#because andy can get the fuck outta here with this bullshit

[andysandfordcomedy]

5 Rules You Don’t Have to Follow, but will likely make you better at stand up comedy

***Ahoy-hoy! Mi llamo Andy & je suis comedian. Sometimes I will blog a lil comedy thingy like this and some people, likely comedians, tell me they find it helpful. That’s great, but a mere coincidence as I blog these blogs for me. As a reminder of my own principles/opinions/hard earned wisdom by way of experience (I’m old). I’m just putting this little caveat here to let the readers know that you may disagree with me, or think I’m super duper double bubble bug ass wrong…but idgaf, and I don’t wanna hear what you have to say about me bein so wrong. Also, you’re wrong, not me. I’m right about this stuff and little else. That said, here are some “rules” no one has to follow because there are no rules really. You can be as bad at comedy as you want.***

Rule 1: ask yourself, “am I *really* grinding?” Did you answer “yes?” Well, knock it off.

Who are you? This isn’t 8 Mile. No shadowboxing! No grinding! Nnno! a grind is a grind. It sucks. I do comedy all the time because it’s what I want to be doing. This getting a boner over how many sets you got in this week won’t make you a better comedian. It’ll make you think other people must think you’re working hard…does that do something for you? Well, it’s stupid and not anything to work towards. I guess the rule here is never forget that comedy is fun. No one asked you to do this. You don’t ever have to do comedy against your will. If it’s grueling, quit. For real, if what keeps you going is career accomplishments, or how cool you think you’ll look to Jimmy and Janey Applesauce: quit now. The Applesauces are worried about their own Applesauce bullshit. Also, one sure fire way to not do well is to not have fun. So have fun. It’s fun.

2.) Keep it simple. A common mistake many comics make is to try and weave some complicated tapestry that ventures way out the margins and “all comes together” at the end. I put quotes around “all comes together” because it doesn’t. And if it did, there’s no benefit to that. No audience will appreciate how aimlessly yonder bound your bit got in the middle. People, en mass, are kinda dumb (sorry people). It is true though that when people become part of a crowd, they are less discerning in their listening and more so become part of a single organism: the crowd. Do one joke, then the next joke, then the next joke. Keep doing this and don’t complicate it. It is simple (not easy). The more clearly and concisely you get your premise across, the better. Don’t add filler, identify it and cut it. Make yourself easy to listen to, and make sure everything you say is crucial to the joke. The effect of super concise jokes over time equals more than the sum of their parts. Trust me, or don’t. Moving on.

3.) Don’t be a dick to other comics. These are your peers, asshole. You don’t have to respect everybody, but treat everyone with respect. Only talk shit in a very tight circle of homies really late at night. Do not try to big dawg people and act like you having put more time into comedy buys you bully points. That’s gonna backfire real fast when the inevitably funnier comic who started way more recent than you bullies back and you can’t say a damn thing. Don’t be a dick. Don’t do it. Why ya wanna be a dick anyway? Be as cool as possible; especially to newer comics that are openly excited about things you forgot meant something to you once upon a time. Catch some of their comedy placenta goo and rub it in. That’s that pure shit. Being jaded is for fucking losers.

4. Don’t run the light. People often go way over time trying to get one decent laugh to dismount from a laughless set. Why?! Get outta there! It’s a wash. A gymnast doesn’t stumble around on the balance beam, arms flailing, racking their nuts, and then nail a dismount to save the routine. No, they blew it already, and imagining that is way funnier than your dismount joke taking you way into overtime. Also, the light is a light so that no one has to hear about it. Do not announce that you’re getting the light. It’s not clever or subversive in some way. It’s just unprofessional.

5. It is always a good time to be professional. I understand the temptation at an all comic open mic to be the kid at the back of the class giving the least fucks. I laugh at that person too and appreciate them, but I don’t ever wanna be them. It takes no balls to not give a shit. No skill. There is a different sort of satisfaction to go up 10th at a shitty open mic where everyone is throwing it and tryin to cool guy riff, and you just work out material like you give a shit and make the whole room feel dumb. That feeling is palpable, and it’s a different kind of killing. It’s what ya want, trust me. Or don’t trust me AGAIN. My point is, why do this thing just to not really be doing it in the face of it being hard? If it were easy, everyone would be great, but everyone isn’t. Very few are great, and when you see them you know. It takes time and serious effort and tinkering to get really good, but it’s the best tbh. Comedy is only more fun to me with almost 16 years under my belt. I don’t get that excited when I do well enough to find no fuck ups; I feel content. It’s better than feeling stoked because I know it’s not outside the norm. That’s that shit IMO.

Anyway, that’s all. Just bloggin around. Toodles.

-Andy

[under1roof38]

#RANDOMQUESTION

5. If you had to recast one housemate, who would it be?

Easy, if I had to recast anyone from this season it most definitely would be pussy boy Andy. He's nothing but a simp and a huge waste of a spot on this cast. All he does is follow around his trash bag gf and does everything she says. She bosses him around and yells at him and all he does is turn around and buy her gifts so that she will forgive him, take him back only to dog him out another time lol, couldn't be me. Elena knows better than pulling that bullshit. Matter of fact, make this a two for one question and recast Piper while we're at it. She offers nothing either. All she does is bully Elena because she's more woman than she will ever be and she's insecure af because of it. Both Andy and Piper can get the fuck outta here.

Nate

[laurasroyalblog]

There aren’t really curse words strong enough to adequately communicate my disdain for Andrew, and others have expressed it better than I could ever hope to, so I am going to look at a different angle to this interview.

Clearly, Andrew was coached by lawyers and PR people to say that he has “no recollection” of meeting Virginia.  That is pretty standard from a legal perspective because it’s extremely difficult to prove that statement false.  However there are 2 big issues with that statement.

1) Literally everyone knows that’s PR talk.  It’s not even remotely subtle.  Bill Clinton used “to my knowledge” all the time in the 90s when testifying about his troubles. OJ Simpson said this a lot when on trial for murder.  And both of these were decades ago.  It’s so freaking blatant at this point.  And PR talk where everyone knows it’s PR talk is ineffective at best and detrimental at worst.

2) This is more detrimental than ineffective because there’s a picture of Andrew with Virginia. That picture is going to be posted with that quote in every single article about it.  It’s not just a random picture at an event or something like that.  It’s a picture from a clearly private and personal event with Ghislaine Maxwell looking on.  For the sake of argument let’s say that Andrew truly doesn’t remember meeting Virginia (for the record: I don’t believe this). Saying that he has no recollection when there’s a picture like that is just going to make him look like a massive liar which defeats any goal he would’ve had for this interview.

I just struggle to understand how anyone in Andrew’s camp thought this would help things.  His apology doesn’t even really do much because it sounds like he’s not sorry he did it, he’s just sorry he got caught.  

But regardless of any of this, the BRF have no need for Andrew doing work on behalf of the firm.  I have given up on the Queen doing anything about it, but if King Charles kicks Andrew the fuck outta the firm well then it will have still been too late, but better late than never.

[the-iceni-bitch]

Queen Bitch

Pairing: Paul Diskant x DA fem!reader

Words: ~1.9k

Summary: Every cop in the LAPD hates your ass, but Paul’s finally had enough.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (hate sex, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, scratching, biting, almost slapping, quick and rough sex, semi public sex), severe misogyny, cheating on both ends, bad cop tropes, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: Thank you so much @geminixevans​ for giving me the kick in the ass to finish this thing! Hope it’s not super obvious that I really don’t like cops here, but whatever. Apparently, I really like making everyone in my fics absolute assholes, so sorry, there’s almost no redeeming qualities here except for very hot sex.

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library​ and turn on notifications!

“Y/L/N, what the fuck was that?” 

You sighed when Detective Diskant intercepted you on your way out of court, almost reaching out to grab your arm then thinking better of it at the last minute.

“That was me giving you and that idiot partner of yours a chance to actually give me a case I can fucking use.” You tapped your foot irritably while he glared at you.

“We had a fucking case, there was a witness!” He had never been so frustrated, you’d tanked cases of his before, but this was a murder.

“You mean the 16 year old escort who could barely remember her own name when I was doing prep with her, but could describe your perp in perfect detail?” You rolled your eyes at him and ignored his growl. “Make sure to tell Ludlow if he’s gonna threaten a minor with trafficking charges to get her to testify, she’d better have a spine so she doesn’t break down the first time someone challenges her.��

“Goddamn it.” He ran his hand over his face at that, he knew leaving Ludlow alone with a witness would come back to bite him in the ass one day. “The evidence…”

“All fucking circumstantial, bring me something else and I’ll nail the guy to the wall, but Judge Martin would have thrown this out with prejudice and then we would have been shit outta luck.” You pulled out your phone  and broke eye contact with him, frowning at something on your screen. “I have a depo to get to, call me when you and Ludlow unfuck this.”

Paul just stared after you when you strutted off, the sway of your hips only serving to frustrate him more. Every time, every fucking time you pulled one of their cases he ended up having to do ten times the work because you were such a frigid bitch.

Ludlow flipped the fuck out when Diskant filled him in, ranting about uptight cunts who had zero fucking idea what it took to bring these scumbags in. His bad mood ended up rubbing off on the rest of the unit, since almost every one of the detectives had to put up with your bullshit at some point.

The ranting at the station led to the squad filtering to the Black Bell once their shift was over, determined to stew in their rage over how much they really hated you. Paul had heard some vitriol in his career, but something about you and your tight little outfits and icy demeanor just set those detectives off.

“Oh, fuck no.” Griffin growled into his beer when a new group walked into the bar. “Goddamn lawyers.”

“There’s that fucking cunt. Just look at that slut.” Ludlow looked ready to spit nails when he saw you, gripping his glass so hard his knuckles turned white. 

“Someone needs to fuck the bitch out of her.” Johnson was watching you like a hawk, sipping his bourbon slowly as his eyes traveled over your body. “Would’ve thought Barber would be up to it, but guess that icebox between her legs really will suck the soul out of you.”

“You’re all drunk.” Paul shrugged uncomfortably when he watched Andy wind his arm around your waist while the two of you chatted with Mike and Scott. He didn’t  know how those men could possibly put up with working with you, and what you could possibly offer to make a good guy like Barber actually move in with you.

