#cursed motley crue stories to tell in the dark | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

piratewithvigor · 3 years

Text

How I listen to each of my favourite bands (a bullet point piece)

Aerosmith: They're on the radio. It's the fifth time today. Somehow never the same song. Until tomorrow, anyway. One will make you homesick. One will make you sit in slack-jawed awe of Joe Perry. One will make you curse the day he was born. They all make you love him. In the back of your mind, your thumbs hurt.

The Beatles: You have all the studio albums on your iPod nano with the scroll wheel. It has 2GB of space, so there's nothing else. You sing along to the songs with your best friend in 7th grade during school. The teacher tells you to keep it French or to shut up. You switch to "Michelle" because you're 12 and a smartass.

Bon Jovi: You're on the bus home from a long day of fifth grade. When you get home, the same old, same old. You don't know it yet but this is the beginning of your depression. As you graduate from Crossroads to a 2-Disc Best Of, everything feels worse. You work on a puzzle in the basement and even though maybe no one will ever love you, Bon Jovi understands.

Buddy Holly: For the first time since high school started, you have a friend. She's wonderful and she understands you. Maybe there's 3 time zones between you, but it doesn't stop you from digging a hole deep into a fantasy world that you live in for months with her. Buddy's music is simple and the records are bright yellow. Maybe everything will be okay.

David Bowie: You didn't care when he died. You didn't know better. You got a CD of greatest hits for your birthday two months later. You still didn't understand the fuss all too well. A few tracks pop out at you and you get the album that features them. Dad insists you listen to the album in the dark on the floor (he doesn't say while smoking weed, but if it were the 70s, you would have). Finally you understand: David understands you.

Def Leppard: You're 13 and trying to find your place in the world. Trying to make a name, so you write. As the characters who make no sense are fleshed out in 1667 words every single day, the drum loop that finished Pyromania follows you around.

The Doors: You don't know how Jim Morrison came into your life. Maybe it was by an experiment gone wrong or a curiosity. Your classmates question why you're reading a book with a shirtless man posed as if being crucified. You don't know how to answer that you think you might be him. You hadn't believed in reincarnation, but he sparked something inside you. You can feel consciousness slip away when he plays his game called 'Go Insane'. You hold a Celebration Of The Lizard for a poetry slam and the adrenaline pushes you through your fear. You feel Jim's words in your actions for years. He watches you when you sleep.

GNR: You send your siblings out of the basement. They aren't old enough to hear swear words in music and you want to listen to Appetite in the dark. You want to jump on top of the couch and punch the floor. You can feel Axl's anger and it courses through you.

Journey: You've been told you look like Steve Perry. You aren't sure if it's a compliment or an insult. You think you sound like him. You know all the words to Don't Stop Believing at the school dance. Your first memory of your boyfriend was him singing it at the talent show. Your last memory of him is singing I'll Be Alright Without You, severing the final tie. Wheel In The Sky opens your next day. Things don't feel okay anymore.

KISS: You're 4 years old and your Dad is watching the scariest freaks you've ever seen on the TV. In the next scene, the scariest one is sitting and talking to people who look like your grandparents. You forget about them for 7 years. They show up again in your newest hyperfixation and you give them a chance. The freaks who once scared you strip away your fears and set you free.

Led Zeppelin: Your imagination was just opened to the possibilities of stories beyond the realms of reality. What you thought you never knew opened you to a new layer of your past that you didn't understand. The tendrils of influence wrap around every part of your future.

Motley Crue: The writings paint them as the villains. In many ways, they are. In just as many ways, they're the same scared kids you are. For better or for worse, they bring you into a community. There, you experiment hurting yourself in ways therapists don't look for. The greatest friend you could ever want.

Ninja Sex Party: They're a rock band for kids who don't understand rock bands. You have no physical media for them and it feels like you may never get the chance. Copies are limited. So your spotify is thick with every song they've ever recorded. They're fleeting and they're your rock.

Queen: You know just a little too much about them. They're bigger characters than the radio lets them be. You love Bohemian Rhapsody before you begin to hate it before you learn to love it once more.

Rammstein: As they bleed for their art, so you bleed for yours. Perhaps out of spite, perhaps out of desperation, but plague cuts your work short. It cuts you from the glory you could have had. The first album you've ever waited for the release of by a band.

Reckless Love: Never before has a band felt so attainable and yet so far away. Your family doesn't understand them, so you hide them away. The only recklessness was falling in love.

Rolling Stones: Angie helped you through more than you know. The lips are on your tapestry for a reason. You were blind for so much for so long. You never gave them a chance. They're using their chance now.

Rush: Once shrugged-off nobodies. You gave them a chance out of curiosity and desperation. Now you can't understand the possibility of never having liked them. They brought you your first great grief and your first proof of miracles. The red star of the solar federation burns bright. Assume control.

Styx: You're standing in the snow. The bus is an hour late. You can't contact your parents because they took your one method of contact as a punishment for not making your bed. You're listening to a Greatest Hits on your iPod. Crystal Ball. It's an hour. Blue Collar Man. You get home and no one noticed you were late. They're eating without you. Suite Madam Blue.

Tom Petty: The news hits you. Your throat is blocked and you don't say anything. You listen to I Won't Back Down before telling your Dad. He was the first you experienced while being a fan. He wasn't the last. You torture yourself artistically in his honour. You attend a tribute concert and scream yourself hoarse.

Tuff: You want to leave home and block out all the memories as best you can. Stevie makes it impossible. But he's also one of the only ones there as all your best friends who aren't online forget your birthday. He acknowledges you.

Van Halen: The grief is insurmountable. For weeks afterwards, Eruption makes your heart sink. 5150 makes you cry instead of imagine pleasant nonsense as it once did. There is no comfort. If he can go, what's stopping anyone else?

The Who: Maybe they got to your head a little. You were sitting in a room in school for hours each day, completely alone except for Tommy playing on your tiny laptop. No supervision. No classmates. Just your monstrosity of a project and Tommy.

361 notes · View notes

wouldpollyapprove · 4 years

Text

A Girl That Wasn’t Meant To Love

Request: can you do a tommy x reader based on the song hell on high heels by motley crue

Requested by @magnificentzombiebasement

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Language, alcohol, prostitution

A/n: I had a completely different idea for how I wanted to write this and what I ended up actually writing is more of like a prologue. If you guys like this, I may write a second part, but it’s not a priority at the moment. I also want you guys to know that I gave up editing this halfway through b/c it’s hella long and I’m lazy. So, that’s the reason things may be spelled wrong or not make sense at all.

Masterlist

“There’s no shame in this life,” she’d been told before. It was by an old woman, one stuck in her place at one time in her life. “There is no shame in doing what must be done to survive.” Head held high, that’s what Y/n lived by. Ugly truths and monstrous men, she saw nothing but the end of the line. Every night was touch or go, wondering if she would have enough money to make it to the next. But with each rising sun, she grew stronger and the money in her pockets started to bulge.

There was no shame in what she did if it led to her survival.

Y/n never liked the only word ever used to describe women like her: “prostitute”. The word, unclean, allowed men to shove her face in the mud. Women, who never had to do a days work on their back to pay the bills, would spit at her, curses, even words sailors wouldn’t utter, leaving their porcelain lips. They didn’t see the pot of gold they had stumbled upon, all that they had that was out of reach from other’s. They were selfish in believing that some people had a choice in what had to be done to put food on the table.

It had always been a struggle to come by much of anything. Y/n grew up in a village in France that knew everything but wealth. People made enough to live, but never leave. War was the only thing that ever allowed boys and girls alike to wave at the village behind them. Most never returned, but there were always more to replace those in the ground. Producing like rabbits, there was no such thing as plentiful. Skin and bones, they all worked day and night to live for another hour, but it was never enough for Y/n.

Tough as nails, she was tired of living from meal to meal. Wishing for the world, she wasn’t like her mother or sisters, who dreamed of getting by, she wanted to take what was her’s. And so, with what little she had, she fled to Paris. It took days, different strangers pitying her state, the dirt stained clothes and tangled hair, but eventually she reached the golden city.

There, she could find little work with the skill set she’d acquired as a child. Laborers weren’t meant to walk the streets of the capital, they were meant for the tiny villages that she came from. And so, another line of work had to be found and that is when the woman who ran Le Sphinx pulled her inside. Knowing nothing of prostitution, Y/n was forced to quickly learn, being educated in both the desires of men and etiquette.

Once ready and thrown to the lions, she did whatever she could to stay above the sharp, white teeth. At first, there were many nights with tears streaming down her cheeks and the thought of home forever circling around her mind. It was hard to adapt to something she’d known nothing about. Even harder when she was merely competition to the other girls. No one would extend a hand, wipe the tears off her stained cheeks and tell her that it would get better. The girls at the brothel were worse than the ones Y/n encountered on the street. They did anything to start a fight and were worse than thieves. If you valued anything, it wasn’t to be kept in plain sight. It was a war zone one no man would ever have to face.

But before Y/n knew it, she was on top, the woman all the business men and visiting royals wanted to spend the evening with. It wasn’t bad to be sitting in the lap of a Norwegian royal, not once you were aware of how much their hat alone cost. Drowning in riches, this was close enough to the life she wanted. With all the money given to her by the men that believed they were her only loves, she packed her bags and moved to London.

That was where the rich became even richer and where our story starts.

Settling into her London home, Y/n decided she would rather spend her days doing anything but lying on her back. There were some clients, wealthy ones, that she’d see occasionally, but she wanted to make money in other ways. And with all that she had saved up, she did just that by purchasing a dress shop. It was the perfect quaint life that she had been looking for all along and it was finally her’s. Most of her days were spent hiring seamstresses or going over new fabrics, Y/n wanted women to flock from all over the country to buy her dresses and she would do anything to achieve that.

But like everyone, she got bored.

Wanting more than to roam the streets of London, she decided to put one of her best workers in charge and run around the English countryside. While on her little holiday, Y/n stopped in Birmingham. Meant to be the manufacturing capital of the country, it didn’t try to hide that fact. But she loved it. The dirt and grime, the sweat that covered the brow. She was raised just as they were, work until the day was done. The broken backs and accidental deaths were something she was all too familiar with.

