve been standing in the gallery area of the garage, fanning yourself with a magazine - with Max’s face on the front of it, no less - in the Miami heat, talking to some freakishly tall guy in a Louis Vuitton denim jacket and aviator sunglasses. He’s so painfully American that Max wonders what you even have to talk about for…eighteen minutes.

You tighten your high ponytail while Paul Bunyon talks, his mouth wide with every word. Max studies your face for any sign that you’re bored. He’s bored of watching this, but he knows from experience that not looking isn’t a real option. You haven’t looked over at him once in those eighteen minutes, in fact you haven’t even been distracted by the mechanics moving around or the noise of drilling and clattering tools.

This guy must be really fucking interesting.

You smile at something Captain America says and Max feels his jaw clenched so hard he thinks a tooth is going to crack.

It’s like he’s thirteen again, watching you stand in the middle of the makeshift paddock at the karting track, swarmed by every one of his competitors, their parents packing up their stuff as they vie for your attention. He was the only one who stayed away, following his dad’s instructions on how to properly dismantle and store things while sneaking glimpses at the show you were running. He would win every race and still go home feeling like a loser.

It’s different now, of course. He doesn’t take your gregarious nature so personally now, and he can admit he understands what men see in you now, even if he doesn’t feel it. But he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t trigger something in him to see the way men react to you. It might irritate him less if you enjoyed it, but you’ve long since grown out of that. Now, you expect it so much that you ignore it, and Max has no choice to but to notice it, the same way you’d notice a rusty knife embedded in your side.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?” GP says, which snaps Max out of his calculations.

“I’m listening,” Max says, fiddling with the brim of his cap. “Drive fast, win race, I got it,”

GP frowns at his dismissive tone, and Max makes a point of looking at his water bottle, lest GP realise what actually had his attention. “Max, you need to focus. What are you even-“ It’s the sound of your laugh - high pitched over the deep bass of the music - that makes GP look across the garage. His features twist in disapproval as he turns back to Max. “You’ve got to be kidding me,”

Max looks down at his shoes, moving his foot as he inspects them. “What?”

Above him, GP groans. “I’m not going to say anything about the situation as a whole, because it’s waste of my time. But specifically now, she’s right there, she’s not going anywhere. Can we please just go through this once and then you can carry on staring?”

Max rolls his eyes, steeling his face as a cameraman enters the garage. He’s wearing a Red Bull shirt so Max doesn’t mind too much, but he can’t be captured looking as morose as he feels. The cameraman pans past him and onto you and the guest. Max watches you cringe as the guy throws up some hand sign to the camera, clearly at home with the media attention.

“Who even is that?” Max asks, unable to hide his rancour. He’s probably going to be forced to take a picture with Popeye later.

“I don’t know, some American football player?” GP says with a shrug, giving Max a helpless look. GP couldn’t give less of a shit about the celebrity guests touted around the gargae, and normally Max is his ally. “Are we done?”

Max nods, but not even a second later he’s looking again. It gets worse the more you talk, he can see this guy becoming more enchanted by the second. He wonders what kind of steroids they take in American sports leagues because the meathead is acting like a dog in heat. He leans towards you at an angle that is wholly unnecessary, his eyes fixated on your mouth, nodding too emphatically at everything you say.

“My God, why doesn’t he just lick her face,” Max says incredulously, more to himself than anything.

“Max,” GP sighs.

“Come on,” Max implores with a scoff, stopping himself from outright gesturing in your direction. “Look at him. That’s embarrassing,”

GP fixes Max with a deadpan expression. “Right, but you being sulky and jealous is the height of cool?”

“I’m not jealous.”

And he isn’t. Because Joe DiMaggio over there doesn’t have anything he wants. He’s not going to waste time being jealous of a guy getting half an hour with you when he has cats, and a home, and a life with you.

Finally, you look in his direction, but only because GP calls your name. “Can you come here?”

You give GP a thumbs up and excuse yourself, trotting over to Max without a second thought. Wannabe Tom Brady brazenly enjoys the view, and Max swears he hasn’t been that close to punching someone since Monza last year.

“What’s up?” You ask, slotting yourself between the two men as you lean back against the shelf.

GP hands you his phone. “Beat this Candy Crush level for me, would you? Been stuck for days,”

You look at him skeptically, but years of being filmed up close by cameras on the pit wall have given GP a hell of a poker face; he just stares back at you, and you give up with a huff.

“Men are hopeless,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

“Couldn’t agree more,” GP says, his eyes pointedly on Max, who can’t even defend himself.

Desperate to avoid GP’s scrutiny, he glances over at the gallery, only to find the Yank looking at him. Well, not him, you. He’s got that curious expression as he assesses you fiddling with GP’s phone, one that says he’s trying to understand if he has something to be worried about. He doesn’t. You’re not his to worry about.

“Here,” Max says, pulling off his cap. You barely look up at him before he puts his cap firmly on your head, holding it steady with one hand while pulling your ponytail through the hole at the back with the other.

The brim of the hat obscures half your face, and Max turns so that half your body is shielded by his, which he tells himself is in case a camera comes by.

“It’s sunny,” Max shrugs in his own defence, when he notices you looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

You adjust the cap on your head but don’t take it off. “Why don’t you just give me your letterman jacket?”

“My what?”

“Never mind,” you chuckle, shaking your head at him as you pat his chest with an indulgent smile.

He takes the opportunity at the sound of a large wheel gun to glance over at the gallery, only to meet the eyes of the guy you were talking to. Now that you’re no longer next to him, Max does sort of recognise him. He plays for some team named after an animal. Max just looks at him - he’ll do this all day if he has to - until the guy shoves his hands in his pockets and pulls out his phone, starting to tap away. Yeah, go back to Raya.

Good riddance, Max thinks to himself as he turns back to you, only to find that you already looking at him. He wonders for how long.

He can tell by your smirk that he’s been caught. If he’s honest with himself you caught him five years ago, this was just one of the few moments he let you know it. And you know it. How could you not know?

He thinks for a second that you’re going to tease him, but you don’t. You shift on your feet so that some of your weight rests against his arm, and go back to playing on GP’s phone.

“Go on, GP,” he says, fighting a smile at the large number 1 on the brim of what is now your hat.

He knows from the way GP is looking at him that he’ll get an earful about this later, but right now, he just clears his throat.

“Right, so,”

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 5/12)

HEHEHE THIS ONES PACKED W LOTS OF... STUFF, ENJOYYYY!!!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: eddie doesn't think he hates you anymore and you can't figure out eddie's game

contains: enemies to lovers trope, smoking, drug and alcohol use, sexual themes, masturbation (f), maybe a little kith (hehe), flirting, and eddie being a jealous boy <3

word count: 6.5k

| previous part | next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

The four-day break seems to go by in the blink of an eye, and before you know it, it’s show day again.

As always, everybody is busy and filled with pre-show jitters. Although Eddie and Gareth have yet to speak with one another and resolve their dispute, breakfast is not as tense as last time, and you assume the time away from each other has aided in that realm. But then again, you have an inkling that Eddie is only putting up a nice front for Wayne since it’s his last day in New York.

Eddie is stiff and rigid throughout the morning, taught as a guitar string and vividly battling something he has yet to announce. He’s quiet at breakfast and only speaks when directly addressed, and he doesn’t taunt any back and forth that could transpire between him and Gareth. Jeff’s girlfriend joins the table for the first time, and you sit beside her. 

Naomi is kind and bubbly with tight, curly brown strands that smell of honey and lime whenever she brushes past you. She’s from a small town in Georgia, where she spent most of her life before going off to college and getting a bachelor's in fine arts. She tells you about her most recent projects and showcases and even invites you to attend if you’re ever in town, and you take her number to keep in contact.

Jeff has radiant energy throughout the meal, and you think he and Naomi make a fine couple with how they seem to complete each other.

After breakfast, you make a few calls for work and fill in Anna on your progress. She informs you that they’re working on setting a date for Corroded Coffin’s photoshoot for the magazine and should be in contact with Richie sometime soon. When Anna asks how the trip has been so far, you lie and tell her it’s been seamless and fun. 

You never told Anna about Eddie hating your guts, and you don’t even debate telling her that you’ve somehow stirred the pot between two of the band members or that you kissed the lead singer.

You’re still having a hard time convincing yourself that it was even real.

For a moment, when you woke up this morning, you thought you’d dreamt of kissing Eddie, but no dream ever feels as vivid as that.

You could feel the warmth radiating from Eddie’s body, the coolness of his rings stinging your cheeks when he placed his hands over your jaw to pull you in. The taste and smell of weed mixed in with the worn-down scent of his cologne from the day. And the kiss was so quick, and you were so sleepy you barely had enough time to memorize what his lips felt like or how the feeling of his warm breath against your upper lip sent shivers down your spine.

It left you in a daze for most of the day. Every time you remembered what had happened, your heart raced and the back of your neck heated— and you wanted to ask Eddie what the fuck that was about, but Eddie was nowhere to be found.

After breakfast, Eddie practically falls off the face of the earth. Nobody hears from or sees Eddie, and he doesn’t even show up for rehearsals, which is when Richie becomes suspicious.

“Has anybody fuckin’ seen Eddie, for the love of god?” Richie exclaims. Off to the side, the bass player plucks a deep tune in boredom. Standing center stage, Jeff looks at Richie and shakes his head before glancing at the other two members. Gareth sits behind his drum set, twirling the thick drumsticks between the knuckles of his fingers, lower jaw promptly working a piece of gum as he shrugs. His eye looks better, you note.

And that’s another thing. Gareth has been avoiding you like the plague. You didn’t talk to him much before, but now it’s as if you don’t even exist, and fuck is it making your job more complicated than it already is. How are you supposed to write about Corroded Coffin when half of the said band hates your guts?

Wayne had been spending the day at the hotel, preparing to fly back tomorrow morning, so you doubt he knows where his nephew went. Richie asked an assistant to check if Eddie was being a hermit in his room, but to nobody’s surprise, Eddie wasn’t there either.

By the time 8 o’clock rolls around, the doors to the venue have opened for fans to flood in, and Eddie is still yet to show up. You stand in front of the barricade, a perfect and obstructed view of the stage where you can see everything, including the hustle backstage. 

Wayne has opted for a seat next to the sound booth in the crowd, claiming he’d rather not spend the next few hours standing on his feet, “When you’re older, you’ll understand.” He claimed.

You enjoy the opening act, bopping along and singing to the lyrics you know, and before you know it, the band is leaving, and the clock for Corroded Coffin’s appearance is ticking— still, no word from Eddie.

You’re busy watching the stage crew set up Corroded Coffin’s display when a familiar face approaches you. “How’s the article coming along?”

James, one of the three tour photographers for Corroded Coffin. You sat next to James on day five of breakfast. James is kind, and with your little snippets of conversation, you’ve come to peg him as not exactly what you’d expect. 

James’ skin is littered with tattoos, sleeves up both arms with intricate ink slithering up his neck. You’d ask him how many tattoos he has in total, and he’d confessed that he lost count a long time ago and has now resulted in just throwing out a random number when people ask, to which you laughed.

He has jet-black curly hair that you’ve only seen at breakfast because he likes to slick it back most days, and he has piercings in each ear and one on his right eyebrow. 

