#SODA STEREO I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU

[pyrocephalus-rubinus]

Hello! Yes, I know I barely post but I love these little games with @two-hands-toward-the-sun . Thanks for tagging me! So here are some of the albums i’ve had on repeat lately.

Funfact about me: I used to get a laugh out of my parents by randomly identifying Santana's guitar cameos in other songs. That's totally their fault by the way, Supernatural was the soundtrack to my first 5 years of life lmao. That album and Caraluna by Bacilos which if you haven't heard it, that's another banger.

Oh, and I suppose I should mention the Sentimientos album. I recently made a trip to Puno, in Peru, a place in which saya and afrobolivian music is very popular because... well, they are neighbors XD. Afrobolivian music, morenadas, diabladas and caporales are soooo good and make me wanna dance all the time! Give them a shot if you want to experience some different sounds!

[rafeacs]

Best Friend Rafe x Reader Late Nights

Warnings: None (yet), fluff, soft rafe, yearning

To Rafe: r u up?

Not even a minute has passed, and your phone rings with a FaceTime from Rafe. “What’d you need?” He asked, his voice laced heavily with sleep, making you somewhat guilty for disrupting his slumber. ‘I’m hungry,” You say sheepishly, watching as his eyes were barely open and a yawn left his lips. You were expecting him to say, ‘Does your house not have food?’ And brush off your late-night cravings, but he never does. “I’ll be there in five,” was all he said, and you thanked him over the phone, giddy that you’d get to sedate your grumbling stomach. 

You didn’t even bother to get dressed, only wearing your skimpy pajama shorts and tank top as you waited by the porch for Rafe. The crips night air nipping at you and riddling your skin with gooseflesh. When you see the headlights of his truck, you are quick to stand and greet him as he drives his way through the rotund driveway of your estate. You walked towards his truck, not expecting him to get off, but he did just open your door. “Thanks, Rafe!” You chirped, still full of energy, a deep contrast from his tiredness. “It’s two am, why are you still awake?” Rafe yawned once more as you wore your seatbelt. 

“I accidentally drank this energy drink, which I thought was just like regular soda, and somehow it made me fall asleep; weird, right? It’s an energy drink, and it’s supposed to keep me up, but it made me want to take a nap instead. Anyway, I took like a four-hour nap and woke at eight, and I thought I could fall back to sleep again, but I didn’t, and I started to get hungry I then thought I could just sleep away and wait ’til breakfast, but no, so, here we are.” You rumbled on, still full of life, but Rafe simply hummed and nodded as he drove into the street. 

“Where’d you wanna eat? I’m not sure if anything is open right now; our regular diner’s closed for renovations.” Rafe asked, turning to you, who he had only now noticed was not at all wearing anything beneath your tank top. Your nipples shamelessly straining through your shirt, and Rafe quickly refocused his gaze on the road, his morning wood he had just gotten rid of quickly returning. Rafe bit his lip and reached back to grab his sweatshirt, and handed it to you, avoiding looking in your direction because it was too much of a temptation. “Oh, thanks! I was cold,” You say, and Rafe could only nod, the evidence of your chilliness straining through your shirt. 

“We might have to drive around for a bit; nothing seems to be open,” Rafe muttered after a moment as you played around with the stereo system, your phone already connected to the Bluetooth because it was always you who had the command on what songs were played in his truck. Rafe’s sleepy state was awoken when you started to sing along loudly to one of those pop songs you loved. You can’t sing for shit, but Rafe could not help but be amused as you belted out the songs, a rather endearing quality about you. You only truly sang out loud when you were alone or when Rafe was around; you found the action of singing too intimate and vulnerable that you could only do it when you were in his presence. Him being the only one blessed to hear your off-key singing. 

“Why are you so quiet? You love this song!” You yelled through the blasting music, poking Rafe’s side and making him laugh, him finally singing along to the song he would never sing along in front of Topper or Kelce because they’d surely tease him. 

You and Rafe drove around aimlessly, your hunger forgotten as you and Rafe sang along to whatever song played next. You and Rafe had passed by countless newly opened restaurants, but you didn’t seem to notice, and Rafe took advantage of your obliviousness to spend more time with you. It was nearing sunrise when he finally circled around and went back to an open diner he saw a few miles back. Your energy never seemed to run out; you still sang along and randomly blabbed about everything you could think of to your best friend. 

Rafe hopped out of his car as you were still talking about some island gossip, your voice growing distant as he circled his vehicle to open the door for you, who still had not taken a breath in between the words that spilled out of your lips. Rafe sighed and shook his head as he draped his arm around your shoulders and guided you toward the diner. 

“What are you ordering?” Rafe asked you as you perused the menu. “I don’t know…” You trailed, Rafe already guessing that was your reply. “I kinda want waffles, bacon, and coffee, but I also want a burger, fries, and shake…” You said, in deep ponder, what to order. “What can I get for you two?” A waitress appeared, and Rafe turned to her, “I’ll get a stack of pancakes with sausage and a side of hashbrowns on the side,” Rafe said and placed down his menu, “And for your girlfriend?” The waitress asked, and before you could speak, Rafe ordered for you. “She’ll have the waffles with bacon, a coffee, and the cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate milkshake.” Rafe quickly said, not letting you pick between the two things you wanted to order. “Okay, it’ll be out in a minute,” the waitress took your menus, and Rafe smirked as she thought you were his girlfriend. Neither of you corrected her because it was often that you two were mistaken as a couple when, in truth, you two were just best friends. 

The two of you were enveloped in silence as you ate, too hungry to focus on anything else than your food. You were halfway into your two meals when Rafe noticed you were too quiet. He raised his gaze and could not help but let out a breath of a laugh as you started drifting off to sleep, your hand still clutching a fork that was filled with food. Rafe bit his lip and took out his phone to take a sneaky picture of you, adding the photo to his growing album of you drifting off to sleep still whilst eating. 

When Rafe finished his meal, he placed the payment on the table and went to your side of the booth to carry your figure, deep in slumber, back to his car. It surprised him that you didn’t wake with all the movements. When he reached your home, he did not even dare to wake you up, simply carrying you again and walking you back to your room before placing you in your bed. Rafe observed your sleeping form, admiring the way your lashes fanned your cheeks, and there was still a hint of maple syrup at the corner of your mouth. The sun was starting to rise, and Rafe’s own tiredness was starting to get to him. He let his hand run along your hair and boldly placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before stepping away, but you took hold of your wrist before he could. “Stay,” you mumbled, and Rafe felt his pulse in his ears at what you had uttered; he didn’t even think twice before agreeing. “Okay,” he whispered and lay on the other side of the bed, his heart doubling as you turned to him and cuddled close to his chest. Rafe wrapped his arms around you and sighed deeply, waiting for the day that you two would do this again, but not just as friends. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Candy Girl 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: as you’re about to take the next step with your boyfriend, doubts begin to arise. (short!plus!reader)

Characters: Thor (boyfriend’s dad/silverfox)

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

After a quick flight, both thankful to Thor and embarrassed that he witnessed his son’s behaviour, you don’t know if you ever want to go back. As much as you love Magni, you’re not sure if it’s worth it. He never seems to want to do anything but play video games or sex. The latter remains a touchy subject for both of you. 

You’ll let Magni cool off, and yourself. 

This isn’t the end. You would know if it was. You send him your usual texts. Good mornings, good nights, and check in when you can. His lack of response isn’t unusual. He’s probably playing around with his bike again. You wonder if he’s figured out how to put it back together yet. 

The days pass in a blur. You have work to keep you busy. With summer in full swing, you have more than enough driving around to do. 

Between deliveries, your mind wanders. You’ll have to talk to him face-to-face, get this sorted out. You're not mad at him. It was a bad morning and a strange night. You can move past it. Right? 

You grab the next order and check the address as you get in your front seat. Huh, it’s in Magni’s neighbourhood. Maybe you can swing by and surprise him. 

You turn the engine and blast your stereo. Rihanna pumps from the speakers, a bit scratchy, but still a bop. You hunch over the wheel as you follow the rush hour traffic, tapping the breaks as you crawl along. Finally, you get to a turn off and dip down some side streets.  

You turn down the A/C as the car begins to shake. You don’t use the air much, your old beater doesn’t much like any extra stress. You turn down the volume and give an anxious look to the venting in the hood. That’s not smoke, you’re just imagining things. 

Before the job, you couldn’t tell left from right but now the whole city is imprinted in the back of your head. You know which orders to make quickly and ones where you can leave the car unlocked while you run up to the door. Magni’s is the latter. 

You roll down the avenue lazily and come up before a big white house, squinting at the number on the front door. You get out and stretch, just a few more hours. You grab the insulated bag and the paper bag with the cans of soda. You bounce up the front steps and balance it all as you ring the bell. 

You wait, glancing around at the lush greenery. It’s kind of lame to dream of living in a place like this. Basic, your friends tease, but you just want to know what it’s like. Maybe it’s just as bad as what you have, just painted up nice. 

You can’t really complain. You have a roof and food and job. Could be a lot worse. 

The door opens and jolts you from your internal turmoil. You blink and step back, once more looking around. You know for sure you didn’t go to the wrong house. Thor’s house isn’t even the same colour. So what is he doing there? 

“Ah, little one, I was hoping it would be you,” he booms. 

“Huh?” You make a dumb face. 

“I thought it’d be a fun surprise,” he grins, “my friend’s,” he points up then reaches into his back pocket, “they suggested pizza and I told them I knew just the place.” 

“Oh, wow, thanks,” you smile and unzip the bag. 

“Hmm,” he hums as he counts out bills, “funny, they got a little thing like you carrying around all that.” 

“Mr. Odinson,” you chirp, “I’m not that small.” 

“Suppose most people are too me,” he grins and holds out the money, “keep the change.” 

You accept the bills with the pizza against your hip and the paper bag on top. You blink dumbly at the folded bills. He can’t be serious. 

“Mr. Odinson.” 

“Thor,” he purrs. 

“Thor, er, I think you miscounted.” 

“I didn’t, I have generous friends,” he shrugs, “we put in together. Now,” he reaches to take the paper bag, “allow me to relieve your burden.” 

You gulp and tuck away the money. You finish unzipping the bag and slide out the pizzas. It’s awkward as the boxes are so big. He gets closer to help and you slide them right into his hand. As you finish unsheathing them, he steps back. 

“How about you have a slice before you go?” He offers, “you have much to go?” 

“Halfway through,” you fold the empty bag against your stomach, “that’s real nice, but they time us.” 

“Oh, too bad,” he nods, “well, I suppose I’ll see you... haven’t lately. Not that I can blame you.” 

“Oh, uh, I’ve been real busy,” you say, not a complete lie. Still, you have been avoiding it. 

“Yes, you work hard. Wish I could say the same of Magni.” 

“Sorry,” you frown. 

