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sophiamcdougall · 4 years

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EXPLAINING SANREMO

(PART TWO) I am back. I have barely eaten or slept and Tumblr has tried to murder me and this post multiple times, but I have survived. Thank you for your patience.

Part One of my attempt to explain the seismic experience that is 2020 Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is here.

Ready? I assure you, you are not, but let’s proceed. So Sanremo rages pitilessly on. Now everyone knows what’s at stake, and everyone, including your humble recapper, is exhausted, but doing the gay/chaotic best they can.

As the final battle to save Amadeus, Rancore, Italy and THE WORLD approaches, Achille Lauro has a last message for the troops. And I’m not deducing this, he literally said it on Twitter.

...Hold me I’m scared.

Meanwhile (sort of) (go with it) (time isn’t real at Sanremo) a minor drama has occurred offstage. Singer Tiziano Ferro made an ill-advised joke about Fiorello’s interminable comedy bits, some idiots on Twitter ran away with it, and poor Fiorello was upset! This is minuscule in Sanremo terms. But consider the flapping of a butterfly’s wings. Consider hurricanes. But who is Tiziano Ferro?

Hold on. We’ll get to it. For now ...

Fiorello is dancing seductively for an absolutely delighted Amadeus while dressed as a rabbit. And wearing a blonde wig. Is there a rational explanation for this? I mean, sort of. But also no.

And then he worries Amadeus might give him herpes, which causes Amadeus to freaking snap.

“No, no!” yells the mercurial Fiorello. Amadeus isn’t worthy of his kisses yet. He ricochets out of Amadeus’s arms and into the audience and “passes on” the kiss to a guy in the front row.

“Incredible things are going to happen tonight!” yells Amadeus, who has no fucking idea. ”Beautiful things,” corrects Fiorello.

But just because Fiorello is a mayhem elemental on a mission of love doesn’t mean he hasn’t got feelings.

Enter Italy’s sweetheart, Tiziano Ferro.

Actually, Tiziano’s been there all along. He’s the specialest of special guests, singing through basically his entire back catalogue every night. Which why it really was unfair of him to pick on Fiorello -- it’s not his fault he’s literally got to stand there and babble nonsense for aeons on end, Tiziano! He’s just serving the hungry chthonic entity that is Sanremo, same as you.

While the gay mayhem (the gayhem, if you will) surges around him, Tiziano has been fighting the good gay fight in his own steadfast way, so far untouched. His mere presence is a message of hope in itself, he knows this, and is determined to make it count. Ten years ago he was closeted, convinced coming out would end his career, and suicidal. Now happily married and gloriously successful, he is here to demonstrate that “it gets better”. He radiates such wholesome joy and resilience that everyone loves him.

So anyway, Tiziano didn’t mean to hurt anybody because he would never, and now he wants to make things right. So will Fiorello forgive him?

Ah, what better gesture of reconciliation than to goofily sing a love song written by Fiorello himself. Of course Fiorello forgives Tiziano, because Fiorello loves everyone, good and bad, (after all he loves Amadeus the most). But he is also a chaos being, and he is working harder than anyone else to channel the divine madness of this deranged Sanremo Festival into anyone who gets close. Tiziano, watch out!

Seems TIziano naively thought he could lean in for a staged, nearly kiss, but Fiorello’s very soul is antithetical to “nearly” anything.

“My husband’s going to divorce me!” wails poor Tiziano, but Fiorello has never felt so alive. This is Sanremo, bitches. Rules like “sixty-year-old men can’t be danger twinks, Fiorello,” have ceased to apply. He is an apostle of Achille Lauro, he has accepted the sermon of Benigni into his heart: it is time for PHYSICAL LOVE. While not quite ready (yet) to fuck everyone in the orchestra pit, he is throbbing with readiness, to frolic all over the theatre giving all the guys he can get his hands on THE KISSES OF HIS MOUTH.

Naturally this sparks further firestorms of chaos. “Do it again!” begs grizzled rocker and high-ranking competitor Piero Pelù. Electrified by the touch of Fiorello’s lips, he is later to be found running shirtless through the auditorium where he steals a handbag.

Everyone is kissing everyone, age and orientation be damned. Summoned by the gay sorcery unfolding, 65-year-old queer rock goddess Gianna Nanini manifests and is kissed worshipfully on the lips by 36-year-old duet partner Coez.

There’s also some kind of song competition going on I guess.

This happens:

That’s Ghali, GUYS, IT’S NOT WORKING, rappers ARE DROPPING LIKE FLIES ALL OVER THIS STAGE, WE’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING.

(... it isn’t really Ghali and don’t worry. This is a gag? Which I still don’t really get? And nor does sweet anarchist cherub Fiorello whom we will later discover is currently being physically restrained from rushing onstage to tend to the fallen rapper’s wounds.)

The real Ghali raps in Arabic which among other things is a big old “me ne frego” of his own to Italian Trump-tribute act and failed wannabe prime minister Matteo Salvini. Then he gets close to Fiorello, which can only end one way.

All the boys are crazy for Fiorello’s kisses but Amadeus still can’t have any

It’s already a difficult night for Amadeus. TV presenter Antonella Clerici enters and far from standing a step beside him, righteously rips the piss out of him, which to be fair he accepts with grace.

And as for Achille Lauro ... ...No. Patience. The time to bear witness to the last stand of Achille Lauro is not yet come. There are other forces stirring at Sanremo.

Chaos has its dark side.

The gun on stage is cocked and loaded. This is it. ENTER MORGAN.

... and enter Bugo, who trails in behind Morgan, looking dazed and haunted. But whatever, it’s a million o’clock in the morning, aren’t we all.

They start to play. Italian Tumblr dozes fitfully on its sofa, idly crackshipping Amadeus and Fiorello. Utterly unprepared.

So most of us don’t notice what’s happening ...

... until the music just stops.

No one’s paid attention to the Morgan and Bugo in days. As far as I’m concerned Fabrizio Moro has already been avenged and my bloodlust is slaked. The song - apparently written wholly by Bugo - honestly, isn’t bad, but Morgan’s been tuneless throughout and their duet/cover last night was cringeable. There have been some major reversals in the rankings but at this point there’s almost no way they’re going to be one of them. And Morgan is not happy.

So Morgan changed the lyrics (and this isn’t even last-minute improv, he fucking printed it) to attack the one person who still had faith in him, blaming Bugo and Bugo alone for their poor performance so far. On live TV. In front of millions. After screaming at Bugo backstage just minutes ago. And he expects Bugo to just stand there and take it.

"Me ne frego to that shit,” thinks Bugo, and becomes the unexpected self-care hero of Sanremo as he vanishes into the night.

And that’s how I learned the Italian word for pandemonium.

Morgan has the absolute nerve to ask what’s going on. Amadeus breaks out in visible cold sweat. Fiorello is thrown bodily onstage to DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING, OH MY GOD.

It’s long past midnight and a bunch of worried middle-aged men in sparkly jackets are scampering around yelping “Bugo? Bugo! BUGO? BUGO!!!” and that, I am here to tell you, when you are already delirious from exhaustion and shitposting-induced hysteria, is more than enough to tip you right over the edge.

Italian Tumblr resigns itself to never sleeping again.The memes aren’t going to make themselves.

youtube

Translation: ”Is Bugo there?” “What’s happening?” “Where’s Bugo gone?” “I have to go and see where Bugo is.” “Bugo left.” “BUGO!”

Morgan wants vengeance. Fiorello, adorably indifferent to the fact that he was shoved on stage to, you know, entertain the audience, wants to find the missing waif, wrap him in a blanket and feed him soup. So they both rush offstage and Amadeus is left alone in a living anxiety dream.

The audience are booing. The 70th fucking Sanremo Festival of Italian Song is falling to pieces on his watch. For all he knows murder is going on backstage and he picked known powder-keg and scoundrel Morgan for the Festival. The buck stops with him. And he has no lines, no back-up, no idea what to do about it.

And then Fiorello, angel of misrule, avatar of lawlessness and love, strolls back onstage. He looks confident and relaxed, like a man with all the answers. Which he is.

“Have you got Bugo?” Amadeus inquires desperately.

NO RULES, NO MASTERS, NO SPONSORSHIP MONEY. ME NE FREGO.

Everything is broken. And somehow everything is OK.

Everyone, Amadeus included, bursts into hysterical, cathartic laughter.

“Is this my fault?” Amadeus asks. “YES!” crows Fiorello, lovingly forcing Amadeus to face his sins and his nightmares in a healing atmosphere of radical acceptance and mass psychosis.

And that’s how Amadeus learned that the real Sanremo was inside us all along. And what he needs in this glorious maelstrom was never a beautiful woman standing a step behind him. It’s a chaos pixie dream boy at his side.

It’s time to cast out toxic masculinity and become a better man.

So Amadeus wraps up the show as best he can and then out of pure human compassion, he and Fiorello personally wander the streets of Sanremo looking for Bugo until four in the morning.

Bugo and Morgan are automatically disqualified

And now let us witness the final passion of Achille Lauro. Who is this Achlle Lauro kid anyway? How intentional is all this? Is he the Messiah, or a very naughty boy?

SO YEAH. Anyway, everyone’s wondering what the fuck Achille and his producer/guitarist Boss Doms (yes, really) are going to do, and BE, next. Achille’s first three looks were inspired by St Francis of Assisi, David Bowie, and Marchesa Luisa Casati.

So ... Freddie Mercury, maybe? Elizabeth I? Jesus Christ? And after the flurry of kissing Fiorello whipped up ..

Will they ... can they ... dare they...

Do you even need to ask?

I have no idea how the crazy bastards who guessed “Elizabeth I” did it.

Achille thrusts his hips against Boss’s backside. Drops to his knees before him and lets the shape of the microphone speak for itself. Briefly chokes him. And throughout they are tender, elegant, and utterly, regally dignified.

And then, at last.

A joyous chorus of maenad-like shrieks rings out across Europe. If you’re in the Greater London area and your ears are still sore, I’m sorry. That was me.

That’s it. Achille Lauro and Boss Doms ascend into heaven and pass into history.

Not even they can give more to Sanremo.

The dust settles.

The dawn breaks.

WE FUCKING DID IT! RANCORE LIVES! WOUNDED (as are we all) BUT SMILING AT A WORLD TRANSFORMED! (Not only that but, after starting at the bottom of the leaderboard he’s been catapulted up into the top ten and wins the special prize for Best Lyrics!)

And Amadeus?

Well, let’s hear from him in his own words.

Because Fiorello asked him to, Amadeus is wearing a blonde wig to look like legendary TV host Maria de Filippi. Amadeus doesn’t normally sing, but because Fiorello asks him to, he joins him in song.“A WORLD OF LOVE! LOVE! LOVE!” they chorus. It’s the hymn of the new day.

“He can make me do anything!” Amadeus sighs to the audience. So Fiorello asks him to slow-dance. And they do.

The prophecy has been fulfilled. Amadeus has let love into his heart. He has surrendered to the holy power of gay chaos. He is a man reborn.

He didn’t find Bugo on that long, gruelling dark night of the soul, because incredibly, poor Bugo never left the theatre and spent the night literally hiding in a cupboard.

But he found something else.

As Sanremo finally, mercifully approaches its end, Fiorello grapples him close and, all teasing cast aside, whispers fiercely in his ear:

And somehow it was.

And toxic masculinity?

To find out why don’t we - and I am sorry about this - check in on Matteo Salvini who would normally be rage-tweeting up a Trump-style storm by now. He loves bitching about Sanremo for being “rigged by the left” or occasionally letting a non-lily-white performer win, and this year he even tried to organise a boycott. Let’s see how that’s going.

This, the gayest-ever Sanremo in history, is the most-watched Sanremo in 18 years, with an incredible 60% audience share.

“Me Ne Frego” flies to the top of the Spotify charts. (And though the judges are still cowards and traitors who left Achille in 8th place, there is no doubt across the media who the real star of the festival was. ) And Salvini’s “boycott” just meant he effectively banned himself from making a peep about it.

So who won the festival?

ALL OF US.

Oh, you meant literally.

This guy. His name is Diodato and his song is called “Fai Rumore” (Make a Sound.) It’s fine.

And that was Sanremo. It wasn’t a dream, it was a place. And you, and you, and you were there.

#Explaining Sanremo #Explaining Sanremo Part 2 #Sanremo #Sanremo 2020 #Achille Lauro #Amadeus #Fiorello #Amadello #sanremo 70

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stina-is-a-punk-rocker · 3 years

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stephanie perkins: ‘anna and the french kiss’

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Then again, if you’ve read any YA book, ever, it’s fairly obvious what’s going to happen.

I was going to go easy on this book; I really was. It’s really unfair how media aimed at a female demographic is seen as frivolous and vapid, and more often than not bashed and bullied when it comes to reviews. “People actually enjoy this crap?” ask the powers that be. “It’s worthless! Pulp! Dreamy-eyed nonsense only complete nimrods could ever like!”

And I take offense to that. There’s nothing wrong with liking romance or happy endings or stories about cute European boys. I was ecstatic when I stumbled across Anna and the French Kiss upon a chance trip to the bookstore. The cover was… meh (Century Gothic? Really? There were no other fonts?). But I’d heard nothing but praise about the book, and I was prepared to stay up all night and into the wee hours of the morning to finish it.

Admittedly, I was far from impressed upon the first reading. The characters were unlikable, the plot would’ve worked better for less shitty characters, honestly fuck these characters am I supposed to like them, fuck Anna, fuck Étienne, fuck Bridgette, fuck Toph, fuck Dave and Meredith and Amanda and Seany and every other stupid character in this stupid book.

The second time around, I expected to not hate it as much as I did when I first read it. It’s happened- I hated Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda when I first read it, and when I read it again, all that red-hot anger simmered down into an overall dislike. I thought To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before was trash at first, and then I read it again, and it got promoted to recyclable waste matter.

I found Anna and the French Kiss horrendous the first time I read it, and then I read it again, and… yeah, it’s still pretty awful.

Le Sommaire:

Anna Oliphant is a seventeen-year-old wannabe film critic who is #NotLikeOtherGirls – so she’s exactly like every other female YA lead. To her credit, she never explicitly says she’s special… everyone around her does.

She has a pretty meh life in Atlanta, Georgia with her mum and little bruv Sean- and then her dad decides to ship her off to France for her final year of high school. I’m not judging Anna for bawling her eyes out on her first day; I’m a huge mummy’s girl myself and I’d probably (definitely) do the same.

Meredith is Anna’s next-door neighbor, who does that thing which only happens in YA where she’s like “Oh, newbie? Let’s be friends!” (Or maybe it does happen irl and I tend to make a bad first impression which is why no one has ever approached me.)

Meredith’s friends are: Rashmi and Josh (who are a couple), and Étienne St. Clair. Guess which one is the love interest.

Étienne is cultured in that white person way where he’s half American, one quarter French and one quarter British. A true international.

But- *gasp*- American-British-French boy has a girlfriend, Ellie.

Anna has an absolutely gorgeous punk rocker (yum) boy with sideburns (yikes) back home named Christopher. Also, Christopher’s nickname is ‘Toph’ instead of ‘Chris’ because he too is #NotLikeOtherGirls. Anna tells us that nothing will happen between her and Étienne.

Anna is wrong.

Meredith has a crush on Étienne. So does the Regina George of the school, Amanda.

Étienne and Anna have some moments ™.

♫ Everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but Anna ♫

I tear my hair out in frustration.

Several other white boys vie for Anna’s heart. Anna remains blissfully unaware (♫ that’s what makes you beautiful ♫). Étienne (who is still dating Ellie, mind you) is unreasonably agitated by this.

Étienne’s mum has cancer btw, which excuses all the shitty things he does, because he’s just a poor, misunderstood boy.

Ellie dresses up as a, quote unquote, ‘slutty nurse’ for Hallowe’en, though- so it’s perfectly okay to dislike her (even though, in the first interaction she had with Anna, where Ellie meets Anna and Étienne, after Étienne takes Anna to the movies, Ellie is perfectly sweet).

Anna, however, is NOT a slut. Amanda is, though. And Rashmi’s cold. And Meredith’s desperate. And Emily’s a slut, too. And her friend Bridgette from Atlanta is a traitor. Anna has an intense case of internalized misogyny.

Anna’s friend Bridgette from Atlanta is screwing Toph, and Anna throws a fit.

Étienne and Anna have some more moments ™.

A truly chaotic series of events befall Anna. She somehow winds up dating Dave (one from the harem of white boys who likes her) to spite Étienne, she gets into a fight with Amanda, more drama ensues, there’s a hint for a spinoff, Étienne and her kiss, Meredith sees and feels betrayed… several misunderstandings and more bullshit later, Étienne and Anna wind up together, because true love conquers all.

Mes Réflexions:

(If the French is off, blame Google Translate.)

Usually, it takes me half a page of my notebook to scribble down my thoughts about the book I’m reading. This motherfucker took me almost an entire page.

Granted, a solid 30% of those notes are me throwing insults at Étienne, but still. ‘STOP STOP STOP YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND YOU DICK’ counts, right?

(That was #17 in my notes, by the way.)

For the record, I like Stephanie Perkins’s writing. It’s not as over-the-top and unnecessarily introspective as Jenny Han’s in To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, and the interactions between Anna and her classmates were natural and not the “How do you do, fellow kids?” style of Becky Albertalli’s Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda. The pacing is decent- I didn’t feel like it was too rushed; not the insta-love trope most YA romances unfortunately fall prey to.

And yet. AND YET.

Anna: “What’s your problem?” Amanda: “You.”

Same, Amanda, same.

Anna Oliphant is one of my least favorite leads in a book, ever. Étienne’s even shittier. And it’s not like Nick or Amy Dunne from Gone Girl, or any of the main characters from The Secret History, where readers pretty much unanimously hate them. You’re meant to relate to Anna, you’re meant to find Étienne charming and dreamy. I literally had to put the book away and calm myself down several times- especially in the last quarter of the book.

One of my main gripes with Anna is how… dumb she is. I guess Anna’s “Oopsies, silly me, I don’t know French!” is meant to be relatable to the readers. And some parts (like her not knowing how to order food because she can’t speak French) are plausible, but- sis, you didn’t know how to spell oui? And my idea of a cinematic masterpiece is Kung-Fu Panda, but even a dumbass like me knows that France is the film appreciation capital of the world. And yet Anna, a self-professed film freak, doesn’t?

Of course, Anna’s gorgeous, but she has no clue, because of course she doesn’t- even though she has multiple guys falling head over heels for her.

I’m in a short skirt. It’s the first time I’ve worn one here, but my birthday seems like the appropriate occasion. “Woo, Anna!” Rashmi fake-adjusts her glasses. “Why do you hide those things?”

Étienne is staring at my legs. The scales covering them throb under his intense gaze, and the pincers sticking out of my thighs start clicking rapidly in arousal. My hooves shiver in ecstasy.

… sorry, that’s not funny.

Her friends think Anna’s weird for wanting to write film reviews (which is the most contrived thing I’ve ever heard) instead of being the next Margot Robbie or whatever, but of course Étienne doesn’t and he thinks it’s not weird and cool and that Anna is such a special snowflake.

(Man, I sound like Amanda.)

And then we have this spiel by Anna about how she got into film critiquing (?), because we the readers need to know how special and #NotLikeOtherGirls Anna is.

To this, I say, “Piss off, you pretentious fuck.”

Of course, Anna’s a virgin and she’s never gotten drunk before or worn short skirts- she’s not a slut, she shaves below the knees only.

And would YA really be YA without several hearty helpings of internalized misogyny?

First up, we have the bimbo; the Barbie doll archetype whose only goal in life is acquiring the main guy (who is quite obviously uninterested in her), and making life hell for our protagonist. Amanda Whatsername (is she ever given a surname?) has this coveted role in Anna and the French Kiss. She’s blond (because of course she is); the first time we meet her, she’s in a, quote unquote, ‘teeny tank top’, and she also ‘positions herself for maximum cleavage exposure’. She’s always flipping her hair, getting her grubby paws on Étienne, giving Anna the stink-eye, being homophobic and a grade-A bitch.

Meredith goes batshit when Anna and Étienne kiss, and is very pouty and unhappy during prior Anna x Shittiene moments. Honey… he’s just not that into you. Rashmi’s the Ice Queen reincarnate and halfway to bitchdom. Anna doesn’t go as hard on them as she does on literally every other female her age in the book, though.