He’s a character, James. Intimidating from the outside, but nothing but soft, fluffy teddy bear warmth on the inside. 

“It’s… well, it’s going. I’ve still got a bit of work to do, but so far, so good.” You nod. James smiles and nods, “I’m excited to see the final product. I won’t lie, after we spoke at breakfast, I did a little digging,” he responds. You raise your eyebrows in interest, “Digging?”

“Yeah, you know, looked at some of your past work and whatnot— which, by the way, the piece on the Cocteau Twins was insane,” He exclaims. Your eyes widen, “Really? Not many people talk about that one; I didn’t think it got around.” You laugh.

James tells you about his favorite pieces of yours he read, and he asks questions about each one of them. What your favorite interview was, who were you most excited to write about, and which of your works is your favorite piece so far.

You eventually end up talking about James and his current projects aside from the tour. He tells you about the new exhibit he’s partnering with in downtown LA. It’s an immersive piece, something new in the art world where the audience, for the first time, will get to experience art in a more tangible way. It’s more interactive and fulfilling for those who struggle to grasp the full context behind the art, and James seems more than excited about it when he tells you to stop by if you have the time.

However, before you can respond, the lights in the venue dim, and the crowd roars. 

This has always been your favorite part of a show, that moment when the lights cut off and the arena comes to life with a shared excitement. It’s exhilarating and pulls you to the edge of your seat, no matter how often you’ve seen it.

Through the smoke-filled venue and the dark atmosphere, you can see each of the boys file out onto the stage, Gareth spinning his drumsticks between his knuckles as he steps onto the drum riser while the other two grab their instruments. Three members are on stage, and you remember that Eddie has been missing in action for the entire day.

The crowd grows louder when they see the shadows of the boys on stage, screaming their names and chanting in anticipation. And as he shreds the first chords to the opening song, you worry that Eddie really might’ve skipped out on tonight’s show.

You’re happily mistaken, however, because soon you see another figure step out, and the crowd goes deafeningly loud.

Beside you, James smiles and shakes his head, “Shit never gets old,” he yells over the screams.

And your heart is racing for some reason as you watch the tall figure walk in the darkness, curly mane of hair akin to a halo as he steps up to the mic, electric guitar strapped across his body.

He leans into the mic and says a few words, words you don’t even hear due to how loud the crowd is, but you feel the gruffness and bass of his voice booming through the speakers, and you nearly mistake it for your heartbeat.

Because when the song finally starts and the stage lights go up, you’re at a loss for words.

Eddie is gorgeous, undeniably so; he always has been, and you never thought he wasn’t. The only thing that got in the way of Eddie’s beauty was his shitty attitude towards you. But this… the way Eddie looks tonight— you’re a speechless and wavering mess of mixed feelings.

Tonight, Eddie is beautiful.

His hair is down as usual, curly and healthy strands sitting pretty atop his shoulders, and he’s opted to play the show in nothing but leather pants and his usual boots.

His upper body is on full display, broad shoulders, and muscles flexing with each strum of his guitar, back muscles working overtime as he trashes along to the music. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, tattoo-covered skin glistening beneath the lights, and you want nothing more than to run your hands down his chest and watch the way it smudges beneath your fingertips.

When the second song finishes, Eddie’s chest is heaving as he pauses and looks out into the crowd, scanning the rows with a lopsided, smug grin.

You can hear faint pants leaving his lips as he leans into the mic, jewelry-wrapped fingers hugging the fret of his guitar. He gazes in silence for a moment, listening to the cheers of the crowd that pull the corners of his mouth into a wider grin. And you don’t even notice the rest of the band on stage because all you see and hear is Eddie.

You hold your breath when his eyes find yours, and your knees nearly buckle at the sight of his dark eyes shining beneath smudged, black eyeliner. 

“Fuck,” he breathes with a smile, softly laughing when the crowd screams at his voice, “Do you look good tonight, New York.”

And he’s saying this and looking at you.

He is staring at you like he can see through to your soul, and it makes your head dizzy with a whirlwind of emotions and greedy wishes.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until Eddie finally looks away from you and into the crowd, “Are you ready to have a good time, New York?”

Eddie has never, in all his years of living, played as well as he did tonight.

He’s not sure what exactly caused this; maybe the fact that Wayne is in the crowd tonight, or perhaps because he’s still pissed with Gareth, or maybe because he can’t stop thinking about kissing you, or probably because he hates the way you and James won’t stop fucking talking to each other.

Eddie doesn’t know why it pisses him off to see you laughing and enjoying the company of James, but it does. It ticks him off to no end, and he can’t help the feeling that brews in his chest when you lean forward to hear James over the music or when James innocently squeezes your bicep to get your attention before he says something.

By the middle of the show, Eddie has had enough. He’s four shots of tequila in, and he’s feeling bold with the crowd's energy, so when his infamous guitar solo in one of the songs comes, he doesn’t stand center stage as usual.

No, Eddie makes sure to walk over and stand right in front of where you and James stand and play his solo like it’s the last time he'll ever play.

It’s a sinful view, and the crowd goes wild, the big screens zooming in on his skilled fingers dancing across the frets, the flexing of his wet torso, the flutter of his lashes when he closes his eyes and tosses his head back. His lips are slick and parted in ecstasy from the adrenaline high. 

And Eddie can feel your eyes on him. Can feel the heat of your gaze burning through every inch of his body, rolling over every movement he makes and taking him in like he’s a prized possession in a museum. He thrives off of it, and he plays harder.

When his solo ends, Eddie doesn’t bother looking at the crowd or James or his band; no, Eddie only looks at you, making sure you understand what he’s trying to say through his eyes. And for a moment, Eddie wishes James would turn the camera away from him and capture your beauty instead— because you look like an angel under red lights.

Eddie has only allowed himself small moments to appreciate the sight of you, but now, he is greedy with the upper hand he has. He takes in every piece of you; your hair, your eyes, your lips, the delicate necklace kissing the skin of your collarbones— and Eddie wants to run his tongue up the side of your neck and hear you whimper for him. Wants to dig his teeth into your skin until you keen and whine and beg him for more more more. 

The skirt you’re wearing, god, it’s fucking short, and Eddie imagines the way your skin would feel beneath his fingers, pressing into the fat of your thighs and marveling when the skin gives way to the pressure. Hot and messy fingerprints all around your hips and ribs. Teeth bearing marks across your stomach and chest. Eddie is dizzy with lust and need, and he feels like a fucking animal writhing and waiting to pounce.

Greedy, greedy, greedy.

He wants it all.

The rest of the show goes back and forth like that. Eddie catches glimpses of you and James talking and takes it upon himself to direct your attention back to the stage— back to him. Near the end, James finally focuses on his fucking job and busies himself with taking pictures instead of flirting with you, and Eddie walks off the stage feeling satisfied.

The band does their meet and greet backstage and signs a few autographs before they can do their usual post-show rituals: drinking, playing games, and making plans to go out.

Despite his love for post-show rituals, Eddie wants nothing to do with it tonight because he can only focus on you. 

You’re standing with James and a stage crew member, talking about something Eddie could care less about, given how he cuts into the conversation, “Can we talk?”

Your eyes are wide and bright when you turn to him, shocked by Eddie’s ability to even acknowledge you, and Eddie thinks about last night and how your lips felt against his. “Um… talk?”

Eddie’s still high on post-show energy, and he doesn’t like that James is standing so close to you, so he takes a leap of faith and wraps a hand around your wrist, gently tugging with a short nod, not even waiting for an answer before he turns and drags you out of the green room. 

He doesn’t know at what point his fingers traveled down your wrist to slip between your warm and gentle fingers, but he becomes hyper-aware of it as soon as you both step out into the hallway, the slam of the door echoing behind you, “Eddie, where are you taking me?”

Eddie glances back at you, fingers subconsciously squeezing yours, “Dressing room. I wanna do the interview.” He answers.

You halt at his response, heels digging into the cement floor and tugging Eddie back, “What?”

The heat of your palm is burning through Eddie’s skin, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stop himself from what he wants to do if he continues touching you, so he lets go. “The interview.”

You shake your head and squeeze your eyes, “No, I heard you, but… I mean,” you pause, “why? And why now? This can’t wait until—“

“Look, if you don’t want to do it now, that’s fine, but I’m not doing it any other time.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before turning around and continuing to walk towards his dressing room.

You silently watch for a moment, clearly confused by the sudden change of heart, but you nod either way and follow after him.

Eddie hardly pays any mind to you when you walk in behind him, busying himself with walking over to the bar cart and pouring himself a glass of the first bottle he sees. Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie notices you awkwardly standing near the door and snickers. “You can take a seat, sweetheart; I didn’t bring you here to, like… chew you out or something.” He jokes.

He makes you a glass despite not asking, and when he turns around, you’re now seated on the light brown couch in the middle of the room, hands fiddling in your lap as you silently wait for Eddie.

He sits on the opposite side of the couch and places the second glass on the coffee table, wordlessly nudging it toward you before leaning back in the seat and taking a long sip.

“Where’s your cute little journal?”

You’re confused.

You don’t understand the game Eddie is playing, and it’s driving you insane the longer you look at him, leaned back against the plush couch, smug smirk kissing the rim of his glass as he takes a slow sip, brown, hazy eyes glazing over your nervous figure. The sheer button-down top he now wears is fully unbuttoned to reveal his sweat-glistening torso, leather pants hug his thighs, snug and tauntingly, the button popped open and zipper pulled down to show the sinful sight of a trail of hair that leads to places you’ve been trying so desperately not to imagine. You don’t mean to stare, and you catch yourself when he shifts his hips upward to get more comfortable, the sight of his lower stomach flexing and tattoos coming alive on his skin sending shivers up your spine.

You clear your throat and turn to grab your journal out of your bag. You haven’t had the time to buy a new journal after you ruined the binds by tearing out those pages for Eddie, so you must handle the remaining structure carefully.

You take a deep breath and flip to a clean page, clicking your pen once before glancing at Eddie, “Okay, I guess we’ll… start.”

Eddie smirks, and you want nothing more than to wipe it away.

You open your mouth to ask your first question, but Eddie cuts you off, “I have a proposition,” he begins.

You look at Eddie, blinking once and thinking over if you want to indulge in whatever trick this is. You relent, “Okay?”

Eddie smiles triumphantly and leans forward to put his glass on the table, yours still untouched. He grabs the pack of cigarettes lying to the side, picking a single stick and grabbing the lighter before leaning back onto the couch, lighting the cigarette before shifting to face you. He drapes an arm across the back of the sofa, blowing out a cloud of smoke before speaking, “I get to ask you questions as well. Like a trade-off, for each question you ask, I also get to ask one.”

And it’s not as bad as you’d thought, really. Knowing Eddie, you had expected him to propose a game involving stripping or drinking of some sort, and you had prepared to immediately shut him down— but this, you can settle for this.

So, you shrug, “Okay. We can do that.”

Eddie hums in delight, taking another drag of the burning stick and nodding for you to begin.

“Okay,” you sigh, shifting to get more comfortable. In the distance, you can hear the chaos of backstage rituals happening, and you fight through the noise to focus. “We’ll start light. What made you choose music?”

Eddie twiddles the cigarette between his fingers, silently thinking, “I don’t know. I grew up with music, never went a day without it, so, in a way, I guess you could say music chose me.” He responds.

You nod, “What are some of your first memories with music?”