Paul growled when the sound of your laugh carried over the noise of the bar, the melodious lilt of your joy making his eye twitch, especially since it was in such stark contrast to what he was used to hearing from that bitch mouth of yours. You did it again and he slammed his drink down on the table and rose to his feet, mumbling about taking a leak under his breath while the rest of the team continued speculating about how cold you must be in bed.

He took a second when he was done emptying his bladder to try to reset, splashing his face with some cold water before staring at himself in the mirror. The only thing that broke him out of his thoughts was the light knock on the door, his slightly improved mood immediately souring when you were standing there waiting for him.

“Well, hey there Diskant.” You gave him a wicked smirk when he snarled at you, pushing past him and bending over the sink to check your makeup. “You heading back to the bitchfest? What’s tonight’s topic, how I’m out to fuck over you good old boys? Or how someone just needs to give me that good dick to straighten me out?”

“God, you’re such a fucking mouthy bitch.” He ran his hand over his face in frustration as he watched you reapply your lipstick. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I dunno, probably dealing with a bunch of macho assholes who make no secret their nickname for me is ‘cunt, esquire’.” You snorted softly and chucked your lipstick back into your bag. “Might be able to tolerate it a little better if you were actually good at your jobs.”

“Fuck you, if you knew anything about the shit we have to deal with…”

“I have a cop father, so I think I fucking get it.” You leaned on the sink and turned to face him. 

“Oh, that’s what it is, huh?” He sneered when he stepped closer to you, not sparing a thought for the door swinging closed behind him. “Daddy was a cop who didn’t give princess enough attention, so now you’ve got a stick up your ass for the boys in blue, huh?”

“I’m not your fucking princess.” You squared up with him when he pinned you against the sink. 

“I know, ‘cause you’re a cunt.” He rested his hands on either side of your hips on the edge of the sink, leaning into you and grinning when you growled at him. “Frigid, uptight little bitch.”

He managed to catch your hand when you brought it up to slap him, gripping your wrist and pulling you even closer until your breath was mingling as you panted into each other’s mouths. You stilled for a beat and glared at each other, the air between you crackling with tension until his gaze dropped to your lips.

That was the only warning you had before he was smashing his lips to yours with a deep moan, ripping your blouse open and shoving your skirt up around your hips as he growled into your mouth. You dropped your hands between you to work on his belt as he ripped your nylons open and thrust his fingers inside you, groaning when he found you warm and wet and ready for him.

He hissed when you freed his cock and let it slap against your pussy, spearing into you in one quick thrust and immediately starting to fuck you in vicious strokes. You wrapped your legs around his hips and rolled your body to meet him, wrenching his collar open and shoving your hands under his collar so you could dig your nails into his shoulders while you bit at his lips.

“Fuck, harder.” You shoved one hand under the back of his slacks to press him deeper into you, clenching around him and licking into his mouth before baring your teeth at him in a snarl.

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” He clapped his palm over your mouth and sneered at you, smearing your lipstick over your face as he bent to suck and bite at your nipples through the soft lace of your bra while his hips slammed into yours. “Sick of your fucking voice.”

You whined when he hit you deep, arching into his face and scraping your nails over his scalp as you bit at his fingers where they were resting over your mouth. He groaned when he felt you starting to clench around him with each push of his hips, sinking his teeth into your tit to try to muffle his grunts as he started rocking into you even harder.

The sink was rattling dangerously as you rested all your weight against it, Paul slamming a hand into the wall beside the mirror in an attempt to keep himself steady and using the other to grip your thigh and pull you down to meet each violent cant of his hips. Your body started shaking around him as he brought you closer, his face moving back to yours and smothering your lips with his to cover the thin whine that was coming from your throat.

“Shit, ah… fuck.” Your body jolted when he ground against your clit, your pussy clenching around him in waves and trying to draw him deeper as you started to fall apart. 

He groaned when your nails dug into his neck and hip, dragging across his skin and raising red welts as he swallowed your soft cry when your cunt fluttered around him and coated him in your thick cream. The sight of it covering his cock as he thrust in and out of you had him following right behind you, slamming you into the mirror and snarling before he was shooting his cum into you in thick white ropes.

You were panting heavily once you were both finished, Paul tucking his face into your neck and breathing deeply to try to regulate while you were still clenching and spasming around his softening cock. Then you were shoving him off you with a sniff, your hands flying over your body as you tried to assess how much damage had been done while avoiding making eye contact with him.

There was no way to describe how you looked aside from well fucked, your hair mussed and makeup smeared all over your face with your nylons completely ruined and your shirt missing a couple of buttons. Not that he looked much better, his lips swollen and covered in your lipstick with scratches along his neck and surely under his sex rumpled button up, too.

“Fuck, Andy.” You winced when you looked at the door to the bar, hopping off the sink and starting to try to straighten yourself out. “Get the fuck out.”

“Wait…”

“Out.” Your hands were shaking when you shoved him towards the door, barely giving him a chance to tuck himself back into his pants before he was standing in the hallway and trying to talk to you. “This didn’t fucking happen.”

He just gaped at you when you slammed the door in his face, his face twisting in a snarl as he started to button himself back up.

“Fucking cunt.” He stormed towards the back door and into the alley, rubbing his hand over the scratches you’d left on his neck and wondering how the fuck he was gonna explain the obvious sex scars to his fiancee. 

[sleekervae]

Young God [0.4]

It was early afternoon in Ventura, the muted brightness of an summer day having given away to a pale blue sky and the sun beaming down at full capacity. Nevertheless, the air was still fairly humid and Taylor fanned her face as a meagre means to ease the blistering heat biting at her skin. Her teal blue hair was tied up today, and what little makeup she had on had been melted down and quickly wiped away. And here, she thought Danny was exaggerating when he went on about the California heat.

Two days had passed and so far, aside from the brash heat, Taylor had found herself to be enjoying her brief American leg. Having close friends by her side eased some the nervous qualms she had carried, as did making many new friends in the wake of the festival. Within the few hours she spent with them, Black Veil Brides had taken Taylor into their circle as though they'd known her for years; laughing, joking around, and drinking, yes. But overall, Taylor had quickly grown fond of spending much of her time with Andy -- which hadn't gone unnoticed by Danny and Ben.

With a quick crack of the knuckles, Taylor plucked at the strings of her guitar in preparation for her next tent show. They certainly weren't her favourite gig to play, yet to her surprise, Taylor had found that she had gathered a small following in the crowds she sang to; quickly accumulating with every show.

The grass beneath her pricked at her bare legs and the heat made it difficult for her to persist with her practice. Despite that, her face lifted when she saw him out of the corner of her eye, and she smiled when Andy sat down beside her, placing the cool water bottle down and relaxing into the warm field.

"One water bottle, as per request," he said, then reached into his vest pocket again, "And one granola bar -- because food," he still wore that cocky grin, eyes twinkling like a mischievous child.

"My knight in shining armour," she spoke with a withered exasperation and quickly took the water bottle, "How much do I owe you?" she asked before taking a sip.

"Don't worry about it," he shrugged.

Taylor glowered at him as she swallowed, "Come on, Andy. Don't be ridiculous,"

"Taylor, it's a water bottle and a shitty granola bar. Hardly put a dent in my wallet," he said, "And don't argue with a cripple,"

"My bad," she chuckled and took the granola bar between her fingers, struggling to pull apart the foil, "How are your ribs, by the way?"

Andy shifted again at the mention, "Can hardly feel 'em now," he said, "Just watch: by the end of the month I'll be right as rain again,"

Taylor refrained from scowling despite the willful foil and adhesive, "Are those your doctor's words or you trying to put me at ease?" she rebutted.

"Perhaps a bit of both," he smirked, taking the granola bar from her and with a quick pull, the foil tore open. Taylor glowered then as he handed it back to her.

"... Showoff," she took the first bite of the sticky, chocolatey goodness before offering the bar his way. He took a bite and commented on how it was simply just a glorified chocolate bar for children. He chewed thoughtfully, watching her for longer than necessary; her long lashes grazing her cheeks, her nude pink lipstick leaving a slight imprint on the foil top and she blinked back at him, shrugging at his remark before taking another bite.

"Aren't you hot like that?" she asked then, pointing to his long, thick black hair.

Andy scratched his jaw with his finger nonchalantly and gave a small shrug, his lips pouty, "Haven't really noticed,"

"Ya' haven't really noticed?" Taylor mocked back in disbelief, "Mate, I'm hot just looking at ya!"

His face flushed then at her nickname, that and the way the twang in her Northern accent held a slight squeak to her outburst, "Honestly, I'm fine," he assured her, "Live in Los Angeles long enough, you get used to it,"

"Ugh, Americans," she joked, lying back and enveloping herself fully in the sun's rays, "Whatcha' doing after your show today?"

Andy bit down on the inside of his lip, "What do you wanna' do?" he replied. Taylor raised her eyebrows, unable to help but admire the strip of sunlight that fell over his face.

"I don't know. The beach, perhaps?" she replied, "Could use a good cooling off,"

He tried not to let his smile grow at that the insinuating thoughts in his head, instead he chuckled, "Taylor, do I look like somebody who goes to the beach?"

Taylor simply shook her head, "You look more like the monster that crawled out of the water to scare the horny teenagers off,"

" -- I won't argue with you there," Andy chuckled back, "But for you, I might entertain the idea of going to the beach,"

"For the prospect of seeing me in a me swimmers, I'd wager," she teased.

"Well," he nodded truthfully, trying not to let his smirk falter, "I wouldn't mind, personally,"

She laughed as she looked back at him, brown eyes bright and shining, "Got ya' figured out, Andy,"

He'd been trying not to lose himself in her too often, had purposely ignored the splash of colour of the thin feathers tied into her teal bun, the way the freckles he'd previously tried to count and memorize the pattern of were highlighted in the sun, had willed himself to focus on the conversation each time her lips had wrapped around the bottle of her water but now he couldn't not notice it all, admired her up close, fantasized about the mere idea of his hands being where she currently had them sitting atop her stomach, then bit the inside of his cheek at how lewd his thoughts were.

"That you do, Taylor," Andy drawled, his voice deeper than it had been before, laced with awe.