“Sorry? For him? He’s not your responsibility. Only myself to blame, I am his father,” he sighs, “anyhow, don’t let me keep you.” 

“Thanks again,” you try to brighten up. “I’m... I’m going to talk to Magni tomorrow. It's my day off.” 

“Ah, yes, well, I hope it isn’t a waste of time,” he resigns and gives a wave. 

He stays at the door as you turn away, his words ominous as they leave an unsettling flutter in your chest. You hop down the steps and open the back door of your car. You toss the empty bag inside and close it, getting in the front.  

You shove the key in the ignition and twist. The engine rumbles but doesn’t flip. You huff and try again, leaning your weight into the effort. As the motor kick, you look up to find Thor still watching you from the porch. 

The engine turns and you sigh in relief. As you go to shift into reverse, there’s a pop, then a bag, and several more noises. The exhaust puffs one last time and the engine dies. No! No! Not now baby. We made it so far. 

You get out as black smoke plumes around the edges of the hood and you hear a shuffle from the porch. Shoot, shoot, shoot. Thor puts the pizza down on the bench and hurries down to you. As if you haven’t embarrassed yourself enough in front of him. 

“You alright?” He asks. 

“Yeah, fine,” you pout, “I’m not worried about me.” 

“Hm, may I?” He gestures to the hood. You shrug. 

He pops it open and moves the stick to prop it up. He waves away the smoke and squints through it. You cross your arms and stand back. You wouldn’t know where to begin. 

“Hmm, lucky it wasn’t a full blown fire. Fuel lines are rotten,” he says and moves out of the path of the smoke. “One finally burst.” 

“Oh,” you mope, “no...” 

“Sorry, little one, it’ll need a professional.” 

“Uh, at least... I guess the tip will help with that,” you sniff, “but... I gotta work. What am I gonna tell Karl?” 

“Karl?” He echoes curiously. 

“My manager,” you utter, “and my parents...” You look at him, “sorry, this isn’t your problem.” 

“I would gladly take it on,” he assures you, “why don’t you call Karl, tell him you’re having some difficulties, you can’t finish your shift.” 

“Urgh,” you frame your forehead in frustration, “but...” 

“I know someone who can look at the car. I’ll give him a call.” 

“Oh gee,” you huff and turn your head up, dropping your hands. “This isn’t happening.” 

“Don’t worry, little one, I will take care of it. Please, it’ll be alright.” 

You look at him again. It isn’t his responsibility and you shouldn’t let him but you don’t have much of a choice. What else are you going to do? Borrow Magni’s broken motorcycle? 

“Right, I’ll... I’ll call my boss.” 

“Please, I don’t like to see you upset,” he says, “call him then have some pizza and I’ll take you to mine. You can make up with Magni, eh? At least that’s something.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Odinson,” you give a bittersweet smile, “really, you don’t have to do all that.” 

“Ah, but why wouldn’t I?” He winks and turns away, “Bucky!” 

He stomps up the steps and pulls open the door, the pizza forgotten on the bench. He calls the same name again and you take out your phone. At least Karl is a nice guy. He’ll let you make it up once you get your car running again. 

[v1lsxe]

AND THOUGH THE COURSE MAY CHANGE SOMETIMES . . . ₊ ⊹

english isn’t my first language. while i am pretty fluent, excuse any grammatical or spelling errors in the future haha. anyways, MUSIC is my favorite thing. in a perfect world, i’d be a rockstar in the 70’s (which is one of the reasons i’m eternally grateful for shifting.) i listen mostly to classic rock, my favorites being zeppelin and the beatles, but i love soda stereo, bowie, am, the stones, etc. . .

my favorite season is spring or summer even though i hate the heat. i love making detailed PINTEREST boards. i love TRAVELLING so much. my goal in life is to follow a career that lets me travel and live all around the world and meet all kinds of people.

i discovered SHIFTING in 2021 (thank you, cousin), and though i've taken several long breaks over time, it's something i'll always come back to. i've minishifted once to my waiting room for like two minutes, but that was a while ago and i barely remember it. i've been part of shiftblr for a while, but i'm just now starting to post! my MAIN REALITIES are tcoptp, marauders, and film director. but i have 586 more, probably.

. . . RIVERS ALWAYS REACH THE SEA ⊹₊ ⋆

this is a shifting blog so naturally i’ll mostly post shifting content. you can expect me to post about MY DRS and give you ideas of what to script!! i might start making SCRIPT TEMPLATES in the future, but i’m not sure yet so don’t quote me on anything. i most likely won’t be posting tips or methods since i haven’t fully shifted yet, and i simply don’t feel experienced enough in general.

----OTHER SOCIALS ; pinterest | tik tok (i never use it)

----PLAYLIST ; realities | hub | motivation | asks

[yourelliewillms]

Heyyy so I just discovered your works recently and I was wondering if you don't mind writing an Ellie with a fem reader who is latina and works as a makeup artist please? I just think the idea doing Ellie's makeup while sitting on her lap being so cute and being on my mind 24/7 currently- no pressure though <3 (Sorry for the awkwardness this is my first time requesting something 😭)

doing ellie's makeup !

sfw, fluff, reader is latina !! (i'm not sure if i did this well bc i'm latina but i didn't want this to fall into stereotypes or smt like that😭😭) alsooo i made a little playlist with songs that i think ellie'd love (argentinian songs, sorry that's all i listen to 💔💔 if you have any recommendations pls tell me !!! and if you don't speak spanish lmk if you liked any of this songs just because i'm curious <3)

ellie's favs !

☆ persiana americana - soda stereo

☆ tus ojos - los cafres

☆ tu geografía - indios

☆ prófugos - soda stereo

☆ 743 - miranda!

☆ ritmo y decepción - miranda!

being a makeup artist means you have to practice all the time. new styles pop up on the internet everyday and you have to catch up on them.

every night, when you're finally home after a long day of work, you'd put all your makeup on the table, sit in front of the mirror, put on some music (specially those songs in spanish that ellie loves) and start letting your imagination flow as you try to create a new and unique makeup style.

hours practicing, you're too concentrated trying to do that graphic eyeliner you've been seeing in all the internet to notice that your girlfriend has already arrived from her work and is on the other side of the door probably getting comfortable after her busy day.

she's in the kitchen having a snack to get her energy back but as soon as ellie hears the music coming from your shared room, she'd drop everything she was doing and open the door to see you just a few inches away from the mirror trying not to mess up your eyeliner.

ellie looks at you for a few seconds and immediately starts "singing" the spanish songs (she's just mumbling but she manages to pronounce some of the words because you've been teaching her spanish since you two met). the way she blows kisses at you from the distance not to ruin your makeup just melts your heart and you blow the kisses back at her.

"can i admire you from here?" ellie definitely loooves sitting on the bed behind you and look at you from the reflection of the mirror. she's with her mouth half open and her eyes follow every move you do, that she even forgets to blink. she's just mesmerized.

you turn around and show her the final result and her face lights up. you close your eyes as she examinates every little detail of your makeup and quickly steals a little peck from your lips resulting into you two giggling and stealing little kisses from each other finally getting the physical contact you craved throughout the day.

"would you..." she mumbles "would you like to practice with me?" her eyes locked with yours and her cheeks turn crimson matching the red lipstick stained on her lips from the kisses she stole from you earlier.

the excitement you feel can't be hidden at all as a wide smile spreads on your face. you quickly sit on the bed beside her but her hands reach your waist and you feel her arms lifting your body just enough to make you sit on her lap.

your eyebrows rise and your face turns all shades of pink. you are used to that kind of behavior of hers although it always makes you feel those butterflies inside your stomach.

before starting, you decide to change the music to one you know she likes. you've made her listen to all the songs in spanish you've heard in your entire life so she has a few favorite ones.

your hands brush her cheeks caressing them before grabbing one brush in your hand and start doing her eyeshadow.

"what color is that?" ellie asked with her eyes closed. she couldn't see the makeup you were using for her eyes. that wasn't the most important thing right now but she wanted to catch up with you.

"gris" you answer in your mother tongue chuckling for yourself as you see her confused facial expression struggling to remember all the words you've taught her in spanish.

"hm..." she hums but she has no idea what it means "brown?"

you giggle "gray."

"yeah, i was going to say that. you didn't let me finish."

after a few minutes, you finish doing her eyeshadow. it was a more dark style since you know that's her favorite, it's not like she asked you to do it that way but you just wanted to do something that she'd like wear.

when she opens her eyes you almost melt at the sight of the green in her eyes being highlighted by the color on her eyelids. gray eyeshadow with sparkles and black eyeliner that added that sexy detail to her look.

she smirks at you when she notices you are totally distracted by her gorgeous eyes. she's right though, your mind is completely blank and the moment her hands squeeze your thighs you go back to reality.

"so pretty" you whisper before planting soft and sweet kisses on her lips.

the moment you have to put her lipstick on, you already know it's going to be the hardest part of the makeup. she's wouldn't stop mumbling the songs, talking to you and laughing when she was supposed to stay still.

as soon as you finish putting her lipstick on, you move your head back to take a look at the final result and all you can see is a bewitching but totally messy makeup on her face that makes her look more kissable than ever.

you can't even let her see the final result because you've already kissed every inch of her cheeks, forehead and nose and now she's covered in the red lipstick from your lips.

HI ANON SORRY FOR MAKING YOU WAIT TOO MUCH 😭😭 i hope you liked it though <33

i didn't know how to end this, i feel like it's weird but that was the best i could do,,,

[tobbesdiscordkitten]

The Language of Fear by Del James - Without You

This short story was inspired by Axl’s breakup with Erin Everly. I will swap out the main character’s name, Mayne Mann, for Axl, and his lover’s name, Elizabeth, for Erin. The song, Without You, will be changed to Estranged. The band’s name, Suicide Shift, will remain the same. If you haven’t already, please read the Introduction first.

Although he wanted to share the dance, [Axl] could not bring himself to interrupt such beauty. Her well-toned body swayed childlike, peacefully, slowly moving to the rhythm. Her innocence was enchanting, her beauty breathtaking. [Axl] knew she’d be angry at him for sneaking about, watching without letting her know, but the teenage voyeur inside his adult body encouraged him and didn’t care about the consequences.

Besides, this was for his eyes only. Her eyes sparkled, reminding him of the ocean, vast with beauty and mystery. A slight breeze danced through her lion’s mane. A full-length see-through dress covered her shapely body and a light glaze of sweat made her glisten. She seemed too beautiful to be real.

During this split second of visual euphoria, [Axl] conceded that she was the only woman he ever truly loved. Her eyes flickered. She must have heard me, he thought as she turned toward him. He didn’t want to ruin the beauty, only to enjoy it. Her thick lips smiled sympathetically.