Eddie smiles and gazes up at the ceiling, and you watch as he seems to wander down a road of memories. “When I was younger,” he begins, “before my mom died, I remember waking up and going to the kitchen to watch her cook breakfast,” he pauses as if trying to see through the fog of time to explain it clearly.

“And she had this small green radio that sat on the window sill, and she would play all of her tapes; The Mamas and Papas, Jefferson Airplane, Sam and Dave— you know… hippie shit.” He says. “I knew Surrealistic Pillow like the back of my hand by the time I could talk, I swear.” He jokes, smiling when you softly laugh. He looks at you, a glint flashing in his eyes, and you can tell the memory brings him a joy he misses. 

And you find yourself thinking back to a few days ago, when you were walking beside Wayne with Richie and Eddie a few paces back. You remember what Wayne had told you then; you remember the tone in his voice and the careful thought he’d used behind each sentence.

“Give him time,” Wayne softly says. You glance over your shoulder and catch a glimpse of Eddie and Richie sharing a cigarette. You turn back to Wayne when he adds, “You’re a nice girl, and Eddie… Eddie doesn’t know what to do with nice.”

You dig your teeth into the inside of your cheek, chest tightening at the pained gaze in his eyes when he speaks, “He hasn’t had much of that in his life.”

“I know you don’t owe it to him, but just give him some time… he’ll come around.”

Eddie glances at your empty page before gazing back into your eyes, “You gonna write something down? I’m not repeating any of this, just so you know.”

You nod, snapping out of your daze to begin writing. Eddie patiently waits as you jot down your thoughts and conversation, burning through his cigarette and watching your every move.

You look back at him when you finish, and fight the urge to shy away when you realize he hasn’t looked away from you this entire time. “Um, okay, tell me about—” “I believe I get to ask two questions now.” Eddie cuts in with a smirk.

“Oh,” you pause, “Yeah, okay. Go ahead.”

Eddie ashes his cigarette and grabs his drink again, “When did you start writing?”

And Eddie keeps surprising you. For some reason, you thought Eddie would ask something dumb, inappropriate, or condescending— nothing of this matter. You didn’t think Eddie was interested in actually learning something about you.

You sigh as you think, “Well, the first time I ever wrote for myself was around middle school; I had a diary.” You respond, and Eddie’s eyebrows raise in interest, “It was lilac with a gold lock on the pages, and I carried the key around on my necklace because I was so afraid someone would get ahold of it.” You shake your head as Eddie laughs.

“Now, what in god’s name was little middle school Birdie writing about in her secret diary?” Eddie pries.

You scoff, “Like I’d ever tell you that.” You roll your eyes, and Eddie makes a sound of protest, “Come on, it can’t be that bad.” He pokes. You raise an eyebrow and glance at Eddie, “You’d be surprised by what goes through the mind of a twelve-year-old girl on the precipice of puberty. I’m taking those pages to the grave.”

Eddie laughs loudly at that, head tossing back with the action. You find it beautiful, the way his neck stretches and his skin molds against his bones— kissable and enticing.

“Okay, well, aside from your secretive diary. What made you choose this,” Eddie nods towards the journal in your lap.

You hum and purse your lips in thought, “I’ve always loved writing. I loved reading too, still do, and I tried writing fiction, but there’s something about writing people’s stories that just… feels good.” You respond.

“I know how easy it is to become misunderstood in this industry, so I want to hear the truth and help the audience see things from a clearer perspective. I want to help create an understanding if that makes sense.”

Eddie nods, eyes soft and smiling within his gaze. “That’s neat.” He comments, and you smile.

He sips his drink before speaking, “So, how did you end up writing for Rolling Stone Magazine?”

You laugh, “A shit ton of groveling, I’ll tell you that.”

You reach forward and pick up your drink for the first time, taking a sip before speaking, “I’d been trying to get an interview for the longest time, and then I finally just gave up for a while, but then my friend saw an opening a few months later and sent in one of my writings and… I guess they liked it enough to hire me,” You shrug.

“But,” you hold up a finger, “I spent a good year just running errands and shit for the managers; it was awful,” you admit. “So, how’d you end up with the big guys?” Eddie asks.

“Well, I wrote a hell of a paper and blew their fuckin’ minds.” You jokingly say, smirking over the rim of your glass as you take a sip. Eddie softly laughs and takes a sip of his drink as you place yours back down on the table in exchange for picking up your pen.

“My turn,” You remind him.

He nods, and you glance at your journal, thinking about what you want to ask next. “I know in the past you’ve mentioned that you don’t particularly release songs about your life, but you rather opt to tell stories within your music,” you mention, and Eddie nods in confirmation. 

“What’s the reasoning behind that?”

It’s a slightly more in-depth question, and Eddie has to take a few moments of silent pondering before he answers. “Well, for starters, I’ve always considered myself more of a storyteller. I like to create different scenarios and characters and find ways to bring them to life,” He begins.

You quietly jot down notes as you listen to him speak, “When I was in high school, I got really into Dungeons and Dragons, and I still love the game, but I guess you could say it stems from that— the storytelling aspect, I mean.” 

“But as for why I don’t release more personal songs… I don’t know; I guess I just like to keep a part of my life private to some degree. However, that doesn’t mean these made-up characters and scenarios I sing about aren’t in some way correlated to me,” He hints, and you nod in understanding.

“That’s neat.” You copy his words from earlier, and you both smile.

You and Eddie go back and forth with questions for a bit, touching base with topics like childhood, friendships, current projects, and such. It’s nice to have a decent conversation with Eddie, and for a moment you forget that you’re even doing your job because interviewing Eddie feels like any normal conversation you’d have— lighthearted, smooth, and innocent. Until—

“Alright, my turn. This one’s good,” Eddie starts.

You’re both two glasses in, and your cheeks feel warm from the drinks as you gesture for Eddie to go on. Eddie gazes at you and studies you briefly before speaking, “What’s going on with you and James?”

You blink in confusion, “James?” You question. Eddie nods, “Yeah, James. The photographer.” Eddie explains.

Your face twists in slight confusion as Eddie sips his drink, “What about him?” You ask.

Eddie laughs, “What’s up with you two? Are you guys together or something?”

And there it is. The game that Eddie’s been playing all along, revealed in all its true nature. 

Your eyebrows furrow in defense, annoyed with the sudden shift in demeanor, “Is that any of your business?” You question, and Eddie laughs, tapping his ring against the glass of his drink with a soft clink, “Sweetheart, it’s my business if I’m cutting the check.” He snickers.

You narrow your gaze at him, clearly irritated with his words. You don’t know why you ever gave him the chance. Eddie has only ever shown you his true colors, and he’s, more than once, told you that he doesn’t take you or your profession seriously. This has reminded you so.

“You don’t pay me,” you snap, “And I doubt you’ve even touched a check in the last three years.”

Eddie smirks, amused by your sudden frustration, “Maybe you have a point,” he relents, “But you still haven’t answered my question.” He points out.

You roll your eyes, “Why do you care, Eddie?”

Eddie shrugs, “I’m curious.” He smugly answers. 

“I don’t ask you who you’re fucking, do I?” A lousy attempt at dodging the question.

Eddie shrugs again, “You could if you want to, I don’t mind. I bet you’ve been curious to know anyway, haven’t you?” He replies.

You don’t like the way that makes your insides squirm with heat.

And you could tell him the truth. You could tell him the simple and honest answer that, no, nothing is going on between you and James. But as you look at Eddie sitting across the couch, you can’t find a single reason why Eddie should even care or why he should have the satisfaction of an answer. “Ask something else.” You say.

Eddie doesn’t waste a second to spit out his next question, “Did you like the kiss?”

“A different question.” “Those are my questions, princess.”

God, you don’t even know why you’re putting up with this. You could easily just get up and leave, but you hate to give Eddie any room for thinking he’s won whatever stupid battle this is. 

You shut your journal, refusing to stay another minute, going back and forth with Eddie. You stand and grab your bag, shoving your journal in before looking at Eddie and finally answering his original question, “No, nothing is going on between me and James.” You admit. And you think Eddie will leave it at that, but you're sadly mistaken.

“And the kiss?” He asks.

“What about it?” Your composure is beginning to falter and your frustration is seeping into your tone. Eddie’s eyes glint with mischief, gaze never leaving your fidgety frame as he speaks, “Did you like it?”

“No.”

A lie. A terrible one that Eddie can see right through.

You begin making your way to the door, but Eddie catches you before you can even lay a finger on the handle, turning you around to face him when he speaks, “You’re a shit liar.” He points out.

And he’s so close you can barely think straight with his overwhelming presence. You find your footing through the haze, gazing into Eddie’s eyes when you speak, “Did you ask me to come in here so you can answer my questions, or did you just want to waste my time?”

Eddie is silent for a long moment, eyes dancing between your wide and sharp gaze, darting down to your lips, the tip of his pink tongue darting out to lightly lick across his bottom lip. You can smell the smoke on his breath, reaching out to mix with your liquor-coated exhales.

“Did you like the kiss?”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Eddie has you cornered now, pressed against a wall so tight you have no choice but to admit defeat, moving forward to press your lips against his liquor-slicked lips.

It’s hasty. Messy, greedy, drunk, and needy, and it rids your mind of all rational thought as Eddie presses himself against you. 

Eddie kisses you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get, pressing into you so close you’d think he’s trying to jump into your skin. And the taste of Eddie is addicting.

You crave for more, and you’re hesitant to push, but Eddie understands the second he feels your tongue lick against your lips. He takes it upon himself to push his tongue into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth, and you happily let him. All clear thinking has gone out the window at this point, and you let your bag slink off your shoulder to plot onto the floor, busying yourself with sinking your fingers into the curly strands of his hair and gently tugging at the root. Eddie moans against your lips, and you pant, your brain going dizzy at the heavenly sound.

Eddie’s hands are eager and hungry as they rest against your hips, sneaking up your torso to squeeze and grab at your skin. And he hates the fact that there are so many layers of clothes between you, and he wants them gone.

His hand travels down the side of your body and digs into the thick of your thigh, dipping lower to catch the back of your knee and hitch your leg around his waist. You keen, pitching your hips forward into Eddie’s, and he moans, greedily squeezing your skin and gliding up your leg. Cool rings send shivers up your spine when he slips under the hem of your denim skirt and kneads the fat of your ass.

If breathing weren’t a necessity, you would kiss Eddie forever, but your lungs burn with the lack of air, so you find yourself pulling away with a wet gasp, “I—“ Eddie presses a kiss to your lips, cutting you off before you can speak and you whine, fingers moving to dig into the soft material of his open shirt, “Eddie, I can’t… I can’t breathe, I gotta breathe,” You pant.

Eddie laughs, and you smile as he trails his kisses down to your neck, licking against the base of your throat before sinking his teeth into the skin. You moan, whiney and loud in Eddie’s ear and he hums in appreciation, grumbling into the skin of your neck as he speaks, “I wanna fuck you.”

His teeth scrape against your pulse, and you gasp, head dropping back against the wall with a soft thud as your nails dig into the skin of Eddie’s shoulder. “What?” You hazily blink.

Eddie moves back to see you, lust-ridden eyes darting all over your face. And he looks so pretty, hair messy, shirt skewed against his lean frame, lips swollen and pink from kissing, and you want him. You want him to a dangerous degree.