These people were her people.

Taking in the city around her, Y/n wandered into a pub near a few factories. Whether it was accepted for women to venture out on their own in this city or not, she didn’t care. A mediocre whiskey sour was all she was asking for. Pushing the doors open, gold details ran along the wall as the sun peeked through stained glass windows. For a pub on the wrong side of town, London was all that crossed her mind. There were many pubs in the capital that held themselves like the one she stood in. Shaking off her shock, Y/n took a seat at one of the bar stools, sinking into its cushion.

“What can I get you?” the barmaid with eyes that dripped of honey and charcoal curls asked her.

“How about a whiskey sour?” she smiled at the girl. She looked to be no more than eighteen, what an age to be. By the time Y/n was that age, she was already in Paris, doing the job few women willing accepted. The girl nodded, curls bouncing around her chiseled face, before fetching the ingredients needed.

Y/n leaned back in her chair and began to search her purse for a cigarette. It was a bad habit she’d picked up from the brothel, but it did wonders at calming the nerves. She searched and searched, but it appeared that she smoked the last one that morning. “Fuck,” she muttered, doubling checking.

“Missing something?” a voice asked from across the bar.

She straightened to lock eyes with a tall man, his brunette hair shaved at the side. Unsure what to make of him, she simply nodded. He held himself like a businessman, suit and all, but all she could see were the rough edges of a working man.

“What have you lost?” he asked, waiting for a proper answer.

Sighing in defeat, Y/n placed her bag on the bar. “My cigarettes. I fear I’ve cleaned myself out.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips, slowly he dug a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled a pack out. “I happen to have a few.”

Y/n couldn’t help but smile seeing the canister. God only knows where she’d have to go to buy a new pack. “Mind sharing one with me?”

Waltzing over to her side, movements swift and precise, he held one out between his fingers for her to take. Gently, she slipped it between her own before placing it between her lips. Being a gentleman, the man already had his lighter out by the time it was snug between her painted lips and lit it for her. “Thank you…” she waited for a name, taking a drag.

“Tommy.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” she smiled and watched as he slid into the seat next to her. “I assume your first name’s Thomas then.”

Tommy smiled. “No, it’s Ethel.” The statement pulled a laugh from the woman sitting next to him. “And what’s your name? Or do you not have one of those?”

“Oh I have one,” she said right before the barmaid returned with her drink. “Thank you,” she smiled at the girl. Attention back on the man beside her, she took a quick drink of her better-than-mediocre whiskey sour before answering his question. “Y/n L/n.”

The man nodded, eyes going up the length of her body. The silk smooth fabric of her dress, the purse discarded on the bar top, and the jewels that hung around her wrist told Tommy all he needed to know about her. Plain as day, Y/n came from money. “What brings ya to Small Heath?” Tommy questioned, lighting his own cigarette, and leaned back in his stool, turning towards her.

“Small stop before traveling to London,” she admitted.

“London’s home, I take it.”

Y/n shrugged and flicked ash into the ashtray between them. “For now.”

Silence fell between the two. For once in her life, butterflies fluttered around her stomach, creating a knot that was both nerve racking and pleasant. There was never a chance for Y/n to even think of any sort of love except that of money before moving to England. But still beside Tommy, she felt something that she had never experienced before. Her heart told her it was more than just the love that overcame a silly school girl. No matter what it said, though, her brain overruled and told her off on the silly notion.

The two spent the rest of the day talking at the bar, swapping stories of all they had done. Y/n swept her early career into a dark closet, locking it away from the young man. She knew how his sky blue eyes would turn the color of the sea with the knowledge out in the open. She couldn’t have that. For most of her life, Y/n had watched people’s views on her change in an instant based on a profession many dipped their toes into in the name of survival. She wouldn’t have that with him. Not when she could feel it in her bones that he was meant to be something more.

Eventually, Y/n had to go back to London, but she didn’t board the train without handing Tommy her address. “Write. Please. Anytime you wish, write to me. I will always answer,” a glossy smile danced on her lips, she placed a small paper in his palm.

“I will. I promise,” he answered. Though they hadn’t known each other long, both knew that they would never lose touch.

“I best be going now.” Y/n scanned the station, noticing as people began to board the train. “Goodbye, Tommy.” Before she could turn on her heels, a hand caught her wrist and pulled her back. A grasp escaped her before soft lips captured her’s. Deepening the kiss, Y/n wanted to do anything but board the locomotive.

Tommy pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “Goodbye, Y/n,” he said with a sad smile as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

They parted that day and as Y/n watched him become nothing with the growing distance, she could still feel his lips on her. Call it love, call it lust, but it was one of the great wonders of the world, that she knew.

Once in London, Y/n made haste to write to Tommy. Her friends couldn’t help but notice the smile that adorned her face when the mail was dropped by every day and the one letter she picked out of the rest, holding it to her chest. They wondered if she’d found a lover or a boyfriend, but there was no answer she could give them.

What was Thomas Shelby to her? To a girl that wasn’t meant to love?

An answer couldn’t be given in fear of ruining what had been created.

Piles of letters flowed between the pair and soon, Tommy was asking her to come to Birmingham once more. The same excuses were used each time. She couldn’t find anyone to watch the shop or money was tight and she couldn’t spare a penny. White lies left her lips dressed as the truth. She couldn’t leave the safety of her home to visit the darkness of the unknown. Everything surrounding the man was new to her and Y/n couldn’t figure out how to handle it. Run straight at it or hide in the corner, those were her options. She liked the corner.

But Mr. Shelby wouldn’t have it with the excuses, deciding that if she couldn’t come to Birmingham then he would go to London.

A knock at the front door pulled mighty barks from Pearl, the French Bulldog Y/n found starving on the streets one night. With eyes on the stove, Y/n was weary to leave them unattended to answer the door. “Be there in a minute,” she called, giving the eyes a few extra seconds before sliding them onto a plate. Pearl ran between her feet, almost tripping her, as Y/n walked to the front door. Doing her best to keep the creature in the house, using one foot to hold her back, she opened the door, body freezing when she locked eyes with the man in front of her.

“Y/n.” A smile like honey spread across his face, almost making Y/n forget why her heart seized up in fear.

“Tommy,” she breathed out in return. The dog behind her used the shock to her advantage and quickly found a gap between her owner and the door, slipping through to bark at the stranger in front of her. Y/n scoffed and quickly scooped the dog up before she could take a bite out of Tommy’s polished shoes. “Pearl, you pest,” she scolded. “Um, please, come in.”

When the door was opened wider, Tommy stepped through the threshold and began to strip himself of his coat. “I was in town for business, thought I’d come see you.”

A smile lit up her face at his words. No one had ever been kind enough to do that, not for the innocent reasons he was. “There’s breakfast in the kitchen if you’d like some.” He nodded, following close behind as she led the way, eyes scanning the walls that past him.

“Lovely home,” he remarked as Y/n gestured for him to have a seat at the kitchen table. Doing as she pleased, he sank into the wooden chair and took in his surroundings.

The second his eyes had landed on her months before in the Garrison, Tommy knew the woman came from money. Back straight as a board, jewels dangling from her body, there was no mistaking it. He sat beside her, hoping she couldn’t sniff out dirt poor, violent prone individuals. By the end of her stay in Birmingham, it seemed she knew no difference between expensive suits obtained by gun point and those with a handful of coins.

It was foolish for Tommy to believe she would want anything to do with him. He was a poor boy turned thief turned war hero turned criminal. Little he touched after the war was legal and he knew better than to believe that a woman of her status would ever want a man like himself.

“Yeah,” she shrugged while dishing eggs onto two plates. Before placing them on the table, she set a piece of toast next to the eggs and grabbed the butter off the counter. A plate was placed in front of her guest, who wasn’t sure if he should be surprised that she knew how to cook. Anyone who owned a house such as the one Tommy found himself in usually had a few maids and a cook, but not Y/n it seemed. “What business brings you to London?”

“None worth anything,” he answered.

A groomed brow raised, she wondered why he wasted the trip. “Then why come?”

The answer that escaped his lips hit her in the heart, the one she saw coming. “For you.” For her, he had left the comforts of his home. For her, he had wasted precious time. And for her, he would surely be disappointed.

“Tommy,” she drawled, eyes gloomy to match her said smile. “You didn’t have to.”

Leaning back in his chair, his blue eyes pierced her own. His demeanor had changed. Once loving and sweet, now sharp and calculated. “You refused to come see me, decided to come see why.”

Y/n sighed, unsure whether to let her eyes wonder or stay focused on the man in front of her. “I’ve been busy,” she lied.

Her words must have been see through, not an ounce of weight to them, when Tommy rolled his eyes. “Apparently, you’ve been so busy that you’ve allowed yourself to visit the coast.” His words were bitter, laced with venom, each syllable as dangerous as the next. “Thought I wouldn’t find out?”

A foolish move to believe she could live a wonderful life. Once back in London, Y/n had done her fair share of research on Thomas Shelby. When it came to survival, it was always best to know all those around you. Y/n couldn’t allow anyone to burn her empire, no matter how much she was willing to let them. She knew Tommy was making his way up in the world, climbing the latter, each rung as illegal as the next. He was a quick witted and calculated man. Ambition seemed to always cross his mind. Tommy seemed to know as much about her as she did about him. But if he only mentioned her trip to the coast, perhaps he didn’t know all she thought he did.

Opening her mouth to say something, she was cut off before a word could get out.

“What am I to you?” The words were heavy on his tongue, even heavier ringing in her ears.

Y/n sat there, opening and closing her mouth, the breakfast in front of her completely forgotten. There was no perfect answer. No sentence that could be formulated that could wash away the pain evident in his eyes. There was no word that could be uttered to mend what she had broken but the simple truth.

Letting her eyes scour the room, she did her best to avoid eye contact as Tommy’s gaze drilled into her. “If you believe you don’t mean anything to me, you’re wrong. You mean the world to me.”

“You have an interesting way of showing it.”

Y/n couldn’t help but flinch at the bitter words. “I…” she shook her head and got to her feet. She couldn’t sit still, not with her heart attempting to beat out of her chest. “I don’t know how to love.”

