Like anybody loves me that much (axl rose)
request: @therockywhorerpictureshow I LIVE for angst. Could you do something in that vein with 80s axl? Any topic, I don’t care.
chosen prompt: angst
“Why would I? For once in our lives they're getting along. I am not going to ruin that for them."
word count: 1765
w. none apart from Axl angst
(sorry if this is terrible, I haven't written in 2nd person since I was thirteen! 🤭)
Axl was missing. Which was not out of the ordinary, for the last few months that you had held acquaintance with him, you had come to discover that he was extremely introverted when he wanted to be. Preferring to spend his time holed up in his hotel room, or his bunk of the tour bus, writing random lyrics on scraps of paper and listening to whatever vinyl he had on him.
But tonight was different, it was the end of a really successful show. Everything had gone off without any hitches, everybody had turned up on time, including Axl, everybody had stayed on stage the whole time, including Axl. Everything had been fine. The crowd had been enthusiastic and interactive, responsive and lively, spitting and shouting lyrics with fervor. Steven smashing down his drums in perfect time, his head bobbing and arms waving wildly, Slash and Izzy entering rhythm after rhythm, strumming perfect riffs and off course the absolute thunder and lightning of Duff’s bass.
And that wasn’t even counting on Axl’s voice. You were positive that no words on Earth would ever be able to describe his voice. The siren’s capture of his timbre, the peaks and lows of his melodies. The vibrancy and the color that he managed to always express, the energy and the passion. And tonight he had been absolutely exhilarating, dancing up and down the stage completely on beat, red fiery hair flying up like Medusa.
Yet as soon as he walked off the stage, hair dripping and throwing water over his face, he had disappeared. The rest had made agreements to go out for beers with the crew, bridging along lighting and sound engineers, for putting on such a good show.
You had been asked, Duff immediately throwing his arm over your shoulders, but had declined to varying amounts of complaints. You had a lot of fucking paperwork to do anyway, Geffen putting you as the PR manager for the world’s most dangerous rockband, was, let’s just say less than easy. Keeping the image perfect but not too perfect, out of control but not spiraling, aggressive but not arrestable.
Keeping Izzy’s head up for photoshoots, making sure that Duff and Slash will stumble drunkenly the “correct” way, keeping Steven at least within six feet of drumsticks and Axl. She sighed.
He wasn’t as difficult as Alan made him out to be, or violent and constantly flying off the handle like the magazines said, he was a human no monster. But making sure he got from Point A to Point B without collapsing in on himself sometimes presented itself a task.
He felt things and felt things deeply, bad album reviews sunk down into his very core, attacks on Slash’s playing was enough to send him into an angry, depressive spiral. You noticed that he never did seem to take the same thing said about him the same way though, he seemed to take attacks on his character and performance much more easily, almost like he believed it.
The boys had made a bee line out of the venue, not bothering to stop in any dressing rooms, clutching to each other's leather jackets with already drunk fingers and stepping over each other's boots. Duff and Izzy dwarfed Slash and Steven, leading the two taller men to use them as standing racks.
“Be careful boys,” You shouted after them, receiving a group of distant “woos” and an “oh fuck” from Duff who had already managed to hit his head on a hanging pipe. You hoped somebody in the crew would stay half sober, for all of their sakes.
You were ready to turn around and ask for a cab to take you to the hotel, the best part about being staff was not having to use the tour bus, thank God, when you looked over at the single closed dressing room.
You knew who was in it, and immediately started debating about whether to enter. You and Axl were friends, probably, but you’d never been alone for more than a couple of minutes. You’d heard the horror stories from Alan Niven, of thrown glass bottles and furious yelling.
You opened the door anyway. He was no monster to hide from, after all PR managers had seen the very last level of hell when talking to different bands and magazine representatives, the middle man stuck in between a rock and a hard place.
You knocked quietly. Once, and then twice.
He didn’t answer and you bit down on your lip, chewing the flesh, and wondered if you should just leave. Surely, he was fine and just not feeling going out with the guys, just like you didn’t, but it just didn’t feel right. He was normally bouncing after such a good show, full of energy and open smiles, but today was different.
You pushed open the red door, the warm light of the room hitting your eyes, and you could just see the redhead on the couch. The bright rust was pushed downwards, his gun mental covered fingers running through the stands vigorously while the vibrant blue bandana was abandoned on the floor. His shoulders were hunched and his white shirt was sweat soaked and crumpled.
“Axl,”
“Yeah?” He didn’t lift his head, keeping his knees around his chest.
“Everyone’s leaving, you wanna get a cab back out?” You didn’t mention the others.
“Do we have to go yet? Or is this management making you keep me in check,” His voice was gritty and malicious, grumbling and stabbing in nature.
“We’re not keeping you in check, we keep you in the job and make sure your safe,”
He snorted aggressively, lifting his head even though you couldn’t see his eyes. “Safe? Ha. You just want to keep your job,”
You let out a heavy nose breath, so it was gonna be one of those conversations. “Yeah, we don’t want you being John Lennoned on us, then we’d all be out of the job,”
“Like anybody loves me that much,” He was still spiteful, but the tone had shifted to be more melancholic, a graying sadness bubbling under his voice.