He kisses you, muttering his words against your lips as he squeezes your hips and pulls you closer, “I wanna fuck you.” Eddie repeats.

You pant, opening your mouth against his and preparing to speak, but you’re interrupted by the door opening, the two of you jumping at the sudden intrusion, your hand swiftly shoving at Eddie’s body to push him away. 

And you think you might die because who better to walk in on you and Eddie practically devouring one another than fucking Jeff.

“Oh, shit, uh,” Jeff looks the other way as soon as he sees you and Eddie. You hastily pick up your bag and tug your skirt back down to a modest length from where it had ridden up to your hips.

You and Eddie are still breathing heavily from your extremities, and Eddie— fucking Eddie; he snickers when Jeff glances back at him and makes a lazy attempt at holding back a laugh. Your face and neck heat up in embarrassment as you shift in your spot, wanting nothing more than the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

“The car is here, man, let’s go,” Jeff snickers before leaving.

And truthfully, you don’t currently have the confidence to look Eddie in the eye and register what’s just happened between you two. So, you grip the strap of your bag and flee before Eddie can say or do anything.

You’re not sure how that happened, and you’re not sure why it makes your stomach twist in a way that makes you blush, but you like it. 

And you can’t believe yourself.

You can’t believe that you spent the entire drive to the hotel thinking about how Eddie’s hands felt on your body, his lips against the skin of your neck, or how you could feel him pressed against your thigh, begging to be touched.

When you shower, you try to ignore the throbbing ache between your legs when you think of those words Eddie whispered to you. You try to ignore it as you get ready for bed and ignore the toe-curling sensation of the cool hotel sheets brushing against your hardened nipples when you slip into bed. You try so hard; you really do.

But you can’t help it when you begin imagining how Eddie’s hands would feel across your chest, the light and rough feeling of his calloused fingers ghosting over your nipples to watch as you writhe beneath him. 

Fuck, you really try to ignore it.

But you can’t. It’s annoying, the way Eddie clouds your mind. And you feel like a bitch in heat when the only thing running through your mind and body is the burning desire to cum. And if you stuff your hands between your thighs and bring yourself to cum to the idea of Eddie and the feeling of him pressed against you with your name on his tongue, who’s to judge you but yourself?

Because despite everything your mind is telling you, you can’t help but find yourself wanting Eddie.

But all of that flies out the window the following day.

You’d decided to order breakfast to your room, and the hotel sends the daily newspaper with each meal, and you like to read it while sipping on a hot cup of coffee on your terrace. However, when you see the newsletter cover, you’re not sure you have much of an appetite for coffee.

A picture of Eddie from last night with a familiar red-headed girl wrapped around his arm and a caption that makes your stomach twist in knots. The caption, ‘Corroded Coffin lead singer, Eddie Munson, new girlfriend debut!” in bold and italicized letters.

And you don’t know why, but your stomach sinks. You should’ve known better.

————

part six

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a/n: HIII YOU MADE IT TO THE END!! i know i said there would be drama drama in this part BUT it started getting too long for my liking, SOOO THE REAL DRAMA WILL COMMENCE IN PART 6 HEHE. THANK YOU FOR READING, AND AS ALWAYS, I LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS SO PLS LMK IN THE COMMENTS OR REBLOGS HOW YOU FEELLL <3

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @jesssssmaybankk @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@mvnsonslvt @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly

[coldlovehotblood]

Heyyy, i LOVED your writing so if possible, could you write a Izzy x rockstar! reader where the reader is the frontwoman of an all girl band, and she's like, a femme fatale yk those vibes

Izzy/ gnr and her/ her band have know each other for about 1 year, but these two are like, OBSSESSED with each other so so in love but they prefer to just keep flirting subtly and blah blah blah until in her birthday, they have their first time (finally)

Ma'am I'M BEGGING for some filthy eye rolling juicy smut (only if you're comfortable ofc) and some fluff to keep the balance hihi 🧘‍♀️

˗ˏˋ✩ˎˊ˗

PRETTY TIED UP (p.1)

the persona you’d created as front woman of a major band comes crashing down. strong liquor paired with your hungry heart lead you to places you thought never possible: the other side of your crushes bed.

w/c: 3,205

warnings: alcohol consumption

a/n: so umm.. *gulps* hello anon from december! this spiralled completely out of control and somehow ended up so big it needs to be split into two parts. life, writers block and working on too many things at once have all been eating at me. sorry for the wait. i hope it was worth it😇 big thank you to @rocknrolldecadence for being a star as always

dividers by @/strangergraphics

Your manager threw open the door and launched a folded magazine at you with a growl.

“When will you lot be done with this heartthrob bullshit?! You know, I can’t clean up for your asses forever.”

You grimaced as he paced (read: stomped) back and forth by the doorway of the dressing room your group had been given. It felt as if someone was chipping at your skull with a chisel, and the addition of your manager’s huffing and puffing wasn't helping to ease the harsh thump between your temples. 

The poor makeup artist's hand started to tremble slightly above your bandmate's brow at the sight of the man’s agitation. You couldn't really blame them. He was intimidating. It took years to become used to seeing how easily he flew off the handle, and a couple more to realise that it was all in good faith. He was tall and brawny, made of sharp edges and biting words, seemingly built for battle and not spitting through phone receivers for the majority of the day. There was this eternal furrow to his brow that made him look as if he was glaring at every person he met, and honestly, he probably was.

“Quit your whining. You read the job description years ago.”

“Yeah, well nowhere did it say ‘convincing the media every story they catch wind of is fake news’ would be on the daily agenda.”

Your drummer groaned and reached to grab a water bottle from the floor, voice snarky as she commented, “Read the fine print next time, then.”

“You shut up,” he snarled through his teeth, jabbing a finger in her direction as she rolled her eyes, “because I'm not just talking to miss centre stage here. All of you need to be a bit more careful about where you show your faces and who you hang around. I’m only after seeing this headline, and I swear to God, if even one word of it is true, I am disbanding you.”

“Sure you will,” you yawned, reaching for the magazine that had landed beside you.

'ROMANCING ROCK STARS REUNITE: Pour Femme members photographed once again sharing drinks with rock and roll powerhouse Guns n’ Roses, further feeding fan theories of unspoken courtship. Read more on page 5!'

“Ooh, what have they said about us this time?” your bass player wiggled a bit in excitement from the other side of the sofa, “Did they get my good side?”

You flicked through to page five and turned it in her direction. Some other members craned their necks to have a peek too.

“See, this is why I don't mind that magazine. I look great—”

“It doesn't matter how you look! It's your other image I'm worried—” he sharply exhaled, pinching his nose bridge to centre himself before continuing, “What I'm getting at is that we've been through why you shouldn't be seen with some other artists in public, especially those guys. If you had even an ounce of common sense, you wouldn’t have to put up with me giving you an earful every minute!”

You gazed down at the spread. Your bandmate was right, she looked amazing. You all did in the low light of the Whisky A Go Go, smiling and laughing. Your lead guitarist was leaning over the table to pour another round of whiskey into everyone's glasses, beaming wide at something, if you remembered correctly, Duff had said. Slash was leaning in towards your drummer’s ear, probably shouting over the electric buzz of screaming people and loud live music. It had been a good night out. You smiled, recalling the trek home being full of cheers and laughter.

That smile dropped as soon as you spied yourself. Your glass was raised to your lips, eyes cast to the other end of the table. No, towards Izzy Stradlin.

In the previous year, you and your band met Guns n’ Roses at an award show. The interaction caught the eye of the public, as you couldn't turn the radio on without hearing the gritty drone of electric guitar from one of Pour Femme’s hit songs or really any GNR song at least once. The two were big names, so of course, fans went bonkers when they saw their favourite bands conversing.

You admired GNR. They were great, their music was phenomenal, and you had to admit, all of them were handsome as well, but someone that you couldn't seem to stop thinking about was Izzy fucking Stradlin. You loathed that fact.

You hadn't really spoken to him that night, and in general, very few words had ever been shared. But there was no need for them, for the tension that hung thick like smoke when you shared a room said enough. He was alluring in every sense of the word. You wanted to know more, but he never gave you the chance. In fairness, you didn't give him one either…

Look, you pranced around the idea of having a proper conversation with him because you had a reputation to uphold. You earned the title of notorious heartbreaker many magazine issues ago, and fans went insane for it. You were keeping up an image, and clearly, nothing ever stays private when you live in LA.

You closed the spread up hastily, pages warping at the sides from how tight your grip had become, and dropped it beside you, reaching for your temples instead. You’d had enough of thinking about him. The focus should've been on the performance just minutes away, and your birthday the day after. It was supposed to be a good day. You weren't about to let yourself ruin it by thinking about something so trivial. He was good-looking, yes, but there was a time and a place to be admiring him that wasn't in the dressing room before going on stage. 

Some small, needy thing in your brain called out to you ‘Would there ever be a time when you'd let yourself truly look at him?’

One of the stage crew peeped their head around the door frame to give a five-minute call. You heaved a sigh and pushed yourself up off of the sofa. You’d settled on thinking about it later.

The next day, your bandmates woke you up with a shout, jumping on your bed and singing silly, screechy versions of ‘Happy Birthday’.

You don’t know when it happened, but you got to an age where you didn’t see a point in doing anything on your birthday. It was a great excuse to eat a little more unhealthy than usual and go easier on yourself, but you saw no reason for extravagant celebrations.

“Fuck off,” you mumbled, pulling your quilt up over your head.

“It's your birthday and you're acting like a grump?! Booo!” your bassist teased from your bedside as they shook you back and forth.

“Get up! I didn’t make a cake this morning for you to not even look near it,” a voice called firmly from the doorway and you made your displeasure known with an overdramatic groan, muffled by the covers.

“Come on! We have a couple of things to do before tonight so get your ass up!”

Someone pulled the covers fully down and you blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden burst of light. “What’s happening tonight?”

“Obviously we’re all going out. I refuse to let you sit in this apartment and be all sad about getting older like last year. No chance.”

Of course, it was your guitarist who was taking charge of this assault. You knew how stubborn she could be, and therefore simply did as you were told, slipping out of bed and wandering to the kitchen with the rest of them trailing you like ducklings. You wanted to be mad at all three members for ganging up on you, but you couldn't find it within you to keep up the irritated furrow in your brow. It was nice to know they cared and wanted to see you happy, and they looked so pleased with themselves when you lit up at the sight of the cake, squealing and nudging each other excitedly. How were you ever supposed to be firm when they had such good intentions?

The three of them took you to lunch, afterwards tugging you in and out of an absurd amount of shops, telling you to choose something and insisting they would pay. You ended up back at the apartment with more bags than reasonable. They were having none of it when you started to argue that all of the presents were entirely too much, instead pushing you into a chair and playing dress-up, adding to your makeup, doing your hair and making you model all the clothes they’d bought you.

One thing you had managed to stand firm on saying no to that day was going to a club. They had wanted so desperately to bring you to one, begging with big, sparkly puppy eyes.

“Come on!” your bassist pleaded, actually clasping her hands together and leaning your way, sweetening her voice the best she could, “It’ll be so good. We promise to go easy on the booze–”

“Uhh no? That's the point–” your drummer was silenced by an elbow to the ribs.

“We promise to keep it light until we’re home again.”