The words were barely above a whisper but Tommy heard them from his place at the table. Eyes softening, he wasn’t sure he’d understood her properly. “What do you mean?”

Pacing around the kitchen, tears welled up in her eyes at all she didn’t want to say. Y/n wasn’t ashamed of her past, in fact, many would find it triumphant, but it wasn’t one that bathed in love. She had never been loved or in love until she had met Thomas Shelby at a pub in Birmingham. Many only had one love and that was good enough. But with her background, love was never enough. She could love with her whole heart, but her loyalty would always come into question.

“I have never been allowed to love,” Y/n explained at the mini bar in the corner of the room. It may have been early, but it was never earlier too early for a drink. A strong on at that. Shaking hand poured whiskey into a glass, filling much more than needed. “I-I have never been in a… relationship that wasn’t physical.”

Tommy wasn’t sure what to make of her announcement or the woman that stood before him. Whiskey pouring over the rim of her glass, it wasn’t hard for the man to see that her gentle words covered up a dirtier trust. Pushing himself out of his chair, in a few quick strides, he was by her side. Long fingers snatched the drink from her hand, placing it on the counter. “Were you a-”

“Please, please don’t say it!” she begged, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Please.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her against him, her head resting against his chest. “I won’t, I won’t,” Tommy said, rubbing a hand up and down her back. It did little soothe her but it was better than doing nothing. “It’s alright, love.”

Y/n shook her head, pulling away enough to meet his eyes. “No, it’s not,” she cried. “I’m fucking filthy! Not someone anyone would love.”

It broke his heart to see the pain in her eyes, the truth she placed on each word. Placing a hand against her cheek, he stroked the smooth skin, letting her melt against his touch. “I love you, Y/n,” he said softly to combat her sobs. “And I don’t care how filthy you are, I love you. And if I have to teach you how to lover properly, then so be it. But if you can love Pearl then I know you can love anyone.”

She was quiet, savoring each word that was said. No one had ever said such a thing to her and meant every word. Some customers had believed they were in love with her, taken her kindness for passionate love, but it was never that. “Do you mean it?” Y/n asked as Tommy wiped her tears away.

“Every word.” He leaned down, capturing her in a kiss. Y/n grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Tommy could have stayed there, with his arms wrapped around her, forever, but Pearl had other ideas. The dog barked from the other side of the room, earning laughs from two. Turning his attention back to Y/n, Tommy brushed a stray hair behind her ear and asked, “Now, will you come to Birmingham with me?”

*~~*~~*

Let me know if you would like to be added to either taglist.

Permanent Taglist: @amirahiddleston @haphazardhufflepuff @woahitslucyylu @mzcrazy2 @lovemissyhoneybee @multi-fandom-iimagines @tarafaithe @jenepleurepasbaby @fernweh-fangirl @the-anxious-youth @theshelbyclan @wtfdanness @chloeforde @futuristicslimemongerbanana @auds24 @lucillethings @nemesis729 @sirkekselord @princesscornbread @i-volunteer-for-finnick @iwillboilyourteeth @anyasthoughts @ellieemais

Thomas Shelby Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy @imnotuglyimjustpredebut

Peaky Blinders: @simonsbluee

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinder imagine #the peaky blinders #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagines #thomas shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shleby imagines #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader

417 notes · View notes

mxliv-oftheendless · 3 years

Text

Trick or Treat!

SURPRISE BITCH, I BET YOU THOUGHT YOU’D SEEN THE LAST OF THE BLACK DAHLIA SERIES!! Well SIKE because you haven’t! I typed this out in the span of Halloween night, but it took a while because *jazz hands* that ADHD life amirite? Lol but I got it done, and still on Halloween!

So since our last Halloween special featured the event that would change the course of Heather’s life forever, this year’s Halloween special features a much nicer event in Heather’s life. Mainly because I haven’t written any Heather-Fred bonding yet. Also the beginning scene is indeed the dialogue I wrote in my “Eight” story for Writer’s Month, just because it’s a good place to start. Hope you guys like it! Read on and enjoy!

Today on the Black Dahlia series, it’s Halloween, and while Heather hasn’t set foot outside on Halloween in years, that tradition may be broken tonight.

“I need to ask you something,”

Wariness traveled through Heather at Judy’s statement. “What?”

“Well, you know today’s Halloween,”

“Yeah…” How could Heather not know today was Halloween? She could never forget.

“Both Brad and I can’t take Fred trick or treating this year… Do you think you could take him?”

Heather paused, and her hand tightened slightly around the phone. On the one hand, she knew how much Fred loved Halloween. On the other hand… she never went out of her house on Halloween night if she could help it. She just couldn’t face the night unless she was in her home, surrounded by her flowers and assured by her wind chimes and the cross made of rowan she kept on her door. She couldn’t risk it.

Judy seemed to sense her reluctance, because she quickly said, “I know you don’t like going out on Halloween night, so if you don’t want to do it I can call Uncle Bobby—”

“Your Uncle Bobby?” Heather’s nose wrinkled. Judy’s Uncle Bobby taking Fred? The one who called her a Satan worshipper and went into passionate rants about how the Democratic Party would ruin this nation and would definitely make sure Fred didn’t get the chance to enjoy his trick or treating experience? Absolutely not. “No, I’ll do it.”

“You will? But I thought—”

“I know. But your Uncle Bobby taking Fred instead of me is the worse alternative. I’ll do it.”

Judy laughed. “Okay. Thanks, Heather.”

Heather smiled a bit. “Sure, Judy.” She hung up the phone and sighed. “Well… I guess I’m leaving my house on Halloween.”

-BLACKDAHLIA-

“Auntie Heather!”

Heather smiled as she closed the door and turned to watch her ten-year-old nephew run up to her excitedly, clad head to toe in a Darth Vader costume. “Excuse me, Lord Vader, I’m looking for my nephew. Have you seen him?”

Fred giggled, then stood to his full height and pretended to breathe like Darth Vader. “No, Miss Heather,” he said in a deeper voice. “I have not.”

“Are you sure?”

“I find your lack of faith disturbing!”

Heather grinned and pretended to choke. “Ah—Ugh—Help! I’m being choked to death!”

“Hey now,” Judy said with a laugh as she came into the foyer. Heather had to grin at her witch costume, pointy hat and all. “Don’t choke your auntie to death, Freddy. Not when she’s taking you out trick or treating.”

“Oh yeah!” Fred exclaimed, lifting his mask. “Sorry, Aunt Heather.”

“It’s okay, Freddy,” Heather chuckled. “It’ll take a lot more than that to hurt me.”

“Fred, why don’t you go get your pillowcase?” Judy said to her son.

Fred perked up. “We’re going now?”

“Of course we are,” Heather smiled at him. “We gotta hit all the houses before it gets too late. Just think of all the candy you’ll get.”

“Alright!” Fred ran off, presumably to his bedroom to get his pillowcase.

Judy watched him go with a smile, then turned back to Heather. “Thank you for doing this,” she said sincerely. “He’s been talking about Halloween ever since the beginning of the month.”

“It’s okay, Judy,” Heather replied. “Really.”

“Are you sure? I know you hate going outside your house on Halloween…” Judy glanced up at her witch hat. “Oh jeez, this isn’t helping, is it?”

“No, you’re fine,” Heather assured, placing her hands on her arms to stop her from reaching up to take it off. “Really, Judy. You’re fine. It’s only going to be three hours at most.”

“Are you really sure? I can always call someone else…”

“It’s a little too late for that, Judy. Plus, do you really want your Uncle Bobby taking Fred?”

Judy thought for a moment, then shook her head. “You’re right, I don’t,”

“Remind me how you two are related again?” Heather chuckled.

“There’s always a bad one in every family,” Judy laughed.

The sound of footsteps made them look up to see Fred running back down the hallway. Clutched in his hand was a large black pillowcase with orange pumpkins embroidered on it. “I’m all set!” Fred exclaimed. “C’mon, Aunt Heather! Let’s go!”

He grabbed her hand and started dragging her to the door. Heather laughed at him. “Say goodbye to your mother first, Freddy,”

“Fiiiine,” Fred sighed. “Bye, Mom!”

“Bye, Fred. You two be careful, okay? Don’t want to run into a ghoul or a goblin.”

Fred scoffed at her. “Those aren’t real, Mom! But I’ll be careful. Come on, Aunt Heather, come on! We’ll miss out on all the candy!”

Heather laughed and followed him out the door. But she couldn’t help wondering if she had made the right choice as the front door of the Jones residence shut behind them.

-BLACKDAHLIA-

They had been out for about an hour, and as was common for a night in late October, night had fallen quickly. A chilly breeze blew through the neighborhood. Luckily, Heather was kept warm by her leather jacket, and Fred was protected from the wind with his mask and cape.

As for being protected from anything else…

The wind blew a little harder as Heather waited on the sidewalk while Fred ran up to the next house. She gave an involuntary shiver, then froze.

Did she just hear something? No, she couldn’t have. But did she? It sounded like… a laugh. A faint, evil laugh. She knew that laugh.

Her hand reached up and closed around, not the black dahlia pendant around her neck, but the pentacle pendant necklace, that was a brown cord with a silver pentacle pendant. She blew out a breath. “It’s not real,” she mumbled. “It’s not real. She’s gone. She’s not here.”

… Then why were those shadows moving?

Heather’s eyes fixed on shadows on the side of the house. Maybe it was the light from the Halloween lights, but the shadows on the side of the house seemed darker. Were they moving? No. They weren’t moving. And yet…

A pair of glowing eyes appeared before her vision. Heather’s eyes widened.

“Aunt Heather!”

Heather gasped and snapped her head away. When she looked down, she saw Fred standing there. His mask was pushed to the top of his head and in the streetlights she could see a devastated look on his face. “F-Fred,” she managed. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t get my candy,” Fred said mournfully.

Heather squatted down. “Why not? I thought you got to the front porch.”

“I did. But then a kid in a skeleton costume snatched my candy!”

Heather frowned. “Why don’t you go back and get more candy?”

“But he’s right over there!” Fred pointed over to where a boy in a skeleton costume stood. He had no mask, so Heather saw the mess of red hair atop his head. He was with a group of boys and laughing.