You made the move over to the couch, perching on the cushion next to his. He was still in his leather pants, stuck down onto his legs and skin and had not removed his sneakers.
“The fans out there seemed to enjoy your performance, you put a real good fucking show,” You weren’t lying, every performance was great, but this was had breathed like Frankenstein brought to life, and he had been the scientist, breathing through with his own breath.
“They’re there for the rest of them, they don’t want me, the singer who can barely sing most days and who never shows up on time. They don’t. You shouldn’t either, all I do is make your life miserable. They should just dump me now,”
His emerald eyes were glassy, unfallen tears still sitting, so close to falling down and his skin even paler in the light. He always looked beautiful, or sexy, or hot, his high cheekbones and slope of his nose but something about him here made him seem angelic. Halo of warm orange encircling his copper head and heavy weight pressing down his shoulders.
“All of you make my life miserable, you haven’t had to clean up Steven’s vomit after a long night of partying. And here’s the thing, you did turn up on time and from what I heard, sounded on key to me, you haven’t sat through what I have, I don’t know how I still have ears,”
He smiled at that, his lips turning upwards and eyes brightening to a peridot. His left hand fell from his hair, and he rested it over your own, the metal rings cooling your skin. He had calluses across his knuckles, the rough texture dancing across the back of your hand.
“Who was it? Bret Michaels?”
You both chuckled at that. His shoulders relaxed, the tight pulling of his shoulder blades seeming to undo, as he leaned back against the back of the couch. Purple rings were encircling his eyes, he looked like he needed the rest, to let the heavy weights no longer balance on him.
“Speaking of the others, why aren’t you going out and having a good time,” He said, eyes peering across, melting down your own, his cheeks were still slightly pink from the show, skin still shining from sweat.
“Why aren’t you? You're not the one who has to wake up before nine tomorrow,”
“Why would I? For once in our lives they're getting along. I am not going to ruin that for them."
“Axl,” You clenched your fingernails over the flesh of his hand, you hated it when he acted like this. As if he was a worthless bug that the band was one step too close to stepping on. The band needed them all, why would the fans riot so loudly when the lead singer didn’t show up.
He was the only one who could sing that way, knocking up and down across notes, all the while keeping up every ounce of energy. He was so needed, so much more than he ever gave himself credit.
“Don’t Axl me, it’s true. I just seem to ruin it, let them enjoy the performance, they did good,”
You shuffled closer next to him, knees knocking together. “So did you. They had Izzy with them, I’m sure you would have been fine. You act like you manage to destroy everything,”
“Don’t I,” He sounded disbelieved at the idea you didn’t think so, his eyebrows raising.
“It’s a few beers, and anyway, you haven’t ruined this,”
“What if I’d rather stay with you? Listen to whatever interview you lot have got lined up,” He kept the grip over your hand, this time he moved closer to you, your shoulders now brushing together. The fabric of his shirt was soft against the bare skin of your arm.
“You lot? You make us sound like a different species,”
“I mean aren’t you,” You lightly punched his side, listening to his deep laugh at your anger, until you were both laughing together.
You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the cotton against your cheek. Neither you nor he pulled away.
“Now come on, who’s next? Kerrang?”
“Yep, now tell me about ‘Sweet Child O Mine’ again, they love that,”
As he started talking, lightness returning to his tone, he rested his own head against your own hair, and you forgot about booking the taxi, and about tomorrow morning’s early start.
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SWTOR: Fallen Empire and Eternal Throne
send me a fandom and I’ll — meme
hooo man. why this. I talked so much already.
WHY IS STAR WARS SO BIG. WHO’S RESPONSIBLE?
Also warning for anyone who hasn’t played them, there’s probably spoilers below. Also I have really, really harsh opinions about the Emperor (mostly that he’s poorly written attempt at a villain by men who do not know what horror is).
SWTOR: KOTFE / KOTET
the character i least understand
LMAO VALKORIAN
the emperor’s new groove
this doesn’t really answer the question but I’ve been d y i n g to say this
Valkorian reeks of desperation and fear, under that veneer of godliness, and lies. Afraid of death. Afraid of losing the force. Weak, and pathetic, and fearful, and have never faced the horrors of just existing, and in his extra efforts to avoid this, he struggles for power and crushes everyone in their way.
and I don’t understand how I’m supposed to believe that this pathetic villain is supposed to be the Eldritch Horror that was Vitiate, lmao
he’s not the real Eldritch horror. He’s a … yet again, corrupt man with too much power. If I’m supposed to believe he is, supposedly, an eldritch horror of eternal life, like … sorry, but this is a far cry from KotOR II, in which we were actually given four actual eldritch horrors.