You shook your head at the two, a smile creeping onto your face against your will.

“It would be fun to go to one. I know she was talking about going to the Whiskey tonight,” you jerked your head towards your guitarist who was rifling through every item of clothing you owned, “But I just don't think I would enjoy myself. I want to have fun with you all, but where can we have fun without the media breathing down our necks and watching every move we make?”

“I mean,” your bandmate spoke with a raised voice, knowing the sound would be slightly dampened by her position. She was basically downing in clothes at that point, “we could always go to The Cathouse.”

“Yeah, sure, let’s go to another habitat of GNR’s. Our manager would rip us a new one.”

“No, that's actually a good idea. I like it in there.”

“What?! You’ll go to The Cathouse but not The Whisky?”

You shrugged your shoulders before simply replying, “Apparently the Whiskey can't be trusted. That spread had a great picture of us, but it’s proof we’ll get no privacy.”

Just then, your phone rang, buzzing against the vanity you sat beside. You picked up and were met with your manager's gruff voice.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, but I'd like to think I know you a bit better than that,” you spoke, admiring your bandmates' artistic skills in the mirror as you did, “What's wrong?”

He had his moments in which his well hidden soft spot for you all shone clear as day, but he never called just to say nice things.

“You lot better behave yourselves tonight. If I wake up tomorrow to your faces all over the news or on the front page of another magazine for the wrong reasons–”

“I’ve told them already to be sensible. We’ll be fine.”

“Who is that?” your drummer questioned leaning closer to hear the voice coming through.

“Our dear manager telling us to behave.”

“Oh for fuck sake! Get off our backs and mind your own business!” your guitarist yelled, coming towards you with an outfit in hand and signalling for you to give her the phone. You traded items. She leaned against the vanity and sighed deeply in annoyance. Even from a slight distance, you heard your manager's static voice ring loud and clear.

“Shut up you!” he bellowed back, loud enough your guitarist flinched slightly and had to pull the phone further from her ear, “You all need to start listening to me! Some of these days, one of you is going to get into bother for one reason or another. I will not take any shit from anyone on that fateful day because I have done nothing but try and keep you all on the straight and narrow–”

“Yap, yap, yap! Go jerk off or something!”

She quickly hung up as his outraged roars became deafening, putting your phone back in its original position.

“Put this on and then we’re leaving.”

It was relatively quiet as the four of you walked in, expected for a random Wednesday night. You may have been a bit overdressed for a mostly empty bar, but getting ready was half the fun. It was worth it when you were able to strut through the entrance knowing you looked hot. The outfit your bandmate put together, highlighting your best features. The makeup another had carefully done for you, making you look striking. Head-turning even. Dressed up, you felt confident. That was all that mattered.

You all filed in one after the other, talking and laughing as you went, but the smile on your face dropped when you saw who was sitting at the bar, sporting a brilliant grin of his own and tilting his head back to swallow the rest of his drink. You watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat, watched as his dark hair fell back around his face once upright again, unaware of your group, instead focused on something his own bandmate, whom you recognised as Steven, had said.

The night suddenly didn’t look so fun anymore, and it hadn't even started yet. You did not expect them to be there. It was an odd night in the week to be out drinking in a bar. Why on earth would they be out having drinks?! It was only three of them sitting there on the bar stools: Steven, Axl and him, but two of their unit missing didn’t make you feel any better about it. You might not have even minded it, but Izzy's presence made you unsure, a nervous shiver making its way through you.

There was a reason you kept yourself a distance away from him. You knew that if you got to know him properly, you'd end up in it too deep because you found him devastatingly attractive. From the shape of his lips to the way he carried himself, he was flawless in your eyes.

You longed to chat casually over a drink or two. You longed to charm him a bit and see how, if he was even interested, he'd reciprocate that curious flirting. But you felt like you had to stay away as you feared both of your reputations. Celebrities dating was nothing new, but when things went south it left a bruise on each of their images.

At the height of Pour Femme and Guns n’ Roses’ careers, that was a far from ideal situation.

Your bassist noticed how your steps had become hesitant, leaving you half-hidden behind the other two. She asked if you were okay, eyes worried. You looked at her, bit your lip and looked back to the three men sitting at the bar. She followed your gaze and sighed when she realised, slowing a tad to match you as your other two bandmates walked on. They either didn’t notice or just didn’t care, too engrossed in an argument over something no doubt ridiculous. Your drummer's eyebrows only ever furrowed like that if they were trying to explain something, which was not an area they excelled in.

“Ignore them,” your bassist whispered, leaning very slightly towards your ear.

“I love you, but that might be one of the stupidest things to ever come out of your mouth.”

“Okay fair. But look,” she said your name gently, “You can't run from him forever. I get why you are doing this, but… why not loosen up a bit? Just for tonight.”

Your face twisted up against your will and she playfully pushed your shoulder with her own.

“Come on. There's no media here, you look smoking and it's your birthday. You should be allowed to have a bit of fun on your birthday of all days.”

You considered her words. Maybe you were a bit too cautious when it came to him, but so what? You had good reason to be! Although your worries were justified, she made a good point. You should've been allowed this at least. If you weren't going to get shitfaced, you'd let yourself have that wiggle room.

Just for the night.

You sharply inhaled through your nose and straightened your back, looking your bandmate dead in the eyes and nodded. She let out a quiet squeal and threw an arm over your shoulders, tugging you in for a side-hug.

“Go get 'em girl!”

You rolled your eyes and walked towards the bar, stride more sure than before. If you were going to do it, you needed something in your system.

Your two other bandmates had already taken their seats, of course, sitting right beside the three men your gut screamed at you not to look near for even a second, so you didn’t, instead going to the free seat right beside Izzy at the other end of the bar and ordering yourself something strong.

You were shuffling your stool in when you heard his voice.

“Brave choice for your first drink.”

“Well, you’ll get nowhere without bravery.”

He hummed and a beat passed before he spoke again, “Who taught you that?”

“No one. I learnt it with time.”

“Interesting.”

Your drink was placed in front of you and you thanked the bartender, winking at them.

“I don't think I've ever properly introduced myself, but I also don't think I need an introduction.”

“Cocky,” you said with a smirk, raising your glass to your lips and taking a swig, ”I assume I don't need one either.”

He said your name. You’d imagined him doing this, shaping his mouth to fit around the word, low timbre making it sound almost like a purr, but your imagination did a poor job at doing the real thing justice. You liked how it sounded coming from his lips. Very much so.

“Of course, I know you. Those magazine journalists can't seem to keep your name out of their mouths. They say a lot about you, you know.”

“I'm aware.”

You felt him looking at you before spying him doing so from the corner of your eye, observing you as you studied the liquor bottles lining the wall behind the bar. You waited for the prickling sensation like insects burrowing under your skin that often came with unexpected eyes, but it never came. His gaze didnt feel as… intense as you imagined it'd be. Actually, it felt good. You liked knowing he was taking a somewhat interest in you. It was exciting.

“Magazines talk a lot of shit,” he started suddenly, and you giggled.

“Tell me something I don't know.”

“It’s unbelievable the amount they've spewed, and yet, after all of those paragraphs, I still don't really know anything about you.”

“Well then. Here’s your chance to shoot,” you said quietly, looking him straight in the eyes as you went for another sip of your drink, an easy grin still on your lips despite the sweat gathering in your palms. He mirrored your expression.

part 2 coming soon…

[eksvaized]

What if, in an alternate universe, instead of being battle-hardened men, TF141 was a famous band? I know it’s a silly thought, but I can’t get it out of my mind.

In my mind, Kyle would definitely be the lead vocalist, who once in a while picks up a guitar. Like, his charm is literally irresistible, and he has this unique quality of being able to carry even the most awkward interviews: he always has the perfect timing, knowing exactly when to joke, when to lightly shade other artists, and when to not-so subtly flirt with an attractive interviewer.

Unlike his bandmates, Kyle also tends to steer clear of trouble, avoiding the drama and controversy that so often follows other bands. His biggest scandal to date, if it can be considered one, was a rumour about his escapades during the band’s tour across America. He supposedly slept with 50 different women, each one from a different state.

And while it was indeed a big deal for such news to erupt within the music industry, it didn’t come as a complete surprise, given Kyle’s reputation as a notorious flirt.

Johnny — a bass player. No doubts about that. When he’s performing during concerts, he becomes a force of nature, a whirlwind of chaotic energy that doesn’t seem to understand the concept of slowing down or taking a break. He’s constantly on the move and bouncing around from one side to another. At times, he’ll dive off the stage to interact with fans, often leaving his signature on some over-excited female’s cleavage. Other times, he can be seen on his knees, utterly lost in the rhythm of the music, grinding to its beat with his eyes closed as if in a trance—this is the most calm he can be during a gig.

Apart from his musical talents and electric stage presence, Johnny has another talent - a knack for attracting attention, particularly from the media. His face graces the pages of magazines on a weekly basis—an occurrence that he insists is accidental rather than intentional. However, Johnny is notoriously outspoken—he has never been one to hold back his tongue or shy away from expressing his opinions, regardless of how they might be received. And so, while refreshing, his candidness often lands him in hot water, especially when his remarks come across as controversial.

Price, Price, Price. Definitely a band manager, and not because I think he couldn’t keep up with the guys. Oh no, that’s not it. It’s just that in my head, I can picture him standing in the unlit corner of the backstage, a lit cigar dangling between his fingers as he counts money. Every so often, he nonchalantly tucks some bills under his belt. He thinks he deserves some extra cash because, yet again, he had to clean up the mess that Johnny made.

What did Johnny do? Apparently, he decided to wear a kilt onstage. The choice of attire wasn’t the issue itself. The problem arose from his decision to go commando, wearing no briefs underneath. Price obviously had to execute some serious damage control and pay off literally everyone who came to see the band. Otherwise, the pictures of Johnny’s dick would have flooded the internet the second people left the venue.

And then there’s Riley, who dominates the drums. Like, just imagine him on the stage, drops of sweat forming on his furrowed brow as he immerses himself in the rhythm. His shirt is discarded, tossed aside as heat radiates off him in palpable waves, and his blond hair is in disheveled from the constant, frenzied head banging — literally every woman’s wet dream.

Sadly, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t stalk him on social media and drool over his shirtless pictures because all of his accounts are set to private. And because of how secretive he is about his personal life—unlike Kyle or Johnny, who don’t mind talking in interviews and sharing some details about what they get up to—the media has nicknamed Simon a Ghost.

Further contributing to his elusive image is a running joke among fans and media that the band doesn’t actually consist of three members, but is instead a duo of Kyle and Johnny. This is primarily because Simon seldom appears at public events. Even when a promotional interview is arranged for an upcoming tour or album, he tries to avoid attending by using every possible excuse, only to be eventually forced into it by Price.

What about you, though? Well, the answer to the question is obvious. You’re definitely a fan, but not the crazy stalker type. You just buy all their albums, follow them on every social media platform, and occasionally watch an interview or two, so you could gawk at how handsome all of them are.

So, when the news broke that they were having a concert in a city near you, you didn’t hesitate for a second. You purchased a ticket almost immediately, a thrill of anticipation coursing through you at the thought of watching them perform live. And the actual concert? It was the most fun you’d had in a long time. Even the fact that you went alone didn’t dampen your mood.