Then the song started growing in volume. A sharp twinge of panic shot through him when he realized which of his songs it was. Cold sweat seeped out of his pores and dread consumed him. His vision spiraled as reality distorted. Breathing became difficult, complicated. Desperation attacked and twisted every muscle in his thin body. Much worse than the pain was his fear. Unsuppressable anxiety swept through him as he started toward the stereo. Everything lost its natural texture; the walls, the floor, the air became surreal. The louder the music, the more difficult he found it to move. He had to remove the compact disc but his feet felt like large concrete blocks. He couldn’t move fast enough.

She already had the pistol’s barrel against her temple. BLAMM!

[Axl] awoke covered in sweat, a mute shriek still lodged in his throat. The past six hours had been spent in a drug-and-alcohol-induced coma that he put over as sleep. Sleep was a rare commodity and was impossible to achieve without some assistance. It didn’t matter whether he slept six hours or six minutes, the nightmare always managed to creep in . No sleeping pill or antidepressant could spare him. He had written the song and was forever damned by it.

With unsteady hands, he wiped sweat from his brow and rubbed his fingers against the satin sheets. His silver and gold bracelets clinked together. Rolling onto his side, he stared at the digital alarm clock on top of the black night table that had a built-in refrigerator as its base. On top of the clock was a half-empty pack of Marlboros. He stared at the green digital numbers but they made no sense.

It really didn’t matter what time it was anyway, his time was other people’s money. Next to the clock was something more important than cash or time. Slowly he sat up. Tortured eyes scanned the black marble tabletop, searching for any leftover precious brown powder. There were burned matches, bent cigarettes, and empty bindles, but no dope. It didn’t matter. He could always have more delivered.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, [Axl] reached down and opened the night table’s refrigerator door. Inside were several Budweisers, baking soda, and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon. He grabbed a cold can, killing half of it in one sip. He did this every morning. Instantly, his aching head began to feel better. Although he didn’t want to admit it, the time had arrived to rejoin the living. He knew he had to be at the studio soon but didn’t feel up to it. Besides, the recording of his latest album, Alone, had been finished over a month ago. The album was now in the final mixing stages.

If [Axl] liked what he heard, he’d approve it and the record would be released on schedule. If not, it would have to be remixed until he did approve. So then, what the fuck did they need him for? He procrastinated for as long as he possibly could before finally standing up. Much like his bedroom, the bathroom was a disaster area. Discarded clothes, creams, trash, cassettes, and towels dominated the view.

Using radar to locate the bowl, he found the porcelain, fought off the urge to puke, and relieved himself. He reentered the bedroom, not really feeling human, more like a robot dressed in rented flesh. There was a dull pain in his abdomen that he’d grown accustomed to. It, like many other flaws in his health, could be attributed to his excessive lifestyle. Besides his jewelry, [Axl] only wore Jockey briefs. He stumbled over to his dresser, removed a pair of custom-tailored black leather pants, and changed. He found a dark purple silk kimono hanging in a walk in closet and put it on. In a dresser drawer was a gram vial of cocaine.

Scooping with the long fingernail on his right pinkie, the tattered musician snorted eight blasts of rock n’ roll aspirin. The kimono felt cool against his warm flesh. He wondered if he was feverish and concluded he probably was. He was always run down, as if with a perpetual fever. That is, of course, until he got his chip. He finished his beer, tossing the empty can in the general direction of a wastebasket that was already crammed with empties.

Staring into a full-length mirror, the run-down recluse didn’t recognize the reflection. Sure, the long [ginger] hair and tattoos gave him away, but he looked so frail. [Axl] looked like someone who was ready for hospital pajamas. His once attractive face was blue, taut, and expressionless. A scraggly beard covered his chin and his emerald eyes were no longer authentic gems, but rather costume jewelry. He needed a drink.

For the past fourteen of his twenty-eight years, he’d spent the majority of his time inside a bottle. Teenage beer and wine parties turned to vodka and rum at nightclubs, which in turn evolved into straight whiskey. Exiting the bedroom, he said a silent prayer to his patron saint, Jim Beam, asking that there be some in the liquor cabinet. An illuminating golden glow surrounded the thick blackout curtains. A small war had gone down in the living room the previous evening. Full ashtrays, assorted liquor bottles, empty and half-empty packs of cigarettes, and beer cans were strewn everywhere. Several CD covers were caked in cocaine residue.

[Axl] tried remembering who had been partying there but couldn’t. An empty pack of Kool cigarettes meant that one of his many dealers, Jamie Jazz, had delivered something. It didn’t take very long before he made the connection between the empty bindles in the bedroom and Jamie. Jamie was typical Hollywood trash who hand delivered coke, toke, crack, or smack to troubled celebrities, exploiting their vunerablities.

[Axl] searched for more clues as to who else had been over partying but came up blank. He slid behind the bar that was adjacent to the kitchen and opened a cabinet. There were several unopened bottles of assorted white liquors. A nervous surge shot through his small stomach. What if there was no whiskey? He shuffled the bottles around until he found the proper one. A sigh of relief escaped him as he twisted the cap off and made a mental note that he needed to restock. The whiskey’s aroma was his equivalent of fresh brewed coffee. "Here’s looking at you, love," [Axl] said aloud, raising the bottle to his lips. Like every day, one sip led to another. After several sips, he started feeling right. He put the bottle on the counter and made it to the refrigerator.

If he was lucky, he’d be drunk before the day started. He removed another Budweiser and went back into the messy living room. There was a dull hum inside his cranium. He couldn’t differentiate whether it was cocaine-induced or the central air-conditioning. If only he could remember what day today was, then he’d know if a maid was scheduled to come by. She could bring booze. The musician sat on the couch, picked up the phone, and dialed 411.

"Operator, what city, please?"

“L.A.”

"What day is it?" [Axl] asked sincerely, lighting a Marlboro.

"What?"

"What day is it?"

"Sir, I’m an operator."

"Ma’am, you’re information and I asked you a question," [Axl] corrected her. A snide laugh escaped him. After a silent moment, she answered his question.

"It’s Wednesday, sir."

"Thanks," he said, and hung up.

There would be no maid service today. This was not the way he wanted to start the day. He polished off the beer, finished his cigarette, and snorted more cocaine. After several confusing seconds, he remembered where he kept the large green garbage bags and began straightening up the mess. Moving around the large one-bedroom condominium, he picked up anything that wasn’t bolted down and threw it out. Bottles and empty food containers stretched the garbage bag to a point where it threatened to rip open. After ten minutes of straightening up, the apartment began taking shape. Besides this condominium, he also owned one in Manhattan and another in Houston. He rarely frequented his Hollywood Hills mansion, or for that matter, his house in Maui. Both brought back too many memories of her.

It was in the Hollywood Hills house where he and [Erin Everly] had spent most of their quality time. As his thoughts began betraying him, thinking more about her, [Axl] instinctively went to the bar and retrieved the whiskey bottle. He could think of her as long as he had a safety net. With all the money, fame, and success he had attained, it was the simple things like friendship and love that were the hardest to keep. He never meant to hurt anyone, especially those closest to him, but for some reason that’s who he usually hurt the worst.

He never set out to be malicious, but by living under a microscope with the world scrutinizing him, any wrongdoing, public or private, tended to blow up in his face and often wound up as Nightly News. Personal flaws and fuck-ups are not allowed of the elite. He often suffered silently, trapped by his own fame, until he needed out of his cage. But the cage was as wide as his eyes could perceive.

All [Axl] had ever tried to be, right or wrong, was himself. With all the doctors, specialists, therapists, fans, and everyone in his organization trying to help him, he just sank further into his cocoon, alienating himself even more. He often wondered who he really was. Was he another regenerated social security number automatically inherited at birth or a genuine reflection of society? Was he a phenomenon or just a facade? Was he a product of his own imagination or just another brick? Would he ever understand his own destiny?

Inside his mind, he analyzed why his relationship with [Erin] had failed more times than were countable. Like the scholar he wasn’t, he dissected situations, pondered things he should’ve said and shouldn’t have been caught doing. When it came to sex, why couldn’t [Erin] understand that just because he occasionally strayed from their bedroom didn’t mean he didn’t love her? Sex was like role-playing. He never forced her to be monogamous but deep down he knew that if he found out she was fucking someone else it would have hurt. A lot!

Even with that knowledge, he couldn’t confine himself to only one woman. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He tried being open with her but concluded that certain things should’ve remained secret. Sex was an ego addiction similar to the one felt onstage. Different audiences, like different partners, were more challenging and made him work harder for the applause. Like drugs, he was addicted to the rush. Even with an empire at his disposal, money couldn’t buy him love, nor happiness, nor peace of mind. Nor [Erin].

Looking around the large living room, a very disenchanted artist absorbed the modern decor. None of these possessions except a few token items had ever meant anything to [Axl]. None of this shit was real. He was surrounded by trophies of a game that had no meaning. And he was tired of playing games.

A sharp pain in his left ear sent him back to the dark corridor that led from stage to dressing room. Inside his ringing head, speakers feeding back ignited and exploded. He was experiencing another rock n’ roll side effect, ear damage. The dull hum lasted only seconds but the memories of his final show with his former band, Suicide Shift, would never fade.

For reasons he couldn’t remember, [Erin] had been unable to attend the tour’s final show. The band had been on the road for the better part of fourteen months, over 285 concerts. Every few weeks [Axl] had flown her to whatever city he was performing in and she’d stay for a few nights. The final concert of any tour is an important night. It was Suicide Shift’s first headlining tour and [Axl] wanted to share the experience with her. It was the culmination of many miles traveled, many hours worked, and the celebration that went on afterward was well deserved. He called her several times to offer her plane tickets, trying to persuade her, but she couldn’t make it. The gig was well over two hours of electric ferocity.

Of course [Axl] consumed plenty of drugs and alcohol before and during the show (he did every gig), but it was the Florida crowds’ enthusiasm and knowing that he’d be able to sleep for a month that gave him an extra spark. Every time he took a solo, he tried to best any previous soloing effort. Every time he approached his microphone to sing backups, his voice surged with whiskey vigor. For him, this was rock n’ roll at its best. The 4,000-plus crowd acknowledged this with deafening applause.

After the final encore, it was time to celebrate. [Axl] wound up with two eager females in his hotel room. In the privacy of his bathroom he injected a little heroin. Not enough to make him nod out but enough to get him good and high. The two nubile females would only make him feel better. After struggling to get his wet brown suede pants off, he joined the nude women, and thus the revelry began.

The dope clouded his not-so-good memory but [Axl] remembered a very drunk Peter Terrance walking into the room. The band’s drummer had mistaken [Axl’s] room for his own. In the spirit of celebration, [Axl] offered him a girl. Terrance declined saying he’d find his own and left. The menage-a-trois continued. Shortly afterward there was a knock on the door. Thinking it was Terrance taking up the offer, [Axl] called out, telling whoever was at the door to enter. Standing at the door with an overnight bag was [Erin]. On the spur of the moment she’d flown from L.A. to Miami to be with him. A very bad scene played itself out. [Erin] left broken and hysterical. That was the beginning of the end for their relationship.