Rashmi looks at me for the first time, calculating whether or not I might fall in love with her own boyfriend.

Anna, hate to break it to you, but not everyone’s a possessive fucking weirdo.

About Cherrie, her ex-boyfriend Matt’s new girlfriend:

And maybe Cherrie isn’t as bad as I remember. Except she is. She totally is. After only five minutes in her company, I cannot fathom how Bridge stands sitting with her at lunch every day.

Her lifeless laugh is one of her lesser attributes. What does Matt see in her?

Even Bridgette, Anna’s best friend from Atlanta, isn’t immune to Anna’s anti-female propaganda. She’s screwing the guy Anna used to like, and Anna, the hypocrite, throws a huge fit.

For context: Bridgette and Toph are in a band called the Penny Dreadfuls (why is it with YA books and horrible band names? ‘Emoji’ from Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda was bad enough), and Anna + Matt + Cherrie go to a bowling alley to see them perform. After the performance, Toph announces that he’s sleeping with Bridge, and Anna confronts Bridge… onstage.

“… You’re welcome to move in when I leave again, because that’s what you want, right? My life?”

She shakes with fury. “Go to hell.”

“Take my life. You can have it. Just watch out for the part where my BEST FRIEND SCREWS ME OVER!” I knock over a cymbal stand, and the brass hits the stage with an earsplitting crash that reverberates through the bowling alley. Matt calls my name. Has he been calling it this entire time? He grabs my arm and leads me around the electrical cords and plugs and onto the floor and away, away, away.

Everyone in the bowling alley is staring at me.

I duck my head so my hair covers my face. I’m crying. This would have never happened if I hadn’t given Toph her number. All of those late-night practices and… he said they’ve had sex! What if they’ve had it at my house? Does he come over when she’s watching Seany? Do they go in the bedroom?

I’m going to be sick.

Give me a goddamn break.

Anna, about Ellie:

To my amazement, Ellie breaks into an ear-to-ear smile. Oddly enough, it’s this moment I realize that despite her husky voice and Parisian attire, she’s sort of… plain. But friendly-looking.

That still doesn’t mean I like her.

“Anna! From Atlanta, right? Where’d you guys go?”

She knows who I am? St. Clair describes our evening while I contemplate this strange development. Did he tell her about me? Or was it Meredith? I hope it was him, but even if it was, it’s not like he said anything she found threatening. She doesn’t seem alarmed that I’ve spent the last three hours in the company of her very attractive boyfriend. Alone.

[about Ellie’s Hallowe’en costume] Slutty nurse. I don’t believe it. Tiny white button-up dress, red crosses across the nipples. Cleavage city.

If I didn’t like Ellie before, it’s nothing compared to how I feel now. It doesn’t matter that I can count how many times we’ve met on one hand.

I fantasize about their break-up. How he could hurt her, and she could hurt him, and all of the ways I could hurt her back. I want to grab her Parisian-styled hair and yank it so hard it rips from her skull. I want to sink my claws into her eyeballs and scrape.

It turns out I am not a nice person.

YOU DON’T FUCKING SAY.

Emily Middlestone bends over to pick up a dropped eraser, and Mike Reynard leers at her breasts. Gross. Too bad for him she’s interested in his best friend, Dave. The eraser drop was deliberate, but Dave is oblivious.

One of the juniors, a girl with dark hair and tight jeans, stretches in a move designed to show off her belly button ring to Paul/Pete. Oh, please.

And I’m meant to like this character? I’m supposed to root for her?

I’m not saying every girl in the book should be perfectly sweet and friendly- that’s just not realistic. But when Anna has something judgmental to say about every other young female character… maybe she’s the problem.

In fact, the only girl I recall getting a pass is Isla Whatsername. And why do you think?

Brilliant.

And now we have the amalgamation of almost every fanfic boyfriend trope from 2014, Étienne St. Clair. Brown-eyed Harry Styles. I can’t fucking wait.

Étienne could’ve discovered the cure for cancer, or abolished poverty, or volunteered at animal shelters in his spare time. He could’ve been the most virtuous guy around (fret not; he decidedly isn’t). And I still wouldn’t’ve thought of him as the man of my dreams because HE HAS A BLOODY GIRLFRIEND.

I mean, which girl doesn’t want her boyfriend to say:

“I cheated on her every day. In my mind, I thought of you in ways I shouldn’t have, again and again.”

Fuckin’ smooth, bro.

“No matter what a terrible boyfriend I was, I wouldn’t actually cheat on her. But I thought you’d know.”

Such a gentleman!

“So you can keep dating Ellie, but I can’t even talk to Dave?”

Étienne looks shamed. He stares at his boots. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t even know what to do with his apology.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. And this time, he’s looking at me. Begging me. “And I know it’s not fair to ask you, but I need more time. To sort things out.”

And this gem:

“If you liked me so much, why didn’t you break up with her?”

“I’ve been confused. I’ve been so stupid.”

*me, banging pots and pans together* F U C K Y O U

“Ellie’s not like you, Anna; she’s a slut and a whore even though I’m the one who’s been thinking about another girl inappropriately and I’m the one who gets my knickers in a twist when another man glances in your direction because my masculinity is extremely fragile and I’m a total hypocrite and a dickhead.”

I mean, he didn’t actually say that, but that’s the gist.

WHILE DATING ELLIE: he gets Anna a book of sexual love poems, he calls her attractive (“Any bloke with a working prick would be insane not to like you.”) multiple times, he gets jealous whenever another guy so much as breathes in Anna’s direction and constantly interrupts such interactions, he’s been ditching his friends for his girlfriend but suddenly decides he prefers a new girl over said girlfriend, he thinks bread pudding tastes good- in conclusion, he is a Massive Fucking Prick. Though in hindsight, him and Anna deserve each other. They’re awful.

I had loads more notes taken down (Anna using Dave; “The important thing is this: Dave is available. St. Clair is not.”); the implication that cheating is okay because Ellie is bad or whatever, even though the sudden change in her character seems contrived because she was perfectly okay with Étienne and Anna hanging out before; how my blood boils whenever I read an American book and American girls are like “oOoOh AcCenT!!!1!!1!!”; me reading “DAVE SAYS YER A SLUTBAG” in Hagrid’s voice; the sheer atrocity of the name ‘Étienne St. Clair’ (sounds like a caricature of a French person)… but this ‘review’ is already pushing 3k and I can’t be fucked to expand on any of those points.

Verdict (which is apparently the same in French):

Who needs Christopher when Étienne St. Clair is in the world?

Speak for yourself.

#books #book review #anna and the french kiss #Stephanie Perkins #french #france #parisian #paris #YA #young adult #romance #teen fiction #bad books

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beepbeepbobop · 3 years

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I appear from the ether after three-something years to say that the Infinity Train fandom is sleeping on Sober Up (AJR) as a Book 4 song and Ryan/Min-Gi song specifically. Even more specifically, a Ryan POV song (although I think it works for both of them to some extent).

Hello, hello/I'm not where I'm supposed to be/I hope that you're missing me/'Cause it makes me feel young

Hello, hello/Last time that I saw your face/Was recess in second grade/And it made me feel young

Ryan and Min-Gi specific lines here. Yes, they separated at the end of highschool, which is way more recent, but I can’t help but think of them anyway? Since there’s no reason not to think that they associate each other with their childhoods. They were inseparable until that performance. But the big part (at least for me) is the first stanza: Ryan’s literally “not where he’s supposed to be. Like, you took a detour from your tour that’s supposedly landed a gig in New York, and you came to Canada? Even more broadly, “not where I’m supposed to be” could apply to the tour in general - he has no home, lost the van, and even if Ryan is dead set on being a musician, it’s pretty clear that he thinks the place he’s supposed to be is next to Min-Gi’s side, and so long as he’s not, he’s not in the right place. As for hoping that Min-Gi misses him - well, see the previous sentences, but they also both clearly missed each other, they’re the most important people in the world to each other, and Ryan has issues with wanting people to know/remember him. He absolutely wanted Min-Gi to miss him, or else he wouldn’t have shown up at Dumpty’s with a lie about a new gig (I don’t remember if it’s ever technically confirmed as a lie, but not only does he never mention missing his gig while on the train, Ryan went from performing in bars to being a lone, ignored musician at a house party; no way did he have a gig in New York).

Won't you help me sober up/All the big kids they are drunk/And I want to feel something again/Won't you help me feel something again/How's it go again?

There’s not much to say about this line, since it’s pretty general, but I’m including it because it feels fitting for the wannabe rockstar lifestyle. Being surrounded by superficial excitement and pleasures that don’t make up for your emotional needs (even if people like to pretend they do) is very much a rocker thing.

Goodbye, goodbye/I said to my bestest buds/We said that we'd keep in touch/And we did our best

This just makes me sad. “And we did our best,” is in past simple, implying that the singer has already lost touch with their friends before this point. Then again, this is a song, and those tend to be a bit loose with grammar, so I might be overthinking things. Regardless, it definitely ties in with how Ryan and Min-Gi lose touch after the Battle of the Bands. Special shoutout to that shot where they both reach for the phone and second-guess themselves in the split screen segment, because that’s especially relevant. Although this also made me think about the two making a promise to never stop being friends when they were younger (they probably didn’t because I feel like the series would have shown that, but it feels in-character), and now I’m even sadder.

All my new friends/We smiled at party time/But soon we forgot to smile/At anything else

Not only is there the obvious bit about how rockers tend to have glaring emotional issues amid the hedonism (sorry, Ryan, but you’re not the exception here), but this also proves that all new friends are being compared to the subject: A childhood friend who genuinely makes the singer happy. The new friends are nice, and they can have wild times, but the real emotional connection isn’t there. It’s not enough. They’re being compared to this childhood friend, and even though they can hang out and have fun with each other, they don’t help each other in a deep, meaningful way. Like, even if you put aside the interpretation that Ryan never kept a girlfriend because he was still thinking about Min-Gi/kept comparing everyone to him, it’s still solid?

My favorite color is you/You're vibrating out my frequency/My favorite color is you/You keep me young and that's how I wanna be