“That’s Red Herring,” Fred said to Heather. “He’s a bully. I can’t go back up; he’ll see me and take my candy again!”

Heather looked over at Red and his friends, slowly frowning. Then she stood up. “Come on, Freddy.”

She strode across the sidewalk towards the group of boys, her boots thumping on the concrete, with Fred in tow. “Hey!” she snapped. Fred quickly pulled his mask down over his face.

The group of boys looked up at her. “Which one of you is Red Herring?” she demanded, crossing her arms.

“Who wants to know?” Red Herring scoffed defiantly.

“I do. Give my nephew back his candy.”

Red snorted. “Listen, lady, I dunno what you’re talkin’ about. I didn’t steal this weenie’s candy.”

“Oh, I think you did. Now give him back his candy.” Heather glared down at him. “I suggest you do it fast, because I’m not in a bargaining mood tonight.”

“What if I don’t wanna?” Red challenged. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Heather’s frown deepened. “I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do.” She grabbed Red by his costume and pulled him closer, then took out her pentacle pendant. “You see this? You know what this is?”

Satisfyingly, fear flashed across Red’s face. Heather smirked and went on. “It’s a pentagram. You know what this symbol is for, right?”

“Th-Th-The…”

“I do,” one of the boys said fearfully. “My mom said it’s the sign of the Devil…”

Heather’s smirk widened. “That’s right. And if you don’t give my nephew back his candy… and more… I’m going to make terrible, terrible things happen to you and your friends. And believe me,” she leaned closer to Red’s face, “I know all the worst curses.”

From an outsider’s perspective, Heather, with her black leather jacket, Motley Crue t-shirt, jeans, Doc Marten boots, and dark smirk, looked incredibly intimidating. Red had gone pale, shaking in fear. “O-Okay, okay! I’ll give him his candy back!”

Heather let him go. “Good. Now do it.”

Red went up to Fred and reached into his pillowcase. He took out a handful of candy and dumped it into Fred’s open pillowcase. Heather looked at the other boys. “The rest of you give him some candy too.” She waited until the other boys had given Fred more handfuls before nodding. “Good. Now scram.”

“C’mon, Red, let’s get outta here,” one of the boys pulled on his arm.

As soon as the boys were running off down the sidewalk, Fred turned to Heather. “Wow, Aunt Heather! That was amazing! You’re not… really gonna curse them, are you?”

Heather chuckled. “No. This isn’t even a symbol of the Devil. It’s called a pentacle; it’s a symbol of protection.”

“Then why’d he say it was a symbol of the Devil?” Fred asked as they set back off down the sidewalk.

“Because Catholics think it’s a symbol of the Devil, since it’s a pagan symbol and not a Catholic one. Anything that isn’t Catholic, people automatically assume is the work of the Devil.”

“Oh… People like Uncle Bobby?”

Heather chuckled. “Yeah, Freddy, like Uncle Bobby.”

Fred thought for a moment. “That’s kinda stupid,” he stated.

Heather threw back her head and laughed at that. “Yeah,” she chuckled, smiling. “It is pretty stupid. Do you want to keep trick or treating?”

“Yeah!”

Heather grinned. “Okay, let’s go,”

-BLACKDAHLIA-

When Judy opened the door, Fred sang out, “Trick or treat!”

Judy laughed. “Hey there, you two! Did you have fun?”

“Yeah! I got a whole ton of candy!” Fred held open his pillowcase for his mother to see. “See?”

“Wow! You guys must’ve hit every house!”

“Yeah, we did!”

“Well, why don’t you say goodbye to Auntie Heather and you can go sort through your stash?”

Fred put down his pillowcase and took off his mask, then hugged Heather tightly. “Bye, Aunt Heather!”

Heather chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Bye, Freddy. Have fun eating all your candy.”

When Fred had run off to his room, Judy turned to Heather with a smile. “So it all went okay?”

Heather thought back to the moment she almost had a flashback. She blew out a breath, then smiled. “Yeah. It went okay. By the way, if Fred tells your Uncle Bobby the difference between pentagrams and pentacles at Thanksgiving this year, you can blame me for it.”

Judy frowned. “Why? Did you explain it to him?”

“Yeah… In a way your Uncle Bobby will find offensive.” Though then again, Judy’s Uncle Bobby found everything offensive.

Judy sighed. “You’re a bad influence on him sometimes, Heather,”

Heather chuckled. “Hey, I’m just helping him think for himself,”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night,” Judy laughed. “Do you need any help getting home?”

“Nah, I drove. Say hi to Brad for me, would you?”

“Of course.” Judy hugged her. “It was great of you to do this. I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t,” Heather replied, hugging her back. “Just don’t let Fred eat too much candy tonight.”

Judy laughed. “I plan to do that already. I’ll see you soon, Heather.”

“Bye, Judy,”

When Judy had closed the door behind her, Heather stood on the porch for a moment and let the chilly breeze of late October hit her face. She breathed in slowly, then breathed out. A smile formed across her face. Tonight hadn’t been as bad as she thought.

#black dahlia series #yep heather's taking fred trick or treating!#also if you guys will recall from a year ago: fred mentioned this event in chapter one of Black Dahlia #also i looked it up and yes a pentacle is a celtic symbol of protection #christianity is just full of a bunch of narrow-minded assholes #also spontaneous conclusion of a character from an adaption of scooby doo!#this was fun to write heather needs more lighthearted stories #scooby doo #kiss au writing #my writing #hope you enjoyed!

8 notes · View notes

charmstonegames · 3 years

Text

Albums for TTRPG Sessions

Listen, I know some of you like to game in complete silence. Just your game master’s dulcet tones, some pencils, dice, and silence. I’m not insensitive to this. For those of you that fit the above description, I’ve arranged for some alternate content this week. Click here if you don’t like background music.

For the rest of you, I’ve been thinking about good music to have playing in the background while you’re enjoying a fine TTRPG. First off, I want to say there’s nothing wrong with slapping on Gustav Holst’s The Planet Suite, The Lord of the Rings Soundtrack, or whatever video game OST you’ve got handy. But when I’m running a game, I don’t want any subliminal reference to some other work in the player’s minds. Music tastes have become varied that I'm fairly confident one or fewer of the below options will be familiar to your players.

It should go without saying, but play it just loud enough to be heard and low enough that the music never has a chance to overwhelm a player’s speaking volume. Aside from that, let the needle drop and enjoy the following albums.

Dead Can Dance - Gothic Spleen

Genre: Any Fantasy

Dead Can Dance is probably the most well known group to appear on this list, and frankly, they deserve it. For gaming background music, I usually don’t like vocals because I feel that it draws attention. However, Dead Can Dance tends towards chant-like lyrics that almost meld into the instrumentation. In some cases, they opt for glossolalic singing (meaning the vocalizations are deliberately unintelligible). Owing to their unique blend of world music styles, almost any of their albums make for a great soundtrack for gaming, but Gothic Spleens has this kind of nonspecific medieval feel that works for any fantasy setting. It’s sort of like if somebody made every background track of Age of Empires II into an absolute banger. Every song oozes with mythic goodness, so pop this on and your next D&D group will not be disappointed.

Shiho Yabuki- The Body is the Message of the Universe

Genre: Mystery, Supernatural Horror

Everything about this album just oozes mystery and intrigue. Remember that bit from The IT Crowd wherein Richard Ayoade plays a music stinger hoping his D&D game will find it “ruddy mysterious?” Well, this album knocks that out of the park. From what I can glean, this record was first released in Japan in 1987 and became instantly coveted by collectors in the US. Every track is both unobtrusive but tantalizingly enigmatic. This synth driven masterpiece has the rare quality of being at the same time striking and unplaceable. Other critics have remarked about Shiho Yabuki’s penchant to eschew melody for atmosphere and texture, which is why I think it makes for such incredible background music. Even if you’re not playing this for people in your game, I’d recommend you listen while you’re prepping. It just has a sort of indescribable way of wrapping itself around your brainstem and taking your mind places. It’s on YouTube, so check it out.

Umberto - Outskirts of Reno

Genre: Cyberpunk, SciFi

I don’t know a lot about the band Umberto. There’s no results that match them on the first page of Google search, so I’m comfortable labeling them mythical. Regardless, this driving synth album makes me feel like I’m living in the “Big Weird” of a William Gibson novel. There’s no vocals and positively determined drum, bass, and synth sculpting every track. It’s positively mesmerizing. If you’ve got an average story to tell set amongst a dystopian mega-city, this album will carry your session over the edge. There’s a sort of undefinable sinister mood undergirding this album that will make even the most timid players feel like they’re in a high-tech, low-life setting. If ever there was a soundscape to communicate a John Wick vibe and bi-sexual lighting this is it. You should be able to find this album on Spotify without too much trouble.

Claus Morlock - Bethany's Cradle

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Lovecraftian Horror

From what I can tell, this album was composed as a soundtrack to a folk horror movie of the same name. The story goes that the film was financed by the shadowy Lupus Pictures, apparently known for obscure movies like “Blood Of The Limping” and the “Seduction Of The Beast.” I’m nearly certain none of the aforementioned movies actually existed, but nearly is not completely. So there may have been a semi-haunted movie studio pumping out cursed pictures with awesome soundtracks in the 70s, but we’ll never know.

(Just between you and me this is absolutely a gimmick)

In spite of its dubious provenance, this album reminds me of a dark, inverted version of the Ocarina of Time OST. None of the instrumentation makes it immediately tied to any particular musical genre, but it gets a hold of you as instantly and deeply as those YouTube “beats to study/chill/vibe to” channels- and with waaaaaay better quality too. Every song is worthy of being sampled by some trip-hop obsessed musician in their basement. I can’t legally say there’s an ancient curse that makes anyone who hears this album love it, but what’s it worth to you to find out?

A Hawk and A Hacksaw - You Have Already Gone to the Other World

Genre: Anything sorta fantasy

When I was in high school, there was a resurgence of “cool celtic” music- specifically the Wicked Tinkers, Tempest, and Flogging Molly. This band does this but for Eurasian folk music. From what I can tell, this is another soundtrack to a movie that may or may not have existed. The story I’ve heard is this is a soundtrack for a lost soviet visual masterpiece. I’m not here to decide if this actually happened or not, but boy, would I want to see the movie that inspired this. It’s both barrels of rock-infused, steppe tribal music pointed right at your face.