[Axl] snapped out of the past. His left knee popped loudly as he straightened his legs and headed for the phone. He pushed a button. [Erin’s] number was still programmed and every now and then he pushed it just to hear her phone ring. Also in the phone’s memory was his record label, his manager, the three members of his current band, the [Axl Rose Group], and several drug dealers. After receiving no answer at [Erin’s], he pushed another button. His many bracelets clinked together and a few seconds later there was a reply. "Yeah?" spat an unenthusiastic voice from a car phone.

"It’s me," [Axl] said, swallowing, cocaine dripping down his throat.

"My main man," Jamie’s voice declared like a cash register ringing. "What can I do ya for?"

"Uptown and downtown." Cocaine and heroin.

"No problem. You remember what I did for ya last night, right?"

"Yeah." He didn’t.

"You owe me three bills from that shit, brother man," the dealer explained just in case memory failed.

"I’m sure I got some change floatin’ around. If I can’t find some I’ll five ya my Versateller card and you can get what I owe."

"Bet. I’ll be right up," Jamie said as if he was doing [Axl] a favor and hung up.

"Fuckin’ prick," [Axl] mumbled to himself. He lit up a cigarette and got himself another beer. The lid popped loudly and foam rose to the mouth hole. He watched, amused, then walked over to the black-out curtains and pulled the lever, letting bright sunlight invade his living room.

"Fuck you very much," he loudly announced, squinting, and raising his middle finger to the sky. The view from his balcony was vast, displaying the City of Angels below, yet more often than not [Axl] kept the curtains shut, preferring not to be a part of the world outside. It was safe inside his apartment. Against a far wall, tucked in the corner so that the ivory keys faced out toward the living room, was a vintage Steinway. He spent many pleasure-filled hours on the instrument, and even when he wasn’t playing, the piano gave him visual stimulation. It was an instrument of precision and grace. Next to the piano, resting comfortably on stands were half a dozen vintage guitars: Les Pauls, Stratocasters, and Telecasters. The guitars he kept in the apartment were the ones that meant the most to him.

The buzzer sounded, waking [Axl] from his drifting thoughts. He went to the intercom and pressed the button that unlocked the front door. A few minutes later, Jamie Jazz was inside his apartment.

Dozens of platinum and gold records adorned the walls. Hours upon years of planning, writing, recording, and struggling had reaped these round rewards. His songwriting stemmed from inner pains and his slower, more blues-influenced songs often dealt with personal hardships. Those were the songs he was most proud of and believed might stand the test of time. The faster, more hard-rock-oriented songs often had little significance or wore their meanings on their sleeve. Unfortunately, the awards were no longer awards without [Erin].

[Axl] excused himself and went into the bedroom. Hidden behind yet another platinum disc was a safe. He removed the disc from the wall, twisted the combination, and opened the safe. Inside were jewelry, documents, over four thousand dollars cash, a freebase pipe, and a loaded .357 Magnum. He grabbed a few C-notes and went back into the living room, leaving the safe shut but unlocked. Jamie was seated on the black leather couch, feet up on the marble coffee table, looking casual in Suicide Shift sweatpants (that he’d gotten from Axl), and a matching sweatshirt. He helped himself to a beer.

“What’s the total?”

“Including last night? Six,” Jamie replied, fidgeting with the beeper on his waist.

[Axl] handed him six bills and put the rest in his pants pocket. Judging by the look on his face, the dealer understood he wanted to be alone and took the hint.

“Call me if you need anything else,” Jamie offered, exiting the apartment. The moment the front door clicked shut, [Axl’s] mind rushed into overdrive but his body refused to move. He had drugs in hand, but instead of finding a syringe, he went back into the bedroom. Something in the wall safe more powerful than his addiction had caught his eye. He walked to the safe and pulled the door open. Inside was a photo album containing precious Kodachrome memories.

Placing the drugs on top of the messy night table, he fell on the bed, and began flipping through the leather-bound book. Captured in photos were images and feelings so intense that it made him warm as well as suicidal. [Erin] had challenged him intellectually while stimulating him sexually. She’d mothered him when he was sick, which was quite often. She’d set free inner feelings that he often tried avoiding. Her beauty, both inner and physical, was something he wanted, yet when she was his, he did everything conceivable to lose her. He turned to the second page.

He had no idea how many times he’d masturbated to this photo. Every other day perhaps. It was just a snapshot he’d taken of her while on vacation in Las Vegas. In photo form, the wind blew her long hair away from her face and she was smiling. Behind her was the Caesar’s Palace hotel where they spent the better part of two weeks in the penthouse suite. It was a typical tourist photo but it was her smile that turned him on. It was so free from pain. [Axl] would do anything to have her smile for him like she had in the photograph. He’d do anything to have her lips, her body again.

He unbuttoned his leather pants. Before beginning his self-stimulation, he pulled himself over to the night-table refrigerator and removed an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon champagne. The bottle opened with a loud pop and smoke billowed from the top, but no liquid spilled. Sipping deeply from the bottle, he flipped through the photo album that was all too short, carefully avoiding the final page. He rarely looked at the last page. As always, he wound up back on page two.

With the bottle two-thirds empty, he pulled his pants and briefs down to his knees and poured the remaining champagne onto his palms. This was part of the ritual. Fine champagne was something he and [Erin] enjoyed sharing. He could still share it with her. As he took hold of his wet erection, his thoughts began to slip. It was during one of their final dinner dates that she had said something that inspired him to write the most beautiful song of his career.

“I can’t live with you and I can’t live without you,” he could hear her saying as if it were just yesterday. Words flowed from pen to paper faster than he could write. [Axl] concluded that this was his private way of explaining all that had happened between them. The song, Estranged, was not an apology, it was his side of the story. It was rock n’ roll sincerity that sold over three million copies in the U.S., topping the record sales charts and putting the [Axl Rose Group] on top of the rock world. He offered [Erin] half of the royalities from the song because without her there would be no song. She politely declined.

A sold-out [Axl Rose Group] tour ensued. When the tour arrived in Los Angeles, [Axl] desperately wanted to see her. No matter how many women he had, no matter how over her he told everyone he was, he’d do anything for her except let her permanently slip out of his life. He’d called her a dozen times over the course of two days, leaving message after message on her answering machine. Even though she never responded, he’d left her ten All-Access passes at Will Call. She never showed. After the show, [Axl] vowed he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He quickly showered, changed into dry clothing, and left, avoiding all the backstage hoopla. He and his driver headed for [Erin’s] apartment. Using the phone in the limousine, he dialed her from the street below her apartment. Again he was greeted by a recorded message.

“[Erin], I hope you’re there. I’m downstairs and even if I have to break down the door to see you, I’m willing. If you’re gonna call the cops, well, call ‘em now...I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t deserve anything...Fuck, I don’t even know what I'm trying to say other than I still care about you. Words can’t heal what I’ve done but, fuck, the past is done...I really need to see your face again,” [Axl] softly explained after the beep. The words still echoed in his mind as he wondered if he could’ve possibly phrased things differently. It was too late now, he thought, already inside the building. This was one of the rare occasions after a gig that [Axl] was sober. As he arrived by way of elevator at her floor, he heard familiar music. The closer he got to her door the louder the volume grew. Then his world began to spin uncontrollably as a loud gunshot echoed through the hallway.

He ran toward her apartment, lowered his shoulder, and with reckless abandon crashed through the wooden door. He found [Erin] on the couch, bleeding profusely, most of her head splattered on the wall behind her. On the blood-sprayed coffee table in front of her was the answering machine, a ballpoint pen, and several crumpled balls of writing paper.

He stood destroyed before her corpse. How could this have happened? All he had ever done was loved her. Devastated, he slowly walked over to the blaring stereo. A CD single of Estranged was programmed to repeat. He wondered how many times she listened to the same song and shut the power off. Then he noticed that next to the answering machine was a note.

Number one with a bullet, the red-speckled note read.

Shaking and convulsing, his tears falling freely, [Axl] began screaming at the top of his lungs. It sounded like someone had unleashed a wild animal. His shrieks threatened to break the windows. A migraine pierced his throbbing temples and his entire head was overloaded with pressure. Did she kill herself because they had failed or because he wouldn’t leave her be? Was it the song, one of the few things he’d ever done autonomously, that had driven her to this? Was this really happening? Then another thought came ot mind. He removed the pistol from her hand and put it against his temple. He was going to join her.

It was empty. [Erin] had known she would only need one bullet.

[Axl] snapped out of that nightmare and was thrust into another memory. He recognized the familiar room as the honeymoon suite in Las Vegas and almost felt at ease. The bed was in disarray and [Erin] was smiling mischievously.

“What do you want to do?”

“What?” [Axl] responded, confused. They’d already drunk several bottles of champagne and made love twice.

“What do you want to do?” She replied softly, daring [Axl] to answer. [Axl] caught wind of her game and decided to play along. If she was giving him an option as to what they’d do next, he was definitely going to take advantage of her generosity.

“You can either come up here and tell me that you love me or go down on me.”

[Erin’s] face registered joy. Words like love were the hardest to get out of [Axl’s] mouth. Once again she smiled as she began her descent toward his waistline. It didn’t take her very long to bring him back to life. Several minutes later, when she sensed that he was as excited as he was going to get, [Erin] looked up at her man and with the sexiest expression she would conjure, softy saying, “I love you.”

[Axl] came with a slight grunt. The powerful surge had given him something to work at but there was no pleasure in the orgasm. There never was anymore. He tossed the photo album aside and lay on the bed feeling dead, staring at the ceiling. For a split second, he thought he heard musical strands of Estranged but it was only his imagination. His tired body lay there for what felt like a year before he sat up. At least the drugs on the night table were real.

Everything he needed was on the table. Hidden beneath the clock radio was a syringe and a blackened spoon. There was a half-empty glass of water and a lighter next to it. In the spoon he mixed the proper amounts of heroin and water, and then, using the lighter, heated the bottom of the spoon until the mixture cleared up before placing a tiny piece of cotton into the spoon. With unsteady hands, he added some cocaine and his speedball was complete. Being a high-profile celebrity, he couldn’t afford to have his withered arms tracked up too badly. He usually shot into the back of his forearms or his feet. He also injected into his neck but the way he felt right now, he had no time to dillydally. Like an expert acupuncturist, he fixed into a bulging vein in his forearm.

“Cool,” he mumbled, carefully examining his arm, as he felt the speedball coming on. He fell back down on the bed. Between the drugs and his emotions, he was exhausted. It was a good thing drugs numbed away most of the pressures. He was rushing out as the drug hit him in powerful waves. It took several moments before he realized his left arm was touching something. He slowly rolled over. The photo album was opened to the last page.