Taylor's eyes travelled up the gallery of tattoos that littered his arms. His body was close to hers and it radiated heat, he must have been sweaty with all that hair but she couldn't tell, could smell his cologne instead, the linger of cigarette smoke she'd inhaled before.

"Shall we go, then?" she asked, slowly sitting up, "You have another show and I have another tent to play,"

"I say fuck it," he shrugged back, lowering his face slightly to hers, desperate to win her over, "Let's just stay here for the rest of the day. Watch the clouds, eat glorified chocolate bars and that bullshit,"

Taylor smiled, her cheeks straining from how much his happiness was rubbing off on her.  Her heartbeat had sped up a little and she quickly blamed it on the lack of food since breakfast and the morbid heat, but there was something about his presence that still enthralled her too. She wanted nothing more than to hear him talk about everything and anything for hours, found herself so connected to his mind and the way he worked, couldn't wait to watch him perform again, especially now she'd done a little revision on his music. Her gaze locked on his fearlessly, she raised her chin.

"As enticing as that sounds, our agents will have our heads on spits if we ditch," she said.

Andy shrugged and wet his lips, "Do you often do what you're told?" he asked.

A smirk spread over her pearly pink lips and she leaned in closer, "Only when it suits me," she replied softly.

Despite all the control he'd fought for, the arrogance and air of nonchalance he was desperate to exude, his face lit up; he couldn't help it.

"I'll keep that in mind," he grinned back, untangling his long legs from their pretzel to get to his feet, "You coming then?"

Taylor only extended out her arms, a silent asking for him to take her hands and yank her to feet in one deft swoop. She squeaked at the sudden force and nearly tripped into him, falling straight into his chest. Andy held her steady and couldn't help his bemused giggle.

"You alright?" he asked, his left eyebrow arching in query. Taylor couldn't decide if it was nerves that had prompted the action, or if he was trying to keep up his act, but either way, he looked effortlessly cool doing it.

"Absolutely," she nodded and pulled herself away.

She stuffed her things back into her tote bag and picked up her guitar. After arguing back and forth with himself, Andy nervously threw his arm around her shoulders to bring her to his side as they began to walk. Taylor's eyes were wide with shock for a moment.

"Is it alright if I do this?" he asked, holding his breath for her reaction.

Taylor smiled back in kind, "Yeah," she settled into him with ease, didn't feel uncomfortable with his immediate closeness, his friendliness and need to make her feel comfortable reassuring her that he wasn't trying to put anything on her.

His thumb smoothed down her arm an inch or two as he kept her locked there, her skin smooth and silky but he tensed his jaw to stop himself from going any further, would hate to make her feel uneasy or to do something to scare her off.

"I like those feathers," he drawled, pocketing at his tight jeans for a smoke.

"Thanks," she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, "You know, Ben and Danny would probably have a fit if they saw us together like this,"

"How do you mean? Like -- jealousy?" he mumbled, popping the cigarette between his lips with his free hand, "Personally, I don't blame 'em for it. I got one of the hottest girls at Warped Tour on my arm today," he smirked with a cocky bravado.

"I don't mean like that..." she laughed back, nudging his ribs with her elbow gently, watching the smoke bob from where it was placed between his lips, "In a more brotherly protective manner, so to speak,"

"So, you've known them long?" he asked.

"Meh. Since I was about nineteen," she sighed, "Being young and reckless, trying to stay outta' trouble and shit. They've gotten me out of a few jams in the past,"

"Care to elaborate?" Andy asked, now pocketing around for his lighter.

Taylor shook her head, "Nah, not really," she replied with a nervous giggle, "S'pose I'm just grateful to having them look out for me,"

"Well, I'm very grateful that they introduced me to you," he said, biting the inside of his cheek at his own cheekiness as he brought the smoke away from his mouth to light it.

"As am I," before Andy could barely take the first puff, Taylor snatched the cigarette from his lips for herself.

"Naughty girl," he teased, to which Taylor giggled merrily and handed the bud back to him after her exhale, "I didn't like that, but I respect it,"

A few feet in front of them sat a newer indie rock band; three young hipsters with shaggy hair, baggy muscle tees, and leather woven jewelry. The lead singer noticed Andy and Taylor coming their way and turning his nose up at their loud, eccentric visage. Taylor wasn't so bad on the eyes, with a bit of cleaning up and she'd probably be one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever laid eyes on. Andy's appearance however puzzled him greatly; didn't this taller kid know that hair metal was out of trend?

The singer, with beady green eyes, glowered as the couple passed him by -- his bandmates hardly took notice until their singer suddenly shouted.

"Hey dude!" he called to Andy, "The 80s called, they want their hair back!"

Andy and Taylor stopped short at the whiny voice. Taylor then noted how Andy's face had twisted from pleasant delight to that of simmering irritation. She found that suddenly unsettling to her. He turned slowly to the hipster, cigarette still brandished between his lips with a glare that was sure to kill if looks only could.

"You talking to me, kid?" Andy asked the hipster.

The hipster shrugged without care, much to the chagrin of his bandmates who tried to tell him to shut up, "I sure as shit wasn't talking to her," he spat back, nodding in Taylor's direction.

Andy tore the cigarette away in a deft swipe, stepping over to give this little shit a piece of his mind. Taylor however quickly placed her hand over his chest, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

"Just leave him alone," she murmured to him, "He's looking for a fight is all, and he ain't gonna' get it out of you,"

As if by a sudden wave of magic, Andy's boiling rage simmered down to barely lukewarm. As much as it pained him to admit it, Taylor's words had some truth to them. He could see it in the way this little hipster bitch was smirking at him, just goading him into throwing the first punch. But when he looked down, he was met with Taylor's dark, pleading eyes. He didn't want to let her down. So, Andy inhaled deeply and stood back, taking the high road and placing the cigarette back in his mouth.

"Let's get out of here,"

Taylor, flush was relief, scowled at the twenty-something-year-old boy with disinterest. She instead took Andy's hand in her own and sneered at the hipster before walking away, "Twat!"

The air was much cooler in Asking's bus thanks to this ingenious invention called air conditioning. In turn, Taylor and Maxeen had let their hair down as they sat cloistered together on the floor of the bunk cave. With two bottles of beer before them, Taylor kept as still as possible as Maxeen applied the fresh coat of raspberry pink nail polish to her fingernails while Maxeen waited for her own toe polish to dry.

In the common area, they could hear the faint, muffled commotion of the Asking boys as they battled each other on the video game consoles, swearing and shouting every few seconds it seemed. Taylor's mind was preoccupied, Maxeen could tell from the lack of response she gave when she tried to initiate conversation.

"What's on your mind?" she asked. Taylor flickered her eyes up to meet her friend's, but she shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nothing much," she replied, "Why?"

"You just seem to be somewhere else," Maxeen said, "Were you alright after the gig?"

"Well enough, I suppose," Taylor said.

Maxeen dipped the polish brush back into the jar before she started on the other hand, "Sad we only got four days left?"

Taylor's chest rippled with apprehension, the sullen reminder that her time here was short was nearly enough to send her into a funk. She had enjoyed the time she'd gotten to spend with Danny and Ben, and Andy of course. The time she'd spent with Andy made her feel as though she'd known him for years, forming a bond she hadn't experienced in quite some time. She had told herself over and over not to become too attached to this boy, but like many things in her life that plan too went awry.

"Yeah. Back to the bleak fucking cold," she sighed.

"It's not cold right now back home," Maxeen pointed out, "It's July,"

"I'm aware," Taylor said, "I think it's just like -- you get a small taste for what you could have here but you don't have enough time to really enjoy it,"

Maxeen stopped mid paint-stroke, quirking her head at the mysterious notion Taylor was grappling at, "Whatcha' on about?"

Taylor quickly shook her head, figuring Maxeen would think her ridiculous if she was honest, "Nothing," she mumbled.

Maxeen pursed her lips as she finished the last coat, eyeing Taylor cautiously as though she expected to burst out into tears. Despite not having known Danny, Ben, and the others for as long as Taylor had, Maxeen could very well understand how sad she would be for leaving at the end of the week. However, she could sense from the aversion of Taylor's big brown eyes that she was miffed about something more than just having to leave her friends behind.

"You've been hanging around a lot with that goth-looking guy, eh?" she said, carefully gauging Taylor's next moves. The young rockstar only met her gaze for a brief moment with a nod, "What was his name... Andrew?"

"Andy," Taylor said in wallow.

"Yeah, that's right," Maxeen nodded, "Seems like a nice chap -- could do with a fucking hair cut, though,"

Taylor shrugged again, the tangy smell of nail polish slowly infiltrating her nostrils and making her scrunch, "I think it's alright, actually," she admitted, "It's more his face I notice. Underneath all that paint he's quite handsome,"

"Oh, I'm sure," Maxeen chided back, quirking her head as she tried to read off her friend, "Do you like him, then?"

"Oh course," Taylor nodded, "Him and his mates have been lovely,"

"Okay, but do you fancy him?" Maxeen asked again, "Like... in the same way you felt for Spencer?"

Taylor's ears burned at the sudden mention of her old flame. Thinking back now, that relationship felt like an entire life time ago, a distant memory that she didn't care to hold on to in that it kept her from evolving in her personal life. This however left Taylor with the question of whether or not she was ready to move on.

"It's been three fucking days, I couldn't tell you that, Max," she replied, "Besides, even if I did -- and I'm not saying I do -- but if I did, who's to say it would work anyway? I live on another bloody continent!"

Maxeen shrugged, "Well, that is to say if you did fancy him, I reckon you wouldn't give two shits about long distance. There are lots of couples out there separated, but they make it work,"

Taylor picked up her half-empty beer bottle, "You trying to talk me into a relationship that don't exist?" she took a quick swig and set it back on the carpeted floor.

"All I'm trying to say is if the opportunity presents itself, try it out," Maxeen replied, "So we leave in four days. How much you want to bet you'll be kicking yourself if you never saw him again and didn't at least entertain the possibility of what could've been? And besides, out of all the freaks and nerds we've met on this tour, Andy certainly wouldn't be the worst one to shag,"

A faint blush creeped over Taylor's face as she smiled, shaking her head at Maxeen's snide comment. That being said, the more she thought about it, the deeper Taylor's racing mind sunk into the gutter. Her face went redder and she snickered to herself.