It’s pretty difficult to describe this album, but I’ll venture to say that it sounds vaguely foreign to American ears, but definitely badass. The album somehow sounds bigger than a Motley Crue arena show and more intimate than a coffee house ukulele player. It’s intoxicating. It give you the feeling that you’re in the middle of an important story, even if you can’t quite tell if it’s the beginning, middle, or end. You and your players will feel like you’re centerstage of a grand, eternal show with this in the background.

I’ve got to be honest, I’ve been listening to these albums as I’ve been working in this piece and I got no less than 6 new campaign ideas. I’m all sorts of brimming with energy now.

I’ve got to do some deep breathing to calm down, but you should check these out and see which ones fits your current campaign best.

For more stuff like this, visit charmstonegames.com!

#ttrpg #ttrpg stuff #rpg #rpg music #d&d music #dungeons and dragons music

1 note · View note

primal-screamer-blog1 · 5 years

Photo

smut prompt request for @bowiesixx 64. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll forget you ever met that asshole.” featuring Nikki Sixx A/N: This ended up being way longer than I ever intended it to be. I really only ever mean to write one scene but some of these prompts are really open for development and I like story as much as I like smut! Hope you enjoy. Warnings: 18+, smut, break ups, misogynist slurs links: smut prompts fluff/angst prompts masterlist requests open for guns n’ roses, motley crue

You were crying again. Collapsed on the couch, you couldn’t even feel truly sad anymore; not about him anyway. You knew you’d lost your boyfriend - ex boyfriend, you corrected yourself - long before he cheated on you. It just hurt to finally admit defeat after being together for so long. You’d seen it coming; there were plenty of arguments and plenty of emotional distance for both of you to catch on that things between you weren’t working. But you never wanted to just give up, not without a fair fight at least. Apparently he did. It’d been a month since you broke up and though you’d gotten used to the idea of being without him, it was the long nights alone that left you feeling broken. You’d worked for so much; had an apartment together, a dog, a future. And just like that, it was all gone. No, you couldn’t feel sad. As far as sadness went, you’d already processed those emotions several times over to feel it become dulled. But you did feel displaced. You were staying with Nikki while you were between places. You didn’t want to ask, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. After the success of their last album, he’d bought a place of his own and it was nothing short of massive. “Of course you’re gonna stay with me while you look for a place.” He told you when you first mentioned you were moving out. “Nikki, I can’t impose on you.” “Impose? Please, I want to help. Besides, it’s not like I don’t owe you.” He referred to years ago, before the money and the fame. Before Motley Crue even started, you let Nikki stay on your couch often when he had nowhere to live. You gave him a weak shrug, unable to figure out how to thank him, too emotionally exhausted to begin to try. “Do you really insist?” “I do.” He smiled warmly at you. “There are like eleven rooms. You’re not putting me out at all.” When he got back from the club tonight, however, and you were crying on the couch for the third time that week, he couldn’t help but feel frustrated. Not with you, never with you, but he couldn’t stand to see you so broken down. For as long as he’d known you, he knew you to be assertive and strong willed. He always thought you were far too good for your ex, but in the past couple months he’d become unable to stand him. When the fights first started getting really bad, it was almost nightly that you were crying on Nikki’s shoulder, lamenting some horrible thing your boyfriend said. Nikki was disgusted at the things he would call you, hearing you recount cruel taunts of “whore, bitch, cunt, worthless.” And what made Nikki furious, enough to snap that skinny fuckers neck, was that you were starting to believe all those things. The cheating didn’t come as any surprise to Nikki. He was more surprised that you stuck around long enough for it to happen. However, he couldn’t blame you for needing a less ambiguous reason to leave such a long relationship. You were always kind like that to people - you always gave them the benefit of the doubt until you no longer could. This was a good thing sometimes. For the people who appreciated it, it showed just how much those friendships really meant to you. But other times, Nikki had seen you get taken advantage of by people who never deserved your love and care in the first place. More than anything, he hated that your ex had done that to you. You’d done nothing but love and support him. Sure, sometimes things don’t work out and couples break up, that was only reasonable. But Nikki felt an unfamiliar rage kick up in his chest when he thought about him being so unnecessarily cruel to you. He dropped himself hard on the couch next to you, stumbling a little on his way there. He was still a little drunk. You could smell the whiskey and cigarettes of the night heavy on his breath. You didn’t mind. Nikki had the tendency to become a total sweetheart to you when he was drinking. He made strained noise with his throat as he pulled you off the arm of the couch and into his chest. “Come here.” You wiped your tears from your eyes and sniffled a bit, leaning up against him. A few soft sobs kept you shaking. He clumsily pushed your damp hair from your wet eyes, but it just fell back into your face. “You wanna talk about it?” You sat up straighter so that you sat across from him. “I just…” You pulled in a deep breath, shaking off your tears with finality. “I just miss him.” Nikki groaned and thumped his foot on the ground. “I know, I know. I guess I don’t miss him. I just miss our relationship. It’s hard sleeping alone when you’ve been next to someone for a few years.” Nikki shrugged. “You can sleep in my bed.” You shot him a look. “Not like that. Look, I get it. I’m lonely in that big ass bed too!” “I’m already taking up a whole room in your house. I don’t wanna take your bed too.” “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, obviously. I just know how much being alone sucks and that bed is huge. Just might make you feel better.” It did sound nice. The guest bedroom that you were staying in was nice; soft clean sheets, a large TV and a record player with an impressive speaker set up that you were taking full advantage of. You were thankful Nikki had given you such a nice place to recuperate from losing so much. But the nights alone had not been pleasant. If not the lack of touch, the empty space and the loss of body heat and someone else’s shallow breathing served as a constant reminder that you were on your own now. It hurt. And for touch, you ached. God you ached. “C’mon. Let’s go upstairs. You weren’t gonna sleep on the couch were you?” “I was gonna try to read a book or something.” You rolled your eyes at your failed attempt. “E for Effort.” You cocked your head. “It’s ‘A for Effort.” He laughed and stood up. “That doesn’t make any sense.” “No, it’s- nevermind.” While you changed out of your clothes and into your pajamas, brushed your teeth, Nikki took his time showering and getting a glass of water to sober up before bed. It was nice seeing him start to take care of himself and be a bit more mindful of things these days. He still had a long way to go, but to see him make the effort was refreshing. You pulled on a big black Iron Maiden t shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, pulling your hair up before padding into his room. “You good?” You called, knocking on the open door and stepping in a bit. Nikki faced away from the door, still pulling on his boxer briefs, his hair wet and laid flat down his tanned and toned back, his ass surprisingly muscular. You quickly stepped out and quietly cursed at yourself, feeling stupid for not waiting for him to tell you to come in. However, he either didn’t mind or didn’t notice. “Yeah, yeah, come in.” He mumbled and opened the door for you before stepping over to his California King size bed. Everything was black; the carpet, the curtains, the walls, the bedsheets. Nikki stretched out on top of the luxurious satin comforter and let out a long, loud yawn, throwing his long legs askew, his arms splayed above his head on the pillow. His tattooed chest rose and fell with his deep, tired breaths. Still damp from the shower, his body was long and lean. However, his shoulders were broad and his legs were toned from spending most of his time running around on giant stages. His arms the same from years of playing bass. Nikki’s hair framed his face, a rare site to see it in its natural state. With his eyes shut, he lifted a hand and pointed to a stereo on the entertainment system in front of his bed. “You wanna put on a record to fall asleep to?” “Do you have a preference?” You asked, browsing his selection. “Put on Judas Priest.” He said sarcastically, holding up his devil horns. You rolled your eyes and flipped through the records. Knitting your brows together, you pulled out Sade’s Promise. “Really?” You asked, holding it up to him and laughing. “Hey you can bite me, alright? That album rocks.” “Actually, by definition it’s the only thing in here that doesn’t.” You said, looking at the track listing on the back of it. “Everything else you have in here is metal, I can’t fall asleep to that.” “I love Sade. No objections from me.” The speakers cracked with the sound of the needle picking up the first track before the soft music filled the room. Nikki turned over and felt around his bedside table before finding the a remote to click the lights off. You climbed into the downy satin, the sheets rustling under your hands and knees. You fell down onto one of his king sized pillows and laughed. It was big enough for you to wrap your arms and legs around. “These giant pillows are so crucial.” “I fucking love this giant bed. You could fit ten people in here and I’d never know.” He said in the dark, his weight shifting about on the mattress while he worked himself under the comforter. “I bet you’d love that, perv.” You shot at him. “I wouldn’t ask ‘em to leave.” He threw his hands up, falling back into the pillows. You moved closer to him and settled in under the blankets. Nikki’s breathing slowed and grew hoarse, already drifting off to sleep. Having his presence there was enough to drive off the anxiety you’d been experiencing every night for weeks. Somebody else being there, no matter who it was, just made you feel safe. But Nikki specifically, half naked and sprawled out next to you, was making you feel something else. The thoughts weren’t the only thing that had been keeping you up. Loneliness came well equipped with its own brand of physicality, one that left you gripping your own skin at night, your fingers buried deep between your legs. The bass on the record swelled and you sighed, Nikki’s breath tempting you to feel it against your neck. Your skin vibrated, aware of the blood flowing in the pheromone soaked body beside you. Your senses begged for contact. “Do you mind if I snuggle?” You asked quietly, shaking him lightly from sleep before he was completely out. “Huh?” He asked, confused in his foggy mind before processing what you said fully. He lazily lifted his arm, beckoning you closer. He was warm against you, his heart beat on your back. He moved gently, finding comfort around your form. You slid your legs between his, a slight shiver falling down your back as his hairs tickled your smooth skin. A small, quiet sigh escaped you as his nose brushed against your ear. His hips responded before he did, bucking up into you as he pulled in a gasp through his nose. You rocked back into him and his forearm locked across your shoulders, holding you close. You felt him grow hard on the back of your thigh and he grinded up against you. He shook his head, now fully awake and aware of the situation. His grip loosened and he became still. “You okay?” He mumbled sleepily into your hair. You rolled over in his arms and snaked your own around his shoulders. “Nikki….” You began. But you didn’t have to say anything else. He knew what you were asking. Almost instinctively, he flipped you on your back, holding your wrists above your head with one hand. He moved your hair out of your face and peered intensely into your eyes. “You sure?” He asked. “Please.” His mouth was at your throat with your wrists pinned above you. With his other hand, his palm pushed across your stomach under your shirt and up between your breasts. He wrapped his hand softly around your throat and let go of his grip on your wrists. His tongue was hot along your jawline and he let out a low growl. He held you there and caressed your face, his mouth breathing hot in your ear. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll forget you ever met that asshole.” Feverishly, he reached down and pulled his erect cock from his briefs as you pulled your t shirt over your head. He took care to push his fingers into you, eliciting a sharp gasp as his mouth latched over your nipple, pushing into you as his tongue rolled over the sensitive tissue. He pushed his fingers in deep and took a quick, sharp bite and you cried out, letting him know you savored the delicious sensation of pleasure and pain. Your eyes closed, you reached down to feel him, but he pulled your hand away and placed it back over your head. You whimpered, bucking your hips up to him, pleading for more. He pressed his forehead to yours and chuckled low. “Nuh-uh.” He said and laid a wet kiss on the hollow of your throat. “No way, this is for you. Don’t worry about me.” He delivered. Trailing hard, wet kisses down between your tits and taking time to suckle at your hips, Nikki pulled off your shorts and hid his face between your thighs. He worked you hard and messy with his fingers and mouth, sucking and kissing your clit, flicking his tongue quickly against it between hard, wet laps, his fingers moving in and out. Even stopping to breathe, there wasn’t a moment where he let you lose the flow of energy. Your head rolled back, your legs around his neck now and you tangled your fingers into his hair. Cries fell from your lips as you pulled him in closer and harder until finally you feel yourself release and tighten around him. Your body spasms as you cum, aware of his eyes on you as you moan and writhe. Your knees weaken and your legs fall beside him. He smiles as he rises to meet you, happy with his work. He flips his hair back and finally, he pushes into you with hard and hot friction, stretching you around his girth. You let out a low moan as he lumbers on top of you and with a soft “oh fuck….” into you. And then deeper. And then even deeper. He rolls his hips up into you over and over, painfully slow, taking his time to enjoy himself knowing you already had. He takes his fingers and dances them across your lips, dipping them into your mouth as he thrusts in tandem. Your tongue swirls around him, tasting yourself on his skin, a joyful hum coming from your throat. And then he’s faster. You feel him throb and grow harder again inside you and you begin to swell with a new heat around his cock. The head of his dick twitches and you are both slick with his pre cum. He pounds into you hard and then pulls out, holding himself back, leaving you whimpering again. “You want it?” He says through shallow pants, holding your arms above your head again. “Please.” Your voice cracks. “Say it.” “I want it.” You pout, your hips rising up into him. He shakes his head, nearly out of breath. “Say the whole thing.” He commands. “Nikki, please.” “The whole thing.” “Nikki.” You say with more authority, suddenly aware of what he wants to hear. “Please, I need to cum all over your fat cock.” He holds you at the hips and pushes furiously into you, each time with a low grunt from his chest until he snarls. A dizzy rush breaks over your skin and his hands are in your hair, the at your breasts, the muscles in his thigh and stomach jumping and he cums hard, hot inside you like a shot of whiskey. Collapsing on top of you and breathing heavy, he takes a hard bite of your shoulder. You let out a playful squeal and roll onto your stomach, pushing him onto his side. Too exhausted to move, you both lay there, naked and broken, covered in the others sweat. Nikki’s hair clings to the back of your neck, chest heaving. He lets out a gravely sigh and rolls around, swinging his legs around the mattress. He stretches his arms above his head and you extend your limbs out as far as they can go, your entire body feeling lighter than it had when you first got into his bed. “I’m going to smoke a cigarette.” He said and took a deep drink from a glass of water on his nightside table. “You feel better?” You curled into yourself, pulling the covers over your naked body. “Yes, Nikki, thank you.” You cooed, your eyes too heavy to see a smile spread across his face. He lands a firm pat on your ass through the covers. “Good.” He says and heads out the door while you drift to sleep easier than you had in weeks, not a single worry left on your mind.