The art direction here. Not only is, “My favorite color is you,” a Rymin-core line all on its own, but...but the colors. Their contrasts go right down to their color palettes. While Min-Gi is cold and blue, associated with muted lights and cold tones, Ryan is warm and red, associated with bright lights and warm tones. Their color schemes were literally made to go together. This is so perfect.

~~~

There’s my appearance from the ether! I’ll probably disappear again because maintaining any level of presence on social media is hard for me, but if I come back, it’ll be either to die or to make my case that The Great Suburban Showdown is also a Ryan song.

#infinity train #infinity train ryan #ryan akagi #infinity train min #min-gi infinity train #min-gi park #I literally binged Infinity Train yesterday and now here we are.#there are definitely fitting lyrics I left out #but I got self-conscious about talking too much #min-gi is the character I relate with most in Infinity Train BY FAR #but Ryan is the one I can't stop thinking about #It's been less than twenty four hours and I've already started a playlist for him

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petals-and-bullets · 4 years

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Fruit Salad

Pairing: Axl Rose x OC

Word Count: 1260

Info: Parties aren’t ideal for girls like her. They’re more ideal for the men her brother spent his time with - at least, she thought so, until an old childhood friend forced her to meet his bandmate. A bit of an experiment, if you will! If people like this enough, I’ll create somewhat of a series from it, so any comments at all are wholly welcome!!

She wasn’t meant to be here. She didn’t belong there. She was one of the most popular up-and-coming ballerinas in America. Damn it, she had been shipped off to Russia by her parents when she even uttered her interest in ballet when she was four, and yet there she was, stood in the middle of a crowded room, half-empty bottle of wine in hand. Veronica didn’t even know why she was there – well, she did, because it was her twin brother’s party – but she didn’t know why she was there.

A corner of the room exploded into laughter and she glanced over at the crowd surrounding a guy with blonde hair who was showing off some sort or trick; she could see something he was spinning in his hands, and she guessed it was either some sort of sports equipment or an instrument. The sound of banging against a wall confirmed it was the latter, and she could only guess that it was a pair of drumsticks.

“You look lost.”

She turned at the familiar voice, her eyes widening as she registered the tall figure before her.

“Duff?”

“Hey, Fruit Salad!” Duff grinned down at her and pulled her to his chest in a tight hug, pressing his nose against her red locks in order to inhale the faint scent of apple that had clung onto her locks. He always used to call her a fruit salad – considering she had managed to figure out how to make perfume from lemons at the age of 13, and that she religiously used the same apple shampoo from the same age – it seemed to fit. It seemed that the habit still hadn’t been dropped, and Duff was more than happy to realise that. Having experienced puberty together as neighbours, the two had been inseparable once she returned from her schooling in Russia at the age of 13. It wasn’t until Duff announced his plans to leave Seattle and drive down to LA to make it big that they lost touch, but the moon that had been permanently drawn into her skin on her side promised that even if the world was between them, they’d never lose touch with each other.

Once Duff released her, she rested her free hand on her hip and stepped back to inspect his appearance – denim jacket, pants that were evidently a little too tight, scuffed cowboy boots, and the dark roots peeking out from the poor dye job on the mop he called his hair. She stifled a snort at the memory of the man walking into dinner with her family with bright blue hair when they were teenagers, much to her father’s horror. LA hadn’t changed him. He was still Duffy, he was still Sunshine. He was still her best friend.

“Your brother didn’t tell me that you were in LA.”

“My twin didn’t tell you a lot of things, it seems. I’ve got a place here – I managed to get a job in the theatre, so now I’m their resident Odile,” she grinned, before she glanced around the room, “speaking of Vincent, where is he? It’s his party, and I haven’t even seen him.”

“His wife came and started yelling at him or something. I guess she wasn’t pleased about the type of people that showed up at her house.”

“Really? And just what kind of people showed up? Not punk rockers, I hope,” Veronica teased, before she winked playfully at Duff and took a drink from the bottle in her hand. At the taste, she wrinkled her nose and shoved it into his hand after sending a glare at the liquid that remained in the bottle. She wasn’t too surprised when the blonde – well, wannabe blonde – just shrugged and drank the rest of the bottle before dropping it onto a nearby table. He barely flinched when she rolled her eyes, instead grabbing a bottle of vodka from the bar behind him.

“Worse. Sports people,” he joked, dodging the playful kick she sent his way in response to his teasing, “but really, we’re not all that bad. He invited the whole band, and he’s gettin’ on great with them. It’s his wife who hates us.”

He stuck his tongue out at the woman in question’s back, and then grinned mischievously at Veronica when she let out a soft snort. Duff never did approve of Vincent’s choice in women – not like Veronica did either, but at least she didn’t mock them behind their backs. No, that was Duff’s job; he was the one who always got her into trouble, and she was the one who got them out of trouble. At least, that was what their parents believed – Veronica had just as much a knack for finding trouble as Duff, and it seemed to find her at the same rate.

At least, that’s what she believed – especially when the sound of a slap resounded through the room, and a brunette stormed past. As soon as she was out of view, Duff grimaced and downed the rest of his alcohol before he paused, his smile slowly turning into a smirk as he looked from Veronica to the seething singer stood but a few steps away.

“Duff, what are you thinking?”

“Nothing! Hey, have you met Axl, yet?”

“Who?”

“Axl!”

Veronica turned to try and see the woman in question – at least, she could only guess it was a woman, she had her hair teased to the high heavens – only to falter when she, no he, turned around and made direct eye contact. Green met brown, and she felt her cheeks warm as she took in the sneer that had been painted onto his face before swallowing and standing as he marched over to them.

“Axl, this is Roni. She’s Vince’s twin, and I think you’d like her. She does ballet.”

“It- Hi,” she breathed out, her mind suddenly becoming a jumbled mess as she tried to regain control of her tongue in an attempt to stop herself from blurting out that she thought he was a she.

“Ballet, huh? Bit different than what we’re used to. Aren’t you meant to be having tea with the Queen of England or something?” Axl smirked at her, tilting his head in a way that was suddenly the most infuriating thing in the world to the redhead. In response, she huffed and pursed her lips before she jabbed a finger against his chest accusingly, her eyes narrowing.

“I am not some little girl who’s all fancy, I’ll have you know. You can’t just be Duff’s best friend and not get into shit.”

She ignored the spluttered sound of protest from the blonde beside her, tilting her head in response to Axl, before her eyes widened in fury at the scoff that slipped from his lips.

“Wow, what’s the worst you did? Skip class for a day?” Axl laughed at his own joke, and Veronica wrinkled her nose slightly at the scent of alcohol. Of course he was being an asshole, he was drunk. Like everyone else at the party. Like she was. Shit, had she been taking him too seriously? She closed her eyes and stifled a groan, before she opened them and offered her hand in somewhat of an attempt at providing a truce. Just as Axl took it, someone shoved past her and she fell forward, crashing straight into his chest. Before she could stammer somewhat an excuse of an apology, she was cut off by a low chuckle.

“Huh. What do you know, you smell like a fruit salad.”

#axl rose fic #axl rose #duff mckagan #guns n roses fanfic #Guns N’ Roses #guns n roses oneshot #gnr fic #gnr fanfic #gnr smut #axl rose x oc #bit of an experiment from the usual posts

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smokeybrandreviews · 4 years

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Smokey brand Movie Reviews: I Like Toast 'Ems

I love Jennifer’s Body. I’m on record singing this thing’s praises from the top of my lungs. I honestly believe this is one of Megan Fox’s best performances. She loved this part and it really shows. I was one of the few who saw this thing in theaters way back when, it came out on my birthday so the narcissism demanded i partake, but i was wholly surprised by what was presented. When the reviews came out, i was stunned because they did not reflect the film i had watched. Over time, the appreciation for this movie has grown considerably and with Fox experiencing a ind of career resurgence, i wanted to revisit her best role thus far. Plus, there’s an unrated edition of this thing that i didn’t even know existed so i wanna check that out anyway. IS the Unrated version worth a watch? Let’s find out.

The Good

I have to commend the direction in this flick, it’s absolutely superb. The choices made in constructing this story were right right on the money. There is a definite female energy which permeates every scene, which is makes sense considering the source material. Karyn Kusama did an excellent job putting this film together.

This thing’s soundtrack is kind of amazing. It’s weird hearing Florence + The Machine, Hot Chip, Black Kids, and Hole in such a mainstream movie but i dig it hard. I’m such a f*cking hipster, man...

The dialogue in this sh*t is not anything a proper teenager would say, but i still love every bit of it. It’s ridiculous and campy and ridiculously charming. Diablo Cody has a knack for that. It’s not realistic in any sense, old suits in stuffy boardrooms would say otherwise, it’s still quaint in it’s own right.

Look, i give the dialogue in this thing the most sh*t, but the writing is actually pretty tight. Diablo Cody is brilliant at her craft. Juno was amazing and so is Jennifer’s Body. It’s weird that her career kind of petered out there at the turn of the decade. I mean, it didn’t, but it definitely felt that way. Cody has written some dope sh*t since Jennifer Body. Both Young Adult and Tully were great, but even so, it’s like she just disappeared. I guess that is the fleeting nature of being the “It” in Hollywood.

I was talking about this the other day, but Megan Fox is outstanding as Jennifer Check. She has this smarmy, arrogant, sultry energy about her and it just permeates the entire character. Fox humanizes the monster in Check, in spite of this try-hard dialogue. This is easily the best role i have ever seen Fox in and she deserves more visibility. Ma has the talent to be great in this industry, all she needs in the opportunity.

Amanda Seyfried is, arguably, the linchpin of this entire narrative. I love how she brought a deceptive frailty to Anita “Needy” Lesnicky. I’ve been a huge fan of Seyfried since i saw her in Mean Girls and have followed her career ever since. She’s made interesting choices, Lovelace and Chloe immediately come to mind, but Needy is easily my favorite in her filmography. That said, it’s super weird watching Seyfried pretend to be the frumpy friend.

I really like this cast. There’s a few standouts, outside of the two leads, but it’s chock full of great performances from a pretty legitimate ensemble. I was surprised by a few but, overall, this thing feels like everyone fits their roles perfectly.

It’s hilarious that Adam Brody is considered a sex symbol in this flick. He plays the murderous Nikolai Wolf, the whole reason Jennifer got possessed in the first place. This sh*t is definitely a product of it’s time.

Kyle Galner is his greasy, creepy, self as always. This time, he’s a scuzzy wannabe rocker named Colin Grey. I don’t know what that dude looks like after a bath. Every character I've ever seen him play, always seems so sticky.

Speaking of out-of-place cameos, f*cking Chris Pratt is in this thing! Andy “Star-Lord” Dwyer, himself! He’s the douchebag almost-cop. I can’t believe i didn’t make that connection until now.

I would be remiss if i didn’t the great J.K. Simmons. Dude is Jennifer and Needy’s teacher, Mr. Wrobleski. Dude isn’t in this too much but what we do see of him, is dope. As always. That guy is the king of cameos.

So Johnny Simmons is in this. He plays Needy’s boyfriend, Chip Dove. Dude is kind of forgettable but i think that’s the point. The thing is, i know this dude from something else but i couldn’t place it for the longest time. Then it hit me like a truck; Young Neil. He played Young Neil in Scott Pilgrim! Which is hilarious because Chip Dove is literally the same character.

I really like this story. I don’t go for the teen drama too much but this one does a great job of supplanting that with actual, interpersonal, conflict. Jennifer’s Body isn’t a horror story. It isn’t a gore fest. It’s not some vapid, superficial, teenage wasteland of a flick. This is a character study. It’s an expose of growing up and growing apart. This is coming to terms with a broken heart and a lost love. This is a proper, character driven, tragedy and i love it.

The Verdict

Look, i love Jennifer’s Body. That is no secret. it’s not a surprise. High recommend. This review is more for the “unrated version” of the movie. That little bit is actually wildly misleading. There isn’t any extra violence, you don’t get to see Fox’s boobs, it’s not really “unrated.” It’s actually closer to a directors cut than anything. As far as a recut, this thing is awesome. I think i prefer this version over the theatrical but both versions are still great. Megan Fox gives an amazing performance as the demon possessed lead, while Seyfried is exceptional was the evolving heroine. The story is a little cliche but the characters are more than enough to keep you hooked. Jennifer’s Body is a gem and it’s a proper shame it didn’t get the shine it deserved upon it’s original release. If you have time to kill, and considering we’re about to go round two in quarantine so you just might, give it another shot. I think you’ll be charmed.

#Jennifer's Body #Megan Fox #Amanda Seyfried #Smokey brand Movie Reviews

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pheita · 3 years

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NaNo Prep - The Halloween Party Part 1

Rodrigo looked skeptically at his reflection. After he quickly found out where exactly the Halloween party was and what kind of costume Liz had chosen, getting his costume was another matter. He still found it amazing how much Tamika had helped him. "I don't think it's gonna be better if you just stare at yourself." Even though Tamika sat in the study brooding over old writings, she had noticed that he had gotten ready. "How would you know that? Maybe I just check the fit of the clothes?" "Because you clearly don't like costumes. Which is as weird as you love being the morning star." She had stepped into the hallway and leaned against a wall. "And?" "So I think you're a damn fine Star Lord. Somehow it suits you." Rodrigo turned around with a questioning look. "You'll have to explain that." "Well, if there's one thing you have in common with Star Lord, it's that you haven't learned what you're capable of until you've met the right people." She pushed herself off the wall and stepped closer. "But I wonder why you bother to match your costume with hers. I've been wondering that all along." Rodrigo licked his lips in search of an answer. "I don't know, it just felt right." "I can't wait to see how she'll react." "Ask me about it." Laughing, she slapped him friendly on the shoulder. "Then have fun. I'll be at the old Greek place if anything happens." "I hope not, but thanks." His phone rang with a message. It was Liz, that she was on her way to the meeting place. He picked up the last of his stuff and left. The feeling of being stared at accompanied Rodrigo the whole time, but it was different than before. Many others in costumes met him on their way to other Halloween parties.

As agreed, Liz waited in front of the main station. Even among the masses of costumed people she was easy to recognize, not only because she was the only Gamorra among devils, angels and demons. Her costumes looked damn professional. Rodrigo used the moment she looked at her phone to step beside her from the side. "Are you waiting for someone?" He had trouble suppressing the laughter. Liz looked up and took an audible breath, but said nothing at first. "Fuck, I was gonna punch you in the face. But how the fuck did you know?" "I asked Sandra. If I'd relied on Rick, I wouldn't have done it." Liz giggled as she hugged him. "Let me guess. He was for Black Widow?" "I think the tight bodysuit was the reason." "I think we can assume that. Then let's go out and rock the night." She locked herself into him with a sense of anticipation that slowly infected him, too. "Shall we go around the outside? The train station will be full and at night fewer people will walk under the railroad crossing." The face she made spoke volumes. "I ask for it. If I'm slapped by an angel's wing again, I'll get really mad." Although he laughed, Rodrigo was worried about how the party would turn out when Liz was already homicidal. "So, why this Halloween party?" "Because the Rockhouse will be overrun with Goths wannabes today and Agostea still has the best music selection." For a moment Rick felt sorry for the waiters who had to survive the evening with lots of pseudo-Goths and would-be rockers, but then he remembered that most of them were used to it and that something like that unfortunately happened again and again. "What are you brooding about?" Liz pushed him with her elbows. "I wondered whom I should feel sorry for at the Rockhouse today." "The cops who have to sort this shit out." "That's true," sighed Rodrigo, "But why did you invite me?” "Because I trust you. You're always in control and you don't get any funny ideas." "That sounds strange." A tortured grin appeared on her face. "I know, I hope you know what I mean." "I think I do. And thank you.” "Not for this."

@captainpenguin-fly @merigreenleaf @adie-dee @petrolstationflowers @mouwwie @writinginslowmotion @chris-the-dragonslayer @nana-writes @viawrites-andacts @bookishdiplodocus @cometworks @elenajohansenauthor

#writblr #nano prep #guiding star #nanowrimo 2020 #liz #rodrigo

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sodalitefully · 5 years

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Cat!Slash part 3!

In which Slash’s background finally comes to light. Fluff with mentions of sex (including some mentions of teenaged sex so heads up there) but nothing terribly explicit. A bit of AU worldbuilding stuff before the fic under the cut, gotta explain some things for this fic to make sense.

Check out my masterlist for more cat!slash (and other stuff)!

“... And then Duff realized his plan might backfire on him, because Slash started to honest-to-god purr in his arms, and even after living together for almost a month, there was no surer way to get Duff worked up. Sure, Slash was basically making Duff’s point for him (that Slash was all his and he was all Slash’s, so no one better try to get in their way), but Duff really, really didn’t want to pop a boner in front of the man who could make or break his career.”

(So, regarding training and intimacy: Catpets have sexual needs, same as humans, and most often, those needs are met by one or more adult members of their adoptive household. Since sexual companionship is part of most pets’ role, it’s often introduced as part of their training curriculum in their late teens. This makes the pet safer and also a more desirable candidate for adoption. Other subjects covered in training will vary, but household chores, etiquette, and work skills are common, and a basic education is required by law. Slash spent his childhood with his mother in various households, and his teens elsewhere in foster homes where he received most of his training. I have a lot of thoughts about how this universe works, so if anything doesn’t make sense just ask! 😅)

=^^=

Slash was no stay-at-home pet: anywhere Duff went, Slash could be found on his arm, from rehearsals, to errands, even a meeting with the record label. The execs sure didn’t seem to mind an extra body in the meeting room – some of them seemed to really appreciate Slash’s presence, in fact, but Duff made sure to stare them down whenever their eyes lingered too long… Slash had only been with him for a few weeks, and Duff was still very protective. However they might have minded the twenty minutes Slash and Duff spent going at it in the restroom after the meeting wrapped... Based on the looks they got on their way to the elevators, the room may not have boon completely soundproof. Regardless, the rest of the band had long gone by the time Slash and Duff reached the ground floor.

“Saul?” Duff heard a man’s voice call out from across the lobby, and immediately Duff felt Slash stiffen and twist around in his arms to find the source of the voice. Duff followed Slash’s gaze and saw David Geffen himself, staring at Slash in open surprise.

“Mr. Geffen?” Slash responded, using that polite, perfectly-trained-kitten tone of voice that he only rarely used when he wanted people to think he was proper (for example, when the apartment received noise complaints because Slash was blasting music, or when he got restless during a technical delay before a show and started flicking picks around, one of which clipped Tracii in the ear).

“Saul?” Duff echoed in confusion, as David Geffen made his way over to them.

“It is you! What a pleasant surprise to see you here!“

“It’s good to see you too, Mr. Geffen.”

“It’s been ages since I saw you last, you were just a kitten! You’ve been doing well, I hope?"

“I’ve been doing very well, thank you. But I go by Slash, now.”

This seemed to finally trip Geffen up, because he did an obvious double take, looking between Slash and Duff and Slash’s collar and Duff’s hand on his pet’s waist. It finally clicked just who Slash was with now: of all people, the booze-swilling, hairspraying, delinquent bassist of his label’s newest and sleaziest hard-rock band.

Geffen’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. How did a broke wannabe-rocker manage to adopt a pet panther? The band’s cash advance wasn’t that good. He was looking at Duff like he was wondering if his intentions might be less than pure.

Duff wasn’t about to let that misconception stand, so he made sure to be extra-sweet to prove to Geffen that he and Slash are a perfect match. He slid his hand up from Slash’s leather-clad waist and began stroking his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp as Duff cooed down at him, “Slash, sweetheart, you didn’t tell me you knew Mr. Geffen!”

And then Duff realized his plan might backfire on him, because Slash started to honest-to-god purr in his arms, and even after living together for almost a month, there was no surer way to get Duff worked up. Sure, Slash was basically making Duff’s point for him (that Slash was all his and he was all Slash’s, so no one better try to get in their way), but Duff really, really didn’t want to pop a boner in front of the man who could make or break his career.

Geffen didn’t seem entirely reassured, but he put on a smile. “Duff, maybe you and, ah… Slash? Would like to join me for dinner sometime. We could go over some thoughts I have regarding your band’s future, and your lovely pet and I could catch up a bit.”

Well, Duff wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to schmooze with the boss, even if it was obviously just a set-up for Geffen to check in on Slash’s well-being, to make sure Duff wasn’t corrupting his poor, innocent catpet – Duff was offended by the insinuation, but he had to admit Geffen’s sentiment was in the right place. He kept up the sickeningly-sweet tone as he responded:

“We would love to join you, wouldn’t we Slash?”

=^^=

“What the fuck was that all about?” Duff exclaimed as he and Slash wove through parked Cadillacs and Corvettes until they reached Duff’s old pickup truck. “How do you know David Geffen?”

“We used to live in the same neighborhood,” Slash explained as he swung into the passenger seat. “Up in Laurel Canyon. He was always nice to my mom and I, but I’m surprised he still recognized me.” As if there were more than a handful of pet panthers in the entire state of California. “Though he could have been a little less judgmental about… us.”

“Yeah, I didn’t miss that look he gave me, like I might have kidnapped you or something.” Duff’s lip curled into a sneer, offended at the very thought, but he brushed it off quickly. “Laurel Canyon... Why does that sound familiar?”

“Hm, well I guess some pretty famous people lived there back in the day,” Slash shrugged.

“Oh?”

“Um... David Geffen, Jim Morrison, Joni Mitchell, Glen Frey –”

Duff just stared. Slash eyes were wide open and perfectly honest, and slowly it sunk in that he was being perfectly serious. Self-doubt started to creep into Duff’s mind – Slash outclassed him by a mile, just like he’d secretly feared – but Slash cut himself off in the middle of the list of names and smiled at him, easy as anything.

“Relax, it’s not like I slept with any of them or anything. I was just a kitten.” Slash tried to keep the mood light with a little teasing. He leaned in like he was about to tell Duff a secret: “My mom slept with Bowie.”

“She what?” Duff’s head actually hit the low roof of the car. Slash just nodded sagely, barely holding in a fit of laughter.

“We even lived with him for a little while. I saw his dick once,” Slash stage-whispered with a wicked grin.

“You’re kidding.” Duff was at loss for words for at least half a minute before – “What… what did it…?”