However, probably the part of the night that sent your heart racing, that made it beat the fastest, was an unexpected turn of events. You somehow, almost miraculously, managed to find yourself in the band’s tour bus. You were there, with Kyle’s hand lightly resting on your lower back, as he introduced you to the guys - Johnny, Price, and even Simon.

His exit left a strange silence, and your mind began to race; Price’s behavior seemed to confirm the rumors that had been circulating about Kyle might be true.

Price, to your surprise, did not seem taken aback by your arrival. He extended a hand towards you, the shake firm and lingering just a tad bit longer than necessary. His gaze then shifted over your shoulder, landing on Kyle and giving him a warning look before he excused himself to step outside.

Next, you were introduced to Johnny, whose demeanor was almost as tactile as Kyle’s, if not more so. He greeted you with a bear-like hug that almost crushed your ribs, squeezing the air out of your lungs. His wide grin was so broad it seemed almost idiotic. After releasing you from the embrace, Johnny leaned in close to Kyle, whispering something barely audible yet unmistakably complimentary, something that sounded suspiciously like ‘this one’s stunning’, before giving Kyle a hearty, brotherly clap on the back. You did your best to brush off Johnny’s remark, to dismiss it from your mind for fear of your face betraying your embarrassment by turning a bright shade of red.

Simon was sitting near the tiny window that allowed the soft glow of the moonlight to filter in. His long legs were spread wide in a display of relaxed confidence, and one arm was nonchalantly tossed over the leather couch’s backrest. He had yet to utter a single word. Which he did when Kyle mentioned you were here because you fancied a picture with them. This caught Simon’s attention.

At that point, the only thing keeping you standing straight was Kyle’s hand on your back. You knew, deep down, that you should decline this offer. Your mind was practically shouting at you to return to your rented motel room, reminding you of the early train you had to catch the following morning.

Simon turned to look at you, and you had no choice but to avert your gaze because it literally felt like he was undressing you with his eyes, as his lips curled into a sly, almost predatory smirk. “How about something better?” He suggested, his voice filled with a teasing lilt. “Have a drink with us.”

But how could you possibly refuse such an offer from your favourite band? Especially when you found yourself living the dream of every fan girl out there.

It was too tempting to resist.

[musicmags]

[thekatebridgerton]

Also here's another story I wish someone would write inspired in my current late night sleep deprived scrolling and too much Rock of Ages clips:

Colin Bridgerton Rock Star who has lost himself in sex drugs and alcohol to cope with the decline of his song writing inspiration. Enter Penelope Featherington, former childhood friend turned, rolling stone journalist who interviewed Colin for the magazine and wrote a terribly unflattering article (so what if she chewed him up and told him he was an irresponsible child who needed to man up, so what if he accused her of literally running away from their friendship when he got famous and forgetting he existed until this dang interview, so what if they had hate sex! So what if she ruined him for all other women) What Colin cares about is that he needs to find her again and make her retract what she wrote about him in Rolling Stone!!

Side plots Featuring Anthony, Benedict and Gregory, band mates who are sick of him and coping with Colin's trainwreck lifestyle by equally trainwrecking their own lives.

Anthony is a recovering sex addict with a bunch of groupie girlfriends that always follow him around who has fallen head over heels for his ball busting bodyguard Kate. Yes he's fallen for Kate! Who would rather meet his crazy fans with a glock at dawn than let him buy her a drink, Kate with walls a mile high who roundhouse kicked him the last time he told her she looked hot. Kate who smiles at him when she thinks he's not looking and thinks he's going to propose to her sister. Why did he fall inlove with Kate? He likes her! Why can't she like him back? Kate is willing to take a bullet for him but she won't let him anywhere near her heart. So sex drugs and alcohol it is, maybe if Kate sees how much of a trainwreck he can be, she will quit and cease tormenting him. If Anthony can't have Kate then nothing matters anymore

Benedict resident polyamory Rock Star fresh out of a breakup with his other two equally famous significant others, trying to ' create art' and cover Colin and Anthony's messes only to find his muse in a one night stand he had when he was super wasted. Granted the new housekeeper his mom hired for the band seems awfully familiar, but this Sophie girl is just too cute to be his sexy goddess of silver. Doesn't mean he hasn't tried to bang Sophie, but she said she's not into meaningless flings with washed up bass players, so fine no sleeping with her, he will treat her like an employee too, but as an employer he needs her to remain around him all the time, when Sophie smiles she helps him get back his inspiration, he can paint again when she's around, that's all that's keeping his attention, of course he wants Sophie to see him as a man, but its okay if she doesn't... Right? Right??

Then there's Gregory, the drummer, trying to make it in the Rock Star scene, and keep his older brothers from doing a full kamikaze on their relationships and their band. He's so lucky he's got his best friend Lucy supporting him trough this, dang it would suck if Lucy didn't come to his concerts or gave him a listening ear. She's trying to make it in Hollywood as a Disney actress and she's been Gregorys rock, her agent is a bit of a diva but if Lucy gets a shot at stardom Greg encourages her to go for it. That's until news of Lucy's relationship with pop idol Haselbaby reaches Gregory. What do you mean his Lucy is dating some pop idiot who can't even sing? Why would she? She's his best...his best... oh forget it Lucy is HIS, and no Disney romance publicity stunt is going to stop him from taking her back and making her his girlfriend. And with brothers too dumb to tell him not to be stupid, he's about to destroy Lucy's entire Disney career by kidnapping her and bringing her on tour with him. If the media won't give his Lucy attention unless she gives them drama, his stunt will make her name flash in headlines for years to come!.

Violet please come get your Rock Band, the boys are mucking things up again!!

[theunderestimator-2]

Lux Interior & Chopper Franklin, last ever bass player to record with The Cramps, backstage at The Paradiso, Amsterdam, where they performed on Sept. 18th, 2003, about a week after Johnny Cash had passed away (here in a photo captured by Arjan van den Berg and published in 'Oor' Magazine issue Nov. 2003).

Scott "Chopper' Franklin had started out as a Black Flag teen roadie, learning guitar & bass and jamming with anybody that he could. In Hollywood he crossed paths with the infamous Rick Wilder and began playing bass for the notorious punk rock outfit The Mau-Maus, then later joined the trash rock outlaws The Joneses. He relocated to New York and after having met Lux Interior and Poison Ivy, he eventually joined the Cramps in 2002. He did several tours and recorded the final Cramps studio album “Fiends of Dope Island”. After performing with various bands, he has been playing with the goth americana band Heathen Apostles for the past decade.

(via)

[sun-sanji]

league of villains but they all work in entertainment industry

toga:

- well-known in industry because of her quirk

- if actor is sick or can't attend work for personal reasons it's time for toga to shine

- she refuses to work without personal permission of actor

- she still get to act as herself mostly in school setting romance

- once was asked to work for some indie horror movie and was absolutely thrilled through whole experience

- planning to attend more auditions for horrors but afraid that her school romance image would ruin her chances

-writes manga and light novels

dabi:

- specifically asks post production team to credit him in end as 'dabi' not 'todoroki toya'

- because of scars mostly works for mafia related movies

- once was invited to film an advertising with hawks. agreed only to tease hawks by flirting with him, was not expecting hawks to start flirting back.

- someone put those bloopers on herotube and half of the internet convinced that they are a couple

- really likes it when toga drops by the set just to say hi

- hates that he has to spend the most time out of all actors on set for make-up

shigaraki:

- started to stream just for fun, was not expecting it to become full time job

- if spinner has no fans shigaraki's dead

- has a herotube channel with short animation videos

- finds dabihawks shipping situation hilarious

- had been shipped with dabi after a few streams, but cut this off by coming out as aroace

- makes blind reaction videos with spinner

- invites toga and/or dabi for streams which includes them trying to cook something once in a while

- usually these streams end up in chaos

spinner:

- was streaming for longer time then shigaraki but was less popular

- more known as a bass player for a few rock bands

- almost passed out when shigaraki showed up in chat for the first time

- 'close your eyes bro' 'okay' 'what do you see?' 'nothing' 'that's my world without you, bro' 'bro' – kind of relationship with shigaraki

- tries to bring all of his gaming gear to tours with bands and fails miserably every time

- comes to toga-dabi-shigaraki cooking streams but stays behind the camera ready to call firefighters

- wears mask and sunglasses for streams and mask and hood for concerts

mr. compress:

- one of the most popular cosplayers in the community

- somehow manages to visit all of the cons with multiple cosplays

- uses his quirk to carry costumes around

- makes custom cosplay gear and has herotube channel with cosplay tips for newcomers

- freelance photographer for a few geek magazines

- met shigaraki and dabi at a photo shoot for magazine

- a few times was hired as a concert photographer and met spinner at the first one

- magne's podcast buddy

- carries toga's bags at cons and helps her with shopping

magne:

- has been working for huge animation studio but started her own project and quit

- does podcast about queer and quirk discrimination with compress

- once invited shigaraki to discuss 'villainous' quirk discrimination and shigaraki ended up coming out

- actually the one who encouraged toga to apply for auditions for horrors

- met compress through cosplay community

- has been planing to work with shigaraki on some animation project

- runs support center for teens with twice

twice:

- works A LOT with dabi

- started as a cameraman but then dabi suggested to try acting

- toga's number one fan

- voiced a lot of characteres from magne's shows

- was the one who brought up the idea of support center

- always declines magne's invitations for podcast because he convinced that he doesn't experience any oppression

- helps compress and toga to get ready for cons

kurogiri:

- shigaraki's editor and assists compress for photo shoots

- making tiktoks of chaotic cooking streams is his favorite part of his job

- the one who shigaraki calls when accidentally decays controller or other gaming stuff

- thankful to spinner for attending chaotic cooking streams for safety reasons

- his quirk is the reason why compress able to attend so many cons

- goes to every premier of toga, twice or dabi movies

- the one who organizes the league meetings once a month

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork onstage at Wembley in 1967; photo courtesy of Melody Maker.

Q: “Peter, starting with Headquarters in 1967, it seems you were one of the first guys to actually make the banjo a significant element of pop-rock songs.” Peter Tork: “I wasn’t even thinking about doing that. I just thought, ‘The banjo would sound good here.’ If I’m fond of my own work at all, it’s the opening lick to ‘You Told Me’ from Headquarters. The guitar starts off [mimics guitar] and then the banjo cuts in [mimics banjo] and suddenly, you’re in a whole new realm. To me, building those kinds of textures is what music is all about, and there are a couple of places where the banjo contributed nicely to the Monkees’ basic rock. It seems I’m a rocker who happens to play banjo, or a banjo player who happens to rock. I don’t know.” Q: “Was it pretty seamless when you first started working out your parts for Headquarters, or did the whole studio look at you and go, ‘Peter, what are you doing with a banjo?’” Peter: “It was seamless. Everybody knew I had a banjo, and so they knew it was part of what I brought to the table musically. Nobody was surprised.” - Guitar Player Magazine, October 2016 “[On ‘You Told Me,’] it really kills when the banjo comes right in the middle and then the band hits with that nice bass drop. That moment is really exciting, that’s what music is supposed to be.” - Peter Tork, Headquarters, 1995 liner notes

[cryinglittlepeople]

Bass guitar player Rangiku from my friend kat's fic: "Metalhead". I wanted this to kinda look like a magazine cover.