#nikki sixx #motley crue #smut #fan fiction #fan fic #smut prompt #request #@bowiesixx

270 notes · View notes

crue-sixx · 5 years

Text

Title: The Witches

Author: tiddly-winx

Fandom: The Dirt (Motley Crue)/American Horror Story: Coven and Hotel

Note: This is a cross over with the seasons of AHS Coven and Hotel. Apocalypse might get a mention, but not too deep.

Summary: It's 1981, you, your best friend Cordelia and your mentor Myrtle have been sent to Los Angeles to investigate strange happenings at the Hotel Cortez. You get side tracked when some young rockers make a deal they can't pay.

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence, gore

Fiona Goode was a scary lady, she was made Supreme at an early age and paid little to no attention to Delia. You didn't know why she wanted to impress her mother so much, it seemed like anything Delia did wasn't good enough. You learned early on that a person's goal in life wasn't to make other people happy, but to live for yourself. You had the most unfortunate power of the Black Widow-you were cursed with the power to kill the men you had sex with. You found that one out when you had sex with your first serious boyfriend, and right after his brain turned to mush. You could do anything and everything any other witch could do, you just had to work harder at it than those with natural talent in that particular area.

Fiona had ordered you and Cordelia to go to Los Angeles and investigate the Hotel Cortez, under the tutelage of Myrtle Snow. You had the feeling that your Supreme didn't take either of you seriously-you having average magical ability and Fiona less than that, but she was more than proficient in botany and magical plants. She could whip up the best potions in record time, and they'd always be right.

Your chaperone adored the both of you, you not being one to show much affection found it endearing. If you felt protective over anyone, it was these two ladies. Myrtle's natural talent was her ability to accurately call bullshit on liars. She had volunteered herself to accompany you, seeing that Fiona was about to throw you and her own child to the wolves.

When you got to L.A. on Myrtle's private jet, you had some time to yourselves before you had to head over to the Cortez so you decided to take Cordelia with you to the Whiskey A Go-Go to hear some music. You were enjoying yourself, but you soon felt that she wasn't having a good time at all-it was too loud for her. You took her hand and began leading her out when you felt someone pull her back. "Hey baby you wanna dance with me?" he asked her, you being able to smell the rot of a bad soul in his bones.

"She's with me" you said, glaring at the man "Hands off."

The man looked at both of you, then nodded approvingly "Hey I'm down for a threesome! When do we start ladies?"

You knew this was escalating quickly, and this manchild was used to getting what he wanted. He was getting aggressive and you needed to get out of there. You had no hesitation and you began to utter Latin, a soft pink mist filled the room and patrons in the club began dropping like flies, fast asleep. Soon, it reached the stage where the band stopped playing to watch the spectacle.

Your eyes widened as you saw your spell didn't effect them whatsoever.

Are these assholes warlocks? Maybe they have some warlock blood in them, but they look like they haven't seen any real magic in their whole lifetimes!

Delia too sensed the danger and she took your hand and ran out with you. The four males followed you to the alley, and you two ran faster. Neither of you could transmutate yet, so you were trapped like rats when you hit the back of the wall. You glanced over at Delia and nodded in silent agreement. The both of you started chanting the spell of pyrokinesis-if you couldn't escape them, you would burn them.

Then, a familiar head of flaming orange hair cast the sleep spell. She was more powerful and could cast spells easier than you novices. The men flopped on the ground, snoring loudly. Myrtle stepped on one of them, the person she walked on making a grunting noise of pain. She was more than irate with you two "Miss Y/N and Miss Cordelia! This is improper behavior of students of Miss Robichaux's Academy!"

You stared at the ground and kicked at the dirt with your shoes "We just wanted to have a bit of fun Mrs. Snow! We may be witches, but we're still young!"

"We are on a mission" Myrtle reminded you "we must find out as much as we can about the Cortez without entering it's doors as possible, then get back to Louisiana!" she then noted the state of your clothes-dirty from running and began to furiously rub the stains out.

"I will keep this quiet from the Supreme this one time, but if you deviate from the plan I will send you back and you will have to explain to her why the mission was a complete failure!" the first and last time you challenged Fiona Goode's authority, she had telekentically pinned you against the wall. You could feel the weight of your bones increase, your body unable to support your new frame. She only released you when both Myrtle and Cordelia pleaded for your life.

"But if we don't interact with the normies, how will we accomplish this goal?" Cordelia asked.

Myrtle thought for a moment and said "I'll allow it, but only with these males" she motioned to the sleeping men, a look of disgust on her face "and only if YOU talk to them, Y/N. I am NOT putting Miss Cordelia in danger..."

You always knew that Myrtle liked Delia better than you, but that was fine by your standards. They had known each other all Cordelia's life, and you had only entered the Academy a few years ago. You agreed to the terms, wanting to experience the night life L.A. had to offer. You wanted to see what Fiona Goode loved about this place so much that made the Supreme neglect her own coven.

As Myrtle and Cordelia left, you stayed behind and cast an awakening spell. When all the males got up, you said "What the Hell are you dipshits doing sleeping in an alley? Don't you have a place to stay?"

The blonde rubbed his head and said "Yeah...how'd we end up here? We were playing the Whiskey..."

You snapped your fingers and they all immediately stood up straight, one slightly bent over. He was an older looking man, so you guessed that it was his age or a disease that caused his bones to stiffen. They had blank, sober expressions on their faces and you said "Be my good little dogs and take me to your place..." the one spell you could cast without a word was Concilium- the ability to impose your own will on others. It was able to be resisted, but that took too much brain power, causing the head to explode.

The two younger dark haired men took each of your arms and they led you to their place. They sat in silent council around the dinner table until you asked "What do you know about the Hotel Cortez?"

"I'm Tommy" the tall dark haired man spoke "The Cortez is a place where some check in, but they don't check out..."

"I'm Nikki" the shorter dark haired man said "Some of our friends have stayed and they weren't the same after. They said they seen some shit..."

"Like what?" you asked.