(“what do you mean four, izzy?” I mean Kreia is an Eldritch Horror, and so is the Exile, in addition to Darth Nihlus and Darth Sion. Horror is not a sadly predictable corrupted man, horror is the void of space meant to consume all life to feed an immense, unending, undying hunger. Horror is being forced to stay alive when all the agony and pain and suffering of a body torn asunder kept contained in a thin mortal coil surpasses all limitation on what life can feasibly endure. Horror is having your solid foundations and convictions and dignity stripped from you until all you are left with is hopelessness and no will to live. Horror is facing your convictions and realizing everything you are, everything you’ve done, everything you ever will be is meaningless, does not matter, and everything you touch will be swallowed by you.)
Maybe if his writing was actually nuanced I would be concerned or worried or even remotely scared of “The Emperor” but all I am is vaguely disgusted. Plus he’s a shitty Darth Nihlus rip off, tbh. Darth Nihlus deserved better 2kwhatever
Harsh, but alas. He’s just a sick sad man that is eventually put down like he deserves, and to be frank I don’t understand how the writers thought we should ever be scared of him
interactions i enjoyed the most
All of the companions together, in every iteration possible. If there was anything done right, it was the companions interacting with each other. Especially any/every scene with Koth, and Koth & Crew, in it.
Darth Marr and Master Shan. I’m so … jump down to ships that didn’t sail honestly.
the character who scares me the most
Vaylin. And she deserved so much better.
But, woo. Talk about presence, and the way they animated her stalking her prey? She was terrifying in the way that someone who can and will hurt you is fucking terrifying.
the character who is mostly like me
I want to say Theron, if only bc I am also a mess, need a vacation, don’t get enough sleep, and sometimes makes very little sense when I’m trying to process too much too quickly all at once.
hottest looks character
VAYLIN AND ARCANN
HONESTLY
Wow. Wowowow.
one thing i dislike about my fave character
Why the hell can’t I take Theron with me into the Star Fortresses. And why can’t I get +500 influence with him whenever I do the bonus quest? Why is it only the companion I take with me, when he’s there also witnessing this at the same time ??
wrt his character, I kind of dislike … how everyone whitewashes him. wtf, fandom. his parents are BOTH NONWHITE. WHY WOULD YOU MAKE HIM WHITE? FOR THE LOVE OF
I know that’s not what this question is asking but HONESTLY
one thing i like about my hated character
I like the eventual reveal that Valkorian is in fact a whiny pissant who’s afraid of death. That was vindicating, I felt vindicated.
a quote or scene that haunts me
Getting stabbed through the gut by a lightsaber really sucked. But, Rhendr being Rhendr was just like “Not … the first time this has happened.”
a death that left me indifferent
The Torian/Vette death was so shoehorned and senseless. I didn’t really feel anything except, lmao, that I expected it to be written as poorly as it was — and tbh it felt like such a betrayal to Vaylin’s character, moreso than the other two. Vette, the escape artist, somehow captured?
Torian, who has a literal jetpack, somehow captured?
Why these two, specifically? What purpose does it even serve?
And then Vaylin. They, the writers, were clearly so desperate to make Vaylin unlikable and unsymapthetic they wrote her senselessly killing one of the companions, purely to make it easier on the PC to kill her bc they couldn’t be bothered to write a way for us to save her like we could/can/do save Arcann.
Like … you cannot tell me that this wasn’t misogynistic. Writers chose to write it this way. They chose to write a broken abused child as being irredeemable when her brother, who actually committed genocide and equal if not worse heinous crimes against the galaxy, receives a redemption arc.
Like, repeated themes of people showing the ugly sides of mental illness being murdered, especially if they’re women, is a thing. That’s an actual thing. It’s not a unique or even interesting development. It’s been repeated ad nauseum and it’s, quite frankly, poor writing. =/
at that point of the story, I just stopped giving a shit, and just wanted to finish the story for the sake of finishing it — and then never touching it again.
a character i wish died but didn’t
No one ??? Oh you know what, Broonmark. My completionist ass had to save him, but I really wanted him dead. That was my own damn fault though.
my ship that never sailed
LANA and THERON
I just feel like, take out the PC/Outlander, and they still would have succeeded between the two of them. I feel this often about Bioware stories, actually (this is like … a repeated theme where the story, if you removed the PC, could still go on fine without them) but the galaxy could have survived without the PC with just the two of them.
They work really well together. They know each other. They support each other. Their flaws and their strengths balance the other’s. They just work, and I have no idea if the fandom ever considered it or not but, you know.
Not to say that I don’t ship other’s OCs and Theron (bc some people I follow I’m constantly like WOW @ their ocs lmao) but you know. This is the ship that didn’t sail.
Also … Darth Marr and Satele Shan.
I know, I know. BUT LISTEN. LISTEN. The way Darth Marr talks about Satele is just. My heart? Aches?
Honestly, the line: “But only one, in all the galaxy, was my equal.” The way it was delivered by Darth Marr about Satele Shan was just … there was a lot of emotion, and implications, in that one line. Whether intentional, or even returned, or not, it’s still there.
“We met on this world. We argued, explored… and found an understanding.”
Greater ships have sailed on less, tbph.
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