The last page contained [Erin’s] obituary and a sympathy card. Tears he’d held in since that day began to flow down his cheeks. His pale face flushed as he felt his strength evaporating. He was drowning in sorrow but didn’t believe in self-pity and that made him feel even worse. He sat up hyperventilating with a question echoing inside his head. Why did she have to die? He had no answer and stood up too quickly. Why was everything so fucked?

He went back into the living room. He needed whiskey.

Why?

He loved her so much.

Why?

He’d offered her half the royalties. Half. That was a financial empire, but she refused.

Why?

He tried to make amends. He tried being good according to society’s standards. He wanted to understand everything that had happened to them. He wanted her to love him but no matter how hard he tried, he fucked it up.

Why?

He wanted to be normal again but that wasn’t possible.

Why?

He wanted to feel closer to [Erin] but she was dead. That tormented his fragile soul but for a split second of insane logic, [Axl] concluded that his body should not be spared either.

“Garrrrrrggghh!” he growled, attacking his living room like a pissed-off brawler. Fists and feet attacked defenseless walls and furniture. He cocked his right fist back and a large hole went through plaster. He snatched an Oriental lamp off an end table and hurled it across the room. He violently threw a marble ashtray into a plaque, ruining both.

Breathing heavily and drenched in alcoholic sweat, he grabbed a platinum record and smashed it, spraying glass shards everywhere. The shattered glass on the floor twinkled like sun-reflected sand. No matter how many hotel rooms he trashed during his career, [Axl] had never harmed a guitar. That was strictly taboo until today. He walked over to the row of guitars, grabbed a ‘68 Stratocaster by its stringed neck and swung, smashing the mahogany body until it was little more than firewood. With each self-destructive act, he felt slightly better.

He walked over to another platinum disc, readied himself and put his right fist through the glass. Blood spurted from the hand that was heavily insured by Lloyds of London. For the first time that day he smiled.

[Axl] grabbed the Jim Beam bottle off the bar and guzzled. The liquid painkiller warmed his heaving chest and eased his bleeding hand, which looked like it needed stitches. He walked over to his Fischer stereo, and, using his good hand, turned on the receiver. The digital readout was locked on a classic rock station. It was the only safe station on the dial, since it never played any of his songs. [Axl Rose] was too new, too current. The station only played material from the 60s and 70s. He instantly recognized the song playing; it was Humble Pie’s I Don’t Need No Doctor. It was raw rock like this that had inspired him to become a musician. Following the Pie were the Allman Brothers. [Axl] could relate to what it felt like being tied to a whipping post.

During the commercials, he went into the kitchen to grab another beer. Out of his stereo speakers a record store chain announced its prices as the lowest in Los Angeles. The background music accompanying the record store commercial was Estranged. His eyes stung but no tears fell as he realized that no matter where he was, he couldn’t hide from himself. Like a man on amission, he walked over to the stereo, grabbed the receiver, and yanked with both hands. It took several strong tugs before the digital lights went off. With the receiver in hand, he stumbled backward, ripping wires and knocking over one of the large Bose speakers.

Distraught and panting, he made his way to the giant sliding safety-glass door that led to the balcony. He casually dropped the high-tech receiver and undid the latch that kept the heavy door locked. Fresh air attacked his senses. The cool breeze felt invigorating as he stepped out onto the balcony and looked over the edge. His jet-black Bentley sat gleaming in the parking lot directly below.

He picked the receiver up, held it over the balcony, and aimed it at the car. After several seconds of wondering if his aim was accurate, he let go. Glass spidered wildly when the receiver hit the car’s windshield and broke through. He went to fetch the beer he’d been distracted from and ripped the refrigerator door open as hard as he could. It crashed open, spilling several items onto the floor. The door dangled by a hinge. [Axl] grabbed a beer, chugged half, and like a strong-armed baseball pitcher threw it at his guitar collection, barely missing his favorite: a vintage ‘57 Sunburst Les Paul. He grabbed another can from the crippled refrigerator as his eyes returned to the guitars.

The guitars were like adopted children and he loved each one in a different manner. Certain guitars held certain memories but each guitar had the ability to create magic. It was that potential he respected and admired most about these guitars until this afternoon. Now, no matter how much he loved a certain guitar, or how valuable it might be, all he wanted to do was feel pain. Pain brought him closer to reality. It brought him closer to [Erin].

He gave the world music, very good music, and asked for little in return. A little space to create, some kicks thrown in, and how about peace of mind? Instead, he had more material goods than he could ever use, more money than he could count, and nothing worth fighting for. There was a time not too long ago when he’d fought like hell for all of this. Now that he owned a piece of the rock he wished he could give it back.

The view from the top wasn’t as picturesque as he’d imagined. What he did as his artistic expression, the record company sold for capital. He’d quickly grown disillusioned with the system but what else could he do? Without the industry he couldn’t share his music. No matter how hard anyone tried explaining it to him, musical notes would never equal dollar signs. He made music because since his early childhood, he truly loved rock n’ roll It was the people, his people, he wrote music for after he finished writing for himself. So then, why couldn’t he sleep at night? He stared at the answer.

He was going to kill his guitars. If it wasn’t for these guitars, he wouldn’t have the problems he did. And he’d save the goddamn ‘57 Sunburst for last. He guzzled the beer, raising it away from his greedy mouth. Budweiser rained down the side of his face. When the can was almost empty, he crushed and spiked it like a football.

Enraged, he grabbed a Les Paul Black Beauty and dealt it a quick but savage death against a wall. He raised a rare Telecaster over his head and clubbed the coffee table, breaking both. Then he picked up another Les Paul and, swinging it like a baseball bat, clobbered a lamp and several other objects before the guitar’s neck snapped off.

“Fuckin’ cheap shit,” he grumbled.

He heard something that had a bit of rhythm to it. Was there a drummer playing in his head? It took several seconds for him to realize that one of the neighbors was pounding on the wall.

“WHAT, A LITTLE TOO LOUD FOR YA?!” [Axl] shouted at the direction the noise was coming from.

It didn’t stop.

“YER PISSING ME OFF, ASSHOLE!”

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

"Motherfucker, I'm giving ya fair fucking warning," he said.

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

[Axl] walked into the bedroom and over to the night table. He grabbed his cocaine and poured a decent-sized moundon the back of his hand that wasn’t bleeding and snorted. Afterward he licked residue off his fist, numbing his teeth and gums. There was a pack of Marlboros on the table. He grabbed one and lit it. He took a deep drag and listened to his surroundings.

The neighbor was still pounding.

The ashtray was an overflowing mountain of dead butts so [Axl] placed the cigarette on the edge of the night table. He had tried to avoid a confrontation, but the shithead next door wouldn’t let it die. He went to his wall safe, grabbed the Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum, and charged out of the bedroom.

“OKAY, HOMEFUCK, WANNA PLAY GAMES?”

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

KABAMMM, KABAMMM, KABAMMM.

He unloaded three shots toward the already hole-ridden wall. The pounding stopped instantly. Again he smiled. He aimed the pistol at one of his platinum discs on another wall and blasted the shiny sphere. He aimed at his TV and blew it to kingdom come.

One bullet left.

He held the silver-plated pistol in awe. He could easily join [Erin]; all it would take was one quick squeeze of the trigger. The idea appealed to him. Maybe he’d get it right in his next life. Slowly, eyes closed, he raised the pistol. The trigger teased his scarlet index finger. The barrel felt good against his temple. Readying himself, he reopened his eyes. In front of him, mocking him, were two more Les Paul guitars. There once was a point in his life when these musical embodiments were holy. The dedication and years of practicing were a labor of love. Guitars were his passion, his expression, and his ticket out of obscurity. But all of that changed with one song. Now these guitars were reminders that [Axl] could never regain his innocence.

“Can’t I fuckin’ die with some dignity?” He wondered as rage consumed him. He couldn’t even commit suicide without music somehow interfering. His shaking arm lowered and took aim at one of the guitars. There was heavy recoil as wooden fragments flew everywhere. He put a massive hole in the guitar, then walked over to examine his accuracy. It was definitely dead, but that wasn’t enough. He picked up the remains and threw them against the safety-glass door. He walked over to the balcony’s edge. Below, a small crowd had gathered around his ruined luxury car.

“Anybody want an autograph?” He asked, tossing out the fragmented guitar. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. I got another present!” He yelled, and ran into the bedroom. His heavy footsteps jarred the cigarette he’d forgotten off the night table. It smoldered on the thick rug. [Axl] dug inside the wall safe, grabbed a handful of hundred-dollar bills, and ran back to the balcony before his audience could scurry away. “Don’t say I never gave you anything,” he announced, letting the money fly. Several wary spectators stepped backward but as soon as it was obvious that the confetti was currency, they rushed forward. [Axl] waved to the small crowd and went back inside.

One guitar remained.

He stared at the ‘57, marveling at the beautiful colors. It was appropriately called a Sunburst. Reds, oranges, and yellows swirled in the wooden body. This one had gold trim as well as golden pickups. The Sunburst was his preference of all guitars. He had another two dozen in storage but this guitar was the first thing he bought after Suicide Shift was signed to a recording contract. It was how he rewarded himself for having made it. This was also the guitar he’d written the music to Estranged on.

He approached it with caution and respect and gently picked it up. He sat down on the floor Indian style. Deep down, he was glad he hadn’t destroyed this ax. His picking hand hurt badly, but he wanted to play. Blood dripped off his hand and dripped down the guitar’s body.

Enthralled, [Axl] watched it run. No matter how intoxicated he was, his fingers never betrayed him, and this particular guitar always responded to his call. He began picking something that sounded like Hendrix. He paused abruptly. Something about that last guitar run shook him up and he couldn’t continue. In a vague way, it reminded him of a part in Estranged. After taking a deep breath, [Axl] partially regained his composure.

Multimillionaires like [Axl Rose] aren’t supposed to cry. They’re beyond tears or at least that’s what society wants to believe. [Axl Rose] was just a talented kid who could run his nimble fingers along a piece of stringed wood. He began to strum one of his favorite riffs, Thin Lizzy’s Don’t Believe A Word. Even though the guitar wasn’t amplified, he could hear it as if it was. He let the last note ring out as he stopped and reflected. He used to love the feel of this instrument in his hands. He used to love making the strings come to life. He used to love just holding this guitar.

Then his mind viciously reminded him that he’d also loved the way [Erin] felt. He quickly rose off the floor and tossed the guitar aside. It landed with a loud DWWWAANNNGGGG. He stared blankly at the guitar and thought of her. Both had given him so much pleasure, but he’d never been able to properly express his gratitude. He never told her the truth about how she made him feel, about how much he loved her, and when he did, the song reaffirmed that he should’ve kept his mouth shut. At least she’d still be alive. But the song was pure and he wanted to play it for her. Even if her physical body wasn’t present, he could still sing to her in heaven. He wanted to jam but was afraid to touch the guitar.