"Vince" the blonde one said "they told us that they saw a tall lady with platinum blonde hair drink blood, and a tranny receptionist serving cat food as tartar..."

"Mick Mars" the older man said "They wouldn't stop talking about demons and ghosts-saw little kids like in the Shining..."

After a few moments of silence, you knew that you'd gotten all you would be able to get from these mongrels so you snapped your fingers again, releasing them from the spell.

They all jumped, blinking "Where the fuck are we?" Nikki asked.

"Well, I certainly hope you know where we are!" you put your hands on your hips sarcastically "Y'all bought me back here, we had an amazing gangbang and now you're telling me this isn't even your apartment?!"

They looked around and realized they were home "Yeah this is our place..." Tommy said "How'd we get back here?"

"After you were done at the Whiskey, you began flirting with me and promised me a dicking to remember!" you laughed "We're all done now!"

They all blinked and Vince said "Hey, that coke earlier was weak as fuck!" you rolled your eyes at them.

"Now if you'll excuse me gents" you got up to leave "I gotta get back to my chaperone before she notices I'm gone!"

Mick got up slowly and said "I'll go with you..." he looked at you like something was up, like he knew your secret.

"Fine by me" you said, letting him lead the way. When you two were out of earshot you asked "What are you?"

"I'm a warlock" he answered "from the same stock as you. I am a descendant of Giles Corey" you stopped and looked at him. You hadn't expected to meet another descendant of a Salem coven member in this of all places.

"What are you doing hanging around with those losers?" you motioned to the apartment.

"They're like a fungus" he laughed "they grew on me" he looked back fondly.

"So since you're a descendant of a weaker warlock, then you don't have much magical ability?" you guessed.

"Yeah" he said bluntly. There was no beating around the bush with him-a quality you liked. "The only thing I can do is manipulate sound" he mimed an air guitar, but he sound of a real one erupted from his hands.

"That's really cool!" you said, meaning it "Nobody in Robichaux can do that!"

"So why do you want to know about the Cortez so much?" he raised an eyebrow "I try to steer people away from that place as much as possible..."

"The Supreme ordered me and two other witches to investigate" you admitted "she wants to see what's going on"

Mick took a deep breath, contemplating on whether or not to tell you, then deciding it was for the best "That place is a Hell Mouth-where demons from Hell gather and plan evil deeds...people who die there, their souls are trapped there...The Countess, the vampire lives there runs the place with an iron fist..."

You looked at him in awe "How did you resist the Concilium spell?"

"I didn't" he said "it just wore off on me quicker and I played along at the apartment to protect the boys" you two went on talking, eventually leading to Myrtle's door.

The woman quickly opened the door and took a moment to study the unkempt man before her. Her eyes widened in recognition, then utter contempt. Mick smiled and waved "Hey Myrtle!"

"Go away, swine!" she spat and slammed the door in his face. You could hear him laughing and the realization hit you.

"Oh my god!" you chortled "You and Mick Mars dated!"

"His name was Robert Deal back then..." Myrtle blushed and demanded what you'd learned. You relayed what had been said to you and Myrtle made an executive decision-the mission was over and you were to go back to the Academy as soon as possible.

During this time, a voodoo priestess saw what was happening, and decided to prey on the weak minded young ones back at the apartment. She'd promised them luck in their music careers, in return for something beyond value. She began her summoning ritual and soon the whole apartment became dark and thick with smoke. Papa Legba sat before them, offered them their deepest desires and they accepted his terms.

All you witches and the warlock felt Papa's presence, Mick running back and begging Myrtle to help him. She flat out refused to help one who abandoned the coven. He looked so dismayed that you offered your assistance, Cordelia right behind you. Myrtle strictly forbid it, but neither of you stopped.

When you three got back to the apartment, the deal was done and Papa was gone. The Voodoo priestess smiled at you, saying that she had just done what any witch could not. The three of you knew Papa's terms all too well, seeing the deal he'd made with Marie Laveau for her immortality. Cordelia became so enraged that she'd reached down deep inside her and reduced the priestess to dust.

Both you and Mick looked at her in astonishment. That was something that only the Supreme was capable of. You knew the coming shit storm the Voodoos would raise, so you knew what you would do right then and there. Myrtle was too late to stop it, and just stared in horror at the realization of what must happen.

You turned to the three younger men, nothing but contempt in your voice "Do you realize what you've done?!"

"We made it so we'll make it big!" Nikki protested, and was about to continue defending their decision when you let out a yell that shook the very street, setting off car alarms.

Nikki's hand flew to where his mouth used to be, only to feel smooth skin. The other two young men had the same ailment and tried in vain to separate their lips to allow words to come out.

Myrtle looked over to Mick and said "They've condemned us all..."

When the Voodoos came for Cordelia, you took the fall and said it was you who turned the Voodoo's sister into dust. Your laws states that you were to be executed by burning, but it was the ones who'd been wronged duty to do the burning.

Marie Laveau herself held the torch and with a soft voice she whispered in your ear "Tell the truth, child...do not die for another witch's doing..."

"I did it" you said "I turned your sister to dust" your gaze was unwavering and you were given the chance to say last words "Cordelia. Come here" your friend stood before you and held her head to yours.

"Don't you dare waste the life I am about to give you..." you were both weeping now, and in the distance you saw Mick Mars watching from afar "You be the best fucking Supreme the coven's ever seen..." you kissed Cordelia softly and told her to step away.

Marie Laveau stepped forward and set you ablaze, you didn't scream or cry out. It felt like a release of sorts-if your coven needed you, they'd bring you back from the dead. A few witches had the power of resurgence.

Your ghost wandered the halls of Miss Robichaux's Academy, watching your friends grow beautiful-inside and out. You watched the new generation of witches come and thrive under Cordelia's wing. In a few years time, you felt the greatest evil emerge and you were being called back to the realm of the living. There, Cordelia was waiting for you with open arms and you said "So, where do we begin?"

#motley crue #mötley crüe #the dirt #nikki sixx #tommy lee #mick mars #vince neil #motley crue imagine #mötley crüe imagine #mick mars imagine #motley crue fanfiction #mötley crüe fanfiction #mick mars fanfiction #submitted #not mine #submission

24 notes · View notes

missjosie27 · 4 years

Note

Ethren, Merula, Talbott!

Hmm, I definitely expected Ethren and Meru to be in there but Talbott is interesting. Here goes nothing.

Ethren

First Impression: Someone who overburdened himself, had little patience for bullshit, who’s stoicism was matched by no one.

Impression Now: A sad sort of character. Tragic. Not in a bad way of course, but I almost feel Ethren never truly got to enjoy the best life could offer given his curse, his situation with Merula, and of course his untimely death. I admire the hell out of him. To me he is incredibly brave, passionate, and willing to sacrifice his well being for others.

Favorite Moment: The part where he’s so unbelievably deriding and sarcastic to Trelawney she can’t even tell Ethren is mocking her. That was one of his funniest moments hah.

Idea for a Story: You and I have actually discussed a couple of these but I’ll reiterate them on here anyway. I want to somehow transport David to Ethren’s world just after the Battle of Hogwarts so he can see just how fortunate he was to make it out alive and with his wife (Merula) out of jail. I would like to see him pay homage and honor Ethren at his grave.

Unpopular Opinion: Ha, oh boy. You’re one of my favorite writers/artists so I can’t think of much to criticize. I guess the only thing that occasionally irked me about Ethren was his lack of fortitude when it came to Merula. He got pushed around too easily a lot of the time, which was very un-Ethren like.

Favorite Relationship: I just gave you grief over Ethren’s relationship with Merula haha but nonetheless I still love those two together. There’s no one else he’d rather be with. The two are permanently linked.

Favorite Headcanon: Since Ethren is American I imagine him being quite prideful about that. So whenever a Brit calls him a ‘yank’ or insults his heritgae he goes full Bruce Springsteen ‘Born in the USA’ on them.

Merula

First Impression: Unlike some on here, I was not infatuated with Merula from the get go. As a matter of fact I hated her and wanted to take every opportunity to crush her in the game.

Impression Now: Full head over heels in love <3 That wouldn’t have happened without JC giving her their weird version of a character arc (which in classic fashion have already screwed up). But I’m an absolute sucker for bad/gothic/villainous girls who eventually turn good and let’s face it, given her background she already has more depth than most Slytherins in the actual books lol.

Favorite Moment: You can’t beat the Yule Ball where you dance together and she’s in that amazing dress and satin gloves. It’s a winner every time. Close second is when she reveals to us why she is the way she is before you go into the vault. It’s very touching.

Idea for a Story: The one I’m currently writing lol. In all seriousness, I do want to build off the commission you did for me and write a little fic featuring Dave taking her to a Motley Crue concert post graduation as a present.

Unpopular Opinion: This one is definitely not going to jive with some, but’s just a headcanon. I think she’s straight lol. Some have her as gay or bi which is fine but she reminds me of a tomboy I knew that wasn’t all feminine in attitude but was very much into boys and men. Just gives off that kind of vibe to me.

Favorite Relationship: I’m biased. I like her with David of course haha. But @unoriginal2tall @brothergrimm71 @zuulosdovah @mikecaudron @weirdcursedvaultkid and @son-of-aurlius-piscius all have great relationships with her with their own MC’s. And of course, Ethren Whitecross.

Favorite Headcanon: I have a few xD I have it that she secretly loves muggle rock and roll music, likes to rip holes in her tights on purpose, and has a sweet tooth.

Talbott

First Impression: Pretty neutral. Though to be honest, I wasn’t sure what he was going to add to the game other than having an excuse help us become an animagus.

Impression Now: I definitely understand why so many people ship their MCs with him now. He’s got that dark, loner, mysterious vibe which a lot of girls (and boys) find highly appealing. In a game with a lot of big personalities, he’s actually refreshing by being low key. Has a pretty good sense of humor too.

Favorite Moment: I liked it when he fucked with Mrs. Norris in his eagle form haha

Idea for a Story: He and Badeea taking a last stand at the Battle of Hogwarts, holding off several Death Eaters while protecting muggle born students.

