Disclaimer & Warnings:
I do not own the Turtles, as much as I would love to.
Nor do I own System of a Down or Rob Zombie (though I own most of their music!).
*Contains mild allusions to turtlecest.*
Set sometime during my fanfic 'Déjà Vu All Over Again' ('Competition' storyline)
It's Certainly Violent…
Shouts and whoops dragged me from my meditative state, and I slowly opened my eyes. You'd think I'd be used to such a commotion, growing up with three brothers, but these noises were different than normal. They weren't irritated or frustrated; these were howls of unadulterated joy. Against my better judgment, I was instantly curious.
I relaxed and unfolded my legs, gently tying my blue bandana about my head before striding purposefully to the door. I have to admit, there was a tinge of apprehension mixed with my interest; when all of my brothers were happy about something together, that usually indicated mischief was quickly heading my way.
Nothing seemed amiss as I padded silently into the living area. My brothers, husband, and Alex were setting up a communal video game by the TV, still occasionally shouting with glee and exchanging excited commentary. I kept to the shadows by the wall, wondering what could be agitating them to such merriment. They drag this game out every week or so since they all pitched in and bought it as a family present last Christmas; it simulates the setup of a musical band, complete with instrumental controllers and several microphones. I find it more than a little silly, as the guitar controllers are overly simplified and nothing like the true instrument, and the game itself seems fairly simplistic. Still, they get extremely tickled over it, and it's completely harmless fun. Raphael has tried many times to get me to participate, but I prefer to watch- and tease them if they get a bad scoring.
Apparently Donnie has figured out how to add new songs to the admittedly small repertoire of songs the game came with, hence the earlier and current commotion. No one's noticed my occupation in the room, not even Raph. I smile gently to myself at that thought; he must really be eager to ignore my presence. My curiosity increases again, wondering just what Donnie has plugged into this game to get them so riled.
They situate themselves on and around the couch as Mikey revs up the TV and PS3. Mikey exclusively plays the drums, which I am told are quite akin to an actual drum set. Donnie sits beside him on the edge of the couch, slinging the black guitar controller over his shoulder- if I remember correctly, he plays lead. Raphael and Alex sit by each other on the other end of the couch as she sets the wireless microphone in a stand as Raph grips the red guitar. He prefers the bass guitar and performing vocals with Alex.
My smile grows wider. My husband loves to sing. He never admits it in so many words, but we all know it. I find it incredibly endearing.
The game takes forever to load, the disk spinning in the PS3 loudly, and they jeer and cuss at it until the main title screen appears, at which they all shout joyously again. Donnie scrolls through the list of songs available, eliciting more happy cries as they take note of the new selections.
Then my favourite part of the ritual begins; the choice of song. Considering there's an even number of them, it's often difficult for them to choose which song to play. Raph and Alex are normally teamed up against the other two, who have more varied likes and dislikes. If I'm in the room, I'm usually dragged into the decision making to break up a stalemate. Unfortunately for me, however, it appears they've already pre-approved a song they all like. I swallow my disappointment, absently reminding myself I shouldn't enjoy watching such discontent anyway.
As Donnie continues searching for the correct song, Raph's intuition finally overtakes his excitement, and he glances behind him over Alex's head. Smiling, he waves me over, and I walk to the back of the couch. I rest my hands gently on his shoulders as everyone greets me with fevered grins.
"Ready?" Donnie asks, and they fall silent, freezing into their respective positions. It's rather adorable to watch how serious they can be about this game. My curiosity has reached its peak by now, and I follow their gaze to the screen; but the selected song dissolves into the playing screen before I can read the title.
Donnie and Mikey start tapping an admittedly catching tune as the song starts, then Raph and Alex cut in with vocals. They speak rapidly, and it's somewhat difficult to keep up with the words.
Everybody, everybody, everybody livin' now.
Everybody, everybody, everybody fucks.
Everybody, everybody, everybody livin' now.
Everybody, everybody, everybody sucks.
My hands tighten on Raph's shoulders; did I hear that correctly? I'm repeating the words I thought I heard as they continue the rest of the verse, so I miss what they're saying. But when Donnie and Mikey add their voices to sing the thankfully slower-paced chorus, I'm absolutely certain of the lyrics. Their mirrored grins are about to split their faces as they belt the music.
It's a violent pornography!
Choking chicks and SODOMY!
The kinda shit you get on your TV!
I blink swiftly, staring at the TV as I process the words. This is what they were so giddy about? This song is debasing, disgusting and…
Well, it does have a rather catchy beat.
I feel Raph roll his shoulders irritably under my touch, and I instinctively know he's telling me to relax. I set a tolerant smile on my face, unable to stop from arching a brow as I stand silently through the rest of the song. They finish with an exaggerated flourish, hands rising from the guitars in triumph, Mikey waving his drumsticks in the air. They fall into infectious laughter, and I can't help but join them. They shriek happily when the score is displayed on the screen; I gather it's quite good.
"Rob Zombie next!" Mikey screams, and Donnie begins scrolling through the list again.
"Living Dead Girl!" Alex suggests excitedly, and Mikey immediately frowns.
"No, no- Superbeast!" Mikey argues.
"Feel So Numb," Raph growls, poking Donnie with his guitar.
They begin squabbling, talking loudly over each other; and I feel that guilty, secret pleasure creeping at the edges of my mind.
At least, until my husband motions behind him and orders me to agree with his choice, and everyone else glares at me.