“Long and pale. What did you expect?” Slash wasn’t even trying to hold back his laughter anymore.

“Christ.” Duff muttered as he put the truck in reverse and pulled out of the lot. “You know, I’d figured that a fancy cat like you must have come from some crazy Hollywood mansion or something… but seriously? Bowie?”

“Guess I’ve always had a thing for rock stars.” Slash leaned over to land a kiss on Duff’s bare shoulder.

“Aw, Slash…” Duff blushed a little, he always did when Slash said something sweet. “I’m not all that. Just some punk kid from Seattle with a shitty apartment and a shitty car and a sweet, beautiful cat who’s too good for me.”

“Bullshit. You’re gonna be a superstar, Duff. But even if you weren’t, I’d still want to be with you and no one else.”

Slash watched the soft expression on Duff’s face for a few blocks, but after a while he couldn’t resist the urge to give him a little more of a hard time.

“You’ll never guess where I was trained.”

“Jesus, do I want to know?”

“Seymour Cassel’s. You know, the actor? At least for part of my training, I kinda moved around a lot, never really go the full, formal experience.”

“Yeah, it shows,” Duff teased.

“Now there I saw a bit of action. He had quite a guest list, you know.” Duff groaned in mock despair.

“For fuck’s sake, Slash. How am I supposed to impress you in bed if you’re gonna compare me to every star on the Walk of Fame?”

“Don’t exaggerate, Duff, I was still pretty young after all. Mostly I just watched, gave the occasional blowjob… some other things…” Duff groaned again, lowering his head to rest on the steering wheel when they pulled up to a red light. “I’ll tell you one thing, though, Duff.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” His voice was muffled as he spoke down into his lap.

“You’ve got about the same size dick as Mick Jagger."

Duff’s head shot up like a rocket. “Jesus Christ, Slash!”

“I’m dead serious, Duff…” Slash was not dead serious, in fact he could barely speak through his laughter. “If you were 20 years older, you could be twins!”

Duff spluttered at him for a second before giving up. “Fuck off, Saul,” he muttered.

“Hey!” Slash gave him the most utterly offended look, nearly comical in its genuineness, but Duff just rolled his eyes.

“You know, I can’t believe that you never thought to mention your birth name. Do you know how many adoption papers I filled out with ‘Slash’?”

“It’s not my fault if you actually thought my parents named me Slash,” Slash huffed in the snobbiest tone he could muster without losing himself in a fit of giggles.

“Well, what was I supposed to think?”

“I don’t know, Michael, what were you supposed to think?”

A car horn blared behind them; the light was green.

Duff flipped off the car behind them, then pouted at Slash as he pulls through the intersection: “Suck a dick, babe.”

“Maybe later, love.”

“Don’t bother, I’ll just be thinking of Mick Jagger the whole time.”

“Well fine then, I’ll just have to move back to England, pay a visit to Mick Jagger’s mansion and see what he thinks of my blowjobs, won’t I?”

“Hey, what happened to still wanting to be with me even though I’m not rich and famous?"

Slash knew very well that Duff was teasing, but he still felt Duff’s heartbroken tone like a punch in the gut. Duff might have been a badass punk rocker but as far as Slash was concerned, it was his job to make sure that he felt protected and loved at all times, so he immediately scooted over on the bench to lean against Duff’s side. He buried his face in Duff’s shoulder, curled his tail into his lap, and started to purr.

“Oh, hell, baby. Love you too."

Slash was generous with his affection – or at least, he was when it came to Duff. But Duff still found himself a little overwhelmed whenever Slash made a point of making him feel as loved as possible. He was damn lucky that they had found each other, that Slash was here with him instead of –

“Wait. What did you mean, move BACK to England?!”

=^^=

Poor Duff, the adoption agency really didn’t tell him anything. And if he’s being honest with himself, he never wanted to ask because he’s afraid that someone richer, better, and more qualified to take care of a pet (perhaps someone from Slash’s past) will someday try to take Slash away from him. It’s not that Slash acts shallow or materialistic at all, it’s just that Duff isn’t a millionaire rock star just yet and generally exotic pets like Slash are adopted into mansions, not apartments - adopting a panther instead of a normal catpet is extra af and usually a status thing. It’s easier to focus on their time together in the moment than to worry about where Slash was before. Duff stresses about these things, Slash does his damnedest to help ("Sir, that’s my emotional support catboy boyfriend").

On a lighter note, I could have kept writing their banter forever; in fact I probably drew it out too long already. I had fun with it though, I hope it isn’t hard to tell who’s speaking when I don’t specify.

Also, that Mick Jagger thing? Like, my favorite part of Duff’s book.

#ok I feel like I could have written this better but it's been sitting around for ages and i haven't really made any changes #besides finishing a few paragraphs #so here it is #sluff #slash #duff mckagan #saul hudson #gnr #guns n roses #guns and roses #mine #sodafics #some edits november 2021 to match ao3

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delta-roseblr · 5 years

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Hello, rather smutty Delix fic request here. Could you possibly write one where Felix tells Dean to "kiss his ass" as a retort during one of his mouthy moments, but Dean decides to take it literally and tries some other things as well while he's down there.

Hi, Anon!

I know it has been millennia since you sent me this request but I haven’t forgotten! I hope this is worse the wait!

Warning: This contains smut!

Fridays had always been pretty fucking awesome. Now that soccer season was over and Felix was dating Dean, Fridays that had gotten infinitely better because Felix always stayed at Dean’s on Fridays. Focusing on his classes might have been a little difficult but otherwise, Felix didn’t have a single complaint.

After his last class, he met Dean at his locker and together they walked to Dean’s car. There was a certain level of weirdness to being a couple without wanting people around them to know, but it didn’t feel as weird as Felix thought it could. Maybe it was just that they had been so close to begin with, so it just didn’t feel all that different. They talked about their day and bullshitted as they walked which was pretty much what they did before they started dating. Felix did have the unexplainable urge to hold Dean’s hand. He didn’t do it for obvious reasons, but the desire was there.

As they drove to Dean’s house they survived with stolen touches when no one was around to see them, and Felix ignored the rhythmic flashing of the old Honda’s check engine light. It was more fun than it had any right to be or at least it was until they pulled into Dean’s driveway.

Considering that Felix had only been to Dean’s house for the first time three weeks earlier he thought he knew what was normal. He had stayed over a lot since the first night. So much so that his own dad (who paid attention to nothing) was starting to question it, and Dean was starting to get worried about that. Felix couldn’t give a fuck because when they were at Dean’s place, they didn’t have to pretend they weren’t a couple, and they didn’t have to be quiet when they were fucking. They were fucking a lot too, and that was something that Felix was all about because sex with Dean was even better than he had ever imagined.

John’s van was there, sitting on the lawn like a relic from the 1960s, along with a few other cars that Felix didn’t recognize. He had never seen anyone else at Dean’s place, but he wasn’t worried about it until he felt Dean tense in the driver’s seat.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed as he maneuvered his car so he was pretty much blocking his dad’s van in, or at least the best he could considering the fact that Felix was pretty sure John gave zero fucks about driving on the lawn.

Felix kind of liked John in a weird way even if he was a sort of confusing person. He looked so much like Dean, Felix didn’t think he could not like him. But at the same time, from the moment he met the guy, Felix could feel the impact he had on Dean. John was way more supportive and chill about everything then Felix could imagine either his parents would which was awesome. But, at the same time, Dean, who was such a chill person, was always so tightly wound around his dad. It made sense because John was sort of a walking disaster. It explained so much of Dean, but it was also sort of tragic. Dean was this super casual and relaxed guy that also always seemed to be aware and concerned about everyone else’s needs and safety even when he didn’t need to be. Dean’s whole personality and approach to social relationships had evolved from some weird semi-functional relationship with his dad. Dean was so young to carry so much on his shoulders.

Felix wasn’t really in the place to judge because his relationship with his own dad was a complete wasteland, but it still bothered him that Dean had to deal with that which made Felix like John a little less. It was just another way John was weirdly confusing, he guessed.

Felix looked around at the unfamiliar cars curiously. “What?” He questioned at a loss, “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot it was poker night,” Dean admitted with a heavy sigh. He killed the engine on the car which didn’t stop the thing from continuing to click and rattle for several seconds. Dean turned in his seat a little, so he was sort of facing Felix before he did that cute thing he always did when he was nervous and pushed his fingers through his unruly blond hair. “Um, are you cool if…?”

“We’re just going to hang out in your room dude, why would I care?” Felix dismissed before Dean could finish. He leaned in and placed a small kiss on the corner of Dean’s mouth before adding, “Relax. You worry too much.”

Felix climbed out of the car before Dean could argue or worse yet start to apologize for things that hadn’t even happened. Dean always got into his head about things more then he needed to, especially when it came to his dad. Felix didn’t give a single fuck as long as Dean was there.

Dean was at his side approaching the house in a matter of seconds. It was kind of awesome that Dean lived in the middle of fucking nowhere because they didn’t have to worry about people seeing them, so Dean immediately took his hand and interlaced their fingers. It was stupid how much Felix liked something so small.

They weren’t even that close to the front door when Felix could not just hear but feel the loud music coming from inside. It was sort of like walking toward an arena when a rock band was playing. Or at least that was what Felix thought until they walked into the front door then it was more like walking into a gritty bar, like the ones that were too dingy to be on Church Street, but you could still hear the music from the alleys nearby.

The music was almost deafeningly loud, and the air was thick with cigarette smoke. Felix could just barely make out the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen even over the music, so John and his friends must have been having a pretty good fucking time.

He was aware of Dean’s tension as well was hoping it wouldn’t become too much of a thing. They could slip away to Dean’s room without even going in the kitchen, but Felix was pretty sure that wasn’t in line with Dean’s relationship with his dad. He couldn’t hear it over the music, but he pretty sure he felt Dean sigh before he dropped his hand and stormed off toward the kitchen.

Felix wasn’t slow to follow Dean or anything, but by the time he reached the doorway to the kitchen Dean was already making his way around the crowded table. The scene was pretty much what Felix had expected when Dean had said it was poker night. Through the thick smoke, he could see five guys sitting around the table covered with cards and poker chips and maybe a few things that didn’t look quite like a cigarette and a few stray and questionable pills. John stood out in the group with his blond hair and surfer tan but otherwise, every one of them was clearly cut from the same cloth. The guys may have looked like they ranged in age from mid-twenties to mid-forties, but every single one of them was clearly the wannabe rocker type.

“Really?” Dean grumbled as he shot his dad a disapproving look. It was kind of funny because it was totally the look that you usually saw a disapproving parent giving their teenager, not the other way around. “Are you trying to replace all the air in the house with smoke?”

“Hey, kiddo,” John greeted completely unaffected. He picked up a small remote off the table, hit a few buttons, and the music decreased in volume dramatically. Thank god for that, Felix thought. He hadn’t realized he was starting to get a headache from the repetitive thud of the base. “I was going to open a window eventually,” he added which was so obviously fucking bullshit.

Dean was leaning over the sink muscling open the small window there but stopped long enough to look over his shoulder at his dad. “I can actually feel myself getting lung cancer just standing here,” he declared seriously.

John took a long sip from his beer before dismissing, “It’s not that bad.”

Felix had been at parties where everyone was smoking something, and he had sworn you would have to wave your hands in front of you to see where you were going and not walk into something, so it could definitely have been worse. Still, the smoke and the smell were pretty fucking strong. John just always seemed to say everything wasn’t a big deal which was kind of fucking annoying.

He leaned his shoulder against the doorway as he contradicted, “It really is.”

John turned and noticed him standing there. “Hey, Felix,” he greeted genuinely, “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.” He took a sip of his beer before casually commenting, “Pretty soon you’re going to have to start paying rent.”

It wasn’t a jab, at least not in the traditional sense, Felix was sure of that. John had been pretty clear about how cool he was with Dean and Felix as a couple and Felix coming over. That being said, that didn’t mean he didn’t like to give them shit for just how often Felix was over. At first, it had really been directed only at Dean, but Felix couldn’t help get involved, and it just sort of evolved from there. It was all good-natured, at least from John’s end, but every once and a while he would say something that just didn’t sit right with Felix because he saw glimpses of what Dean put up with. In those cases, it probably would have been best to keep his mouth shut, but he really wasn’t great at that. That was definitely one of those moments, and Felix spoke without thinking. “I’ll start paying rent when you do,” he shot back with too much edge to his voice.

Dean definitely shot him a look. It wasn’t one of anger or even disappointment, but it wasn’t particularly happy either. He didn’t like to think about the parts of his life that weren’t normal let alone think about it, and Felix was sure he didn’t want to hear someone else bring it up so casually.

John’s reaction was just to grin sincerely. “Oh,” he declared as he turned to Dean, “And he’s funny.”

“Whatever,” Dean huffed and rolled his eyes as he pushed off the sink. On his way past the table, he reached over and quickly put out a cigarette that had been slowly burning in the ashtray. “Just try not to burn down the house,” he ordered on his way out the door, grabbing Felix by the arm as he went.

“Have fun,” Felix heard John called after them as they made their way down the hall toward Dean’s room.

Felix loved Dean’s room because it was just so Dean. Sure, the furniture was all well-worn and about a decade beyond their prime. Everything was muted and mismatched in color, but nothing seemed bland. Even in cool colors like blue and green, there was something warm about the entire space. There were stacks of vinyl records and books all over, even in the most impractical places.

As he poked at a new stack of books resting on Dean’s desk, he heard Dean let out a long heavy sigh. Felix set aside the copy of a biography of Allen Turning that had been at the top of the stack and turned so he was leaning on Dean’s desk as he looked toward his boyfriend. “Dean,” he declared, “You really need to relax.” He probably should have just apologized, but he was just complete shit at that sort of thing. Pretending he hadn’t said anything bothersome was just easier.

“That’s easier said than done,” Dean muttered as he dropped himself on the end of the bed and worked to kick off his shoes. “Especially when you constantly have to start shit,” He stated after a pause and a telling look in Felix’s direction.

“It needed to be said,” Felix defended. It was probably stupid, but there was something about Dean saying he started shit kind of bothered him. It wasn’t like Felix hadn’t heard shit like that from other people, and from them Felix couldn’t give a fuck, but from Dean… Was he just making things difficult for Dean? Did Dean find him secretly annoying? “And I don’t always start shit,” he countered under his breath.

A genuine smile spread across Dean’s face and he let out a little laugh. It would have been cute if Dean didn’t also tilt his head to one side in a sort of condescending way. “Dude?” he countered like the statement was utterly ridiculous.

He should have just let it go because the last thing Felix wanted to do when he and Dean had some alone time was fight. But it bothered him more than it should have, and he couldn’t stop himself. “I don’t,” he stated with the insistence of a five-year-old.

“Felix, come on,” Dean countered.

“Whatever,” Felix grumbled as he pulled his arms over his chest in a show of defiance. At that point, he really was just pouting like a child, and he didn’t even care. Dean should no he didn’t just start shit to be difficult. “You can just kiss my ass if that is what you think,” he declared sharply as he took an interest in the faded carpet under his feet.

“Oh really?” Dean questioned playfully.

Felix heard the springs of the bed issue a complaint as Dean stood up. He didn’t dare actually look to Dean until he felt one of his hands come to rest softly on his bicep. “Babe, you need to relax,” he stated softly, “I’m just teasing you a little.”

He dared looked to see that he was the center of Dean’s attention with a little smile playing on his lips and amusement coloring his bright eyes. Dean had no fucking right being so fucking hot while Felix was trying to be annoyed. “I know,” he insisted but his voice came out more sullen then he wanted. He doubted he was at all believable.

That little smirk that had been playing on Dean’s lips bloomed into a genuine smile. “This is probably going to piss you off more, but you’re cute when you pout,” he stated in this affectionate way that was so fucking adorable.

“You’re such an asshole,” Felix tried to sound annoyed, but he could feel himself blushing and smiling like an idiot, so he knew it didn’t work.

“Maybe,” Dean shrugged, “But I think you’re into that.”

Smug bastard, Felix thought. Dean was right of course, but he wasn’t supposed to know that. “Maybe,” he retorted in a weak sort of denial.

Dean let out a soft chuckle at that before bringing a hand up to run along Felix’s cheek. It wasn’t really clear if Dean pulled him in or if Felix stepped forward, but either way, they ended up kissing. It started as something soft and affectionate and even a little playful, but it quickly turned to something hot and needy.

Soft kisses and gentle caresses turned into demanding lips, the nip of teeth, and hands pushing and pulling at his clothes and hair. Their bodies were pressed together so Felix was extremely aware of Dean’s hard dick pressing at his thigh through Dean’s jeans and Felix’s shorts, and he knew he was just as hard as he moaned into Dean’s mouth.

Dean’s desk bit at the back of Felix’s thighs as Dean’s hands ran over his chest and stomach in this possessive way that could make Felix absolutely quiver. He didn’t even realize he was letting his head fall back to offer Dean his throat until he felt Dean’s lips kissing along his jaw.

“Fuck, Dean,” He sighed with pleasure at Dean’s touches.

Dean hummed and pulled away which was a shame, but Felix didn’t even have a chance to complain before Dean was ripping and pulling off his t-shirt with urgent force. Felix was totally fine with that, but he did start to get a little confused when Dean’s strong hands gripped him by the hips and turned him.

Felix’s hands came to rest on Dean’s desk as Dean pressed close to him and kissed at the back of his neck. “Whatcha doing?” Felix questioned breathlessly as he felt Dean’s hands working to undo his shorts.

If he was being honest there was something really hot about Dean standing behind him with his body pressed against Felix’s back. The fact that he knew Dean was already hard, and that all of this was likely leading to hot sex just intensified that feeling. It was just not exactly like Dean to just do something without checking in with Felix to make sure he was okay with it first. Felix didn’t mind the take-charge attitude, but it was unexpected.

Felix’s shorts hit the floor, and he could feel Dean’s hands working to do the same with his briefs. Dean pushing off his clothes could be the most arousing and mind-blowing thing, but it was still nothing compared to the feel of Dean’s hot breath spilling over his shoulder and against his ear. “You told me to kiss your ass,” Dean answered in this voice that practically dripped with sex. It wasn’t like Dean didn’t normally sound sexy because there was just something about his voice, but this was just so much more. Felix might have actually sighed at the sound of it. Dean placed the softest of kisses on the curve of his throat before adding, “And that is what I’m going to do.”

With that declaration, Felix felt his briefs move down his thighs and to the floor. Dean’s lips started to move from his throat, over his shoulder, and down his back in a train of soft but still hungry kisses. Felix gripped the desk with desperation and bit hard at his bottom lip until he was sure he wasn’t going to moan shamelessly or just cum from the thought of what Dean had just said.

Dean couldn’t have possibly meant what it sounded like. He just couldn’t mean that but as he kissed his way down Felix’s back it was literally all Felix could think about. Dean’s hands were moving lower too, running over Felix’s bare ass softly. Felix was pretty sure his knees were starting to quake with nerves, anticipation, and excitement.

“Seriously?” he questioned more breathlessly then he had intended.

“Ah-ha,” Dean hummed against Felix’s skin as Felix felt Dean’s lips move past his shoulder blades steadily moving closer to the small of his back and beyond. His hands were still wondering over Felix’s body with increasingly insistent touches. After a second, Felix felt Dean pause before questioning softly, “I mean if you’re cool with that.”

Holy fucking hell, Felix thought. He was genuinely surprised he didn’t just collapse from the thought. Dean was really suggesting what Felix had thought. Felix had imagined it a million times, but he had never thought Dean would ever want to, let alone offer.

“Yeah,” Felix managed and was proud he didn’t sound desperate and overeager, “I’m cool with that.”

That was the understatement of the fucking century, and Felix was positive his knees were shaking. Dean was still kissing down his back in a way that was painfully slow which just had the anticipation building to the point that Felix thought he might explode.

For all Felix knew only a second had passed, but it felt like an eternity. Dean was kissing over the small of Felix’s back and his hands were massaging his ass, and Felix couldn’t take it a second longer. He gripped at the desk even though the wood biting into the meat of his palms wasn’t doing anything to distract from his anticipation and impatience. “Dean,” he spoke the name in a way that was somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and Felix didn’t even care.

“Ah-ha?” Dean hummed from his knees behind Felix in this absent way. It was like he was too distracted by what was in front of him to really think about what he was saying.

Felix dared to look back over his shoulder at Dean which was such a bad idea. Dean looked so fucking hot kneeling behind him like he was, and of course, he chose that moment to move in and actually place a short but deliberate kiss on Felix’s right ass cheek. Yeah, watching Dean wasn’t going to be an option, Felix realized as he swallowed down a whimper. He turned back to stare down at the desk. “Get on with it,” he said somewhere between a plea and an order.

Dean chuckled before admitting without shame, “I kind of fucking love when you get bossy.”

“I suspect daddy issues,” Felix retorted through his own labored breaths.

“Like you’re one to talk,” he heard Dean snicker in response to that. If Felix was in his right mind, he would have acknowledged Dean was right. He wasn’t in his right mind and he definitely wasn’t thinking about his dad (or Dean’s) when Dean moved and placed another kiss on Felix’s other cheek.

The soft caress of Dean’s lips was replaced by strong hands, and they weren’t just rubbing or massaging anymore. Felix felt Dean gripping at flesh and pulling his cheeks apart. That was the moment that Felix had a pang of self-consciousness. It was still hot, and Felix still wanted to try (like a lot). Still, he was also aware that he was standing there naked, half bent over Dean’s desk while his boyfriend was behind him preparing to be intimately familiar with his ass in a totally different way. There were just so many ways that things couldn’t go horribly embarrassingly wrong.

Any insecurity Felix might have felt washed away with the warm feel of Dean’s tongue sliding up his crease and over his hole. It was a tentative and exploratory thing that was over before it really had even started. Still, Felix couldn’t help but notice how much more it all felt then he had expected or dared imagine. Dean’s tongue was hot- not just warm- hot, and slick, and Felix would have sworn that he could feel the smallest little motion of it against him. Felix couldn’t stop himself from moaning wantonly at the sensation of all of it.