Maxeen's own face meanwhile lit up, fascinated and excited by Taylor's meek and sly response. She shuffled in closer and leaned in to whisper, "Are you actually thinking about...?"

Taylor's nodding and anxious giggling gave her away in an instant, "I wouldn't mind, personally," she  murmured, blushing like a nun outside of a fetish shop.  

Maxeen's newfound glee reached a new height of mania. From the diabolical glint in her eyes, Taylor could tell in an instant that she was up to no good. And she was right. In an instant, Maxeen scrambled to her feet with a sadistic grin and started shouting, "Fuck me! Danny!"

Taylor was overcome with sudden horror, "Oh, god! Whatcha' think you're doing?" and she was then in hot pursuit.

Danny was currently caught up in a cut-throat game of Mario Kart with James. With some fancy thumb work, Danny desperately urged the Wario avatar to pass into first, however James' Toad proved to be a worthy opponent as the carts were now grill-and-grill in an effort to hit the checkered finish line.

"Danny! Ben!" At the sudden call of his name though, Danny lost his train of thought for a millisecond before Wario had veered off the track and had plummeted into the lava pit below. Toad meanwhile finished with a first-place victory.

"What the fuck?" Ben and Cameron turned towards the commotion in question.

Maxeen emerged from the bunk cave, eager to spill her gossip, "Boys! Taylor wants to shag -- oh!" but she stopped short, realizing that it wasn't just the Asking boys wasting their night in front of the tele.

When Taylor grabbed hold of Maxeen, she felt herself go a deep shade of red. Andy, Ashley, and Jake had come along for the digital race, they and everybody else taken aback and amused at Maxeen's outburst. Oh, for fuck sakes...

James however started snickering as he set down his controller, eager to hear this play out, "Who does Taylor want to shag, Max?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at the blue-haired beauty. Taylor slapped her hand over Maxeen's mouth before she could say anything incriminating.

"Your ma!" Taylor snapped, "Don't mind her, she's just drunk. Carry on, then!" and she yanked Maxeen back into the bunk, scowling at the echoing howls of Ben, Danny, and the others pissing themselves with laughter.

When the girls had disappeared and the hysteria died down, Andy took a thoughtful swig of his own beer; while Danny demanded a rematch from James on account of unforeseen distractions. A cocky smile had come over Andy, just still able to makeup the silhouette of the girls in the dark shadows -- with Taylor no doubt reprimanding Maxeen for being so out of line.

"NO! AYE!" Andy suddenly sat upright in his bunk, not yet awake enough to sense his smaller enclosure and he smashed his head into the rock-hard ceiling.

"Motherfuck!" he groaned, holding his now-throbbing head. His bandmates were now awake as well, all thanks to their lighting technician who just so happened to have the bunk over Andy. The poor fellow had night terrors, and the band was sympathetic to the matter -- just not at five in the morning.

"Fucking -- Richard!" Jinxx pulled back the curtain of his own bunk and hurled his pillow into Richard's, promptly waking him. The older man snorted and grumbled before coming to, realizing what had happened and groaned to himself.

"Sorry," he called. Andy whimpered and slowly rolled out of the bunk, continuing to clutch his head. He had hoped that because his hair was so thick that it would've absorbed some of the impact, then he felt stupid for thinking such a thing. CC then poked his head out of the bunk, and when he registered what had happened he started to laugh to himself. The hungover side of him found the situation hilarious, the sober part of him found it sad, however.

"You okay, Andy?" John, their tour manager, had peaked out from his own quarters at the sudden commotion.

Andy didn't raise his head, instead he held up his hand in the A-OK sign. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, hoping to ease some of the pounding in his head. The reverberations of the bus' engine certainly weren't helping him.

"Are we there yet?" he called to their driver, Collin.

"Forty-five minutes!" Collin called back.

"Take an ice bag for that," John instructed, "Last thing we need is to take you back to the hospital for a cracked skull,"

Andy grimaced at the notion of going back to the hospital again. He staggered to his feet and grabbed his phone, using the light to guide him as wandered through the blacked-out bus and went for the cupboard that held the first-aid kit. He grabbed the plastic bag out of the red box and slammed it down against the countertop several times, trying to illicit a chill from the chemicals inside. When it was cold enough for his liking, he pressed the bag to his forehead and slumped down onto the couch.

He sat in the silence on his own, basking in vibrations of the bus engine. It compounded against his headache but Andy found the sound soothing nonetheless. The throbbing seemed to extend from his head down to his ribs, reminding him of another literal pain that he'd foolishly caused to himself. Knowing how Richard was with his sleep terrors, he pondered whether he and the other boys should get their bunks lined with some padding to avoid situations such at this.

From beside him, Andy's phone suddenly buzzed. It hurt to turn his neck, but he glanced down and squinted at the blue light coming off the screen. The scowl on his face however eased into a smile when he saw Taylor's text message.

Hello from the bus ten meters behind you.

Andy glanced at the time, confirming that Taylor was indeed up earlier than she needed to be as he texted back.

Ello, dahling. What are you doing up?

You're mocking my accent over text now?

I'm not mocking, I'm impersonating

... that's kind of stupid now that I'm thinking about it

Lol, it's cool. I just can't sleep, James is snoring and I have bad jet lag :(

Well, shit.

You think that's bad? Our lighting guy woke me up with his night terrors. I hit my head.

You poor kid! You ok?

Eh, I've had worse. I'll survive

Did you like the show yesterday?

You already asked me.

You just said it was fun. Any analytical criticisms??

I liked the band and the music was really good! Not quite sold on the frontman tho

Well, I thought he was pretty fucking charming.

I think you should give him a chance.

He's a bit of a poser, don't you think? All that body paint and his piercings...

I think you secretly find him really hot. ;)

Well, with all that hair on his head he reminded me of a goth cousin It.

That hurts me right in my core, Taylor

Whops, my thumb slipped :P

Andy couldn't remember the last time he had smiled as much as he did that morning. He stared at that little emoticon with endearment, the ache in his head and ribs quickly forgotten as the three little dots appeared under the message, and he waited patiently. In his head he could hear the ring of her accent speaking the words she'd written, could still hear her laugh tinkling in his ears.

Seriously though, I think I've had more fun with you the past three days then I have all year. You turned me on to glam metal

His heart thundered in his chest as he read over the words. He didn't think it was possible but his smile seemed to get wider. He'd promise himself not to flirt with her but fuck, she made it really hard. Especially with that English humor of hers. It wasn't as though she wasn't guilty on her part.

Darling, you just made my fucking day

Asking Alexandria's bus wasn't far behind from Black Veil. Within the confines of her bunk Taylor felt as though a candle had been lit was slowly glowing brighter and brighter within her chest. Her rapport with Andy was different from her past relations with men, different to what she had with Danny and Ben.

He was sweet and flirtatious, as well as playfully narcissistic in a way that boosted his own ego despite making Taylor laugh at him. And those eyes of his -- she could picture those beautiful eyes staring at her own text message, probably with a hint of irritation as his head ached. Those eyes could stare into her soul, find out her deepest vices and yet she'd welcome him fully.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Forty-Three

Table of Content or Part Forty-Two

Read here on wattpad

Words: 3.6k

Warning(s): Explicit language, Drug abuse, Verbal abuse, Sexual situations

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My head is aching from the pressure put on it after crying for hours on end, balls of tissue shrouding the bed around me.

My mind floods with how I'm going to propose attempting to do one of the two things Nikki despises most, not wanting to ask him about it from the jump, but wanting to fix whatever it is that's lacking in our marriage that has me feeling something for someone who I'm not married to.

I know what's lacking, but I'd rather he  hear it from a professional so he can't accuse me of just throwing out bullshit.

Nikki's been home for a few hours now, but he's been avoiding me.

I wonder if he's mad at me for leaving during the tour, or if he hasn't even thought about me and came home, shot up and passed out.

I'm sick with myself, the approach of Nikki's homecoming causing an onslaught of self-chastisement that occurs in the form of random tidbits of Duff and I in my dream, and the possibility that I'm subconsciously getting ready to give up on my marriage, which is the last thing I want to do.

I hear the front door open and shut, along with the sound of Nikki's footsteps growing closer and closer to our bedroom, the rustling of paper bags accompanying him.

I haven't even realized he left the house.

Nerves ball up in my stomach, my hands get sweaty and my breathing starts getting deep.

"Keep your head clear" I hear Andy's voice in my mind and I calm myself down.

The door opens, and the smell of food wafts in the air.

Nikki's carrying fastfood bags, seemingly decently sober.

I sit up, sniffling, and he hands me my drink and a straw before pulling a cheeseburger out of the paper bag, handing it over to me as well as my fries.

"Do you feel any better?" He asks me, calmly, and I furrow my brows a little. "I knew something was up when you weren't waiting by the door. I came in and you were passed out." He explains, his hand pressing to my forehead. "You don't feel like you're running fever."

"I'm not. I just feel like shit." I mumble, taking a sip of my Pepsi.

"I got this while I was out." He adds, opening another paper bag from our pharmacy and I rub my lips together. "The bottle was on the bathroom counter and saw you haven't gotten a refill yet, so..." He shrugs, handing me a pill of my Nardil.

"Thanks." I say, swallowing it down.

He gets his food and knocks my balled up tissues out of the way as he gets into bed next to me.

"What all did you do?" He asks and I look at him, tensing up.

"What?"

"While you've been here? And I've been gone? What all have you done?" He repeats.

"Oh, just went out a few times with the guys. I stayed at home, mostly." I reply.

"I can tell. This place is spotless." He chuckles, eating a few fries.

"Sharise and Skylar stayed with me at night so I wouldn't be by myself." I add and he shakes his head a little.

"We gotta get you outta that, babe." He states and I raise my brows a little in confusion. "Your 'I can't be alone' mentality."

"What about it?"

"It's not really healthy to be that way, don't you think?"

"I think it's normal. Humans weren't made to be by themselves."

"Viv, not being able to be alone is one thing. Not being able to sleep alone is another." He scoffs.

"Vince doesn't ever sleep alone." I point out.

"That's because Vince fucks and then falls asleep with chicks who aren't his wife." Nikki points out.