Unpopular Opinion: As popular as he is, Talbott would be a tough nut to crack when it comes to dating. Someone who’s gone through the kind of trauma he has would be terrified of letting anyone in much less be willing to share a bed.

Favorite Relationship: You can pretty much pair Talbott with any MC but I like him personally with Badeea or Chiara. Something about those two in particular seem to fit.

Favorite Headcanon: As an eagle he likes to shit on Filch when the old caretaker isn’t looking xD

4 notes · View notes

tisthenightofthewitch · 5 years

Text

The Whispering Walls of Tobias Forge

“I am all eyes

I am all ears

I am the wall

And I’m watching you fall

Because faith is mine.”

From “Faith” by Ghost

What is the path to Satanism?

I must confess to knowing next to nothing about Satan, and therefore very little about how one may come to practice Satanism. My most vivid image of all things Satanic is being terrified watching Robert DeNiro’s portrayal of Lucifer in Angel Heart (1987). And I suspect DeNiro’s depiction is consistent with many people’s view of Satan – an entirely evil being whose sole purpose is to tempt humans to commit horrific acts, and then revel in the sadistic pleasure of being able to torture their immortal souls for eternity.

Yet as I researched the concept of Satan further, I found that Satan may take on different meanings for different people. For some, Satan is something of a cautionary tale -- a tragic figure whose own ambition caused him to be thrown out of Heaven. Others view Satan as more of a spiritual concept – the tendency for humans to be tempted by their own natural instincts such as lust, hatred or greed. And still others view Satan as almost a sad, comical and cartoonish figure – something to be laughed at rather than feared.

But for Tobias Forge, the lead singer and songwriter of the Grammy-nominated band Ghost, Satan came to represent something very different – a symbol of a rebellious libertarian-style individuality and non-conformity. As such, Forge sees his path to Satanism as a celebration rather than a condemnation of his humanity.

To understand Forge’s journey to Satanism, it is important to consider what appears to make him tick – a seemingly non-stop lust for imagination, exploration and creativity. And perhaps just as Satan was considered by many to be the highest of all angels in heaven, so Forge was initially in awe of Christianity as a spiritual vehicle.

Forge explained how his mother was instrumental in fostering his open-minded approach to the world. “My mom is very liberal. She has never been religious … spiritual but not religious. However she worked in art, and had a very avid interest in art and culture. So she presented church to me as more of an archeological or more museum-like institution … more from a historic perspective,” Forge told me. “She took me to Paris for example. And in addition to going to the Louvre and seeing art, we definitely went to Notre Dame and places like that because it was part of the art experience. And I was always very in awe of … all of those churches … So from my mom’s side that whole thing was very interesting and enthralling and very enticing.”

“Religion was more of a fictional art explosion.”

One church in particular that inspired awe in Forge was the Linkoping Domkyrka. “Even in my hometown of Linkoping where I grew up … the Church we had was very lavish – very boasty. So it ticked most of the boxes of big imposing Christianity. And I love being there if I’m in town … because it’s just this haunting place,” Forge explained. “The walls are just whispering there – literally because people engraved things in the stone. It goes back to the 1700’s when kids were in there for Bible school and you see someone engraving his name and it says something like ‘June 3rd 1772.’

“Seeing that when you were a kid was like, ‘Wow a message from ancient days.’”

Forge’s cultural experience included film and books that often offered an alternative and darker perspective on spirituality. “Not only did we read a lot at home, we also watched a lot of films. So I had already seen a lot of films that were about the crucifixion and the temptation of Christ, like Bible history and the Ten Commandments – stuff like that,” Forge recalled. “And I started watching horror films and you obviously have the Devil very present – The Exorcist, The Omen – all these dark powers … And religion – and more specifically because I grew up in a Christian country, Christianity – was of interest.

“Because it was just a fantastic story and it was ancient and it was filled with a lot of drama.”

More, Forge had access to music – particularly rock music – at an early age. Forge credits his brother with his music education. “My brother gave me my first records when I was about three or four years old, because he bought a lot of records. And he was very nice because he gave me the records he thought I’d like more. My first records were Kiss’s Love Gun, Twisted Sister’s Stay Hungry, and Motley Crue’s Shout at the Devil. That had immense influence on me,” he described. “When I was 8 years old I was already very interested in music. I already had my own records. I already had my own guitar. I already played guitar. I was already into many of the things that to this day I’m still deeply influenced by… a lot of 60’s music – the Doors, the Kinks, Pink Floyd and the Rolling Stones … You can go to a galaxy far, far away. And you can go into the Pink Floyd world and you can travel to Hyde Park in 1969 and watch the Rolling Stones pay tribute to Brian Jones.

“And it was a bigger, tasteful, stronger world that was so far away from the world that I lived in.”

And so it was that at an early age Forge viewed the world as one giant place to celebrate his free spirit – to explore, imagine and create. And he saw religion as a potent vehicle – along with various art forms – of nurturing his curiosity. But things changed for Forge when he encountered people whose practice of Christianity seemed geared more towards smothering rather than facilitating his spirit.

“I regarded certain people in my life … and school as handicapping … limiting. Throughout my childhood there were examples of the Christian people that I met – people who were in one form or another were devoted to any church or congregation. They were more often than not -- not very nice people. They were actually quite mean and condescending,” Forge explained. “Whereas I found my stereo and my VCR and my mom and the comfort of our home was this great universe of imagination where you can tap into whatever.”

“That made me look for other religious elements.”

Forge described his encounter with a teacher whose approach to Christianity felt more like servitude rather than support. “My first teacher … she was extremely strict, mean and deeply religious. I don’t think she followed the school curriculum – how many religious hours we were supposed to have … I remember reading a lot of Bible history. She was definitely a very authoritative woman. And she liked discipline. And she didn’t like rebellious cursing kids,” he explained. “I was pretty foul mouthed. I was rebellious … and I questioned things. So I think we collided at first. She didn’t like me and I did not like her. And that pretty much screwed up my whole school, because I lost interest. Not in learning – but in going to school. I didn’t like the idea of teachers … and she was against me and everything that I stood for. I was looking for freedom … and she was against that.

“And she definitely became the symbol for Christianity and not being very nice.”

Unfortunately, Forge had a similar experience with his stepmother, who Forge feels resented him as interfering her relationship with his father. “When they got together, he had this newborn kid. I was in the way of course. And she was deeply in love with my dad. And when you’re in love with someone you want to get on with the rest of your life together as soon as possible – no obstacles. And I was an obstacle,” he described. “She was also a symbol of the not-so-nice Christian society. In one way they were proclaiming to be advocates for being nice, and kindness and understanding, whereas I saw nothing of that.”

“And that started an interest in looking for the dark side.”

Soon, Forge started exploring Satanism as a form of spiritual rebellion against what he considered the oppressive behavior of some of the Christian people in his life. As Forge tells it, he was in many ways primed for this path not only by being open-minded and imaginative in general, but also specifically by the music that he listened to throughout his life.

“As a young teen, Satan, and the idea of some sort of world that you could be in touch with that could empower you was very much the symbol for freedom … “I guess more so than I had already been introduced to by Motley Crue and Gene Simmons and Darth Vader,” he said. “When adolescence was knocking, there are another set of emotions that come into play. And the idea of the Devil and the idea of dark powers from beyond that continue in any way or form is a very interesting thought for a twelve year old who wants to lose his virginity, and who would like to defend himself against the bigger kids and who is also a big worshipper of rock music. And it couldn’t have been more of a fitting marriage. Everything sort of coincided.

Forge’s interest in Satanism coincided with a cultural trend towards more extreme forms of metal – particularly black metal in which the themes were more overtly Satanic. “I think in 99.9% of every so-called Satanist in the last 50 years, you would find that the vast majority of them have been introduced to the Devil via music. And it usually happens at a certain age as well. And I would say that comes from bedazzlement,” Forge said. “And it was also the early 90’s – so that was the rise of the death metal and black metal movement in Europe and in the world I guess. Especially in Sweden and Norway, it was a big thing. And it was just right up my alley. And it became such a powerful way of expressing myself, and how to not only deviate and differentiate myself from the norm and normal people, but just like hand in glove with my way of seeing the world.”

As time went on, Forge felt that his issues were more with organized religion, which he appears to shun, as compared to spirituality, which he embraces. “Most people that I know that have been in a similar mindset. It’s definitely grounded in the will to expand and not implode. And I think most of us – people like myself – are leery of linear, organized religions because it’s limiting,” He described. “Those people that tried to tell me the order of the world from a religious point of view – they tried to steer me away from believing. They tried to steer me away from feeling those feelings that I want or should have -- feelings that I got through Dee Snider – “I Wanna Rock,” “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” Or “Shout At The Devil” -- Motley Crue. They tried to steer me away from that – they didn’t want me to believe in anything other than what they said. It goes against imagination. You’re not supposed to have imagination.

“You’re supposed to read up on someone else’s imagination.”

Forge makes it clear that he does not dismiss religion outright – and in fact still struggles with understanding many of the religious concepts he learned as a child. “I am not against the idea of believing. I am not an atheist … The whole institution of Christianity being based on that book, being based on the premise that he was conceived out of nowhere -- it’s kind of hard to believe,” Forge described. “But on the other hand, I do believe in the idea of a historic person named Jesus that was a kind of chill dude who was just telling people to chill and be nice to each other. And he got penalized for that. So I’m not dismissing the whole thing as bullsh*t. But I definitely believe that tormenting other people because of the Bible and for that to be – for lack of a better word, Gospel.

“I think that is not very nice.”

For now, Forge is content exploring much of his Satanic spirituality through his work with Ghost – often taking on confrontational stage personas as “Papa Emeritus” and “Cardinal Copia.” These challenging themes are so present in Ghost’s music and live show that the band has been labeled “occult rock.” As Ghost has just released its fourth full length studio album Prequelle and is in the midst of a world tour, Forge is aware of how he is now walking in the footsteps of the bands that had so deeply influenced him.

“It’s funny how the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree. I’ve gone full circle being in a shock rock band nowadays, running around shouting at the devil and telling people to stay hungry and shooting love guns.”

All rights owned by PsychologyToday.com

#Tobias Forge #Tobias Interview #The Band Ghost #Ghost Band #Cardinal Copia

226 notes · View notes