If Dean was uncertain it didn’t show as experimental licks turned into something more confident. Broad strokes turned to wet, hot motions swirling around his entrance. Felix kept hearing himself moan and gasp with pleasure shamelessly because it all was really more than he had imagined in all the best ways. And when he couldn’t take the sounds of himself, he bit at his bottom lip to the point it almost hurt to keep it in.

Felix had never thought anyone would touch him there let alone use their tongue. And yeah, sure, that always looked hot in porn, but that was fucking porn. Felix didn’t think it could possibly feel as good as he had wanted to imagine but as it turned out it felt so much better. Dean’s tongue was fucking mind-blowing at whatever it was doing.

Dean’s tongue increased its insistence as he massaged around Felix’s rim until Felix felt it push in just a little. That shouldn’t have felt good because it was a tongue in his ass. Getting fingered had definitely taken a little time to get used to, not that it didn’t feel good, it just also felt fucking weird. What Dean was doing felt weird too, but also shamefully, unbelievably fucking good.

“Holy fuck!” Felix moaned desperately as he leaned forward over the desk a little more, “Dean!”

Over the pounding of his heart and the blood rushing past his ears, Felix heard Dean moan wordlessly in return. If there was any question what that moan met, they were answered when Dean’s tongue started to work into him deeper.

Felix was almost painfully hard, and Dean hadn’t even touched his dick yet. He was bent over Dean’s desk with his ass up in the air which should have been embarrassing as fuck, but all Felix could think about was how much he wanted Dean to keep going. “Seriously, fuck,” he cried as he moved a hand to grip at the edge of the desk, so the old wood bit into the meat of his hand, “Dean!”

There was another pleased sound from Dean even though his tongue didn’t stop. Felix felt the reverberation of Dean contented hum against his skin and in him. God, it felt like Dean’s tongue was working deeper in him in the dirtiest hottest way possible.

The calloused and familiar feeling of fingers against sensitive skin came into play and Felix was honestly surprised he didn’t collapse from the sensation of it. Only weeks earlier he remembered thinking Dean’s fingers up his ass felt weird, and at that moment, he desperately wanted Dean to finger him and more.

“Oh my fucking god!” he cried so loudly it even hurt his own ears a little as he felt one of Dean’s finger tease just past the tight muscles of his rim, “Dean, fuck me!”

Felix felt Dean issue another content sound as he continued to use his tongue and fingers to tease at Felix’s entrance. Felix thought he might actually die from over-arousal. It was fucking hot, and Felix was positive he would blow his load embarrassingly quick if Dean kept it up. “Dean, seriously,” Felix whined with desperation before adding demandingly, “Fuck me already!”

Dean stopped with his fingers and his tongue. Felix felt him release his tight grip on his cheeks and place a few kisses along his spine as he moved to stand. A few more soft kisses were placed on his shoulders and over the curve of his neck and then Dean’s hot breath was against his ear sending chills down Felix’s spine.

“Not working for you?” Dean questioned in a throaty voice that only belonged in the bedroom.

Dean’s hands shifted so they were resting at Felix’s hips rubbing at his skin in absent circles. Felix couldn’t help but laugh, and when he did he sounded sort giddy and a little manic. “No,” he answered. It was ridiculous if Dean really had any question about just how much Felix was into what he had been doing. Felix tried to glance over his own shoulder to look at Dean, but all he could really make out was tan skin and golden blonde hair. “But if you keep that up much longer, I’m going to fucking cum,” Felix admitted without shame.

Dean let out a little snicker and kissed at the back of Felix’s neck in a way that had shivers running down his spine. “Well, that is my goal,” he admitted. As he spoke his hands wandered from Felix’s hips to explore his body, running over his outer thighs before moving back up to run over his ass with reverence. Felix didn’t know what made him quake more: Dean’s words or his touches.

There was another kiss pressed against Felix’s shoulder before Dean stated insistently, “Don’t move.” Just like that the warmth and feel of Dean were gone. Felix turned his head in time to see Dean snatch the condoms and lube off the nightstand before quickly moving to return.

The first few times Felix had come over after they had started having sex Dean had actually kept all that stuff hidden away in the back of a drawer, so it took forever for them to find them when they were fooling around. Felix didn’t know if Dean had finally realized the pretense wasn’t necessary or maybe it was just that now his dad knew about them, so Dean didn’t feel like he had to hide the fact that he was having sex (it wasn’t like John cared about that). Whatever it was, Felix really was thankful for it because it saved so much fucking time.

The absurd stack of condoms (because Dean was always extra careful and extra prepared) and lube was set down next to Felix’s hand and then a half a second later Dean was back kissing at his throat and shoulder as his hands wondered over Felix’s body with affection and a dash of possessiveness that Felix kind of loved.

Felix let his eyes flutter closed to better enjoy the feel of Dean’s hands and lips on him. He didn’t notice one of Dean’s hands leave his body to retrieve the lube, but he heard the distinct sound of the cap on the bottle popping open. If he shuttered with anticipation from the sound alone, he would never admit it.

“Have I ever told you, you have a truly amazing ass,” Dean declared as Felix felt a hand over his ass.

“Yes,” Felix replied. A more accurate answer to that question would have been about a thousand times. Not that Felix was complaining about that because he loved it more than he ever would have ever thought. Still, there were other things he liked more like actually having sex. He glanced over his shoulder at Dean who was making no attempt to hide how he was looking over Felix’s body with hunger in his eyes. That was just so fucking hot it was unfair, but Felix held it together enough. “So, instead of telling me again you could hurry the fuck up already.”

Dean’s eyes flicked up and met Felix’s with pupils blown wide with lust. He leaned and started kissing up Felix’s throat to his ear. As his lips moved, Felix felt Dean’s slick fingers slide between his cheeks and started swirling around his rim. “You know patience is a virtue,” Dean declared in a husky whisper against Felix’s ear before pressing a finger into Felix.

Felix gasped at the penetration as Dean worked his finger into him deeper, and he let his head fall forward. “Clearly I’m not very virtuous,” Felix admitted through labored breaths.

Any complaints Felix might have had about Dean fingering him had long been forgotten. Once he had gotten past the anxiety and the unexpectedness of it. There was something so wrong and dirty about it in all the right ways. It still barely held a candle to actual sex, but Felix kind of enjoyed it.

Dean let out an approving hum at his gasp and then made quick work of working Felix open. Felix was sure some of the ease came from what Dean had been doing with his tongue before, but some of that speed was definitely impatience on Dean’s part. Felix didn’t actually mind some roughness. There was something hot about the thought that Dean was so turned on he had to throw caution to the wind.

Felix had no problem reinforcing Dean’s efforts with shameless moaning and repeated efforts to thrust back to get Dean’s finger(s) deeper. By the time Dean was able to work three fingers into him Felix’s throat sort of hurt from all the noises he was making, and he was pretty desperate for Dean to move things along to the main event. He might have whined something to that effect, but he wouldn’t admit to that either.

Whatever was or wasn’t said, Dean pulled away (and out) leaving Felix feeling empty and especially desperate. He expected Dean to be back on him (and in him) in a matter of seconds but he wasn’t. He didn’t even go for the stack of condoms on the desk like Felix would have thought.

When Felix turned his head to see what exactly the holdup was, he got the amazing sight of Dean trying to strip himself out of all of his clothes as quickly (and uncoordinatedly) as humanly possible. Felix hadn’t even realized that Dean had been fully clothed.

“How are you still wearing clothes?” Felix questioned with amusement. Normally, when he and Dean were fooling around Dean ended up naked first. Felix honestly couldn’t remember the last time he was standing there naked while Dean was fully clothed.

“I was too focused on your hot ass to worry about getting naked,” Dean declared in a huff not taking the attention off his disrobing to really talk.

There was another second or two before Dean was kicking off his last piece of clothing (his boxers) aggressively. Naked, Dean was quick to grab the stack of condoms off the desk. As Felix watched, he ripped off one, tossed the rest aside, and ripped open the packaging. He rounded the condom down and over his thick painfully hard looking dick before immediately reaching for the lube and pouring a generous amount on himself.

Felix might have sucked in a sharp breath as he thought about what was to come when Dean’s hand come to rest on his hip. He felt Dean step closer, so he was all but pressed against Felix’s back. The warmth of his bare skin was a welcome sensation. Then there was the feel of Dean’s dick pushing between his cheeks and pressing against his entrance. That might have been the most indescribable sensation Felix had ever experienced.

There was a half a second where Felix could feel Dean pressing against him before his entrance gave way, and Dean was pushing into him. It was physically impossible not to moan as Dean’s dick slowly worked into him, and Felix really didn’t try to stop himself.

Felix knows when Dean was fully in because he could feel Dean’s hips pressed against him, and he felt so full he doubted he could take another centimeter. He could feel Dean’s hot breath against his back as Dean pressed his forehead against his shoulder. “Jesus mother fucking Christ,” Dean panted out between suddenly labored breaths. They stayed still for a few seconds, and Dean’s strained breaths made Felix confident that pause was just as much for Dean to gain some control as it was to let Felix adjust. Only after Dean’s breathing seemed to steady did Dean start to kiss at his shoulder. “You good?” Dean questioned.

Felix bit down on his lip, tightened his grip on the edges of the desk, and nodded desperately before he actually found the words to answer, “Yeah.”

Dean’s hips pulled back momentarily before pushing forward again in a shallow thrust. The feel of Dean sliding in him, the sound of their skin slapping together, the little gasp he heard from Dean as he moved was all great, and it just got better with each successive thrust. Dean kissed absently at Felix’s shoulder and gripped at his hip. Felix was sure it all was enough to get him there, but he also felt like it could be better if he could just…..

“Ah,” he moaned at another thrust and brought his hand to rest over Dean’s on his hip, “Wait.”

Dean immediately stopped and panted out, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Felix retorted as he shifted. First, he spread his legs a little wider and then hiked a leg up so his knee was resting on the desk. The position allowed him to stand up straighter and press his back against Dean’s chest.

Dean’s lips found his throat and kissed up to his ear. “Oh, I like how you think,” Dean whispered in the most breathy and sexy voice Felix had ever heard. His hands still sticky with lube let go of their grip on his hips in favor of wandering possessively over first his stomach then thighs until one hand was gripping the base of Felix dick.

Felix hadn’t even known how desperately he had wanted Dean to touch him like that until Dean actually was, and then Felix couldn’t believe he hadn’t been begging for it. He gasped at it and pressed himself more tightly against Dean desperate for him to move again. His head fell back on Dean’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed, and he waited with bated breath for the pleasure he knew was coming.

When Dean moved it wasn’t just the sharp thrust or a long stroke of Felix’s dick but rather the perfect combination of the two. A firework of lights danced across Felix’s eyes as a wave of intense sensation rushed through him. “Fuck Dean!” Felix cried out with pleasure as he brought a hand back down to the desk, fingers splayed on the cheap wood surface between his legs in hopes of keeping himself stable as Dean continued to move in him.

The sounds of their labored breaths and the distant drumming of rock music from the kitchen were joined by the rhythmic thud of Dean’s desk slamming into his wall like an exclamation point on each and every one of Dean’s thrusts.

“Oh god!” Dean moaned against Felix’s throat. His hand, the one that wasn’t still stroking Felix’s cock, found a tight grip on Felix’s hip as the intensity of his motions increased.

“Dean,” Felix moaned in reply as his hand came to once again rest over Dean’s hand on his hip. Each of Dean’s thrusts was filling him with a new and more intense wave of fire, and Felix was burning in the best way, “Holy fuck!”

“Felix,” Dean whined like he was the one being tortured by an on slot of unending pleasure and not the one giving it.

Every cell in Felix’s body was screaming with pleasure, and he was pretty sure he had never felt so alive. “Fuck!” he cried. The thud of the desk hitting the wall was getting louder and more demanding much like the growing need for release the was building deep in Felix’s core. “Harder,” he screamed desperately.

Dean let out a wordless moan before thrusting into him again hard enough to push Felix up on his toes momentarily. Any and all the pleasure Felix had felt before felt like nothing as Dean hit just the right spot. The world started to dull in comparison to the vibrancy of firey cold pleasure Dean was giving him. “Dean!” he cried so loudly his throat hurt.

“You feel so good,” Dean purred against his skin. He kissed and nibbled at Felix’s throat and ear as his hips and hands continued to move.

Dean’s lips on his skin, the heat of his breath, the movement of his hand on Felix cock, the slick dirty slide of his dick as he continued to thrust, all of it together was almost too much for one person to take. Felix felt like electricity, pulsing and throbbing to an inevitable and catastrophically fantastic end. “Fas-oh fuck,” he cried out through the waves of pleasure, “Faster!”

Dean obeyed without a word. The desk was banging against the wall at a frantic pace, and Felix didn’t know when he turned to face Dean, but he must have because they were kissing. They were hot and desperate kisses, but they were also sloppy as Felix (and he suspected Dean) were speeding toward a predictable end.

And just like that, it happened. Felix exploded in both a figurative and literal way. As cold hot pleasure washed through him, his body pulsed, and he sprayed white across the desk under him. He was still riding the reseeding waves of his own pleasure when he felt Dean’s grip tighten on him as he pulled away from Felix’s lips to let out a long cry as he reached his own pleasure.

The tension gone, they were left with their labored breaths, and their bodies sweaty and pressed together. Felix didn’t know how long that lasted before Dean placed a kiss on his shoulder. Pulling away a little, Dean declared breathlessly, “Wow, that was…”

“Hot as fuck,” Felix offered still feeling a little giddy as he looked over his shoulder at Dean.

“You took the words right from my mouth,” Dean admitted with a grin before leaning in to pull Felix into another quick kiss. “I’m going to pull out, okay?” he questioned after pulling away from Felix’s lips.

“Yeah,” Felix nodded and turned away so Dean wouldn’t see how he swallow down a groan as he pulled out. Felix might have gotten over his reservations about being fingered, but Dean pulling out was still his least favorite part. There was just something about the feeling of Dean filling him suddenly being gone that was hard to adjust to so quickly.

When Dean stepped back, Felix moved so that he had both feet on the floor. One step back from the desk, and all Felix could really see was the streaks of white across the faux wood surface. “I sort of made a mess of your desk,” he declared regrettably. He had missed the several stacks of books that were here and there which was impressive, but there were several papers that were absolutely destroyed.

Dean let out a musical little laugh and caught Felix by the waist with one arm and started pulling him toward the bed. “It was so worth it,” Dean declared as he nuzzled into Felix’s neck. Felix could hear the grin on his face, and it was fucking contagious. Maybe it was just post-orgasmic bliss or maybe it was one of Dean’s many superpowers. Felix didn’t know, but he liked it. “I’ll clean it up eventually,” Dean assured.

“But what about your precious books?” Felix questioned teasingly as he let Dean pull him along.

Dean kissed the side of his neck softly. “You are far more precious to me,” he declared, “And deserve all my attention.”

“Fucking dork,” Felix snickered dismissively, but he was blushing. He always blushed when Dean said shit like that.

“Maybe,” Dean agreed with a shrug as he let go of Felix’s waist to drop on the bed. Felix turned to see him sitting there grinning up at him in all his naked glory. He looked so fucking cocky as he talked, “But I’m-”

Dean was cut off by a rapid and hard succession of knocks at his bedroom door. “Hey, kiddo,” John’s voice came from the other side.

“Oh my god, I’m busy!” Dean called back sounding a bit panicked, “And do NOT come in!”

“Hadn’t planned on it,” John called back, “I figured you porn stars would be hungry. I’m about to order pizza, you two want any?”

Dean turned the same shade of red Felix was sure he himself had turned at that. Felix guessed they had been louder then he had realized. It wasn’t like John cared (obviously), but it was still pretty embarrassing to have your boyfriend’s dad hear you fucking.

“Yeah,” Dean called back. The cockiness was gone as he was clearly just as embarrassed as Felix, “Just no mushrooms.”

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iminlovewiththestars · 4 years

Text

Followed

by Shannon Burns

The barista shouts my name over the din.

I leap at my coffee, intending to snatch it off the bar in a huff.

I was already running late before the espresso machine jammed, sending scalding coffee spewing in every direction. The resulting debacle was an utter nightmare and really, if I weren’t such an addict, and if I had gotten more than 12 minutes of sleep last night, I would have taken off sans coffee. But I knew there’d be no possible way for me to get through the day without my customary triple venti. Today I made it a quad.

Of course, some dude chooses the exact same moment to retrieve his iced green tea that’s been chilling on the bar for at least five minutes.

“Oof.” I end up wrapped around him like a car around a steel pole. “Sorry.” I try not to sound resentful when I say it.

“No, my fault.” He slides me my coffee with a sheepish grin. “Looks like you could use this.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I nick the cup, and begrudgingly give him the once over.

He’s attractive enough, but he looks like a total wannabe. The shabby, artsy type. Scruffy face. Beany. Nerdy glasses. Wearing a plaid shirt, skinny jeans, and converse to boot. So cliché. I mean, who drinks iced green tea in the middle of January, anyway? Give me a break. I don’t have time for slackers when I’m already late for my real job.

I slip past him to make my escape.

He calls after my retreating form. “Please, let me …”

But I don’t catch the rest. The door slams behind me and his words are whipped away by the howling wind.

I toss back a shot of the brew to banish the cold. It scorches my throat, but I don’t care. I need caffeine like a hypothermic reptile needs the sun. Like I need the sun, which happens to be hiding its radiance, I note, glowering at the hazy sky. Not that I’m surprised. The sun rarely makes an appearance around here this time of year. Plus, it’s before sunrise, or at least, I think it is.

My breath ices the air and I pull my cowl tighter to block the arctic wind. I hoof it six blocks down Main without looking up, gulping at the dregs of my coffee before I’ve even made it two. The caffeine buzz jolts my pulse into high gear and the resulting jitters snuff even the memory of sleep deprivation from my limbs.

Now that I’m more than semi-conscious, I feel a tinge of regret over the coffee shop incident. Green Tea Guy seemed nice enough, and I was a bit abrupt with him. Okay, so, I totally blew him off.

I sigh. Too late to do anything about it now. So, I tell myself to get over it. It’s not like he’s my type anyway. Still, I should have let him down easy with my go-to, I’m-married-to-my-job excuse. Strictly speaking, it’s not even a lie.

I sneak a quick peak from beneath my cocoon of warmth, intending to hang a left on 132nd, like always, only to realize I’m not at 132nd. I’m not even on Main.

Dammit. Six years. Six years that coffee shop was on Main and then two weeks ago, out of nowhere, they up and moved. And, in my zombie-like state, I forgot to remind myself that my autopilot is broken until I can reprogram the new route.

I glance around, hoping to spot something familiar, but I don’t frequent this side of town. Actually, I’m not even sure I’m still in town.

Dilapidated, industrial buildings loom over the street. In the dim light, colorful, broken glass throws distorted shapes on graffiti-littered walls. Dark, broken-out windows glare from above. A fire escape hangs precariously like a gruesome scar slashed across the face of the building. A trash dumpster’s lid has been thrown wide like a gaping maw without teeth. The mist rises off the concrete like the visible stench of a monstrous beast, slumbering in the darkness of the predawn hours.

I take a step back.

Maybe it’s just coffee jitters, but my heart is racing out of control. It strikes against my ribs like a caged animal attempting to break free.

I gulp at the frigid air in an attempt to calm my frantic nerves. The bitter cold seeps through me. Icy fingers claw their way under my coat, piercing my flesh and chilling my bones. A shiver crawls up my spine.

I turn, escaping back the direction I came. My slow, plodding footsteps echo on the pavement like a gong, reverberating off the buildings, amplifying with every step.

My eye catches movement, shadows darting between the buildings.

My roommate jokingly sent me an internet meme once, mocking my caffeine addiction. I poured red bull in my coffee this morning. I can see sounds. At the time I laughed. But it’s not so funny now as paranoia sweeps over me.

I’m being followed. Only it isn’t possible. It’s just my footsteps hammering at my brain. There’s nothing there. Just my imagination. But I keep glancing over my shoulder anyway.

Nothing. Still, I can’t help but sense something is watching me.

Light floods the street behind me.

I turn and shield my eyes, trying to peer through the hazy brilliance. What the…?

A car bears down on me from the far end of the ally.

I beeline to an adjacent alley, barely clearing the car’s path.

An enormous, black beast of a car roars past. It screeches to a halt, and then reverses to stop dead in front of me. I don’t know cars, but this one looks sleek and fast, like a panther stalking its prey in the night. Unfortunately, I’m the only game around.

I stand unmoving, rooted to the spot, gaping.

The engine idles. A darkened window whirls down.

Curiosity has gotten the best of me. Or maybe it’s that my adrenaline response is broken. Instead of fight or flight, mine’s set to freeze.

“Get in.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s just Green Tea Guy from the coffee shop. But then my heart’s doing double time.

He followed me. And he looks different. Maybe it’s just the car, but I doubt it. He’s dropped the starving artist act. Instead, he’s opted for full on Men in Black.

“Wow, stalker much?” I snap, trying to force my shaking voice into indifference. I turn on my heel, intending to escape down the side alley that saved me from being the victim of vehicular manslaughter mere moments ago. But no such luck. It’s a dead end.

“Rachel. Get. In.” He punctuates each word, eyes darting around anxiously. He’s seriously tweaking.

I’d be wigging out right now that he knows my name, if it weren’t for the fact that the coffee shop barista broadcast it loud enough for the whole world to hear. I bet the North Koreans are trying to decode who or what a “Rachel” is and whether or not it signaled the launch of World War III.

“I’m armed.” My declaration is probably a wasted effort, but I’m hoping against hope that it will buy me a moment.

My shaking hands fumble my keys, unable to locate the object of my intent. Finally, I hold up my pepper spray in evidence. The fact that it’s glittery probably isn’t doing me any favors at the moment, but what I can say, it’s not like I ever thought I would actually I use it. Well, I mean, use it for anything more than ornamentation.

He approaches, his speed belied by his smooth, languid movements.

I shrink against the wall, holding my sparkly weapon aloft. I can’t watch. I squeeze my eyes shut. My hand trembling, I take aim and...

My keys clatter to the ground before my finger finds the trigger.

I’m shotgun and he’s back in the driver’s seat, punching the gas before I can unravel what happened.

I reach for the door, trying to get out, but it’s locked. I pound the unlock button but it’s no use. My only weapon is gone, and I’m trapped. “Let me out, you psycho!”