Then [Axl] saw an alternative.

He scooped up the almost-dead whiskey bottle and finished what little was left. It slipped silently from his hand. Very drunk, very drugged out, he staggered over to the piano. The smoldering cigarette on the bedroom rug had burned its way over to the goose-down comforter. The cover caught and flames quickly spread throughout the bedroom. Discarded clothing acted as kindling and soon the bedroom was on fire. Until several hazy hours ago, [Axl’s] life, no matter how miserable, had been something most people could only dream about. It was all an illusion, and he was one of rock n’ roll elites, a hero.

Now, he’d been reduced to his basic self and nothing really mattered. He felt the thorns wrapped around his heart and for the first time in far too long, felt human again. He’d smothered his spirituality in drug abuse. He’d stunted his health and personal growth with vice. He’d blinded himself because he was afraid to see that his purpose, his gift in life, was to be true to himself. And the only time he was able to find that inner truth was when he played his music.

He softly tapped the ivory keys, making melodies come to life through his fingers. No matter how badly his hand hurt, he persisted in making music. He was determined to play for [Erin] and all the other angels. With every fluid run, every harmony, every musical accent, his inner pain subsided a little. With each passing musical note, he became one with the music.

Sweating profusely, [Axl] felt something stirring behind him. He tried ignoring it for as long as possible. Finally, he turned and saw large flames billowing out of his bedroom. At first he thought it was a hallucination but the fire was scorchingly real and heading his way. His favorite guitar was already engulfed and dying. He wanted to save it but couldn’t. He refused to let his jamming be interrupted. [Erin] was listening. Every time his fingers pressed the Steinway’s keys, crimson stained the ivory and smeared. He ignored the small red spots, sliding his long fingers through them.

Scarred-up veins bulged from his forearms as sweat ran down his face. All he’d ever wanted to do with his life was play his music and now he was. For the moment, he felt free from his demons. He built up the courage and began singing Estranged in his natural gruff voice. The thick carpeting quickly became a wall-to-wall inferno as a giant wave of fire rose up and spread around the piano. He couldn’t have cared less. As flames swallowed the apartment, [Axl] never screamed and never missed a note.

The End.

[guapoduoshipper]

JustaGuapoduoShipper blog content index (part1) :

Post constantly updated. Last update: 31/10/2023

PART 2: HERE

Playlist songs:

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #1 Acuérdate de mí - Morat

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #2 All I want - Kodaline

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #3 Nothing Else Matters - Metallica

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #4 Me gustas tú - Manu Chao

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #5 So violento, so Macabro - PXNDX

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #6 23- Morat

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #7 Mariposas - Paty Cantú

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #8 Los amantes - Pambo

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #9 Angels like you - Miley Cyrus

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #10 The Reason - Hoobastank

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #11 Unconditionally - Katy Perry

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #12 Tal como eres - El canto del loco

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #13 Limón y sal - Julieta Venegas

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #14 Es por ti - Juanes

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #15 Evidências - Chitãozinho & Xororó

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #16 a Dios le pido - Juanes

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #17 Cómo te voy a olvidar - Los Ángeles Azules

Just a GuapoduoShipper Playlist song #18 Cuando pase el temblor - Soda Stereo

Inbox suggestions:

Suggestion 1: Paraíso proibido - strike / Fração de Segundo - NX Zero / Exagerado - Cazuza

Suggestion 2: This I love - Guns n' Roses

Suffestion 3: Deixe me ir - 1Kilo

Analyses:

A romantic date at the taqueria

Tacos: A language of love

q!Roier on love matters

q!Roier reliving a trauma

q!Roier and q!Cellbit: their castles built after feeling betrayed

q!Cellbit knows the meaning of sunsets

"I care for your happiness" q!Roier sharing what he loves

"I'd kill for you, but never you"

q!Cellbit has never seen q!Roier in his red hoodie

"I wish I could have been that someone you needed to never be alone again"

q!Roier showing his light to q!Cellbit from his minute one on the island

"Te amo, te amo con todo mi corazón."

q!Roier in the dreams of q!Cellbit

Deep sincerity in their wedding vows.

"I am lost! Not anymore, because I'm with you" / "I'm never lost if I'm with you"

The strong similarity between the Favela and the Hispanic household

Amaranth flower

"That's how we started and that's how we will continue until the end"

"Mi corazón es tuyo" (part 1)

"Mi corazón es tuyo, también" (part 2)

On the election's arc

A call for sanity.

q!Cellbit's scope

q!Roier sings in moments of panic.

q!Roier scared and confused

Screenshots:

q!Philza's photo at the festa junina

Tiburoier greets q!Cellbit in q!Foolish aquarium

A count of all the times q!Cellbit focused on q!Roier in his camera during the "Base Guapita" mission.

This is how q!Roier looks like from q!Cellbit's point of view.

Seeing each other at the altar

"I want to marry Roier so bad"

Spiderbit flirting in global chat

Just them &lt;;3

"Que te quedes a mi lado y más nunca te me vayas, mi vida."

Kings

Headcanons:

Domestic-fluff Headcanons

q!Cellbit about his and q!Roier's scars.

The proposal of new dragon eggs

Hibernation / aestivation

Bobby Fields' rose bouquet

q!Cellbit listening to Ozuna

Miscellaneous:

Bobby, Tilin and JuanaFlippa

To the first time they said "I love you" to each other.

qCellbit's reaction to fake Bobby

"Y es que no sabes lo que tú me haces sentir"

Cellbit finally finds out the difference for Mexicans between "te quiero" and "te amo".

"if he takes you I'll come after you"

Both q!Cellbit and q!Roier get very worried if ithe other one is in danger

I will always trust Roier. - q!Cellbit

If you want to know a little more about this blog, you can read here.

[yourbestamericangirlk]

Do you have any bands that make rock nacional to recommend? I love getting into new music and am always trying to expand my horizons, thank you in advance!!

I'm not a specialist but my fav is Seru Giran.

im going to list others that I don't know very well but are popular:

sui generis

virus

los abuelos de la nada

G.I.T

la renga

los piojos

los redondos de ricota

los enanitos verdes

viejas locas

pescado rabioso

la máquina de hacer pájaros

Spinetta jade

almendra

soda stereo

and some solo artists that are very popular and very good are Charly Garcia, Luis Alberto Spinetta and Gustavo Cerati.

[stranger-rants]

i try not to stereotype but its always wild to me when antis say billy would call them a slur while openly having steve as their fave or being a st//eddie because like,,,,,,

steve is the rich jock in the 80s, his parents 100% have membership to the country club, im like 90% sure theyd support reagan considering their financial situation, his dad loves a good game or tennis or even badminton if he wants to be a bit spontaneous, they definitely shop at whatever the us version of waitrose is, his parents have their own person tailor and if their outfits arent at least $100 they wont be wearing them outside and that extends to steve, they have definitely either used a slur and/or done that weird talking around it the "oh you know, those people who prefer embroidered tea cosies" or whatever.

like i dont want to say that steve would just parrot whatever his parents say and would just internalise their opinions, because obviously thats not true on most cases. but at the same time, theres a lot of psychological studies showing that kids do learn from their parents.

and weve already seen steve calling someone a slur on screen. i cant remember if it was queer or faggot, but he was also parroting the rhetoric that gay men are predators who prey on young boys. like where the fuck else did he get that rhetoric from? and even if it wasnt his parents, steve seems to have believed it enough to remember it and parrot it back at jonathan.

id like to think that steve wouldnt call me a slur, especially post-s3 steve, but its fucking wild to me that the "billy would call me a slur" crowd entirely ignore the everything about steves character.

like im sorry buddy, but if pre-s3 steve saw me, a trans man with tits too large to bind who goes out of his way to look as queer as possible, im pretty sure hed call me a whole myriad of slurs. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ meanwhile i dont think billy would because hes a cis dude who purposefully presents more feminine. wed probably just have a chill conversation about judas priest or id introduce him to soda stereo.

and anyway its not like know if steve agrees with his parents or not since he never gets any development whatsoever now that hes relegated to group mom

Everyone learns from their parents in one way or another. Steve called Jonathan “Queer” which is what makes it so ironic that fans claim he’s such a great ally and/or that Billy would hate crime them. Quite honestly, given the amount of homophobic rants I have to hear from teenager boys on a regular basis in the year 2023, it wouldn’t shock me if any of the beloved male characters were homophobic. I don’t see Billy as being more or less understanding, but I do think Billy just doesn’t care enough about other people to be out there committing hate crimes. The only time Billy cares what other people say or do is when it puts him at risk

[bixiebeet]

Chapter 5: Three Beers and One Club Soda

Winston agreed to one drink. Egon agreed to a club soda. They all walked over to a local dive bar where no one cared that they were the famous Ghostbusters.

The place was fairly empty and smelled of stale cigarettes. A few people sat on bar stools, chatting with the bartender. Winston figured that they must be part of the regular weeknight crowd. Rock music from a stereo was drowned out by the echo of live music from next door; it sounded like a jazz band was practicing.

“You can have one measly beer, Spengler,” Peter laughed as the team crowded into a small circular booth. “I’m buying tonight.”

Egon insisted that he wouldn’t drink while he was working—and it seemed like he was always working. He was eager to return to his lab and finish some calculations related to the dangerously crowded ghost storage facility unit.

“I wanted to meet Winston in a less formal setting. That’s all,” Egon shrugged. He awkwardly gripped the knot of his tie and slightly loosened it. Winston figured that was Egon’s version of casual, and he appreciated the scientist’s friendly gesture.

Ray walked over from the bar carrying four glass bottles: three beers and one club soda. “First round is on me,” he said. He went back to grab a bowl of pretzels for the table.

Winston took a swig of beer and shifted uneasily. He’d been prepared for an interview, not happy hour. What would he talk about? What did he have in common with three white guys from the Ivy League? He nibbled on some pretzels and tried to think about some ‘safe’ topics for small talk.

“So, you like baseball…?” Winston began. He was a lifelong Yankees fan and had dreamed of being a professional ball player as a kid. Ultimately, he was better at engineering than he was at running bases.

No one had time to answer because of the woman who’d walked up to the booth. “Peter Venkman, is that you?” she said, tapping him on the shoulder.

“It’s Doctor Venkman,” he replied, as he cleared his throat and turned around “Do I know you?”

“Do you forget all your teaching assistants?” The woman smirked and cocked her head to the side. She had a short Afro and wore denim from head to toe; Winston thought she looked too cool for this bar, and much too cool to be talking to the Ghostbusters.

Peter’s jaw metaphorically dropped to the floor. It was a student he’d had when he first began his PhD program at Columbia.

“The years have been kinder to Lisa than to Peter,” Egon said dryly.

“Another woman who was strangely immune to the Venkman charm,” Ray smiled, sipping his beer.