[ancient-qveen]

EMPEROR in Decibel magazine issue no. 14 (December 2005)

The making of Emperor’s In the Nightside Eclipse

[…] Released from prison in December 2002 after serving nine years and four months’ time, Faust joins fellow ex-Emperors Samoth, Ihsahn (guitar/ vocals/keys) and Tchort (bass) on the eve of a sudden Emperor reunion (featuring Samoth, Ihsahn and longtime Emperor drummer Trym) to recount the making of one of the most historically fascinating and sonically influential albums in the annals of extreme metal…

[ancient-qveen: This is one of my fav emperor interviews and so i've just personally highlighted some stuff in blue for me to look back on. And i've just highlighted their names in red and added a couple pictures to help break up the huge walls of text :3 enjoy]

What are your most vivid memories of the recording sessions for In the Nightside Eclipse?

Faust: There were a lot of practical things we had to organize, because Bergen is like 500 kilometers from Oslo, and we were very young at the time, and we didn’t really know how to organize ourselves. But we managed to get hold of a car and we managed to actually get an apartment in Bergen. The car we used was from Samoth’s father, and I was the only one who had a driving license.

Ihsahn: For me personally, it was kind of a turning point. We had recorded demos before, and also the first Emperor EP, but that was in a very cheap studio. This time we went to Bergen and Grieghallen, and recorded in a big studio with an experienced sound engineer and everything. I was only 17 at the time, so I couldn’t get into the pubs, and since I had to do the guitars and the vocals and all the keyboards, I spent a lot of time in that studio. When the other guys finished their parts, they could always go to the local rock pub and hang out. I’d generally been very interested in sound engineering, and because I couldn’t get into the pubs, I’d spend my nights with Pytten, the engineer, learning about recording and studio technology.

Tchort: I remember Varg Vikernes walking around the studio in his chain mail eating ice cream. I had just turned 19 and was starting to drink coffee for the first time. Grieghallen was huge—the drums were set up in a big hall and that’s where I recorded the bass as well. Before, I had only been inside a small basement studio, and this was a hall where big orchestras could be recorded live.

Samoth: I had just turned 19 that summer, and I remember Bård and I terrorizing the Bergen neighborhoods in my dad’s old Ford Econovan. [Laughs] We had a lot of fun during those weeks, but also a lot of work. We were quite inexperienced as far as being in the studio, and this was really the first big recording for any of us. There were some magic musical moments in the studio, for sure, but I don’t remember too many concrete incidents from the actual studio session. I remember more about the time, the atmosphere and the total rebellious freedom I felt back then.

Were all the songs completely written beforehand, or were parts improvised in the studio?

Ihsahn: Oh, yes, we’ve always had all the material ready before we go into the studio. I would say it was pretty well rehearsed. We never booked time before we were actually finished writing the songs.

Samoth: The song structures were all done, but a lot of the symphonic keyboard parts were actually made in the studio. We didn’t have a keyboard player at the time, so we never rehearsed with keyboards prior to the recording. Of course, certain parts we already had planned the keyboard lines for, and some riffs were made with keyboard lines in mind to begin with, but the overall symphonic and atmospheric layering on Nightside was pretty much composed by Ihsahn during the recording session.

Tchort: As far as I remember, most of the material was written beforehand, but the intro for the song “Towards the Pantheon” was made during our stay in the apartment next to the studio.

The album was co-produced by Pytten, who also produced Mayhem’s De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas and the first Burzum albums. What was he like?

Ihsahn: He was the sound engineer at Grieghallen Studios, and still is, as far as I know. He also recorded several Immortal and Enslaved albums. Grieghallen came to be the studio where everybody recorded their first black metal albums. But Pytten wasn’t a metal guy at all—he was just a very good sound engineer. He used to work for Norwegian television, as a host on a youth program. He’s a very nice guy and a very skilled guy, socially. He related very well to all these extreme types— all these young black metallers who were coming in. He took it very seriously.

Faust: I have only good memories about him. He was very well educated in his work, and very relaxed. In the past, Grieghallen wasn’t one of my favorite studios, but I think he put a trademark sound on each recording—a very organic and dynamic sound. I think he was a part of getting the right sound for In the Nightside Eclipse. At the time, he was already famous in Norway as a musician— in the ’80s he was in a band called Blind Date. His daughter is one of the most famous handball players in Norway now—she’s a very known icon for sports, and I think she was voted most sexy female in a magazine back in 2002 or something. We met her, because she would always drop by the studio when bands were recording there. I think she was maybe a year or two younger than us.

Tchort: Everyone seemed to “know” Pytten from a TV show he used to be on, but I didn’t recognize him. He was cool to work with, kinda relaxed. I remember he didn’t like the bass I brought, so I borrowed one of his for the recording. I don’t think his bisexual daughter was into handball—or at least not known—back then, as she was probably only 15 or 16 at the time.

Five of the songs on Nightside actually have the word “Emperor” in the lyrics. Did you think of Emperor as a character, or was it purely self-referential?

Ihsahn: [Laughs] I didn’t realize that. You know, I can’t really remember all that was put into the lyrics at that time, because some of them are mixed with stuff that Mortiis wrote before he left the band. He wrote lyrics for “I Am the Black Wizards” and “Cosmic Keys [to My Creations and Times]” and then me and Samoth wrote some lyrics together. I wrote the lyrics to “Inno a Satana” and “The Majesty of the Nightsky” on my own. So it’s all a big mixture, but I think they were partly drawn out from some of the concepts that Mortiis was working on at the time. The rest was pure imagination. I think there was a lot of running through forests [laughs]—it’s all very epic. I suspect we used the word “landscape” more than once as well.

Samoth: I think we saw “Emperor” as a sort of entity. We didn’t really ever use the word “Satan” much in our lyrics. We’ve always used a lot of metaphors and symbolism. Emperor became a metaphor for our own entity, for the dark lord, for the devil, for the strong and the mighty. There could be several ways to see it, you know.

Tchort: I don’t think I read the lyrics until I was holding the finished album in my hands. I came from a different part of Norway, so the few times we met were for rehearsals — I didn’t witness the birth of the songs and the lyrics behind them.

There’s an essay in the appendix to the book Lords of Chaos that compared black metal as a Scandinavian youth phenomenon to the Norse legend of the Oskoreien, “the ride of the dead,” which was also reflected in a Norse folk custom that involved groups of young males terrorizing villages on horseback while wearing masks, making noise, etc. Are you referring to Oskoreien in “Into the Infinity of Thoughts” when the lyrics go, “In the name of the almighty Emperor I will ride the Lands in pride, carrying the Blacksword at hand, in warfare”?

Ihsahn: Until you say it now, I’ve never heard that comparison. To be honest, my only connection to Oskoreien is more or less the famous Norwegian painting—I’ve seen the original at the national museum here in Norway. It’s also on the cover of the Bathory album Blood Fire Death, which is my favorite black metal album. But I never read Lords of Chaos. I know I did an interview with that guy, and I think I’m referenced in the book, but I never bothered to read it. I’ve never had any interest in that side of it—all the hysteria, and what everybody else wanted it to be. Of course, in the beginning, we knew all the people involved, but the whole idea of a unified black metal scene was just very unfamiliar to how I experienced it. I’ve always been detached from that and, how do you say? . . . kind of self-centered about my own work. I’ve never cared very much for the whole scene and its development.

Was there anything in particular that influenced the lyrics—books, films, etc.?

Samoth: Emperor expressed many things, both internal and external, during the years. The power of Norwegian nature was always a source of inspiration for us, especially in the earlier years. We found great motivation in the vast forests and mighty mountains, and would actively be a part of it and also use its visual strength in our artistic vision. We also had a strong fascination for anything ancient, such as the Viking era. Ihsahn and I would spend a lot of time brainstorming on concept ideas, and at one point we had this whole concept of a dark fantasy world going. It was all very visual, I think. We drew a lot of influences from artwork related to Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. And keep in mind, this was 10 years before you could buy a “Lord of the Rings burger” at Burger King—quite a different vibe, so to say. We also had a period where we had a strong fascination for the whole Dracula myth and everything related to Transylvania, the Carpathian Mountains, the dark corners of Eastern Europe and folklore. For example, a film like Nosferatu—both the 1979 one and the 1922 silent movie—was a big part of our ambiance and visual influences.

Ihsahn: The lyrics represent very much the imaginary world we were occupied with. I never really read The Lord of the Rings or any of the things that everybody in that scene was reading at the time. I steered away from that, but the words we used and the fantasy imagery were still part of the whole way we thought and played. It doesn’t really mean much in particular on this album, but it does capture the essence of the atmosphere of that time.

There weren’t that many black metal bands in existence at the time you recorded In the Nightside Eclipse. Were you enjoying the freedom of what was essentially a new art form, or did you feel restricted in any way by an ideology you felt you had to adhere to?

Samoth: I don’t think we felt too restricted. When we first started Emperor, we stripped everything down from what we were used to with our death metal outfit, Thou Shalt Suffer. Our aim was to go back to basics and sound like Celtic Frost, Tormentor from Hungary and Bathory . . . lots of Bathory! But as we got more serious with Emperor, we started to develop a more personal sound in addition to the obvious black metal influences. It was based a lot around the use of keyboards and the whole atmospheric and symphonic aspects. It became our thing, and we just took that further and further, really. But at the same time, it was very important for us to make sure we still maintained a certain spirit in the sound.

Faust: Black metal had existed for many years, but this was the second wave, and ours was the more symphonic black metal. We knew—or we started to realize—that it would be something different, but I don’t think we felt we were caught by any ideology because we pretty much did what we wanted.

Tchort: Black metal was still very new to me, and since I hadn’t been in the scene—I came from a death metal band—I didn’t know much about the ideology, so I certainly didn’t feel any restrictions. I understood the passion for atmosphere and even melodies that was put into the music, but besides that, I tried to play my part well and not be concerned about anything else.

Ihsahn: We were so young, and we had no idea what kind of impact this whole thing was going to have. I suppose now black metal has become a world-renowned phenomenon, but at the time, it was so small and so totally underground, we were just occupied with trying to do our best. I mean, I know Pytten used a lot of big reverbs, so it all sounded very majestic, which is maybe how he interpreted it. For In the Nightside Eclipse, we also kind of built further on the use of keyboards to try and give it more of an orchestral feel.

Not many other black metal bands were using keyboards very extensively back then.

Ihsahn: Yeah—I think that came from when me and Samoth played in several bands prior to Emperor. We used keyboards in [Thou Shalt Suffer], so that kind of developed into a more progressive death metal. At the time we did the first Emperor EP, we wanted to use some layers of keyboards, and that kind of evolved on In the Nightside Eclipse—but even on that record the keyboards are very simplified, compared to later releases. At the time, there were no bands using keyboards in the same fashion.

Faust: Emperor and Enslaved were the only bands with guys who could actually play the synth and the piano. Up ’til then, all the use of synth in black metal had been made out of very minor knowledge of the instrument—just mak- ing the easiest chords and stuff. But Ihsahn and Ivar from Enslaved were able to create good melodies on the synth and use it as an instrument along with the guitar and bass and drums. I remember people in other bands would see Ihsahn and say, “Shit, this guy really knows how to play the synth.” It wasn’t really that common back then, so I think we realized that we were a lot different from bands like Immortal and Burzum, who played a very primitive kind of black metal back then.