He doesn’t even glance my way. “You have to come with me.” His frantic nature of a moment ago is replaced by statuesque indifference.

Now I’m the one tweaking. “Like hell I do.” I claw at any button I can reach, hoping one will be the key to my freedom.

“It’s not safe.”

He may appear to be the epitome of control, but something’s wrong with this dude. Because yeah, being kidnapped and held hostage does not scream safe and sound to me.

I flip through ideas, trying to come up with something, anything. I need a plan of action to get out of this mess. But I’ve got nothing. Nothing but desperation. So, I guess that will have to do.

I lean over, grab the steering wheel, and veer hard to the right, directly into a brick wall. I brace for impact.

He jerks the wheel, swerving back toward the center of the road. “You trying to kill yourself?” He eyes me like I’m the crazy one, pushing me back down into my seat where I can no longer interfere with his driving.

I turn away like a petulant child. “No, apparently that’s your job.”

“Rachel, I’m here to protec--”

I snap. “Seriously, dude. You don’t know me. So, stop acting like you do.”

My outrage is met with no response.

I sigh. Being hostile has gotten me nowhere. So I opt to switch tactics. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot. How about I tell you about myself? I’m the only child of parents who adore me. And, I know I don’t see them as much as I should these days, but losing me would destroy them. And they aren’t made of money. Not the kind needed for a ransom. So, how about you just let me go? We can forget this whole thing ever happened.” I’m rambling. And I know it’s a long shot, but maybe, just maybe, appealing to his humanity might work.

“Bad plan. I’m not human.”

That settles it. He’s completely off his rocker. “What… what do you mean you’re not human?” I don’t even want to think about how he knew what I was just thinking.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

Safe. There’s that word again. Just who does he think he is? I shake my head. “So, the batcave then?” Maybe he’s under the misguided impression that he’s some sort of superhero. Nothing else makes sense. I mean, this whole thing is just so inexplicable.

“Batman’s human.” His words carry no inflection. No indication as to whether or not this is one big joke. And nothing to indicate that what is occurring is in any way out of the ordinary. He just stares straight ahead. Rigid. Focused. Driving like a bat out of hell.

“Human. Riiiiight.”

#writing #fiction #ya #oc #mood

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ill-skillsgard · 5 years

Text

Dirty Demons, Part 1 - Axel Cluney/Zeitgeist

Title: Dirty Demons

Description: It's nice to have a companion on the road to total self-destruction - a continuation of Sweet Demons

Warning: 18+ for sex/language/violence/drugs/kinks of all sorts etc.

A/N: You should definitely read Sweet before Dirty!

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Through my visor, I could see the sky melt from light blue to indigo and orange and then fall deeply into a captivating shade of dark purple. Pinholes from the stars began to soak through with every mile I put behind me. The sun sank into the sandy mountains taking all of the light with it. I blasted my high beam light to fan out over the road before me when it got too dark for me to see out of my visor. I looked down and saw my fuel was getting concerningly low. My hands were numb, my stomach was growling and my eyes were aching to shut. I only had a few more kilometers to go before I made it to my next destination. Once telephone posts started popping up I knew I was drawing nearer. The odd house appeared around the road bends and soon an aura of white incandescence from the nearing town grew larger on the horizon. The last place I had stopped at gave me a lead to follow and I had wasted no time in jumping on my bike and ripping down a highway that would take me further South. So far, my wild goose chase had taken me to nearly every corner of the country and every time I consulted with someone that I was told would have answers I was sent back the way I came. The clubhouse I pulled up to was almost an exact replica of every other clubhouse I had been to within the last month. It was a rectangular structure with blacked out windows, rows of choppers and a few flashy little crotch-rockets parked out front. Club crests were painted on every surface possible, including the front double doors. Squawking eagles entangled with hissing cobras in a battle royale, the boldface namesake flying on banners, broken arrows with red flights and chipped arrowheads; the crest of the Dirty Four Thousand Motorcycle Club. When I walked through the front doors almost every single pair of eyes set on me immediately. My cut and patches were enough confirmation that I belonged there and when I saw a stool open up at the bar I quickly took the seat and nodded at the female bartender who had nodded at me first. "Wow, little lady. You're far from home," she remarked. "That amount is true," I agreed. "What're you having tonight?" "Whiskey, please. I wouldn't mind something to eat if you have it," I said. "Well, Buddy is our wannabe-chef but, to be honest, he doesn't make anything even half stomachable. But I can probably rustle you up something if you don't mind the wait." I shook my head solemnly, "I have nowhere to be." "And I assume you want to talk to Roy? He should be down any minute." "Thanks very much." The bartender poured me a deep measure of whiskey into a cup and slid it over the bar to me. She was pretty, as most barmaids were but this one's looks were punctuated by a right eye that had seen the meat of someone's fist and recently. I grimaced when she turned away and looked around the bar as if I would find the motherfucker that hit her. I know it was wrong of me to assume but it was all too common for me to meet the women behind the motor clubs that marveled over me having my own bike, my own shop and essentially and rightfully, my own MC. I wasn't some old rider's bitch or even a Waxer Wife. I was my own woman and most people knew that I had the power to sick a thousand bikers on whoever crossed me wrong. It made me feel bad for the bartender that she probably didn't know the dynamism that was to not be tied down to what was essentially a servant's post. But not everyone was born the heir to one of the most famous motorcycle clubs in the Western hemisphere. It felt bitter to think of it that way and tasted even worse when I had to say it. My intention had been to fall so far off the grid that people stopped remembering me as Al's daughter; heir to the Motor City Sweet Demons Motorcycle Club and began forgetting me. However, life had a funny way of turning around and delivering a blow to the face harder than what the bartender was probably used to. I never wanted to wear a cut. Hell, I didn't want to even be a patch-holder but it came with the territory and had afforded me some luxuries that maybe I wouldn't have had on the road without them. One had but to look at my top rocker and see where I was from. The number thirteen was stitched so boldly into my jacket that people passing by in their cars and trucks honked at me and waved. Respect was given without initiation from men double my age and people generally tended to stay the fuck away from me unless I approached them. It was a gift and a curse; the title that my father had left to me. I was a superhero and a demon. Feared and revered as he liked to put it. I thought it was all kinds of stupid. I wasn't packing heat or anything and if somebody wanted to fight me he or she very well could and the chances of them winning would depend on their stature. But it all came down to the pull I had with other charters and fellow clubs. I could call a dozen numbers and have somebody permanently silenced within a week if I chose. Luckily, nothing had ever come down to that. No, I mostly kept to myself as I always had and interacted with people only when necessary. I hated the questions; the non-stop interviews and spotlights people pushed on me had started to wear me down already and I had only been on the road for a couple of months. Everywhere I went people asked about my dad or the Sweet Demons or the club or the shop. I had the same answers for them all. But when Roy, the President of the Dirty Four Thousand came stomping down the stairs I straightened my spine with respect and raised my glass to him when he spotted me. Roy was one of the scariest human beings on the surface of the planet. His right eye sported a crooked blueish-grey scar through the iris and that only added to his overall permanent look of displeasure. He had a long peppery beard reaching down to his barrel of a chest that separated into two neatly woven braids and a bald headful of tattoos that coiled around his head like a witch's blackened fingers. He stood nearly seven feet tall and weighed as much as five of me easily. When he smiled one could see flashes of two gold incisors which he had a gruesome story for involving two men, a rusty icepick and a little too much whiskey. He had told the story once back at home on a Thirteenth and I had been much too young to be subjected to it. "Angel, daughter of Al, heiress to the Motor City Sweet Demons title of President!" Roy boomed. "Hello, Roy." I greeted him plainly. His bold introduction drew everyone's attention to me once again and then a murmur of whispers floated up from covered mouths. I hated that. Being talked about was not something I was particularly fond of but again... It came with the territory. "Last time I saw you, you were playing in a sandbox with your toys. Now, look at you! All grown up with a club of your own!" He exclaimed. "Legally it is mine but you sort of have to be there to run it," I stated. "It don't matter. Blood is blood and... I am so sorry to hear about Big Al. His passing has left a mark in all of us. We all paid our respects when the news came around," Roy condoled. "Thanks, Roy. I appreciate it. Dad's riding the highways of Hell, no doubt." "He was a good man. A great man. Head on him as sharp as a pin. What a pioneer," Roy shook his large tattooed head. "I'm sure he would say the same about you," I continued. "Let's have a drink in his honor. Stella, another drink for Angel and give me the same," he snapped his immense fingers at the bartender. "Certainly," she smiled and nodded. "Now, what brings the heiress of the Motor City Sweet Demons through my doors today? You sure have wandered off," he said in a fatherly way that really did remind me of my dad. "I'm looking for somebody," I said before sipping my drink. "Who might that be?" I set my drink down on the bar and turned the glass a couple times until I was satisfied with its placement. This was the part I hated the most. "I'm looking for my mom." Roy drew back only slightly, "Shit, Angel. Your mom? Huh... God, I don't think I've seen her since... Fuck. It's been a few years." "I was told if I needed anybody found that I should come to you. I know it's a long shot and honestly, I don't even know if she's still alive. I haven't seen the bitch in over fifteen years." "Nobody dies without me hearing about it," Roy assured me. "I guess that's why you're the man!" I said and tipped glasses with him. "I can dig around, see what comes up but you may not like what I find or don't find." His tone was laced with the warning that I had heard a hundred times over. "Honestly Roy, it's not going to break my heart. I have no expectations. I just need to find her if I can." Roy looked into his glass and sloshed the remaining mouthful of whiskey around before dumping it down his throat. "Sometimes people don't want to be found though, kid." I nodded because I knew he was absolutely right. "That's why I came to the leader of the Four Thousand. They say four thousand men have eight thousand eyes." "Give or take!" Roy winked at me with his scarred eye. We laughed together as our drinks were replenished. I was already starting to feel a little woozy since I hadn't eaten all day. The timing of my stomach growling was met by Stella the bartender bringing me out a basket of fries and a sandwich skewered together with a toothpick and topped with an olive. I politely thanked her and started shoving fries into my face to quell the whining of my whiskey-filled stomach. "How long have you been on the road for, kid?" "Weeks now." "Who's running the club back home?" He asked. "Braun is. You remember him, don't you? The lanky, funny-looking guy that used to hang around. Landed an apprenticeship with my Dad," I explained. "I remember the kid. You trust your club to him?" I sighed, "it still doesn't feel like mine, y'know? It will always be my dad's club. But... I do trust Braun. His loyalty is unshakeable." "As long as business is being taken care of." "One hundred percent." Roy and I tipped glasses once more and he downed the rest of his whiskey while I gingerly sipped mine. "Well, kiddo. There's a suite upstairs that you're welcome to. Stella will give you the key. It's the last door down the hallway. Tomorrow we'll get to work looking for your ma." "Thanks, Roy. You're not as bad as you look," I teased. "That's what they say," he shifted his immense weight off the barstool and patted me on the back. As tired as I was, I was in no rush to take the room key and go upstairs. I finished my fries, which in my neglect had gone cold. More whiskey was offered to me but I declined as I was already starting to feel the effects of both glasses I had shared with Roy. There were riders and club members that recognized the Motor City rocker on the back of my vest and had come up to me to offer more condolences in regards to my father. The longer I stayed on that bar stool the more depressed I started to feel and that was when I decided to call it a night. I was sick of being reminded of my Dad and I was tired of remembering why I was on my journey to begin with. I stepped out of the club's swinging double doors with the huge eagle and snake crest on it to get my bag from out of my custom leather pannier. The air was fresh despite the exhaust fumes from all of the bikes coming in and out and I exhaled heavily as I locked up my bags and pocketed my keys. The road was making me weary and even just gazing down the stretch of highway in front of me made me hesitant to get back on it. My father would be proud of me, though. That's all that mattered. If he could see me on the road riding my own custom chopper that I had built myself, it would have brought a tear to his eye. That was the only thing driving me to do what I was doing. The room that had been offered to me was exactly the way one might assume the room of a motorcycle clubhouse to look like. The walls had been painted black and above the double bed was a stolen roadsign that had gray donut-shaped holes blown into it- the results of multiple gunshots. There was a cheap simple lamp, a small tube television atop an empty wooden dresser with brass handles and a small desk and matching chair. Not only that but the walls were pinned with posters of bikini models that had no business being on the motorcycles they were bent over. I wasn't bothered by the choice of décor as I had seen the interior of more motorcycle clubs than I had of real homes. it would have been more appalling had I walked in to find a modern interior design. I inched open the wooden dresser and dumped my bag in haphazardly with no real regard of what was mixed in with what. I had a couple of clean shirts and two pairs of jeans that regularly cycled back and forth as my riding attire. The only bras that I had were pilled and had seen better days. I had a few pairs of comfortable underwear that I had brought with me; nothing fancy or lacey. While on the road you had to make sure your clothes were practical and not riding up your ass. To be honest, all of my clothes could have withstood a wash but I hadn't thought to ask if the club came equipped with a washer and dryer. Wedged into the bottom of my bag were two towels that I pulled out and brought into the bathroom only after having locked the room door. I didn't want to risk a drunk biker stumbling in and stealing the bed that I had been loaned. Not that I had any qualms with sleeping on a floor but my aching back and tense shoulders needed a soft surface for the night. That and a hot shower. There was nothing available in the way of shampoo and conditioner but there was a half-used bar of soap with what I hoped and prayed it was just a black beard hair stuck in the center of it. I silently patted myself on the back for thinking to bring all of my own toiletries. It was another thing one could assume wouldn't be widely available in the rooms of a club and I had planned well ahead in anticipation of that. The shower wasn't in the cleanest condition it could be in but when I took off my clothes and stepped under the hot running water I didn't much care if the bottom of the plastic shower curtain had spots of mold on it. Soapy scum stains clouded the faucet and there was a distinct smell of bleach that bubbled up from the drain- strange because it didn't look like anything had been cleaned recently. I closed my eyes and let the hard water beat me between the shoulder blades and soak through my greasy hair that head stayed matted down from being underneath a helmet for hours and hours. It felt so good to run my fingernails over my itchy scalp and dredge up the dirt that had no doubt collected there. I relished the scent of my shampoo as I worked it through my strands, feeling instantly better when I stepped back underneath the showerhead to rinse it out. I pooled a dollop of conditioner in my cupped palm and ran it through my hair as well, leaving it there to help smooth out some of the tangles that had formed from neglect. The walls of the club must have been thin because I could hear a ruckus erupting from down the hall. Knocking on doors, the loud voices of people yelling in protest. At one point it sounded like someone had launched a bowling ball down the hall and it had struck the door of the room I occupied. I shrugged it off, attributing it all to that obnoxiously carefree biker lifestyle that I had reluctantly been roped into. I stayed in the heat of the shower for as long as I could until my fingers and the bottoms of my feet started wrinkling and then some. I was impressed the water hadn't started to run cold and by the time I turned the faucet off with a rusty squeal of resistance and stepped out onto the cool tile floor. The entire room was steamy and I could hardly see in front of me. I opened the bathroom door just an inch to start letting some of the steam out and so I could make use of the mirror to see just how heavy the bags under my eyes had gotten. One of my towels I used to wrap up my hair and the other I swaddled around my body before I squeezed a generous amount of toothpaste on my well-used toothbrush. I closed my eyes and scrubbed away at my teeth, relishing the feeling of taking the strain of my corneas. I couldn't recall a time that I had ever been so desperate to hit the sack in a bed that didn't belong to me. Usually, when faced with the option of sleeping in a strange place, I opted to stay up for as long as I could due to the many anxieties that came with laying your body down on a mattress with a questionable history. That night I didn't care at all and actually looked forward to the moment I could get off my feet and sleep for more than a few hours. But my life had a really fucking good way of throwing me detrimental curve-balls. I had gathered up all of my toiletries and stashed them away in a little travel bag I had since college and took my hair out of the towel so it could begin to air dry. The steam of my shower had mostly escaped and I could breathe deeply through my nose again. I left all of my things on the counter of the bathroom and stepped out into the cooler air of the dank bedroom. "Hello, Angel." An unearthly yelp ripped from my throat as I was greeted by a voice that slid out as smoothly as it did abruptly. As soon as my brain registered where the voice had come from I felt my heart clench like a fist in my chest. A wash of adrenaline flooded and I felt a warm buzz in my cheeks from the result of the scare that had been put into me. My arms shot up to cross over my chest even though I was covered with a towel. I could feel my feet go numb as I gazed upon a face I hadn't seen in over two years; a face I had convinced myself that I would never see again. Sitting on the edge of the bed, a cocky grin on, with the faded purple bruising of a former black-eye and more shitty tattoos than the last time I saw him was Axel fucking Cluney. "How the flying fuck did you-? W-what are you doing here? Get the fuck out!" Axel stood up and I was immediately reminded of his height and the squareness of his broad shoulders. His arms still dangled somewhat awkwardly despite the cocksureness he had in his clothing taste and the way he held his chin up. He spread those long arms, palms up as if questioning why I wasn't bounding into them or something. "What? You're not happy to see me?" "No! Get the FUCK out! Who are you? Who the fuck do you think you are!?" "Hey, hey, come on now. Do you know how long I rode to find you? Fuck! You would think it might be easy to find a sexy little firecracker riding around on a fucking bubblegum pink bike, but it isn't!" He laughed. "You're fucking dead to me. Leave. Now." "Angel-" "Stop calling me that!" "Well, that's your name, isn't it?" "I just had a funeral for the only person who was ever allowed to call me that and you weren't the fuck there, you fucking prick!" Axel held up his hands, shrinking back so his hipbones shifted forward. He was wearing one of his shirts that weren't real shirts. I could see all the way up his ribs to his armpits. He still had on his riding gloves. When I gazed down his body I remarked his black jeans and green boots. Stupid green boots. "Ange- Angelica-" "Don't even say my name at all! Just... Go back from wherever it was you came." "You're not even letting me speak-" "'Cause I don't want to hear your voice! I don't want to see you at all!" "Listen to me... I have a very good reason why I didn't come back- couldn't come back," he claimed. "You missed his funeral. Me? I couldn't give a fuck that you didn't come back for me but you missed his send-off. Everyone was there. Everyone. All the Demons were there except you and when I asked Max about you he refused to say anything!" "Max didn't know where I was anyway. Nobody did. Fuck, I don't even hardly remember the last two years myself." "Must be nice!" "No!" Axel defended. "It wasn't fucking nice! Okay? That's what I'm trying to tell you! Where I was... I couldn't go anywhere. I couldn't leave. I had to be where I was. Trust me, when I heard about your Dad I... I fucking died a little inside. I am so sorry that I missed his send-off. You have to understand... If I could have been there, I would have. If I could have come to see you I would have! God, I fucking missed you." I was starting to shiver from my nerves combined with the air cooling my exposed skin. He could see the way the hair on my arms stood up and he sighed. "Sorry for breaking in like this. I guess I could have knocked." My laugh came out as a blurt and I looked over at the door that he had somehow picked open. "What if I had been sleeping? Have you just been busting down doors looking for me?" I asked him. He scratched the back of his head before running his hands over the stubble on his jawline and chin, "yeah, pretty much. When I got to the Port I walked into your house and got to see little Braun!" "Oh." "Yeah. That went exactly how I'm sure you're imagining it." Braun had on numerous occasions told me how much he absolutely loathed Axel and how he was glad that he hadn't come back for any of the Friday the Thirteenth rallies. Even after my dad's funeral, Braun brought up the fact that not exactly all of the Sweet Demons had made it to the celebration of life and that anyone that was a true friend would have been there no matter what. Again, I knew he was happy that Axel hadn't made his grand appearance then. It seemed that the more my hopes of seeing Axel again diminished, the stronger Braun's feelings got for me. Although he knew that I would never be interested in him, he still harbored some dashed optimism that one day I would come around and start to warm up to him and with Axel seemingly permanently out of the picture, he acted as though it were an inevitability. The faith he had in it was astonishing, I had to give him that. "How did that go?" I pried. "He was half in the bag when I pulled up. Started yelling at me about how if you had been there, you would have told him to hit me for you. So he tried to take a swing at me. I had to remind him about what happened last time he tried to fight me." I clutched the damp towel around my body and felt a shiver rattle up my spinal column again. "Yeah, well, I guess you do have an unfair advantage over everyone." "Not everyone," he told me. "I think the fact that you spew black acid from your throat kind of puts you in a league of your own." Axel shook his head at me. "No... Angel... Angelica, sorry. You don't even know half of what the fuck exists out there. I didn't know until I was there." I scoffed, "well, isn't that nice that you got to travel the world?" "It was only South America." "You didn't tan well." "I know. I wasn't allowed in the sun. I had to live in a fucking barn almost. Couldn't go anywhere at all." I shifted my weight back and forth on my bare feet. I eyed the bed behind him and the lingering thought of how badly I had wanted to go to sleep rang a tiny bell in my head. "Why?" I asked with a tired sigh. "Why don't you get in your PJs and I'll tell you more about it." "You're being quite presumptuous. I guess you didn't spend any time in a barn to help fix your arrogance." "No," Axel said with a smirk. "If anything, it's only gotten worse." I tried not to smirk back at him but it was hard when I noticed his eyes wandering down to my chest over and over again until he gave up and settled for staring at me blatantly. "Why didn't you call or anything? You didn't even send postcards like you said you would," I said quietly. He took two steps closer to me and reached out to touch my shoulders before realizing his gloves were still on. I watched as he peeled them off his enormous hands and wadded them away into the back pocket of his jeans. "I wanted to. There weren't any phones where I went and they made me get rid of all my stuff. Well... They made me temporarily surrender all belongings. No phone, no nothing." "Who are they?" I pressed him. "I'll tell you all about that shit after you get into some clothes!" He exclaimed. "Oh... Axel, telling me to put on clothes? What did they do to you down there?" I joked. Axel took another long step in my direction as he cast out a look that had desire written all over it in the form of his lips curling into an evil little grin, complete with those dimples and green eyes flashing. "Pardon my niceties but I figured now wasn't the best time to let on that I've been thinking about ripping that towel away from you. Fuck... I mean, I wanted to go into that bathroom while you were showering just to catch you naked but... Well, everyone has seen Psycho and I figured freaking you out this way would be less cruel." "Thanks, I really appreciate that. Good thing you settled for picking the fucking lock and waiting for me on the bed like a creep." "It was either that or like I said." "You couldn't have just knocked on the door like a sane person would?" "Where's the fun in that?" He got so close to me I could practically feel his breath fanning over my face. I took a step back from him though. "I'm going to get changed." "Would you... Fuck. Would you mind if I just hopped in that shower real quick too? I'm afraid to admit how long it has been since I've seen clean water." He was smeared with dirt and motor oil. Black smudges like chevrons climbed up his long arms and his hair was greased back involuntarily. The strange thing was, he didn't smell unpleasant. The scent coming off of him reminded me of a time when my dad was still alive. His familiar scent filled me with shadows of the past like us standing in my bedroom staring at each other the weekend we first met. "Go ahead, I guess. You're going to do what you want anyway." "Thanks. Won't be long," he said. I took the opportunity to change into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts that I had been wearing to bed for years. Exhausted yawns kept coming up from the back of my throat and before Axel stepped out of the bathroom with my pink towel wrapped around his waist, I was already under the covers and leaning up against the faux leather headboard with the fuzzy black Harley Davidson blanket pulled up over my lap. I watched as he made his way over to a backpack he had left in the corner of the room. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and watched me out of the corner of his eye watching him unravel the towel from around his hips. Axel had put on a little bit of weight and he had no unease about being naked in front of me. His body was lean with muscle and I caught a glimpse of his manhood before he stuck his feet into the legs of his sweatpants and pulled them up over his thighs and hips. Truth be told, even with the bruising around his eye and the addition of more tattoos on his pale white skin, he was looking better than I recalled. I remembered how he had been so skinny that I could see his ribs shifting when he breathed but now he looked fattened up like wherever he went had at least fed him well. "What are you staring at?" He asked as he approached the foot of the bed. I was eye-level with his crotch and the way his grey sweatpants clung to his hips left little to be imagined, not that I needed a reminder of what he looked like naked. His cock made an appearance in the form of a thick outline beneath the fabric and I prickled when I remembered just how big he was when he was when he was fully erect. It was difficult to admit to myself the heartbreaking disappointment I had silently suffered the first year that Axel didn't show up on the Thirteenth. I had gotten myself so psyched to see him pull up in front of my house on his acid green bike. The months that went by I had occupied myself with thoughts of him as I worked with my Dad to get my own bike on the road. I wanted to show Axel all the hard work I had poured into it because of him but when he never brought up the tail of the demon procession, I felt my excitement fade into confusion and plunge into gripping sadness. He never showed up and my plans to have the best Friday the Thirteenth weekend were torn to shreds. My heartstrings were mangled. I couldn't bring myself to leave my room and when I had had enough of waiting I asked Max why he wasn't there. The response I got from the President of the Sweet Demons was less than satisfactory. I was told to forget about him and just have a nice time to which I agreed but secretly I knew that I would be doing no such thing. Not with him missing. "Angel... You just going to sit there staring at my dick?" Shaking my head, I looked up at him and tried to hide a smile. "I... Sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm tired." "So am I." Without a further exchange of words, Axel turned off the lamp and crawled into the bed beside me to get under the same covers I was using. I followed his lead and laid down too. There was about a foot of space between us that remained untouched for a couple of minutes until one of us decided to sack up and close it. Axel shifted towards me and touched my hip. "The only thing I want more than sleep right now is that pussy," he whispered. "God, I've been thinking about putting my cock in that tight little slit for so long but I can't possibly do you the way I want to right now. Not yet." "You so boldly assume I'm going to just lay back and let you fuck me again after all this time?" "Yes. Not right now but... Yes. You will. When we wake up in the morning I promise you that I'm going to fuck you and you're going to let it happen. Not only that but you're going to like it." Axel did not know how to beat around the bush. He said what he meant and it had turned out to be true. By the time morning rolled around, after a solid five hours of sleep, I woke up feeling needier than I ever had before in my life and he was right there for me to curl into. I reached down and ran my flattened palm over the crotch of his sweatpants and looked down to watch him harden. His eyes were closed but he moaned all the same and smiled, "see? I told you." Admitting to myself that I missed him tasted bad in my throat so I never said it out loud. However, it was as true as it always had been. I was so happy to open my eyes and see him laying there beside me. It was the first time I truly felt safe on my journey across the country. Axel rolled over onto his back and quietly enjoyed the feeling of me palming his cock through his pants. He pushed down the blanket so he could look down and watch me stroke his shaft over the fabric. It elated me each second he grew harder, his breath cutting shorter, abdomen clenching and flexing. "Oh, fuck, mommy. Yes. Love it when you touch me and get me all hard," he purred. "Mm-hmm, I know you do, dirty boy." "Yes, I'm so dirty. I think about my mommy touching me all the time. Oh, fuck," he stared down his body as I pulled the front of his sweatpants away so I could grip his shaft completely. "Yeah... Touch me. Play with that filthy boy cock." I hummed as a thrill of arousal bubbled in my chest and careened down my torso to explode between my legs. Axel turned his face to me and begged a kiss and without a moment of hesitation I gladly pressed my lips to his. In the back of my mind, I had so many questions but I chose to ignore them in those heated moments. Kissing him tasted good and the moment his tongue touched mine I reveled in the sweetness of his saliva. My grip tightened around his cock and he flinched away with a soft gasp, settling back down once I began massaging up and down the length of it, paying special attention to the ridge of the head before dropping down to lightly squeeze his balls. "Oh! I'm a fucking bad boy, mommy. Oh my GOD, am I a bad boy." Axel shook his head like he was coming out of a trance and quickly flipped onto his side to face me. His hand dove into my shorts, seeking out the best place for him to rest the tip of his index finger on and once he found it I groaned. He gasped as if he had found something that he had hidden away long ago and had just unearthed again. "Oh my," He purred, dragging the tip of his finger down to dip into my warmth. "Did I ever miss this gorgeous little pussy." He took his hand out of my underwear only so he could push my shorts down my hips. I helped him along the way by kicking them off and letting my knees fall apart so he had better access to me. His eyes went wandering and he also pulled the blanket back so he could turn his gaze softly between my legs. "Fuck... Can I just? Mmm, let me, please? I want to say hello." I nodded my head and soon he was shuffling down the bed, lifting one of my legs up so he could duck under it and get really close to my opening. The way he stared at my pussy before gently rubbing over it with his thumb was enough to make my spine curl. His green eyes landed back on my face and he smiled before letting his tongue loll out of his mouth to lick tantalizingly slow from my wettened hole to my clit and back down again. The hot breath that aerated from his mouth only added to the joyous sensation. "My God, you taste sweet. Looks so good too. Oh, mommy... Did you miss me? Did you miss me the way I missed you?" Axel began lapping at me feverishly, alternating between that and gently sucking at the part of me responsible for allowing this all to happen in the first place. I knew that I shouldn't have let him win me over so easily but I couldn't deny myself the pleasure of having his face between my legs again. Especially when he looked up at me with feigned innocence and had no real idea of what he was doing to me internally. It was all so very devious, the way he could seduce me but I'm sure he would have said the same about me. Not once did I pause and think about the past when he had made it a big deal that he wouldn't go anywhere near me with his mouth unless I begged him too. I couldn't help but wonder what inside of him had changed. Why did he suddenly have no inhibitions when it came to the unknown curse that had been bestowed on him? Whatever had happened, I was happy that he had gained solace from the self-consciousness I had known him to have. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to watch him flick his tongue over my pussy lips and suck gentle little circles over my clit with those luscious lips of his. The more I moaned the more finesse he put into eating me out. He hooked his thumbs under my knees and pushed me back so I could see exactly what he was doing. "Oh yeah, you like watching me eat that pussy, don't you, mommy? Mmm, feels so good, doesn't it? How would you like it if I just pushed my whole fucking tongue inside of that wet little cunt? Huh? You think you would like that too?" I nodded vigorously and sighed when he forced himself inside of me to clean up all the juice he was helping make. The only time he pulled away was to drop a long string of spit onto my clit before smacking it firmly using the tips of his four fingers. He smiled as I squealed and continued spanking me, moving down my thighs and even pushing me further back so he could smack my ass. "Fuck, baby! You get my cock so fucking hard," He pulled the waistband of his sweatpants further down and proved that he was, indeed, hard enough to stand at attention before he inched up to me. "I want inside that pussy, please." "Yes, bad boy. Give me that cock." The intrusion was as girthy and fulfilling as I had remembered. Axel had no shortcomings when it came to what was between his legs and as he spread me apart with every inch of his length I couldn't help but arch and moan. Every ridge of his cock I could feel pumping and pulsing with blood. His eyes rolled hard and when he looked back down at me he smiled, "I'm gonna fucking wreck this cunt." Axel snapped his hips into me once with brute force and the headboard came off the wall and slammed back into it with the motion. After the first thrust, he started to laugh a little. He dipped down low and kissed me again as his rocking started to pick up speed. It wasn't long before he lifted me up and tossed me onto my stomach, pressing his hand down on my back so that I would arch up for him. "Look at this sweet pussy just making a big fucking mess for me. Oh, God. All that gorgeous pussy juice, just for me." He angled into me harshly and soon laid his torso over my back so he could hang onto my hair and whisper in my ear. "Last time I checked, you liked getting filled up with cum. Don't tell me that's changed at all, has it?" "No!" "Good, because guess what? I'm going to fill that cunt up so full of my cum you're gonna feel it leaking out of you for days. Yeah. That's right, mommy. You excited?" "Do it, baby. Come inside of me." He squeezed me in his arms tight and never moved from his position over top of me. "Tell me. Come on. Help me come. Tell me how much you want all my dirty boy cum." I twisted my head around so I could kiss him and bite his bottom lip. "Go on, baby. Blow that fucking load inside for me. Right inside mommy's pussy. You can do it." Once again, Axel wasn't satisfied with the position and lifted me up, swapping our places so that I was on top of him. He nodded happily as I tossed my hair over my shoulder and pushed myself up with my palms on his chest. "I want to watch you fuck my cock. Come on, do it for me." From the position, I could see all of the ways his expression changed from helpless, to controlling, to frantic. He reached up and clamped onto my breasts, giving one a little smack as I rode him. The slick sounds of his cock jamming into me mixed with the vibrations of him moaning filled the room and became the soundtrack to my life. Looking down at Axel beneath me, lips glistening with moisture and eyes rolling in pleasure, it felt like something I had dreamed about in recent times; an image I conjured for myself to fill the void that he left when he didn't come back. "Spit in my mouth," Axel hissed. "Hit me. Hit me in the face, baby. Come on... Do it. Slap me." I sucked up all the saliva I could muster from the corners of my mouth and let it fall from my pursed lips, onto his eager tongue. He gripped one of my wrists and rose it to his face and forced me to slap him until I started doing it by myself. "Yes, hit me! Fucking slap me hard. I'm so bad, you know I deserve it!" His aggression transferred onto me and I arced my elbow up and slapped him across the face as hard as I could and when the blow landed I felt a distinct twinge in his whole body. His eyes all but disappeared for a moment before rolling back down to stare up at me again. "Oh, FUCK! I missed you. I missed you, mommy. I missed when you used to ride my cock and let me come inside of you." "I'm here, baby." "Help me come. Please. Fuck me." I didn't need the encouragements but the way filth poured from his mouth was heady and caused me all sorts of emotions that I didn't know I was capable of. I was elated to see him and to know that he wasn't a dead body in a foreign land. We had only spent a weekend together and that was it. It wasn't like we were long-lost lovers yet I couldn't help but feel like I had lost him anyway. Seeing his gorgeous, beat up face again brought back a memory of when I had no real worries. Since my life had gone to shit, our reunion felt like a blessing I didn't know I needed until he was tilting up from the bed, taking my body with him as I coaxed him to come. The first time, he came with a kind of drama that was mostly reserved for the end of an X-rated film. There was no way that if anyone else was occupying the top floor of the clubhouse that they didn't hear Axel coming violently. He acted as if he had never come in his life and all of his built-up fluids came crashing through a floodgate. It was a string of non-stop cries for his mommy and moans that sounded like the sweetest melody ever written. His heavy panting came next and I rose and fell on his body as he convulsed and tried to catch his breath. The time it took for him to cool down was scarce and it wasn't long until he was staring back up at me with evil thoughts dancing around in his head. He pulled me down onto him and flipped me onto the bed, pulling his still-leaking cock out of me so he could admire his seed dribbling out of my pussy. "Mm. Mm-hmm. That's where my cum belongs. Right up in that nice little warm cunt. I hope you're on the pill because I just dumped a truckload of babies inside of you, sweetheart." I smirked at him, "don't you think it's a little late to be bringing that up?" Axel shrugged his bare shoulders carelessly and said, "Oops?" We laid in the bed a little while longer just breathing and letting our hearts settle. He began to stroke my skin with kindness and love in his eyes and it was strange to feel that kind of emotion directed at me and have it not bother me. "I really did miss you, you know that? I wanted to see you. I did." "I missed you too. I thought I would never see you again," I admitted. He sighed, "what would you have done?" "What do you mean?" "I mean," he reiterated. "What would you have done if I had never come back?" Blind-sided by his question, I withdrew from his touch, "I don't... I don't know. I don't want to think about that." Axel smiled, satisfied with my answer and pulled me closer to him so he could stroke his fingers through my hair. "Fuck, I missed you, Angel. And I miss everyone else. I miss the guys. I miss... Civilization." "Where did you go?" I pressed him. "It's really hard to explain," he dismissed. "No, no. No, no, no! Don't do this again," I warned. "Don't do that!" "Do what?" "Don't withhold the truth from me when I ask you about things. If you're going to be like that then I don't want this." "This? What do you mean?" I withdrew from him further, a glare heavy on my brow. "Us. I don't want to be involved if you're just going to play the whole mystery-card game. I'm done with that." "Angel... Just... be quiet. I will tell you about everything, I promise. But not right now. Come on... I'm starving. Let's get on our bikes and go get something to eat. We have time. Nothing but time." I inched back into his arms but not without a hint of skepticism. He was right, after all. We did have nothing but time or at least, I did. I had dedicated my life to the long, hard road and expelled all responsibility I had or upheaved it onto others so I could do what I set out to do. It was in my blood to act selfishly.

#axel cluney fanfiction #zeitgeist fanfiction #bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgård smut #fanfiction

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belizedeservesbetter · 5 years

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Rock of Ages is Hadestown

I don’t really know if this is a review or my upcoming college thesis

I’ve always loved Rock of Ages. It’s so fun. It’s so dumb. But it’s also so smart. Rock of Ages knows exactly who Rock of Ages is and should be. Rock of Ages is exactly what Rock of Ages wants to be. It’s a blast and the songs are of course good and it’s funny and full of heart and there’s actually some really wonderful theatrical moments and I’m thrilled that it’s back at New World Stages for the summer. But as I sat there watching the show on Thursday, I realized something.

Rock of Ages is Hadestown.

The plot is literally the same. Young musician working in a restaurant falls in love with a girl who wants more out of life but young musician can’t give her what she wants and eventually sells her soul to the devil. All the while, a fun narrator steps in and out of the plot and a second story of young love and falling out of love occur between the older character. Three women who sing together are also involved. That is a vast oversimplification of both stories but you get my idea.

Orpheus, then, is Drew. The wannabe musician with a big heart, good intentions but not the smartest or most logical person. Drew, who throughout the show writes a song that will Change Rock and Roll (and in Orpheus’ case, the world). This song that makes their female love interest fall in love with them. In this current production of Rock of Ages, he’s played by CJ Eldred, who looks STRIKINGLY like Reeve Carney, but can actually act.

tell me that is not Reeve. tell me they are not long lost siblings or at least dopplegangers

Which brings us to Sherrie, aka Eurydice, who has blown in from nowhere and bumps into Drew/Orpheus and there is an instant connection that is only bolstered by a lovely duet by the Greeks and a shared slushee by the rockers. Sherrie, like Eurydice, is a “hungry young girl” who wants more out of life. Where Eurydice wants... something, I guess, Sherrie wants to be an actress. Kirsten Scott sings the hell out of all her songs and is a sheer delight to watch on stage. Sherrie and Drew have a good thing going until Drew mentions just how good of friends they are.

Am I equating Orpheus’ inability to do anything but write his “La La La” song with a nervous Drew accidentally telling Sherrie they’re just friends? Yes. Yes and the scene it happens in the show is hilarious. There’s this wooden car set that Drew brings on and off that is SO cheesy and SO hilarious and they all know it too. There’s even a part where Drew mimes opening and closing the car door even though there is no door that was Comedy Gold.

Which brings us to Hades, aka Stacee Jaxx. Where Eurydice sells her soul to Hades and goes way down to Hadestown, Sherrie sleeps with Stacee, who then gets her fired and puts a rift between her and Drew. Stacee Jaxx is as gross and sleazy as they come, and PJ Griffith (whose bio on the website is fun) works every second of it. His story ends with Sherrie breaking his nose before he has to flee the country. Where Hades is revealed to Have a Heart, Stacee is kicked to the curb, which I liked. I liked that the Big RockStar ends the show with nothing and no one.

The Hermes of Rock of Ages is Lonny, who is both the narrator of the show and a character who influences the plot. “Just Like Paradise/Nothin’ But a Good Time” is literally Road to Hell and all the characters and themes are introduced right from the start. Lonny steps in to narrate quite a bit, going so far as to interrupt Drew’s train of thought towards the end of the show which leads to this funny “You’re in a musical called Rock of Ages and it used to be on Broadway and now it’s not and they made a movie out of it” moment which was absolutely on the nose but they KNEW it was on the nose and worked with it. Mitchell Jarvis, who created the role of Lonny, is back in this current Off-Broadway production and he is spectacular. You can tell he loves everything about this role and this show and he is having a fantastic time and you the audience are having a fantastic time with him.

This is where it becomes a bit more of a stretch but bear with me on this so there are three waitresses who also work at The Bourbon Room and while they ominously sing like The Fates, they do pop in to provide Sherrie with some comfort every now and then. They’re also super cool and do some really incredible dancing. The standout waitress, also known as Waitress #1, is Katie Webber and holy shit she’s incredible. She was also in the original cast of the show and you can tell how much she loves it.

This is even more of a stretch but the characters Dennis and Justice combined make Persephone. Dennis, the owner of The Bourbon Room, talks about Stacee Jaxx with a lot of love and nostalgia, which makes me think he had feelings for him at some point. Considering Dennis ends up with Lonny at the end, I think I could be right in this. This is probably adding layers to Rock of Ages that isn’t there but I think Dennis really loved Stacee and was hurt to see him leave him in the dust like that. Matt Ban plays Dennis currently and gives Dennis a strong “Tired Dad” vibe, which worked well for the character. He also had great chemistry with Mitchell Jarvis.

Justice also gives me big Persephone vibes, especially her moment with Sherrie where she talks about how she was in love once and how she’s not as happy as she used to be. I’ll definitely take “Pour Some Sugar On Me” (and Dennis’ “Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore”) as this show’s “Our Lady of the Underground” and maybe some of her verses in “Chant.” Jeannette Bayardelle was wonderful as Justice. She also had this glitter lipstick that looked like the glitter lips from Priscilla - Queen of the Desert which I love love loved.

A lot of the themes are the same - with the ones on climate change, the workforce and capitalism being summed up in the Regina (pronounced like vagina)/Hertz plotline about tearing down the Sunset Strip. Of course the Orpheus/Eurydice themes match up surprisingly well with the Drew/Sherrie ones too. Actually, I think it’s interesting how Rock of Ages goes further in exploring what happens when Drew does get what he wants, like what happens when his songs do get noticed and how it turns out to be not what he wants after all.

And in this current production, there’s even a Tall Ensemble Man, played by Michael Mahany, who, again, is clearly having a great time. He’s also the sole male ensemble member (not including Mekhai Lee because he plays The Mayor and Drew’s Agent mostly) which makes the big ensemble dance breaks really funny.

The set is also literally the same as Hadestown, but more rock and roll. There’s literally the stares Hades uses to go up and down from his little patio, but this time they go into Dennis office. To be quite honest, I fully expect the inevitable Hadestown revival in the far off future to be staged in a rock and roll bar/club like The Bourbon Room. It fits the story perfectly.

The big difference is that Rock of Ages ends happily. Drew and Sherrie actually get to live happily ever after, which Orpheus and Eurydice don’t get to do.