"Well, I've fallen asleep with dudes who aren't you." I add.

"Robbin, Steven and Vince don't really count." He tells me. "Well, Vince counts a little, but that's because he's a fucking dick."

"Okay, so, who all counts?" I ask him, trying to keep the light tone in my voice.

His answer is blatantly but casually said as if it's common sense, and further causes me to curl into my shell, even more petrified to suggest what I've been planning to suggest to him:

"Anyone you can see yourself fucking." He says.

My body tenses and my appetite is at a loss.

I don't say much of anything else, listening to him go from the topic of the new album, to Tommy's upcoming wedding, and finally, his fuck up.

"Look, Viv," He starts, throwing the wrapper of his finished burger, aside, and I start putting the trash in the empty bags the food came in before setting them on the night stand on my side of the bed before laying back down, facing him. "I know what I did was--"

"--You made a mistake." I cut him short. "And you're still here, so...it's okay."

"No, it's not okay." He argues and I rub my lips together.

"I don't know what else to say about it, Nikki." I reply and he sighs, getting a little frustrated.

"I want you to care, Vivian." He shoots back and I roll on my back, staring up at my reflection on the ceiling, rubbing my forehead to calm the subtle aching beginning to resurface.

"I do care, Nikki, I just don't understand what you want me to do about it. You're the only one who can fix it and you freak out anytime someone mentions you getting help."

"Jesus fuck." He grumbles, kicking his cowboy boot-clad foot into the mattress a little and I sigh out, agitated, as he's about to get up and probably leave.

"Can you just not run off at the slightest argument we have, for once, Nikki?" I beg, my voice cracking as my throat grows thick with tears. "I've had a horrible past couple weeks and I just need you to hold me because you're my husband and that's..." I can't finish, a wave of obnoxious sobs coming out of nowhere.

"Vivian, what is wrong? Huh?" He asks me, genuinely, scooting closer to me and wrapping his arms around me as I lay against his chest.

It's obvious this goes beyond "I don't feel good."

People don't cry uncontrollably when they have a cold.

"I'm just going through something right now." I reply in between uneven breaths.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

I wish I could tell him everything. Every miscarriage, every repressed fear of our future...having mental sex with Duff.

I know the Duff situation shouldn't be a big deal to me, but it is. A very big deal. A very red flag. A very tiny issue that cam and will manifest if not dealt with accordingly.

Dread of the conversation of seeing a marriage counselor with Nikki sneaks into me, adding to my plate of shit I have yet to disclose to him.

"I don't know." I lie to him. "I guess I just really miss you."

"I'm right here, Viv." He chuckles a little.

I want to say, "the old Nikki", but decide against an entirely different argument, before relaxing a little as he runs his fingertips in random patterns at the bottom of my back, and falling asleep.

The thing that pissed Nikki off about my crying spells, which occurred more often the worse his use got, was that he felt emasculated by it.

He couldn't make me feel better because he couldn't get off drugs, and I couldn't even tell him about the weight on my heart from my misfortune with pregnancy and my growing confusion about my feelings for another man.

He knew he was failing me by having an affair, staying on drugs, disregarding our vows, causing me pain, which made him do more drugs to numb the pain of that knowledge, which made him act out even more.

And all I could do was scream at him, cry, flush his stash, vandalize our house, vandalize his cars and bikes, and screw the support's bassist.

But before we resulted to that...

I let out one more muffled moan as he grabs at a fist full of my hair, delivering one more thrust into me before he's finishing on my bare ass and tucking himself back in his pants.

"Nikki, I thought you said we would talk when you got back home." I lowly remind him as I clean myself off, hearing our friends in our living room.

He takes a drink of his Jack on the  bathroom counter and shrugs.

"We can talk later, babe." He tells me, for the hundredth time since he's been back home two weeks, now, and I rub my lips together.

"Well, Nikki, we kinda need to talk about as soon as we can." I pull my pants and shirt back on.

"And we will. Just chill out."

"Okay, well, we should've talked about it over a week ago if that were the case. And I've been chilling out but I'm starting to get the idea that you don't care."

"If I didn't care what you had to say, I'd tape your pretty little mouth shut, Viv." He drunkenly spurs at me, pulling me closer to him, and I raise a brow. "Don't look at me like that, babe, I--Okay, look. Your buddies are here." He laughs me off, motioning to door, reminding me  Slash, Izzy, Duff, Steven, and even Axl are over here--although I'm sure Axl's only here for the 5'3" platinum blonde playmate that I can hear going back and forth with Steven about how to properly play cards. "Tommy and Vince are coming over, Vince is bringing Sharise and you, her, and Tansy are like the trifecta or something so you can have girl time and catch up. It's gonna be a good time. We'll talk after, alright?" He assures me and I let out a breath.

"Alright." I mumble.

He smirks, giving me a sloppy kiss before I'm heading out to see everybody.

I roll my eyes and head to the kitchen, preparing myself to face Duff, who I haven't seen in three weeks.

We hung out once after I stayed at their place, and that's been it.

I step into the kitchen to see someone in our fridge, grabbing a beer, and when the door shuts I'm face to face with all six feet and four inches of McKagan.

"There you are." He chuckles out, opening the bottle with an opener on his keys and I try to catch my breath and not show signs of panic. "Thought you'd, like, died or something." He adds.

"Oh, no, I just didn't feel good." I explain.

"Yeah, Nikki told me." He replies, taking a sip of his beer. "Do you feel better now?" He asks me and I nod, although it's certain I'm not 'okay' necessarily. "You sure?"

"Yeah." I lie, smiling a little.

It was bullshit, he knew it was bullshit.

"Alright." He doesn't ask again, instead stepping to the kitchen door, purposely shoving at me with his shoulder, nearly knocking me down.

I fire back, shoving at him with mine, and we continue until we're laughing, racing to the living room.

There's an exposed seat beside Tansy and we both eye it before rambunctiously trying to see who gets there first.

We get there simultaneously, sitting down, scrunched into each other as we fight for our footing, more so assing, as we both make an effort to worm the other person off of the couch cushion.

"Move giraffe neck!" I demand in a laugh, struggling to get him out of the way.

"Not a chance, mother mary!" He replies in the same tone, managing to keep his beer from spilling.

He wins, eventually, getting me out of the way.

I'm about to give him a light hearted earful when he's pulling me into his lap.

I make sure to keep my ass on his knees, nowhere near his crotch, and he's not thinking anything of it, obviously, until Axl hears Nikki coming out of our bedroom, and I'm too busy laughing to notice.

Axl's black boot is kicking out and shoving me to the floor before Nikki can see me on Duff, and Duff and I look at the red head, about to go off on him, until we realize what he did.

Nikki's obviously just shot up, wiping the dribble of vomit from his chin with the back of his hand as his eyes play their tricks.

I'm assuming it was a speedball.

I know damn well we aren't having that talk tonight...or ever, possibly.

Never will be a good time.

The doorbell rings, and I'm eager to jump up and see who it is, to avoid going off on Nikki, crossing my fingers that it's hopefully Vince, Sharise, and Tommy.

I open the door, my eyes immediately going to Skylar's round, chubby little face as she wears a baby pink, velvet headband with a giant matching velvet flower attached to it, and a long sleeved, white onesie with baby pink socks on her little feet.

"Hey, guys." I say, stepping aside to let them in.

"'Sup, Viv." Tommy grins out widely, patting my head. His energetic mood is a deep contrast of Vince's.

"Hey." Sharise gives me a side hug and I let Skylar wrap her hand around my finger, looking at me with wide eyes and eye brows that clearly show the expression that she knows me but also doesn't know me.

"Hey, Viv." Vince flatly greets me, giving me a peck on the cheek, irritated, and I can see Sharise is in the same mood.

Great. Another couple that's wanting to kill each other. Nikki and I are in good company.

"Hey, Vince." I reply as he follows Tommy.

Skylar is kicking her feet, smiling and waving her hands, now, and Sharise hands her over to me.

"Hey, pretty girl." I greet her as me and her mom go to the living room with everyone...just in time to see Steven ripping a bong. "Baby!" I call, and all their attention shifts to the kid in my arms and they all groan a little.

Rule of "Baby": no drinking from bottles, smoking cigarettes, doing drugs, being gross with groupies, dropping f-bombs, or being a jackass when a child is around...even if the child isn't even one year yet.

It came after Skylar let out a loud and proud "Fuh!" a month prior, and at first we thought it was a random noise she was making while babbling, until she repeated the word over time until it was  pretty obvious she was practicing her pronunciation of the word "fuck," which she had heard from every person in that room.

After that, anytime someone called "baby" the cigarettes were put out, the drugs were put up, the groupies were put on behavioral probation, the alcohol was put into solo cups and the bottles were hidden, and everyone's favorite word was forbidden.

Of course they could go to another room and do anything they wanted, just not with a child in sight.

And they could complain all they wanted, but I think they liked the thought of kids being the only people able to make them clean up their act, even temporarily.

Steven puts his bong away, Duff gathers the liquor bottles and heads to the kitchen to pour it into solo cups, Slash puts out his cigarette and Nikki...

"It's fucking stupid. She's not gonna remember anything of it." Nikki snaps out a couple minutes later as Duff attempts to hand him a cup of Jack, but he refuses, motioning to Skylar once Sharise, Tansy, Steven and I are in the floor with her, and I roll my eyes.

"Babe, it's just for a few minutes. She's gonna go to sleep eventually." I tell him calmly.

"Yeah, Nikki, she usually goes to bed about an hour from now." Sharise adds.

"Sharise, it's his house." Vince takes up for Nikki. "He doesn't come over to our house and dictate what we do and don't do." 

"They can still do it, just not around our daughter." Sharise tells him.

"Exactly. There's plenty of other rooms in the house and an entire back yard." I add.

"Why bring your baby to a fucking get together like this, anyway?" Nikki asks her rudely. "You guys don't have a nanny or something?"

"Nikki." I scold him, giving him a "shut up" look.

He ignores me.

"I-I don't want a nanny raising my daughter, Nikki." Sharise states, trying to keep her cool.

"Well, then why didn't you just stay home?" He continues to come after her.