Peter is the smooth talker and the lover of the group, Winston thought. Egon had to be the brains. And Ray—well, he could tell that Ray was genuinely enthusiastic about his work and always energetic. Ray seemed to be the heart that kept everyone beating on track.

Peter excused himself for a moment to have a private conversation. Egon and Ray didn’t have much to say about baseball, but they did have a lot to say about the ghosts supposedly haunting the Mets at Shea Stadium.

A few minutes later, Peter came back to the table with a huge grin on his face. “You guys won’t believe this!!”

Lisa was pleasantly surprised to see him at the bar after all these years. She remembered Peter fondly, despite his cad-like behavior when he was a young PhD and she was a grad student. Her husband—yes, she was married now—managed the band playing tonight at the jazz club next door.

“They invited us to see the show,” Peter beamed.

Winston wasn’t so sure about sticking around. He loved jazz, but it was a long trip back uptown to his apartment. It turns out that he wasn’t the only person having doubts about the late night.

“I’m going back to the firehouse,” Egon said with a yawn. He looked straight at Peter. “Try to be home before 3 am this time.” Egon peeled out of the booth and put $1 in the bar’s tip jar on his way out.

“I don’t care if I wake him up, we’re staying out late. It’ll be fun,” Peter said with an impish grin. He lifted his beer bottle to clink ‘cheers’ with Ray.

“Does Egon really work all night? He looked tired,” Winston whispered to Ray.

“Yup, ever since college. Lately, he’s focused on his spores, mold, and fungus,” Ray replied. “He’ll probably bore Janine with some mushroom discovery before she goes home.”

“I overheard him rambling to her about examining his prized king oyster—and she acted as if she was interested! It’s just a mushroom, for heaven’s sake,” Peter said, rolling his eyes.

Winston silently sipped his beer. It didn’t sound like Egon was talking about a mushroom…but he really didn’t know what to make of Egon and Janine. At least Winston would have tonight to learn more about Peter and Ray.

“I’m more into blues,” Ray said. “But jazz can be fun.” He and Peter bantered for a bit about music. The object of Peter’s affection—Dana Barrett—was a classical musician. He’d stopped by Lincoln Center this afternoon to wait for her after orchestral practice. He figured that now was a good time to him to brush up on his musician knowledge.

They got up and headed to the club. That’s when Peter mentioned a minor complication before they could enjoy the show.

“Lisa thinks that the instruments might be haunted,” Peter said as they entered the club.

[booksandmate]

Songs in Spanish (since it’s now canon that they know every language in the world) that I think Crowley would listen to while blackout drunk after the divorce.

Including my fav bits and their translation to convince you to go listen to them.

Crimen - Gustavo Cerati

La espera me agotó No sé nada de vos Dejaste tanto en mí En llamas me acosté Y en un lento degradé Supe que te perdí ¿Qué otra cosa puedo hacer? Si no olvido, moriré

The wait tired me. I don't know anything about you. You left so much in me. In flames I lay down. And in a slow degradation. I knew I lost you. What else can I do? If I don't forget, I'll die.

Cosas De La Vida - Eros Ramazotti

Son humanas situaciones Los momentos de los dos La distancia, las pasiones Encontrar una razón Hoy Como siempre Estoy pensando en ti Como si nuestro tiempo no hubiera pasado ya Dime, dónde estamos Qué podrá pasar Corazones flechados, pero De cada cual Esa es la barrera Que hay que derribar

They are human situations. The moments of the two. The distance, the passions. Finding a reason. Today. As always. I'm thinking of you. As if our time hasn't already passed. Tell me, where are we. What could happen. Hearts in love. But of each one. That's the barrier. That must be broken down.

Prófugos - Soda Stereo

Somos cómplices los dos Al menos sé que huyo porque amo Necesito distensión Estar así despierto Es un delirio de condenados No seas tan cruel No busques más pretextos No seas tan cruel Siempre seremos Siempre seremos prófugos los dos No tenemos donde ir Somos como un área devastada Carreteras sin sentido Religiones sin motivo Como podremos sobrevivir

We are both accomplices. At least I know I'm running away because I love. I need relaxation. To be awake like this. It's a delirium of the damned. Don't be so cruel. Don't look for more excuses. Don't be so cruel. We will always be. We'll both always be fugitives. We have nowhere to go. We're like a devastated area. Roads without meaning. Religions without reason. How can we survive.

Atado A Un Sentimiento - Miguel Mateos

Yo puedo tocar el fuego Puedo hasta quemarme entero No me pidas que te deje de amar Te llevo clavada Como una espina en mi costado Entrando despacio, oh no Y quiero que sepas Que eso está planeado por amor Un poco de amor, nada más

I can touch fire. I can even burn whole. Don't ask me to stop loving you. I've got you stuck in me. Like a thorn in my side. Coming in slowly, oh no. And I want you to know. That this is planned out of love. A little love, nothing more.

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

In My Head, I'm Yours

A/N: dipping my toes into the world of percabeth, i hope you like it

Summary:

Percy Jackson, Piper McLean, and Jason Grace make up the band, Delphi. They're not big yet but one day they might be.

Annabeth Chase is studying to be the best damn architect New York City has ever seen.

They have a million reasons not to be together but can't seem to let the other go. Despite knowing it'll end in heartbreak.

AO3

Chapter 1: Someone Turns Your Heart Around

Annabeth didn’t need background noise while she did her homework. But her awful neighbors blared their stereo at all times of day; they favored the late to early morning hours. She could hear and feel the bass through their thin walls. Her only saving grace was noise-canceling headphones. A gift from her roommates last Christmas. So it wasn’t unusual for Leo or Thalia to scare the living daylights out of her when Annabeth was in her zone.

She was drafting on their kitchen table. During her sophomore year, she had learned the hard way not to draft buildings on the floor when she had to redo her architecture midterm overnight due to a spilled can of Diet Coke. Headphones on, no music, just good old-fashioned silence, pencil in hand, and a tightly secured cup of soda on her left.

There was no passage of time when Annabeth was drafting. But it had to be after midnight when Thalia tapped her shoulder. Annabeth jumped and tossed her pencil five feet in some direction. She pulled off her headphones.

The first thing she noticed was the music had stopped.

“C’mon bedtime,” Thalia said.

“I’m almost done,” she insisted.

“It’s one am.”

Annabeth checked her phone.

1:12 AM

“Oh.” She began packing up her supplies. “How was the thing?”

“The thing?” Thalia laughed, “you really need to get out more. The band was great. Leo and I may drag you with us next time.”

Annabeth frowned, wondering where her pencil had gotten to.

“Here.” Thalia picked up the pencil which had rolled into their living space.

“Thanks. I’m glad you had a good time, maybe I’ll go when things slow down at school.”

Thalia smirked, “I don’t think Columbia ever slows.”

Annabeth looked up at her friend and smiled, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh I know, blondie. I know.”

They had known each other since Annabeth was seven when Thalia's family moved into the neighborhood. Thalia was a few years older but had a younger brother Annabeth’s age. She liked Jason Grace well enough but there was something about Thalia that just clicked. Maybe it was because with her Annabeth didn’t have to be the perfect only child, she got to be a kid. Still, the 3 of them ran that little cul-de-sac during their middle school years or at least they liked to think they did.

Being older meant Thalia was already out of school. She’d gotten the damn piece of paper because her dad threatened to do anything in his power to make her graduate. Their dad was a real piece of work.

Now, Thalia had a job in the city at a rescue center. Over the years, she’d grown pretty soft to animals and every couple of months tried to convince Annabeth and Leo to break their no pets allowed lease and adopt.

Annabeth knew Thalia loved no one in this world like her little brother. She’d do anything to protect him. She knew Thalia was terrified of heights but still went to the top of the Empire State Building for Annabeth’s eighteenth birthday. She stayed in the observatory room but she still made the journey to the top. Annabeth knew she acted tough and looked tougher but Thalia had a soft spot for animals, found family like Annabeth and Leo, and a love for anything so spicy it made you cry.

And Thalia knew Annabeth in all the same ways. She always kept a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer because she knew it was the one food Annabeth ate when stressed. Thalia knew Annabeth’s relationship with her family had always been a sore spot but as her stepbrothers got older, the closer the Chase siblings got. Most importantly, she knew Annabeth put her schoolwork above everything. Which is why she knew there was a slim chance that Annabeth would go out on weekends with her and Leo, not even to go see Jason’s band. Unless it was a special occasion like one of their birthdays.

“Alright ladies, it’s time for bed,” Leo announced from the top of their short staircase that led to their bedrooms. “Leo is tipsy and sleepy and your yapping is echoing down the hall.”

“We’re coming,” Thalia said.

…

Percy loved the rush of being on stage. It was like a wave crashing a little higher than expected but not enough to knock you down.

He didn’t always think he’d be a singer. There were a few years when he thought he’d never make anything of himself beyond a little family in New York if he was lucky. But when he got to college and met Piper it changed everything.

It was their spring semester of freshman year. Percy had been sitting in this big green space they had in the middle of campus on a blanket with his guitar. Paul, his stepdad, had taught him how to play when he was fifteen. Playing guitar had been the one thing aside from swimming that felt like home. Percy was good at it. He could calm his thoughts with chords and lyrics and keep his fingers busy with the strings. It was easy to get lost in it.

That’s exactly how Piper found him. She had this fierce energy about her. Confidence that Percy had always wished for in high school, something over the years that Piper had instilled in him.

She didn’t bother introducing herself or even saying anything at all. Instead, she just started singing.

There’s this movie that I think you’ll like This guy decides to quit his job and heads to New York City This cowboy’s running from himself And she’s been living on the highest shelf

Percy harmonized with her until the song was over.

“You’ve got a great voice,” he told her.

“You’re pretty skilled yourself,” she replied, “I’m Piper.”

He had never seen her on campus before that day but they spent the next few months hanging out, watching movies, complaining about their shitty love lives, and eventually auditioning for a drummer.

It took 3 months before Jason walked into their audition room. That day it had been a space they rented on campus. The music department also lent out instruments so they rented a drum set for a few hours.

When Jason entered the room, Piper immediately whispered to Percy, “he’s hot,” and winked.

Percy wasn’t about to hire the guy based on how hot Piper thought he was but then they heard him play.

Now, he couldn’t imagine life without the two of them.

So yeah, Percy loved being on stage with two of his best friends but what he loved more was the moments just after he left the stage; when you could still hear the crowd applauding and the noise ringing in his ears when his bandmates clapped his shoulder and he’d bring them sweat and all into a bone-crushing hug, when Percy wonders if this feeling of lightness will ever disappear. When they make it big, will stadiums feel different? Or will they always be this weird trio from the New York City streets who love making music together?

But these last weeks, that lightness had formed itself into a tightness. Sitting right in the middle of his chest. And it had everything to do with a girl named Annabeth.