There is so much I love about Rock of Ages. It’s an absolute blast. I love seeing it because it’s sheer escapism. There’s nothing I have to think too hard on and it’s not a show that tries to be that either. I love how you can tell what songs they only got partial rights to, like the split second moment where Stacee sings Styx’s “Renegade.” I love how much fun everyone is having, especially Tall Ensemble Man. I love that the ending is absolutely ridiculous and Dennis is briefly mentioned to have died, but he comes back as an Angel that gets rid of Stacee Jaxx. I love that Lonny tells Drew to fuck the book writers of the musical. And I love that Rock of Ages has its flaws and problematic jokes, cause it keeps me humble. It reminds me that I’m seeing Rock of Ages and not a Serious Show. I love how much fun and how drunk the audience is for this show. I love that this is the closest thing to Straight Culture I’m ever gonna see, which is fascinating to say the least. I love the merchandise the show has! You can get Wolfgang Von Colt (Drew’s stage name) t-shirts that look like Drew made them himself. I love that you can buy Arsenal (Stacee Jaxx’s band) sweatshirts that look like Stacee designed them himself. I love that the band is onstage the entire time and I love that they are Arsenal and are constantly flipping off Stacee.

Also! We don’t give enough credit to director Kristin Hanggi! Why do we always forget about her when we talk about female directors? She's been with this show right from the start! She’s infused this show with so much satire. It’s really a lot more progressive than you’d think.

And this show is so fun. It’s so so fun. I understand why there’s die hard Rock of Ages fans who’ve seen this show hundreds of times.

Go check out Rock of Ages at New World Stages till the end of summer! New World Stages has actually become a great spot for post-Broadway shows, like Jersey Boys and Play That Goes Wrong. There’s also Puffs, which I liked even though I’m a little traumatized from it. And there’s also Gazillion Bubble Show, if you’re into that.

#rock of ages #review #broadway #off-broadway #i will die on this hill i love this show #voice

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def-march · 5 years

Text

ANCIENTS

Characters: Joshua and 777 Length: 11 google docs pages (approximately 4200 words) Desc: a small fic I made for @the-composer <3 Love ya, H!!

Summary: Just as the iconic era of the 80s was ending, 777 had died alongside his two best friends, Tenho and BJ. Struggling to make ends meet in their new life as a trio of Support Reapers, they’re visited one evening by a mysterious stranger with orders to retrieve the singer, and bring him face to face with non other then the Composer himself for a little “talk.”

“Seven, do you remember when we first met?”

The punk glanced at Joshua, trying to formulate thoughts in how he was going to answer as he cracked open one of the beers he brought along. 777’s eyebrows furrowed as he took a sip of his bitter drink.

“Ya finally invite me t’yer special place on 104 just to talk?” He grunted, “lame.”

“But, do you?”

777 sighed with a smile as he put his drink down on the ledge beside him. The city suddenly seemed to have quieted down from in top of the tall building, even though he knew it wasn't the case. Time felt slowed and muddled until he opened his eyes once more.

“Really, Joshie, ya think I can forget that easily? Give me some credit here, dude.”

------

When the doorbell rang in the middle of the day, everyone in the trio was tense that it could have been another eviction. (There's really not much room in a city like Shibuya, and besides, three youthful Support Reapers weren't immune to the rules of the living. They were a handful of trouble for everyone they knew.)

It was Tenho who answered the door after the 3rd ring, revealing the tall man in the snakeskin suit and flowing black hair. However, the most unnerving were the eyes, completely shielded away with glasses that were tinted so dark, a starless sky would look bright.

“W-who are you?” Tenho felt his voice shake, even though a part of him knew that this person was not alive by any means of the word.

Without any other words, the stranger moved past Tenho and BJ, despite cries of protest of not inviting the stranger in for starters. The way which he walked was silent, and filled with Grace as he made his way to the younger 777 sitting in the couch, arms crossed with a fierce scowl.

“Your presence is requested.”

“I ain't goin’ anywhere.” The young adult replied, narrowing his eyes as he glared daggers and tightened the grip he had on his red sweater. “I refuse.”

“That isn't very advisable.”

“I don't care!” The scowl grew into a snarl, hackles rising like a dog. “I don't know you, so why should I trust ya? Ya just can't walk right into my damn house, for fucks sake!”

“I was requested to retrieve the Support Reaper who has been causing problems. You seem to not know the meaning of 'respect,” Sven Saintclaire.”

“What did you call me?” 777 bared his teeth as he snapped right up onto his feet, hands clenched. He could feel the heartbeat in his ears. He could see his two friends from the corners of his eyes, faces concerned about the situation, unknowing what to do of the stranger, and of the fury that 777 harvested.

“YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO RIGHT T’CALL ME THAT!” The young singer shrieked, throwing a punch at the man. Without hesitation, the man caught the blow and twisted the hand harshly to the side, earning a cry of pain from 777 as he dropped to his knees, glaring up at the other.

It really hasn't been that long since he became a Reaper. After his Game, he knew that he desperately had to work on his temper and.nit jump straight to violence, but really this dude just waltzed into his house like he owned the damn place! How was he supposed to react?!

“I did warn you, it was inadvisable.” The black haired man glowered at the boy, who shrunk down out of fear. “For someone who interests the Composer, you are a brat.”

---

777 followed the intruder, not really paying attention to the direction they were heading, as he was fixated on the person himself, observing the calm and collected movements he made with every stride.

Rain was beginning to fall in the form of a light mist. The way the water interacted with the Underground was peculiar. He could feel the cold wetness as the droplets fell, but they never landed on him. It passed right through, leaving 777 dry. Despite being part of the UG for just over half a year now, whenever it rained he was either inside or on the plane of the RG. He shivered.

This new life he accepted was...strange for lack of better words.

777 looked up again, and to his surprise Megumi had turned his head to look at the rock star wannabe, piercing golden eyes peering out of the side of his glasses, causing 777’s heart to halt and jostle around in surprise. “Your staring is impolite; I suggest now that refrain from it when you meet Him.”

“Where else am I supposed to look? I've been livin’ in this dump of a city before I died long enough, I know where shit is.” 777 spat with a grunt, digging his hands further into the sweaters pockets.

Megumi was silent, and then he turned his head away and continued walking without acknowledgement of the young Reapers words.

777 frowned and resumed his pace, trailing after the other. “Ya know, ya never told me yer name.”

“Apologies, it must have slipped my mind. My name is Megumi Kitaniji… and yourself?”

“Cut that politeness shit, Meggy, you already know my name…”

Megumi couldn't hide the displeasure in his face at his new nickname, his nose wrinkling up with disdain, but ultimately decided to ignore it, getting this Support Reaper to Him was already proving difficult enough. “Yes, it is Sve-”

“Like, the hell it is! I refuse to be called by that anymore! That's the old me!”

“It is what is written on your papers, it is what I will refer you as. Out of curiosity, what is your calling name then, hm?”

777 was quiet, eyes casting down on the sidewalk. Megumi stopped, causing the singer to walk right into him.

“HEY?! What gives!?”

“As I expected, you haven't thought ahead on the matter of your new name. Unfortunate.”

“No, you're fuckin’ wrong! I do have a name, asshat!”

“Then do tell.”

“Triple Seven! My name is Triple fuckin’ Seven!”

Megumi blinked in surprise, despite his facial expression remaining neutral. “Pardon?”

“You heard me! Triple Seven, like, three sevens?” 777 took his hands out of the pockets, tightening the fists until he could feel his nails digging into his skin as he looked up at Megumi, violet eyes unwavering. “MY NAME IS TRIPLE SEVEN!”

Megumi was quiet, bringing a hand to his chin in thought. This young man had such a strong vibe coming off of him, even though he has been here for a relatively short time. His personality was headstrong, as he was warned about, but it seemed to be worse than what he was even informed of. His whole character was...odd, to say the least.

“It sounds to me like you're trying to convince yourself, rather than me.”

777’s face melted into shock. Megumi was right; he was still coming to terms with his new identity after death, but before he could retort, Megumi spoke, “We have arrived.”

777 looked around, sewers, how nice. These people certainly did have shitty taste. Maybe they had tea parties with the rats. “Whatever,” he grumbled, following Megumi through the concrete passages, the smell of sewage reeked from every possible crevice.It was just one room after another, wasn't it?

He admittedly wasn't paying attention, so when they came into a bright room, that looked furnished and well, nice (even if it wasn't exactly his style,) he was a bit shocked.

“Aye, ya got booze. Nice.” 777 grinned, eyeing the bar and the many bottles on display behind it.

“Touch it, and I won't dare to hesitate on lopping your hand off.” Megumi hissed, golden eyes glaring from the sides of his shades. “I am aware you are an alcoholic. You may have a drink after, if you'd like, but you will pay for it. Come with me.”

The singer rolled his eyes, and followed, coming into a room that was suddenly spacious. A throne in the center with a glowing figure. 777 had to squint, but he did not falter beyond that.

“Interesting,” the figure spoke, his voice sounding like smooth chimes laced in silk. “You have no fear.”

“Should I? You're just like a mega sized neon light, really,” the singers voice was laced with sarcasm, clearly unimpressed. “Does only shades over there get a pair of glasses, or are ya try’na ruin my corneas?”

The Composer chuckled a bit. How entertaining this Reaper was. Not only that, but he was resilient and resisted against falling down against his powerful vibe washing over him. It was almost impressive.

“My apologies, I should have taken into account how my beauty is blinding.”

The rocker sneered as the light died down. 777 stopped squinting, eyebrows arching in surprise to see someone who's age was indefinite, but was clearly youthful, perhaps an older teenager or a young adult much like the Reaper himself, standing with a proper posture, right in front of him.

“Is this better?”

“I guess,” 777 snorted. “Ya look like a princess.”

“Do not talk to the Composer in such a manner,” Megumi spoke up, posture rigid, as if he was the one who was offended and not the pretty boy standing in front of them both.

“Megumi, relaaax, I take it as a compliment you see. I should not be seen as anything but royalty.”

“Yer porcelain skin would make a mighty fine throw rug.”

“Sir-- please,” Megumi started. “He's being rude-”

“Megumi, despite how long you have been part of the Underground, you still are extremely uncertain of your newfound status as Conductor. I suggest kindly, that you only speak when you're being referred to. Just watch, please.” Joshua sighed, rolling his eyes and placed a hand on 777’s shoulder. “Between you and me, he can be sooo protective, it's silly really. He's not new to the UG but he's new to the position of Conductor; really needs to loosen up a bit...”

“Don't touch me.” 777 snarled, causing the Composer to take his hand off the Reapers shoulders in slight surprise.

“Got it.” He didn't really feel like getting his fingers bitten off, especially in a setting like this. He needed this Reaper to trust him, even if it was only a little bit. Provoking would only make the matter at hand worse. “No touchy touchy~”

“What d’ya want?”

“My, extremely straight to the point, aren't you?” Slightly annoying, but it gave him the impression he wouldn't have to butter up anything he said. The Reaper clearly had already come to terms that he was dead and not returning to the living. The only issue at hand may be the personal Vendetta against the one who ruled the UG.

“At least tell me who ya are, “Mr. Composer”.” The sarcasm in the singers voice definitely wasn't going anywhere, nor was the heavy air quotes he made as he spoke.

“A bit of an irritating brat, aren't you?”

“Of course; gotta keep up my rep.” 777 cracked a smile, crossing his arms. “I aim to please.”

“My name is Yoshiya Kiryu, but you may call my Joshua like the majority of those around me.” The Composer tilted his head, Ash blonde bangs falling over his face as he analyzed the Reaper. How peculiar of a personality; he really didn't care what he said to someone of authority, did he? Joshua returned a soft smile, finding that things from here on out would be entertaining, at the very least.

“I'm sure you're wondering why you're here-”

“Yeah? Kinda? I thought that part was obvious.”

Joshua rubbed his forehead, an irritated sigh leaving his mouth. Nevermind, would this be entertaining or borderline aggravating? “Will you please stop interrupting me and allow me to get straight to the point, you're only wasting your time here and prolonging the visit so be patient and kindly shut up.”

When no other smart alec comments were made, Joshua mumbled a relieved 'thank you’ to the Higher Plane. God.

“What I wanted to talk to you about was your points,” he began, clasping his hands in front of his face, his smile crumpling into that of a concerned frown. “You seem to be an exceptional Reaper of sorts, despite you not having the strongest Underground abilities, you have miraculous control of your vibe…” Joshua trailed off, listening to the music that this Reaper emitted. It was heavier than most would be, louder too, but it was steady and stable. The beat was consistent, a heart of a drum beat and a guitar solo of his heart on top of the static that was common among souls of the UG.

‘If he keeps developing at the rate he is currently,’ Joshua hummed as he thought to himself, ‘then it could very well be possible that it would only get louder and more refined; perhaps the static will vanish completely and the song will be in it's best form…’

“Is it true that you mastered the ability to shift planes within the first couple of weeks of becoming a Reaper?” Joshua couldn't help but blurt out the question. Normally Reapers took at least the first month to be able to figure out how to go back and forth between the RG and UG, and even then for those prodigies, it would still be a strain on their bodies, but here was a Reaper phasing in and out like liquid through a strainer. It was essentially effortless.

“Sorry, it's just-- you do so poor regarding most abilities in the underground. You have trouble summoning Noise, pins are almost completely useless for you, and your psyches as a Reaper are limited to brute force, but yet you somehow have extraordinary abilities in regards to your vibe and you are above the average Reaper when it comes to imprinting.”

“And?”

“And?” Joshua's sleek brows furrowed, momentarily stunned by the question. Didn't he know how atypical that was?! No, of course not, this Reaper had a brain full of songs and spare parts.

“It's absolutely fascinating!” Joshua couldn't just put it into words how intrigued he was with the other, it made him feel giddy with excitement. 777 couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in mild confusion; he wasn't around long enough to actually understand anything about him that Joshua thought was so amazing, but yet here he was, the Composer Himself acting like a preschool kid learning about dinosaurs. Joshua, catching wind if his actions, cleared his throat and straightened out his posture back to the professional facade it was before.

“I do believe you could potentially see yourself rank up if you get better in the other areas of performance, but enough of that,” Joshua paused, tapping his pursed lips with his delicate porcelain fingers in thought.

“The real reason I called you down, aside from my own fascination, was how you are with Players. You seem to be able to erase them without much of a second thought, but with others you will hold yourself back or even help them. It's not against the rules by any means, but I don't recall many Reapers, or even some at all, taking as much mercy onto the Players as yourself. Does this correlate with your abilities, by chance? Why do you do it?”

It wasn't really that hard for 777 to answer. “It's because I relate to them. I went through the Game, and I hope I became a better person because of it. They show potential, they deserve a chance to better themselves and it's going to only get harder with every passing day in the UG. They deserve that one ounce of hope.” 777 looked away, towards the ground. It felt weird hearing the words come from his mouth. It wasn't the entire truth by any means, but he hoped it would satisfy. For now, at least.

He just doesn't want anyone to go through what he did during his game. He wants to be that ounce of hope to help a Player through the day. 777 just wanted to mean something good for once.

“I think it's partially 'cuz I feel more human after the game, ‘specially compared to most Reaps that I've seen.”

Joshua's eyes widened slightly. Most Reapers would say they felt less humane, more monstrous, no longer inhibited by the rules of the living. In the Underground people could be who they truly were underneath their flesh and skin. It made sense though, here in front of him stood a Reaper who felt more human, one who not only frequented the RG, but interacted with it, taking pity on it and the people who walked that plane.

“We we're all human once, but when I was alive I stripped myself of my own humanity earlier than most would. The Game showed me how I was before was just. Wrong. That's not the way a human should act, no one should be like how I was.”

“We were all...human...once…” Joshua repeated the words slowly along his tongue. They felt foreign on his lips, like trying a new dish from another culture and being unsure of the taste. Was it like or dislike? Too spicy or too sweet?

“You seem to have a good grasp on yourself as a person.”

777 couldn't help but burst out laughing. “If I did, I don't think I'd even be dead!”

“True.” Joshua hummed. “May I ask what was your entry fee to the game?”

“My voice. Not just my physical voice, but my metaphorical one, too. I couldn't ever bring m’self t’ try and bring out what I really thought and wanted to say.”

“How unfortunate. And the fee you have after becoming a Reaper?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you feel discontent because of it? Not knowing the fee you lost to become who you are now?”

“I think bein’ a Reap was the bes’ thing to ever happen in my life.” A pause. “Unlife.”

“After life,” corrected Joshua.

“Whatever.”

“And why might that be?” Joshua asked. He could already guess the answer, he just wanted to hear it for himself. A confirmation of sorts, just to know how he should approach the Reaper in the future, if this Reaper would allow him to, anyways.

“I get a new identity. I get to be better than what I was before I died.” 777 looked to the side. “I can achieve my dreams like this, without havin’ 'em be wasted away t’ nothin’.”

“What dreams are those?”

“I wanna be a rockstar. I wanna influence people, show 'sm they're not alone in the world, that there's people jus’ as angry as 'em, just as upset as 'em, and together we can make a difference.” 777 narrowed his eyes, looking back at Joshua. “I don't fuckin’ know why I'm tellin’ ya all of this, I don't even know ya.”

“You know my name.”

“And nothing else.” 777 snorted, crossing his arms. “My turn to ask questions, then.”

Joshua blinked in surprise. He really didn't think the tables would turn so sharply onto himself, but he should have at least guessed as much, considering how the Support Reaper was acting.

“Do you have any dreams?”

“I've been dead for a long time, and I am the godly influence of a city, I don't think I have time for dreams--”

“Thats bullshit!” Joshua stumbled back in surprise at the sudden hostility and passion that was in the others voice. “Everyone's gotta have dreams, if you're older ya jus’ had more time t’plan yer attack an’ tackle em!”

“I do suppose, you may be right.”

“I know I'm right,” snorted 777, a smirk on his face. “Ya may be dead but that don't mean ya can't feel alive.”

“That's rich in itself, coming from someone who has stated they feel more human.”

“Bold of ya t'assume that feelin’ human meant like ya felt alive.”

Joshua frowned at those words. They had only just met, and this guy got it; he understood. Humans don't have to feel alive, they do not even have to feel. They just had to be, and continue being. Not one person in the world wished themselves alive, but many wished themselves dead.

777 could say that he didn't have a grasp on who he was as a person all he wanted, but he had a grasp on emotions and how they functioned, whether he realized it or not. You didn't need a reason to feel the way you do, you just had to exist. Did it often make sense? Of course not, but the world wasn't black and white and things were changing and evolving so much that it made the Composers head spin in circles the more he thought about it.

But really; what was going on in that mind of the singer? A sense of feelings but not a sense of self; the emotion of anger but where was the guilt?

Joshua pushed a strand of his Ash blonde hair behind his ear, watching the singer in an unnerving silence. Neither of them spoke, but each of their minds was frantically thinking. When should I go? Do I let him stay?

The Composer breathed in, an idea trickling through his head. Why would he doesn't and wonder about what the other was thinking when he could see for himself? He had control over the UG, after all, he could just scan the Reaper and send him on his way, back to whatever shit hole he crawled out from.

Joshua closed his eyes and concentrated, feathers falling from his wings as he explored the mind's eye. There was nothing there.

Almost nothing.

He could see a door, locked and chained shut with an animal in front, growling through bared teeth and intense violet eyes that shone through a fury that was masked with rage, but hidden underneath was the familiar defensiveness of fear.

Triple Seven here, Joshua thought, with the lull of a sadness that he and the singer shared, but we're no strangers of. Is afraid of opening up...

Suddenly, the vision shattered like glass as he was knocked out of his meditative state. Stunned and falling to his knees, he could barely register what had happened. He reached a hand up to his face, feeling the warm, sticky blood gushing out his nose and between his finger tips.

“--SIR!”

Joshua waved his hand, signaling that he was fine, that Megumi should stand down and out of the way. He looked back up at 777, mouth agape in shock.

“You felt that?”

“I dunno, but did ya feel that, bitch?” 777 shouted, both hands clenched as his sides, as if he was prepared to through another punch. Blood dripped down from his right fit into the floor.

“Don't fuckin’ try to scan me if yer preachin’ 'bout trust an’ shit if ya don't act on it! Ya want me to trust ya, and respect ya and whatever else bullshit ya want, yer gonna have to earn it like a normal fuckin’ person!”

Joshua's face of shock melted into a small giggle, before molding into a full blown laughing fit. He didn't care about the searing pain he had of a broken nose, he didn't care about Megumi frantically wanting to help him. This was definitely more entertaining that he had anticipated, he really just couldn't help but laugh in response.

The pain, the anger, this Reaper really was so human compared to the hardened Composer, he couldn't help but laugh at how alive he felt, tears forming in his eyes as he snorted. Joshua wiped the blood out from under his nose, starting at his bloodied hand, still laughing to himself.

“I can't believe you hit me.”

“I got more where that came from is ya decide to pull that shit again.”

Joshua looked up, back to his hand and the concrete floor, covered with blood drips, and back to 777. The smile never left his face as he got up, offering the singer his gentle hand as a truce. “I'll keep you under my watchful gaze.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 777 snorted, looking at the hand and rolling his eyes. Yeah right, he wasn't going to take it from such a prissy boy, Composer or not. Spinning around in his heels, he turned to walk in the other direction-- away.

“Wait! The Composer hasn't dismissed you yet!” Megumi called out, taking a few steps forwards, only to be stopped as Joshua held his arm out, blocking the Conductors charge.

“Let him be.” Joshua said, glancing at Megumi and back to the Support Reaper, waving his hand in farewell at him.

“Goodbye, Triple Seven! Until we meet again!~”

“Ya didn't call me Sven.” 777 looked over his shoulder in surprise, stopping his walk to turn around and stare. Even though Joshua was socked in the face, there was still warmth to his icy cold facade, deep in his mulberry eyes.

“Of course not.” Joshua smiled softly. “This is who you are now.”

---

“I remember the outcome going a bit differently, don't you think? I distinctly recall you grovelling at my feet, kissing the very ground I walk on.”

“Duh, you probably had a goddamn concussion thanks to my fist.” 777 rolled his eyes, finishing off the can of beer in his hand and tossing it down the roof of 104, eyes following up as it fell until it could be seen no more. “We've known each other for a long time now, huh? Man, we're so fuckin’ old…”

“Absolutely ancient.”

#my motherfucking writing #the SHOW must go ON:|| HEADCANONS #Personal Jesus:|| aggravating young god #i am not gonna italisize things lmao i dont have the patience for that after just copy n pasting from my google docs #twewy #the world ends with you #i hope yall dont mind some fandom tags bc i worked really hard on this #i love writing and I love H's josh

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