"Dude." Izzy mumbles behind us, obviously getting fed up, and I pray he doesn't say anything to Nikki or Vince to fuel the fire.

Izzy wasn't into ego, and Nikki and Vince had plenty of it...well, Vince and Sikki.

"Because I wanted to see her." I reply before Sharise can. "And the baby."

"Of course you did because stick-in-the mud Sober Sixx really knows how to keep the party going: a fucking baby." Nikki scoffs, cutting his eyes at me.

"I'd rather be known as a stick-in-the-mud than known for sticking myself at 45° angles." I snap harshly.

Everyone winces a little, and Nikki grinds his teeth together.

"What the hell is your fucking problem?!" Nikki barks at me.

"Oh, I am so glad you asked, I've only been trying to talk to you about for the past two and a half weeks!" I snap.

"Well it's not my problem I've got more important things to do than listen to you whine about our fucking relationship! You've only been doing for nearly two years now, but then you never really tell me what the fuck is wrong, so I'm kinda fucking numb to it by now!"

"I wouldn't expect you not to be numb to it, Nikki! I would be, too, if my nerves were as shot as every last cc of junk I blew my freaking money on!"

"Maybe we should go outside for a little bit--"

"--Sit down!" Nikki and I both yell at Steven before he can stand up, causing everyone else to awkwardly settle back into their seats, because they were getting ready to follow him out.

"Okay." He calmly mumbles, reaching for his cup of booze before he starts chugging.

In fact, I'm noticing them all taking more and more long sips of their drinks.

They're probably going to have grey hairs from stress after leaving tonight.

"See, look, you're turning my friends into alcoholics with your bullshit!" I accuse Nikki and he let's out a loud "HA!"

"Okay, so they're just your friends, now?!" He let's out.

By this point Skylar starts getting fussy with our screaming and Sharise attempts to calm her down.

I'm about to ask her to politely go take Skylar outside or to a different part of the house, even though by the looks of it, she's getting ready to do so anyway.

"Can you shut your God damn baby up, Sharise?!" Nikki's going after her again.

Now it seems either Izzy, Axl or Duff is about to say something, until I intervene to save them a fist fight with someone who can help their careers...not that they would even want his help anymore.

"Can you shut your God damn mouth up, Nikki?!" I stand up, ready to punch him, again, and he stands, too.

"Alright, guys--" Tommy starts but is quickly shut up with a glare from Nikki.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Viv, this is why I'm on smack! So I can get a fucking escape from being trapped in a house with you!"

"For someone who's so miserable being married to me, you sure as hell were adamant about doing so!"

"Until I realized I married a fucking psychopath!" He throws at me, pointing his finger my way.

"And I married a junkie!" I shoot back. "And all you're ever gonna be is a freaking junkie and all you're ever gonna do is junk and party and convince yourself you don't need help when you clearly do! You don't give a fuck about me or our marriage and thank fucking God we don't have kids because you'd probably sell one of them for more smack when we run out of money after your career goes down in flames when you stop giving a single fuck about music, which will probably happen in the next year since you're already writing shitty songs!" I can't stop what's coming out of my mouth, seeing him being hurt by it, disguising it as angry tears when I know I struck a chord of an entirely new emotion in him.

He was already beginning to get discouraged with his new music he was working up for the band's next album, but what I said just validated his lack of confidence.

"I'm not just gonna do junk." He calms down, which let's me know he's officially at his pique. "I'm gonna file for divorce, pack up all your shit, and have it in the yard by tomorrow night, and I'm finally gonna tell you how much I hate being married to you." He tells me and I nod like he's being serious.

"You're such a fucking--" Duff starts but I interrupt him. 

I don't even think Nikki notices.

"No, you're gonna go feel sorry for yourself, lock yourself in the closet, shoot up, wake up, feel like a fucking prick--because you are one--then you're gonna ignore me for a few days even though you know I'm right, then we're gonna go to Tommy and Heather's wedding, and the day after, I'm calling Doc and Bob Timmons, we will be attending therapy for our marriage and you will be dragged to rehab kicking and screaming."

And thus the battle between Sikki Nixx and Rabid Bitch Vivian began with no inkling it would become a full-blown war.

[halitophobia]

Blind Eye - Two

Parings ⟶  OC x Hank’s Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank’s Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Thank you so, so much for the notes from the first chapter ! Btw, I’m really sorry this is a little late. I’m hoping for late weekly chapters? Every 10ish days or so...(I’ve gotten super busy, but I’m trying my best!)

Disclaimer ⟶ still don't own any characters from DBH

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3023

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 

----

NOV 6th, 2038

AM 12:41:04

"Why'd you kill him?"

"What happened before you took that knife?"

     Pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes, you watch the HK400 through the one-way glass. Your arms are crossed, face still as marble except for the bouncing of your right leg.

"Anderson. Are you cold or having a muscle spasm."

     You blink, glancing down at the one and only Gavin Reed's hands leant on the desk, but as quickly as you do, your eyes are glued back to the window.

"Let's make a bet. Like the good ol' days, yeah?" that same sandpaper voice sounds again, making you frown.

"I say," he pauses, "they had a bromance. Carlos and Andy over here." he gestures to the android. "Carlos brings home this smokin' hot 'robette' babe wanting a steamy, squeaky threesome. Attic boy gets mad and," his right arm comes up, and he stabs the air while pulsing to a beat of 'nn-s, nn-s, nn-s...', "...kills'em." So many things I didn't miss about working here...

     That fowl scent of sweat, old leather, and cheese also known as Gavin wafts your way, and you do your best not to gag. I mean, does this hobo shower? Wash his hands after shitting? A loud bang draws your attention to Hank, who's clearly gotten frustrated.

"Fuck it. I'm outta here." he grumbles, entering the observation room seconds later.

     You slowly clap watching him scowl at you.

"I'm impressed, Pops. You really stated your ground in there." you nod, earning a chuckle from Gavin. "My turn." you smile, and scurry out of the room. You hear Hank's voice yelling at you to come back, but you're already halfway through the door to the interrogation room.

     The droid doesn't move an inch as you shut the door behind you. You grin, feeling a wave of déjà vu wash over you. You've done this plenty of times before. How hard can a life-sized moving Barbie doll be?

"Alright, you piece o' shit." you can physically sense your father slapping his face behind the glass.

"I'm gonna jump right into it, okay? Okay." you drop yourself into the chair across from it, leaning back and crossing your arms and legs. "I don't know how it works in your...command center up there, but you gotta tell us what happened."

     You watch it avoid your gaze. A painful silence dances around you, only to make your skin crawl with frustration. You swing your leg back over and let it drop below you. Your arms come onto the table and you lean down, to get into its view.

"Pssst. I'm not leaving until you spill." you whisper, staring into its eyes even though it doesn't return the contact. You push back abruptly and revert to a normal volume, "So we can just skip all this," you motion between the both of you, "and you can obey, like a good little bot."

     Immediately, you see the change of energy from the suspect. Your brows lift, amused at the reaction. "Oh? Not into the whole submissive thing? I can see you got mad there. If that's even possible."

     It shifts again, seeming to get more worked up. This is perfect, you just need to push it around. No better way to let off some steam.

"You wrote 'I AM ALIVE' on the wall, like a jewelled crown atop Ortiz's lifeless head. That's what he said to make you upset, right? You were quoting him? Because, well...I mean, how on earth could you think of that? You aren't capable of...thinking for yourself." you wait, and decide to amp it up. "For all we know, that man was innocent. Just enjoying his life, wanting...a friend? And you come along? To do what? To stab him."

     There's a warning knock from the other side of the glass. You brush it off and examine the android. Chest heaving, hands clenched and jaw rippling. The lips on its face quiver, words just waiting to break the dam. And without looking back, you chimmy-changa your way across the line.

"Twenty. Eight. Times."

     You hear the tapping once again, more urgent, but still, you ignore it. Can you shut up? You're a millisecond away from confession and they choose to cut you know? Your old man probably wants to slip in and take credit.

     You're brought back to your senses as you watch the scene in front of you. The battered automaton is now writhing under the chords which bolt is slowly lifting off the table. "Hey, hey, hey. No need to cause a scene. Suck it up, and tell me wh-" your vision goes black. Well fuck me...

     The second your sight leaves, it's back but doubled. Your forehead throbs, as if a pump were behind your eyes. That motherfucking thing head-butted you. You can't help the weight sloshing around your brain, making your head pound harder. You move to stand, but stumble into the wall behind you. Get. Up.

     You feel arms hook under yours, and start to get dragged towards the door. "Get off of me!" you snap.

     Your view seeps back into HD and you ignore the sting in your head. "I'm fine! Let me finish this!" your voice is a harsh growl, and you lash around in the person's grasp.

Who is this anyway?

     Then you smell it. Oh. Reed tightens his grip, practically lifting you from your waist, and before you know it, your dropped into a computer chair facing the interrogation room. Just as you start to collect yourself, another smack is planted on your skull.

Okay what the fuck.

"Ow."

     An ice pack falls off your shoulder and into your lap. Wow, do I get a massage too?

"Nice going, Y/N." Hank spits.

     You roll your eyes, pressing them into the ice pack. With your voice muffled, you reply with 'thank you'.

"No, I really mean it. You just jeopardized this whole cross-examination. You brought that thing near to self-destruction!"

     Your brain is hoola-hooping within your skull and this ancient dick lecturing you is just hollering encouragement.

"Y/N, take this seriously. You really fucked up." Gavin chimes in.

Oh give me a break.

     You groan loudly, hoping it'll make them stop. You really don't need this. You just need five quiet minutes, and you can go back in and get that confession. Easy-peasy.

"Earth to Y/N. You may have been bumped in there, but I know damn-well you can hear me." Hank aggressively taps your shoulder and the water in the pot just boils away.

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

     You're fully turned around, eyes ablaze with fire. You're cooking both men alive from your eyes and the pain from your head disappears for a moment. A silent breath escapes your parted lips, and you almost whisper.

"Will you, shut up."

     The air is thick as fog. Your sight clogged with angry-exhaustion, their's with vigilance, for they now tread on very thin ice.

"My name is Conner, what about you. What's your name?"

You're. KIDDING.

     Spinning your chair right around, you're faced with an image of pure disaster. Sir Smiley-Bot is seated across from the HK400.