Tchort hadn’t been in the band very long at that point.

Faust: Tchort replaced Mortiis, who was kicked out or asked to leave in the beginning of 1993, after the recording of the mini-album.

Samoth: After Mortiis left, we played without a bass player for a while, and then actually Ildjarn [who had been in Thou Shalt Suffer] played bass for us, but that didn’t end up being anything permanent. I think we hooked up with Tchort during the winter of ’93 [early ‘93]. We left for our first tour in June, which was the U.K. tour with Cradle of Filth, and by that time he had already been with us for a little bit.

Tchort: I felt comfortable with the band and its other members, especially since we had just spent two weeks together touring in the U.K., but recording the album and being in a professional studio was a new experience for me. I had only recorded a demo before that. I didn’t have more than a handful of rehearsals before we went to the U.K. to play—and then we went straight to the studio.

Ihsahn: [Laughs] When we went to the U.K. to tour with Cradle of Filth, they were our support act!

The album was recorded in July of 1993, but wasn’t mixed until the following year. Why the delay?

Faust: Well, basically because half of the band ended up in prison. I was arrested one month after the recording, as was Samoth, who was released not long afterwards. My charges were a bit more serious, so I stayed in prison and didn’t take part in the mixing. I wrote down my point of view on a piece of paper for them to take into consideration during the mixing, but it was mostly about the drums and stuff.

Samoth: There was a lot of stress that fall with Bård and I being arrested and taken into custody. I was, however, let out again some few weeks later, but Bård didn’t come out until nearly 10 years later. Fucking crazy, eh? There was a lot of turbulence within the scene around this time, and this pushed the whole thing back quite a bit. I believe that Grieghallen was also booked for a while, so we had to wait. Eventually we found the focus and got studio time booked for the mix. It was just Ihsahn and I who went for the mix; I remember us sleeping in a rehearsal room in Oslo, and taking the early morning train to Bergen. I believe we gave Candlelight all production parts by late fall of ’94. They had it pressed in ’94, but it didn’t really reach most distributors and shops until early ’95, so that’s why many see it as a ’95 release. It was a very frustrating time, as we lost our drummer, the stable lineup, and the whole Norwegian scene was in turmoil and we weren’t really sure what lay ahead for us as band. But in retrospect, I actually think the whole delay of the album made it an even stronger release. We sent out advance tracks to a lot of friends, and the tracks spread around the world and created a great expectation for the release.

Tchort: I also remember Ihsahn was sick during the recording of his vocals and he was spitting blood during the sessions. He did some vocals that were replaced with new vocal recordings later on—when he got better—so I think that contributed to the delay as well. They had to go back to the other side of the country to redo the vocals and do some more keyboards. He probably couldn’t do any clean vocals when he was sick, either.

Bård, were you nervous about getting caught by the police while you were record- ing the album?

Faust: Not really, because a lot of time had passed [since the murder], so I didn’t really think that much about it. I think it was a bit of luck that we were able to finish the recording before both Samoth and I got caught.

Varg Vikernes killed Euronymous shortly after you finished recording In the Nightside Eclipse. He also lived in Bergen. Did you see him often during the recording sessions?

Tchort: He came by and we spent some time at his apartment, too. I think I took a shower there and used his bubble bath. [Laughs] The killing happened later on, but I can’t recall exactly when Euronymous was murdered.

Samoth: It was just weeks after we returned from the studio that all hell broke loose in Norway. It’s weird to think about, really. If all the controversy with the police had happened a little sooner, this album would have never been made and the future of Emperor would probably have taken a whole different turn. We went to see Varg several times during the recording sessions. Even though we knew there was some tension between him and Euronymous, we didn’t really involve ourselves in that and didn’t really think that it would come to such extremes only weeks later. I have a classic memory of Varg stopping by the studio in his chain mail and standing in the recording room enjoying a huge ice cream with a smirk on his face.

At what point did you decide to dedicate the album to Euronymous?

Samoth: Sometime during ’94, I’m sure, when we pieced together the artwork for the album. It was natural for us to do so, as Euronymous had always been very supportive of what we were doing and he was also a friend of ours, especially to Bård. He wanted to sign us to his label, Deathlike Silence Productions, but we had already done the mini-album with Candlelight and made the decision to stick with them.

Ihsahn: I think it felt very natural at the time, since he was so recently deceased, and we were releasing an album at that time. Bård was working very much with Euronymous at [Euronymous’ infamous record shop] Helvete, so it felt right at the time.

Faust: Yeah, I reckon that I was the one closest to Euronymous. I worked in his record shop and also at some point lived together with him. I think it was a consensus some time after the murder when things finally started coming down to ground again. No one thought about not dedicating the album to him. It was the most obvious thing in order to commemorate his memory.

Where did you pose for the photos on the back cover?

Faust: Apart from Tchort, I think they were all taken outside of Samoth’s place—in the woods—but at different times.

Tchort: My photo was taken at a local cemetery. I was later arrested because I stole that stone angel with the blood covering it and placed it in my bedroom.

Ihsahn: I remember there was no Photoshop or anything like that at that time. If you look at my photo, there’s this dark background, and that was a very manual cut and paste. I’m cut out with scissors and glued onto a different back- ground. I think it was the same with the goat in Samoth’s picture. We had to be very handy at that point—we didn’t have all the technology that people have today. We took our own photos, too—we didn’t have any contact with photographers or designers, you know? Things are almost too easy these days.

How did you decide on Necrolord’s cover art?

Samoth: I’d seen some of his work, like Grotesque’s Incantation mini-LP and Dissection’s The Somberlain, and liked his style. This was before he took off as an artist, I guess, and before long, every black metal album had a blue-toned art piece as a front cover. [Laughs] Originally, an ex-girlfriend of mine had tried to draw something for us, and from that we had a sketch of the tower that can be seen on the cover. Later, Ihsahn and I pieced together a bunch of ideas, [including] the tower and incorporating the death rider from the first mini-album, and we sent that to Necrolord. He did an awesome job and totally got our ideas and the vibe we were looking for at the time. I think to this day it stands out as a classic black metal album cover.

Faust: I thought it was fantastic—the perfect visual for the music—even though today it might seem a bit cheesy. It’s a little bit mysterious, and maybe a bit Lord of the Rings.

Which song holds up the best for you personally?

Ihsahn: I think both “Cosmic Keys” and “I Am the Black Wizards” hold up well still—especially “I Am the Black Wizards,” which was popular from the beginning. But usually my favorites from the albums we’ve made have hardly ever been the same as everybody else’s. I think my favorite from this album is probably “In the Majesty of the Nightsky” because it has some musical elements that I feel were very well thought out for the time.

Samoth: Actually, I think the whole album holds up still. Of course, songs like “I Am the Black Wizards” and “Inno a Satana” have both gone down as “classics,” but the whole album has a very real and natural flow, I think.

Faust: I think “Inno a Satana” is the perfect black metal hymn. That track manifests itself as the personification of symphonic black metal. I think it’s a really, really good track—it’s what constitutes symphonic black metal for me.

In the Nightside Eclipse is the record many people would consider the first fully realized symphonic black metal album.

Faust: Yeah, I think it’s the first album that consciously tried to make black metal symphonic. Ihsahn has always been very good at orchestrating music, and I think that everybody who has a relationship to symphonic black metal always points back to In the Nightside Eclipse as maybe the first album that inspired him or her to start making that kind of music. That’s a huge compliment.

How long after its release did you realize the influence/impact it had?

Ihsahn: I remember the first time we went on a European tour with Bal-Sagoth. They were actually older than us, but they said they started playing more black metal–style music—with keyboards—because of the first Emperor EP. We felt that was a bit strange, but later on we were in England and we met the guys from Cradle of Filth, who claimed that In the Nightside Eclipse was the album that everybody had. But the impact Emperor, as a band, has had on this black metal scene—and to some extent extreme metal—has been most noticeable after we quit the band. But I haven’t given much thought to how influential we were, or how influenced we were by others, or any of the more superficial aspects of it.

Tchort: I am still to this day overwhelmed by the impact the album seemed to have on the scene. I travel more than ever now, with my bands [Green Carnation, Carpathian Forest], and in the darkest and most uncommon places of the world, I meet with people who approach me and tell me how much that album means to them.

Samoth: It wasn’t really until after [1997’s] Anthems [to the Welkin at Dusk] was released that we started getting a lot of front covers and bigger media attention, and then Emperor really started to become larger and taken more seriously in general. Looking at Nightside, I think there was a lot of buzz and hype about the album even before it came out—with advance tracks spreading around the world, there was a lot of anticipation in the underground about the release. When it finally came out, it quickly became an album that led to a lot of influences in the growing black metal scene—or black metal boom, rather.

Faust: I corresponded with Samoth while I was in prison, and I had access to magazines and stuff, so I saw that black metal was growing bigger and bigger. The album sold very well, and I saw that people were inspired by it, but I’m not sure I realized how big Emperor were before I started to see the tours they did and things like that. I was a little bit hidden from all that attention when I was in prison, so I didn’t really see or understand it before I started to come out again on weekends to meet people and go to gigs again. I think it was in 1998 that I had the possibility of actually going out, but it wasn’t very often—maybe six times a year or something for 12 to 24 hours. I was given that opportunity because it’s a part of the Norwegian prison rehabilitation program. I remember going to a Dimmu Borgir gig in Oslo in 1998, and it was packed with a lot of people and young girls who I wouldn’t really imagine going to a black metal show. That’s when I saw how big it had become.

Do you feel differently about the album now than you did at the time you recorded it?

Ihsahn: At the time we recorded it, I was of course very proud of it. By the time we did a couple of more albums, it’s always like you wanna go back and change things you think you could’ve done better. [Laughs] By now I feel like that about all our albums. But I see it as a product of that time, where we were musically, and how old we were. It makes me feel like an old man at times, because it’s such a long time ago, and there are so many kids coming up these days that have the album, but were barely born when we recorded it. But I’ll be 30 in October, so I guess I’m not that old.

Tchort: For a period of time, I didn’t like it so much, mostly because of the production. But I’ve probably only heard it three or four times since it was recorded. The last time I heard it was earlier this year, after a show I had done with Carpathian Forest. There was an after-show party and I was lying on a couch when they played the whole album, and it struck me that I really got a kick out of the music. And I got that old vibe again . . .

Faust: Well, I do realize that if it was released today it would be a very cheesy album, but that’s something you can’t take into consideration, because it was recorded in 1993 and released one and a half years later. I don’t really listen to the album anymore—it’s been many years since I actually put it on, but I can appreciate the moods and atmospheres in the music and I can understand that a lot of people like it because it was a very good album at the time. But for me, today, there wouldn’t be any point in trying to re-create that album or to establish a band to continue in that vein.

Samoth: The album was something totally fresh for us when we were in the middle of making it, but today I see it almost in a historical sense—as a part of my life that also had great impact on how my life has become today, actually. We didn’t really know that we had made a groundbreaking album. We knew it was a good album that had something personal and unique to it in our genre, but we never really saw it becoming one of the classic black metal albums of all time. Even saying this now is weird, but it makes me really proud of what we managed to put together. We took our music and everything around it very seriously. Those times were very special. We were quite young and very active in a rather obscure underground movement. It almost seems like another life looking back at it now.

[musicmags]