This story is basically the ultimate song fic. Ergo every chapter is based off a song or lyrics or is a reference to something I simply loved. So it's a selection of one shots based on songs Yaay! Annoyingly enough, the first chapter is sad. D: EDIT EDIT EDIT: THIS IS ALSO A REQUEST FICTION GJGHKGH.
My first one is based off my own work and a Cobra song. :3
Prostitution is revolution,
You can hate me; that's how you pay me,
My submission is your addiction,
So just... get out while you can.
I love my parents. I adore them for this.
When I was 15, I told my mother, the most understanding mother in the world that I was gay.
Two hours later, shortly after Father returned home, I was out on the streets.
It wasn't the kind of stuff you saw in our town, Mama looked shocked and Father thought I had aids.
Fucking HIV, I tell you.
I love my parents; I adore them for making me get on the next bus to wherever and then out of that town, for spending the first night in my sheltered life on the streets. And the next... and the next after that until I was approached for a recruiter that said my posture was to die for and that he'd spend a fortune fixing up the mess that was my hair.
Okay, I said, anything to be off the streets, right?
When I was 16, I discovered that I had a fetish for leather. God I love the stuff, and chocolate, even though I was never allowed to touch it. One of The Recruiters lady friends offered me it to get out of the apartment for awhile.
When I was 17 I was raped. I think. It's confusing to discuss really. By the recruiter. Trust him to do that. He said I was pretty much ready and it was pretty much my time. I ended up stabbing him with a fork and he promptly kicked me out.
Using my new found skills, leather, and rocking bod' I approached the first person I found and asked them if they wanted to have sex. So young and innocent and fucked up I was.
Much to my unsurprised they said yes, and when we arrived at their home and they went into the bathroom I shoved a chair above the handle and robbed them blind of all the money and otherwise they had, pocketing their phone and passing out on their sofa, falling asleep to the soft sounds of them banging against the door.
The next morning I moved the chair away and left, not the smartest way of going about it but why the hell not?
After that I repeated the process. Going with everyone and everything (Even women my god) to get as much money as possible.
Then, by accident, I propositioned a police officer, not realizing until we got to his apartment, he attempted to arrest me and I ended up hitting him over the head with a lamp.
With my various offences, money, leather, and rocking body under my metaphorical belt, I fled the state... and ended up in some glitzy city. Let's say it was New York? Or San Francisco.
My first night there, I checked in at a hotel and then went to go get drunk; I could actually afford too for the first time in my life.
The man... he spoke really smoothly and with incredible confidence. Sharp features and a dangerous glint in his eyes. I was wary of him.
His name was Light.
And no we didn't have sex. God the fangirls would fucking kill my guts for actually being with anyone but that Matt guy.
He proposed something, strangely aware of my history with, ehm, prostitution.
He said, "Work for us. We'll direct you."
The thing that tied the deal was the money.
At the age of 18 I became an 'erotic dancer.'
Less than a year later, I met a fumbling and lanky 20 year old. He came into our bar with his girlfriend; which was weird because it was a gay bar, and the second I saw him I couldn't help but smile.
See, since my parents kicked me out, I wanted a companion... Do you know how hard it is to find a gay man that's actually willing to be in a relationship? No, you don't, do you? They don't scream it from the mountains like gay prophets.
He came in more and more, now without her. She probably dumped him, stupid slag.
You see, when Light told me the ins and outs of this job he managed to miss out how he was bosses favourite and how if I did anything wrong the two would beat me until I could barely stand, avoiding the face so I could go on stage.
I tried to quit. When they asked why I couldn't say because I'm in love. So I said because I want out.
Guess what it earned me?
It hurt. It hurt so goddamn much. I can't describe it.
I've seen a lot and I've done a lot in the last few years since I was kicked out, but Jesus Christ that was the worst.
My face was destroyed, I couldn't cry, I could barely move for the bruises and burns and broken bones... It took an awful lot of pain and effort and time to destroy my room and set in on fire.
Then some fucker dragged me out. It's illegal to try and kill your self these days, I swear. There's always someone you leave behind that's hurt.
And in my case it was that little brown haired weirdo that came to the bar and liked to semi permanently dye his hair red to stand out.
In my case it was the boy that I suffered these bruises for.
I ran away with him, he licked my wounds, he suffered for me and he fed me chocolate.
He gave me chocolate and mein Gott I can not stress the orgasmic value of it. My anima called out for the stuff and I complied. My anima called out for a lot of things but haha whatever.
That redhead, his name was Matt, loved me back, funnily enough. He saw a battered, broken, and corrupted marionette with snapped strings and peeling paint but instead of being wary he embraced me fully and healed me.
I sound so fucking sappy right now, but I have reason to be do I not?
We moved. But they caught up to us, playing poker in our one room apartment when Matt went to answer the door and was shot the second he opened it smiling, coughing in surprise and slumping against the wall.
Upon hearing the gunshot I froze, and remained frozen as a grinning Light and Boss dragged a bleeding and weak Matt into the main part of the room.
"Thought you could run could you?" Boss asked me, his expression as blank as ever, practically bent the waist.
"you've got to give them some credit, though L," Light yawned, sitting next to Matt and smiling mockingly at him, "love the hair, darling."
Boss, now called L, nodded slightly.
"You're stupid, Mello," he said, "no one gets away. Now, Broccoli or Cauliflower?"
Here I am, gun pressed to my skull. There's no way I'll survive and I thought I better tell you this.
"Broccoli," I whisper.
L – Boss – whatever, smirks.
Wrong answer.
But was there even a right answer?
I hear the safety click off, what's the point in fighting because Matt's last breath has already been taken?
Bang.
Mutti... The sun is so warm.
This took a sharp turn from the song. D:
BUT BTW, if you read That Little Blonde Prostitute up the point it was before I took it down, I just want you to know that that's how it ended. Lolsorry no one wanted to see them die but me. :D
Drop a review Lamarck. 3
And if anyone has any ideas for like... songs or lyrics or whatever the hell, tell me! And I'll write a piece of fanfiction for you.
REQUEST FIC IS REQUESTIVE.