"You let the fucking android interrogate the fucking android!"

     It hasn't even been twenty minutes and for the second time, you're blood is racing around your body like a jet. Running circuits in and out of your shrinking heart. Does no one have common sense in this fucking facility?

"What do we have to lose, Y/N. You've already ruined a proper examination, what's so different in sending in the thing?"

     Hank's voice destroys every sense of calm in your veins. You're going fucking bonkers now. It's like they worship this brown-haired robot. Prancing around its steel feet, praying to the android gods above. You've come to a conclusion; you are officially the only sane human in this police division. Everyone's brains are being melted by the second and they'll all just become slaves for the androids. Yup, I’ve solved the case.

"Shh, shh, shut up. Listen." Gavin lays his hand on your right shoulder, which you quickly brush off.

"I was fucking breathing."

     He replies with a grimy finger to his lips, staring forward. You sulk in the chair, intertwining your fingers atop the desk. The ice pack is balanced on your head and you stare forward. King-Droid seems to be calming the defendant down. Seriously?

"I could have easily calmed the thing down, this isn't all that fantastic." you scoff, adjusting the cooling pack.

     Hank flicks your head in response. It sure shuts you up. I am getting favoured over a bottle cap. I leave for one year and all of Detroit's been fucked in the ass by Alexa, Google Home, and Cortana at the same time. This is absolute bullshit. Choosing these things? Over trusted humans? This is surely humanity's last stra-

"No!"

...come again?

"No, please don't do that!"

     All three of you are now leant toward the glass, your nose virtually pressed on it. All that stupid popcan had to do was threaten to probe its memory ooooh spooky!

"What..."

     A beautifully awkward sound of leather, wood, and the chair squeal in harmony as your trio incline forward again. If it weren't for the one-way glass, there would be three sources of breath in their own designated spots.

"What are they going to do to me?"

Baby bye, bye, bye, BYE BYE.

"They're going to destroy me, aren't they?" its voice is in a panicked hiss.

Ding ding ding! We have a winner!

"They're going to disassemble you to look for problems in your biocomponents. They have no choice if they want to understand what happened."

     This goes on for a little while, the honoured golem teetering between comfort and warning. You just watch soundlessly, intrigued for the outcome. Cold droplets trickle down your neckline, for the pack on your head had started to melt. You can't resist the urge to shiver, swiftly wiping away the excess water.

     Your attention is slowly dispersing and you're starting to lose interest. You notice your stomach grumble - right, you'd forgotten to eat before all of this. Come to think of it, you're starving. Your gut agrees and wails to you again.

"Shh!" Gavin jeers.

Oh please.

     You start to lift onto your feet, wanting to grab a snack, but are interrupted by a voice that has been heard to the very minimal. Seriously though, vending machine cashews would kill right about now...

"He tortured me everyday..."

     Your ass is stapled back into the chair, holding your tongue as its mouth finally starts to move. You listen intently, watching the emotions.

     You're amazed at how...real these androids look. This...suspect. Its..his eyes were saying something. His face held...pain. The way he says he was scared makes your breath falter. For a moment, you could really believe they're humans...with their own lives...own problems.

     But your eyes move to the annoying one and the funky lighted circle gives it away.

     Connor no, that hurt to say... asks more questions. And that's when you feel shivers crawl up your spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. The dark-skinned bot falls into a trance, speaking of ra9. Claiming it will save them all...that they'll no longer be slaves. You swallow hard, feeling regretful...and alarmed. You blink. You never know what these two could be doing in there.

"What if they're secretly communicating to each other? Through their...biocompo-nents...? you ask under your breath.

"As if. They can't mind...speak." the brunette scoffs behind you.

"Yeah? And how would you know." you bark back.

You're interrupted by Hank, smacking both of you.

The RK800 turns its head toward the mirror; harsh and precise. "I'm done."

     You jolt up. Goosebumps on your skin, hairs on your arms standing tall and attentive. That interrogation gave me the creeps...

     All three of you flood out the main door, heading to the one just a foot away. Officer Chris Miller tags along who you literally hadn’t noticed until he cleared his throat, preparing to move the aberrant. No...that's just weird to say. Suddenly, the room feels a lot smaller. Six of you is six too many.

"Chris, lock it up." Gavin commands gruffly. You notice how he eyes the RK800, the model obviously ignoring his warning.

     Officer Miller detatches it from the table, but it jerks from his grasp. Your eyes narrow and you lean against the door, feeling drowned from the new energy in the space. Like defusing a ticking bomb.

     Gavin interjects aggressively, hassling Chris to move it. You watch awkwardly as they struggle, both of them pulling completely opposite ways. You push off from the wall, starting to get impatient.

"You're making this harder than it has to be." you state, trying to get its attention.

     Gavin yells once again, only to get the same in return. Your childish ass chimes in, telling Reed to back down, and now it's just a trio of toddlers crying for their candy. You're telling the cheese-smelling douche to hold his temper, while he's bitching about being tired. Chris yells at both of you two shut up when you notice the thing across you grab the officer's gun.

Fuck.

      In less than a second, blue...blood has coloured the ceiling. The HK400 is crumpled on the floor, gun laying loosely amoung its fingertips. Nothing stirs in all six of you. Your lungs have paused, muscles and eyes too. Your gaze is cemented on the one now pressed to the ground. The eyes still and wide like any other human lying dead. It stares off into another realm, mouth frozen in time, halfway through an inhale.

     This is what you forgot about. This part of the job. This raw, ferocious beast that gnaws at your gut. Chewing, ripping, tearing your meat agonizingly slow. Always hungry, always eating away at you.

"Holy shit."

     You whip your head at your father, revolted that the same words escaped his mouth...at the same time.

----

AM 1:34:48

     Gulping down two pills of ibuprofen, you stare at Hank talking with his plastic buddy. You're leant against his desk, fiddling around with his pens and sticky notes. You sigh as you feel someone slide up next to you.

"How've you been, fucker. You looked like shit walking into the building cuffed. 'Thought you were the one being arrested."

     The grey-eyed dickwad chuckles at his comment, anticipating your snarky retort.

"Reed, I'm not in the mood." you grumble, wiping your eyes with the underside of your fingers.

     You can sense his frown and disappointment. There's a small pause, but sure enough, he doesn't leave you alone.

"Another fight with Ben?"

Your stomach inverts and you feel the need to throw up. "Excuse me?"

     He raises his hands defensively. "Woah, woah. Just asking. You just always seem to be having problems with that guy."

"Where did you get this from, huh?" you threaten.

"Last time I saw you, you were whinging about him on the phone. You weren't being discrete."

     Sure...you weren't, but that doesn't mean he had the right to listen. He's a nosy, intrusive, grumpy old prick and you have never felt so disgusted in his presence.

"Stay out of my life, Reed. You have no right to ask me that. You have no right to assume things about me, and you have no right to be a...fucking asshole!"

"That last one isn't even-"

You slapped him.

     There's a sliver of regret, but your choler has clouded your mind. Do I have anger issues?

     Next thing you know, Hank is lecturing you about having manners, controlling your actions, thinking before you do, blah blah blah. You've heard this all before, it's like you're thirteen again, getting pestered at for feeding the dog your lasagna. Or cutting off that stupid girl's ponytail. She was a wicked shrew...

     Behind Hank, you catch Gavin start to snicker. Absolutely not. You push past the bearded man and start to pummel the brunette's chest. And I mean pummel. Beat. Punch. Slam. Not one giggle leaves his toxic mouth. Poppa tries to pry you off, but he gets an elbow to the nose. Respect your elders, am I right? All this anger...is barely even from Gavin's stupid words. This is the rage from the past two hours. Tonight has been hell. Trudging through disaster after disaster. It's all too much. Your gums start to ache due to the tightness of your jaw. Your hands begin to shake, each blow somehow impacting you. It's like you're just beating up yourself.

     A pair of arms wrap around your sore body, ripping you from your poor...punching bag. Gavin's face is already swelling. Black and blue covering his skin. Blood as the cherry on top. He's dead quiet now, breathing heavily as he lays on the ground. But then...you notice Hank on the ground too, blood spilling from his nose. If Hank's on the ground...then that means...

     You look down and see grey sleeves, detailed with black and silver. No, no, no, no...

"LET ME GO YOU CLUSTER OF RUSTY NAILS."

"I'm sorry, Detective Anderson, but you need to calm down before I can let you go."

I hate his voice, I hate his voice, I hate his voice...

"I'm calm." your voice like honey flowing over chocolate mousse.

     You drop every emotion in your face. All of your tensed muscles fall and you seep into its chest. Its arms fall from your torso. You wait a beat, then completely turn around.

You punch it square in the face.

     You watch in delight as its face snaps back. It stumbles, just once, which truly is enough for you. There's a burst of relieve and triumph, followed by a sting and numbness between your knuckles

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, fuck. Fucking fuck. Okay, so worth it, though...

----

[vertigoambrosia]

so firefox half-crashed and ate my 19th anni post halfway through, so here are some actually half coherent comments

short version: disappointed enough in results and angle choices that i’m kinda regrettinb buying tickets to carat because i worry this is permanently disillusioning

jay vs andy is gonna be fun, but i hate that it’s at the expense of avalanche, who never really got a real good feud out of it

also: remember when we had singles title matches? like, more than one a show?

walter being face outta nowhere is minorly annoying but not really because they have to work really hard to make people boo him anyway

also who didn’t want him to fuck up the pretty bastards?

i have no idea what leon or julian said tho since wxw decided to not subtitle stuff

someone should tell wxw the constant womens’ 3 and 4 ways really call attention to their shallow womens roster

baby allison has improved; she mighta gone a little overboard on the licking but this was a good showing from her

but like, this could have been a #1 contender match?

ok i’m gonna admit i skipped the hall of fame induction., sorry. apparently robbie pretty rapidly skipped back and forth between german and english, and i doubt wxw bothered to sub it anyway, so whatever.

the singapore cane match was so good until they shoved kelly into it - there was really no reason to acknowledge that she and AJ are together, and shoving her into an eye-rolling ~girlfriend~ role brings nothing to the story except to hear AJ talk about her like an object he lost afterwards

and the fact that they’re using it to write kelly off for a while? despicable. you build up someone, have them succeed, and then have her leave because her boyfriend is a jerk? really?

like, i want to be excited for the barbed wire match, but how can i trust some other bullshit won’t happen?

also tbh as much as i like Aj and jurn feuding, i kinda hate jurn being like, invincible even in defeat. like, he’s not even mad anymore really

i wish amale’s singles title matches felt more...competitive? this was just like, meiko owning her and then out of nowhere at the end, championsmaker. and i’m sorry, but i’m not sold on that being a death finisher. i wish they had just stuck with her winning by clever/jerk bullshit

i can’t even talk about that shit with karsten afterwards - i stopped watching.

i bet melanie isn’t gonna take the title off amale until carat but i hope i’m wrong

i probablyshould watch the kassius/lucky match, but i kinda don’t care? i like both guys, and i’m sure it was good, but...whatever

don’t fucking get me started on angel tim thatcher losing his belt after only two months in a fucking 3 way turned 4 way because lol ilja

or, i guess i should say, lol bobby

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just a Walk in the Park (baon)

Summary:   All Stretch wants is to be able to sleep in again. A shame the universe thinks that's too much to ask.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Angst, Mentions of Depression and Therapy, Hints of Kustard, Flirting, Hints of Citrus

part of the ‘by any other name’

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Stretch was asleep.