Maybe he should back up a little.

It was the weekend before St. Patrick’s Day, their last gig for two weeks. Jason was going on a sibling trip with his sister, Thalia, plus with the holiday almost no bars in the city were looking for some no-name-twenty-somethings and their band to be playing to the drunkest crowds. So, they wanted it to be a good one.

This bar was a place they hadn’t played before so setup took a little longer as they realized the stage was slightly larger than what they normally dealt with. It was a college bar which meant plenty of people their age, which was refreshing. Normally, Percy pulled out some oldies covers to appease the older crowds they typically played for.

He was happy to not have to try his darndest to remember the words to Haddaway’s What Is Love tonight. It repeated itself too much and got jumbled in his head.

It happened in the middle of their set. Piper was introducing the next song. She and Percy took turns with vocals. While Piper was talking about her ex-girlfriend who she wrote this song about, Percy was switching out his guitar for a tambourine. Percy began hitting his thigh with the tambourine, Jason was playing a steady beat on his drums, and Piper opened her mouth to start singing.

Heartbreak Saturday nights, getting ready To make you see that I'm better already I put on every perfume and I do it to hurt you, oooh Make sure I smell like your bedroom when I was in it Wearing the dress that I met you and sent you spinning And I flirt with your friends but it’s a beggar’s revenge Cause she’s with you again

Percy let his eyes wander over the crowd, people seemed to be enjoying their set. It was one of the biggest crowds they had played for. His eyes trailed over to the bar because he knew if Grover had shown up he’d be there. Grover tried to make it to most of their gigs but Percy never knew for sure if Grover had made it or not until he spotted him in the crowd. Percy had been looking for a pair of brown eyes belonging to his best friend but instead, he found himself caught in a pair of stormy gray ones.

She was watching him too. He knew because her cheeks flushed like she’d be caught doing something wrong; he was positive his were red too but hopefully it played off that he was just hot from performing.

He didn’t know it then but she was about to be the death of him.

[loufromthestars]

get to know me better!

thank you so so much vi @aestheticlarrie and sunni @pinknblueforever for tagging me!! 🫶🏻

rule: tag 10 people you wanna get to know better

relationship status: single!

fav color: black, always

song stuck in my head rn: Ella Usó Mi Cabeza Como un Revólver by Soda Stereo (i only read the title of the song while reading about them and now i can't seem to get it out 😭)

last song i listened to: Amygdala by Agust D

three fav foods: I’m a huge fan of soups in general, I absolutely love pasta and, moving onto the sweet side, cheesecake is the love of my life hagsh

last thing i googled: the book Demian by Hermann Hesse cause i want to buy a specific edition

dream trip: I have always wanted to go to Italy (to Rome, more specifically). I guess I’ve always felt very drawn to it because of its history, as it is a very old city and such.

I’m tagging @bravelylarrie @medicinelarrie @hometothecanyonmoon @whenyouvequitefinished @needvodkand1d @whenyoucallmelover @throughthedarklive @faithinthefuturedeluxe @gravityisholdingmeback & @strwbrryhrry (feel free to ignore!)

[lonelychicago]

Another song recommendation is

Paradise- coldplay

Wake up- avicci

Rises the moon -( there are so many different covers i dont know the real one)

Half light- banners

Someone to you- banners

Ship in a bottle- (again dont remember the artist, maybe could be used for a pirate au)

Grow as we go- ben platt

FIRST OF ALL ANON I LOVE GROW AS WE GO!!! i listened to it a million times while writing my therapy buddie fic and i just feel that song is so beautiful and amazing and aaaa!!!

ohhh!!! pirate au!!! i always wanted to write one and i think @the-likesofus is actually writing one so!!! also song rec for them !!!!

someone to you by banners is such a bop and it's on my buddie playlist but i didn't know about half light. SO GOOD. new song added to my spotify!!! the lyrics are soooo beautiful???? "let you wash over me when we're in the darkness" SCREAAAM

i listened to rises the moon by liana flores bc that was the first option. the song was so calming??? i loved it. thanks for the incredible rec 🥺

and wake up and paradise i already listened to them. they're both GREAT songs!!! (my friend went to see coldplay live when they came to argentina and he sent me a video of them singing paradise and yellow so both those songs are so special to me bc of that as well, just a nice lovely memory, y'know??? they also kinda sang de música ligera by soda stereo (an argentinian band) and it was soooo good, the public was INSANEEE. i recommend watching the video on youtube)

[agatalunar]

Hello My name is Colleen, my pronouns are she/her. If your reading thing is still open are there any messages from my guides/universe?

Thanks so much ♥️❤️

✫・.・ Personal reading ・.・✫

Hi dear ♡ thank you so much for sending your ask! ♡

cards -> Four of Wands, The sun, Three of Coups, Ace of Pentacles, Ace of Wands and Page of Wands

I see your guides celebrating and dancing from the spirit world, like “Yeah, she did it!”. You may have completed something that you have been waiting for a long time or you will soon complete a cycle/lesson.

"Look for us in your favorite place" they love when you communicate with them, they like that you ask them for help and that you let yourself be guided by them. Call them, they will always be willing to help you.

They make a lot of reference to birds, one of your spirit guides may be literally a bird or it may be your spirit animal, "have the same spirit as a bird, let yourself be guided as they let themselves be guided" is what I heard.

As I said I see a lot of celebration, your guides are so so proud that you are the person they are guiding. They only want the best for you, they don't want anyone to hurt you. They really like it when you laugh. If there is a group of people you enjoy hanging out with a lot, they tell you that you should spend more time with them.

This is so random but maybe one of your guides really likes the blue-green color.

“You are going to achieve that goal that you want so much if you set your mind to it”. Your guides are very supportive of that idea, have faith that everything will turn out as you want. Follow your dreams and reach them!

☆ Heartbeat by BTS ☆ En la cuidad de la furia by Soda Stereo ☆ It was a good day by Ice Cube ☆ Steal my girl by One Direction ☆ Up no more by Twice ☆ Mammamia by Maneskin ☆ Sucker by Jonas Brothers ☆ Budget by Megan The Stallion ☆ Energia by Ferraz ☆ Hero by Mariah Carey ☆

Important things of this reading -> a significant bracelet/necklace or amulet, color green, yellow and blue are important, gold, “smile more”, wind, a lot on emphasis on the hair, “the wind blows your hair”, amethyst

It was a pleasure doing your reading, I hope you enjoy it!

𓏸 ~ Sakura 🧚‍♂️

[yllowpages]

[ comfort ] for one muse to stay the night with the other after a hard day

It's difficult to keep fighting off the tears. It was easier before, when the anger was all white hot and fresh as he was walking away from her. But watching him leave turned into seeing everyone else in the hallway staring at them — at her ( the senior-crowned ' bitch ' ) — ... and it was barely eight in the morning at that point. So even in the privacy of her own bedroom, she doesn't want to let herself cry. ( She just ... doesn't want to believe that he really got to her ... )

Shawna just keeps herself hunched over her desk, a half-eaten plate of dinner off to the side, while she absentmindedly scribbles random shapes and lines in the corner of her algebra homework. She keeps her head leaned into her palm, eyelids drooping. Somewhere in the background, the doorbell rings, but she doesn't move. ( Her mom will probably get it, or her dad ... ) She finally puts her pencil down, deciding she might as well give up — but only because it's Friday so she has more time to get the assignment done and won't have to turn it in late.

Just then, there's a knock at her bedroom door, to which she lazily responds, ❝ Come in. ❞ She has to assume it's her mother ( her dad always freezes up a little whenever he sees she's upset ; not because he doesn't care, he just ... has a less delicate hand ) , but the voice that says, ' Hey, your mom said you were up here, ' is most definitely not her mom and it makes her turn around in her chair. She just talked to Matthew on the phone like ... two hours ago, but apparently her insistence ' No, I'm totally fine! ' didn't convince him. Because here he is, with a couple sodas and a paper bag in his hand. And as sweet as it is ( as much as this wants to make her cry even more than what Matthew J. said this morning ) , she immediately feels guilty : ❝ Hey — but I thought Scotty Howe — isn't he doing a thing at his house tonight? You said you were going with the team. ❞

' Didn't really feel like it. ' She watches him set the drinks and the bag on her bed and then head over to her stereo to start going through her cassettes. Shawna holds onto the back of her desk chair and her brow furrows and she says, ❝ But — you love those parties. Like what if right now Scotty's trying to break into his neighbor's yard again to get all his frisbees back? ❞ She smiles a little bit, for the first time in hours, but it's when he adds, ' Eh, it's never as fun without you, ' that Shawna feels like she really might crack. ❝ Oh ... ❞ ( Matt picks a cassette and drops it in the tape deck on her stereo : Toto's ' IV ' . )

' Scotty's just going to get caught again anyway so that's why we are going to have our own party. ' He goes over to her bed and sits down ( he always makes himself right at home ) . He moves one of the sodas across the bed, in the direction of her desk, and then he opens the paper bag : donuts. Of course, he somehow found the one place in Hawkins that's still selling donuts at eight o' clock at night ... ' What's it going to be, pretty lady? Chocolate iced? Rainbow sprinkle? Vanilla creme? ' Shawna finally gets up from her desk and moves to the bed, crawling over the mattress to sit down nice and close to him. ❝ Duh — rainbow sprinkles, please and thank you, ❞ she responds with a more wholehearted smile. She takes the donut, wrapped in a napkin, from him, before they both sit back against the headboard.

Shawna rips pieces of the donut off to eat them, settling in right at his side. She's starting to feel better now — for the next few minutes they just sit and talk like they normally would. And she basically forgets all about one of the more popular seniors calling her a bitch in front of half the school. But it's still eating away at her, and, he must realize that, because he asks if she's okay ' after everything this morning ' . She folds up what little remains of her pink-frosted donut into the napkin and sets it carefully onto her bedspread. ❝ Yeah, ❞ is how she starts, but pretty quickly she's sniffing and her cheeks are hot — she finally cries. So Matt sets his snack aside as well and sits up a little straighter. ❝ No one's ever ... called me a bitch before, ❞ she confesses. ❝ And he's such an asshole, so I shouldn't care but ... ❞ She wipes her tears onto the back of her hand and her boyfriend puts an arm around her more securely. ' Well, you're not — but he definitely is. ' She laughs a little bit, leaning into him more and wiping away more tears.

She takes a breath lets her head rest against his shoulder for a few moments. She keeps playing the moment over in her head — everything Matthew Jenkins said, the look on his face, how angry he sounded ... She suddenly lifts back up so she can look him in the face. ❝ You know you're not braindead, right? ❞ she asks, earnestly. ( That's the part that still makes her angry ... ) Matt almost seems confused at how genuine the question is : ' Yeah, I know — but he definitely is. ' Shawna breaks into a smile with another laugh, the tears finally stopping.

@decimatlas / matthew s.