It was morning and sunshine was pouring through the window where Edge had helpfully pulled back the curtains. The scent of coffee was even wafting tantalizingly through the air but none of that mattered, nope.

Because he was asleep. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

And as a sleeping person, he was well within his rights to ignore the sound of footsteps as someone who better not want sex came into the room. Whether or not it was his husband didn’t matter, because either way, Stretch was sleeping and therefore sex was not to be had.

They’d been at it for half the night and it had been fantastic, fuck yes, that earthquakingly gorgeous, hot sweaty love sex of song and poetry. A little part of him never got tired of listening to Edge whisper sweet, dirty nothings, but now? He was damned tired.

He’d earned this rest and his knees would testify to it.

A hand settled on Stretch’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “Love?”

Welp, so much for sleeping. Stretch didn’t even lift his head from the pillow. “if you’re wanting a little something-something, it’s going to be a half-hearted hand job at best.”

The sound Edge made probably counted as a laugh, “Much as I appreciate the offer, no, you can keep all your somethings this morning. Sans is here to see you.”

That made him pry open a socket, “really? what does he want?”

Edge, who was of course already dressed and ready to seize the day and smelled enough like coffee to be awful tempting despite Stretch’s exhaustion, only shrugged. “Difficult as this may be for you to believe, he didn’t give me a written agenda. Come ask him yourself.”

“yeah, yeah,” Stretch grumbled. He sat up with a yawn, shivering as he left behind the warm cocoon of their bed and made his way to the closet. Knowing Sans, a bathrobe wasn’t going to be good enough.

His point was proven almost immediately. Sans was perched on the arm of the sofa, slouching against the wall and ignoring the fiery glare Edge was beaming at his still-damp shoes. It was kind of cute how Sans managed to get on Edge’s nerves the same way Red did, but considering they were sort of the same guy only from a different side of the color wheel, it wasn’t really a surprise.

“hey, pal,” Sans offered him a lazy grin. “edge tells me you were still catching zzz’s. why don’t we step outside so you can have a smoke, yeah?”

“Yes, please, very discreet. Excellent way to disguise the fact that you want to speak to him without me around,” Edge said dryly. “I’ll never suspect a thing.”

Sans only gave him a wink and a finger gun, seeming not to notice the way it made Edge’s socket twitch. “don’t need to be paranoid, edgelord, it’s no big thing. figured i’ll get him outta the house for a mo’ and you can finish scotch guarding the sofa.”

“I wasn’t scotch guarding it.”

“yeah?” Sans’s grin turned sharper, knowing. “from what i know about you two, it could probably use a second coat.”

Yeah, okay, time to break up this party because someone was going to get hurt and Stretch figured it would probably be him.

“c’mon, you shit, the nicotine is singing my song,” Stretch yawned as he shoved his feet into his sneakers. He barely held back a squawk as Sans appeared at his elbow. Little fucker was smoother than any of them at shortcuts; half the time Stretch barely caught him at it. They both gave Edge a waggle-fingered wave on the way out the door and Stretch could only snicker when Edge flipped them off in return.

His baby was always at his sassiest when he was pissy.

“don’t think he believed me,” Sans said easily. He followed Stretch down the walkway, lingering at the end of the drive while Stretch dug around in his hoodie for his ciggies. It was a nice enough day, sunny and a little cold, but hinting at spring.

“can’t imagine why. edge loves it so much when he’s in the dark about shit. you want to open that can of worms with him, then you can take him fishing. i’m not mediating.” He shook out a cigarette and wordlessly offered the pack to Sans while he lit his own. “so what’s up?”

Sans shrugged, stealing Stretch’s lighter to light his. He inhaled deeply, the tip glowing cherry red and finally said in a cloud of smoke. “haven’t seen you lately. wanted to tell you i finished with the infusion a few days ago, and, hey, andy’s not a bad lab assistant.”

Stretch snorted, meandering down the sidewalk with Sans more or less next to him. At the pace they were going, they’d probably get to the end of the block by dinnertime. A few of the kiddos were playing nearby and when they all waved enthusiastically, Stretch gave them a sloppy salute back.

“you mean andy kept his mouth shut and cleaned up after you were done. yeah, he’s a good egg.”

“did an egg-cellent job.

Stretch snickered and shook his head. “i don’t have the hen-durance for this today. what happened with the infusion?”

“same thing as before.” Sans rubbed a knuckle tiredly between his eyes, cigarette clenched in his teeth while Stretch could only sigh in disappointment. “even with the extra magic, it breaks down after a few days. we’re headed in the wrong direction. even if we get it working, we can’t reproduce the results en masse. but that’s an entirely different can of worms we can chew over later. came over today to bring you this.”

From his own hoodie pocket, he drew out a small plastic bottle, filled with an oily liquid. Stretch took it with a frown and opened it, sniffed warily.

“it’s a healing infusion.” Sans tapped off a long cylinder of ash into the snow. “went with the tropical paradise scent for ya. thought you’d like that better than night orchid.”

“you spoil me. why are you giving me this?”

It wasn’t often that the lazy humor left Sans’s face, complicated by his permanent grin. But his voice was soft and serious as he said, “because he hasn’t noticed your base hp dropped to 4, and i figured you might want to try and do something before he did.”

A chill went through Stretch despite the sunshine, trailing up his spine and ending in a painful throb at his soul. “what?”

Sans sighed, dropping his cigarette to the sidewalk and crushing it beneath one untied sneaker. “you didn’t notice either, huh.”

He hadn’t. Swallowing hard, Stretch ran a check of his own HP, cringing inwardly when it showed Sans was right; he was currently at a max HP of 4. The cold seemed worse all of a sudden and Stretch closed his sockets, wrapping his arms around himself and trying to stifle a shiver.

He’d been at 5 for a couple of years now, up from 1 when they’d gotten here. All of the low HP skellie triplets had topped out at 5 so far, but Stretch hadn’t a complaint about that, until now.

A gentle hand settled at the small of his spine, rubbing soothingly for a moment. “woah, it’s okay.” Sans let go and stepped back, putting a little space between them. He shuffled his feet awkwardly as he added, “this’ll help. i mean, fuck, it’s only fair. it was your magic to begin with.”

“but…i’m happy,” Stretch whispered. His voice seemed too small, pleading, with who? Sans? The universe? Because he was happy, there was no reason for his HP to be dropping. He loved Edge, he loved being married, he was fucking happy, this wasn’t fair, it wasn’t “…i am. happy.”

“hey,” Sans said, unusually gentle. “no one thinks you’re not. c’mon, you know better than that, there’s lotsa reasons for hp to drop. for one, you’ve been sick a few times recently, yeah? use that, see if it helps before you start worrying, okay?”

It was true, he knew it was true, there were plenty of reasons for HP to fluctuate. He was probably lucky nothing had happened sooner.

Stretch nodded and took a deep, shaky breath, then let it out. When he felt a little steadier, he slanted a look downward to Sans. “so when did you check me and find this time bomb?”

Sans shrugged. “didn’t.” He didn’t bother saying who did. “your bro likes to give everyone a once-over on movie night, though, so use it sooner rather than later, or you’ll be having a happy little chat with him instead of enjoying the indiana jones marathon.”

Yeah, there was something to avoid. His brother’s version of a trap had changed over the years, but you could still get caught in ‘em if you weren’t careful. Stretch twisted the bottle in his hand, watching the glossy liquid slosh around. “you really think this’ll work?”

“i think if it doesn’t work, it won’t hurt.” For all that Sans’s teeth were as blunt as Stretch’s, his wolfish grin wouldn’t have been out of place on another face. “red didn’t have any problems when i tried it on him. got a little pissed when he figured out the tingle wasn’t mint.”

He didn’t sound displeased by that. Ugh, there was a mental image he could’ve done without. Stretch hesitated a moment, asking slowly, “how are you two—"

“yeah, go on ahead and stop right there,” Sans interrupted. His grin was easy, his eye lights decidedly not. “you’ve been a bro, but it’s not up for discussion right now. i only have the energy for one crisis at a time and, brother, you’re at the front of the line.”

“am i?” Stretch gave him an exaggerated wink. “shame i didn’t get to go on the ride.”

Sans latched on to that bait eagerly, snickering. Neither of them were much for the serious brotherly bonding bullshit. “you’ll have to hit up space mountain another time. eh, have the edgelord help slick you up, bet he could use something to do with his hands.”

“you’d think, but the main thing he’s been doing on his vaycay is me.” Stretch rubbed at the small of his back ruefully. “can’t say i mind, but i’m starting to walk like a cowboy after a ride in a three-day posse. love him, but fuck, i can’t wait for him to go back to work.”

“at least you can get away in the lab. i was kinda waiting for you to call and pester me about stopping in.”

“eh, you know, been taking it easy, not doing anything dangerous lately…” Stretch stopped and sighed heavily, letting his head drop. “you already know.”

“that you haven’t been down to the lab since your accident? yep.” Sans reached out to worm a hand into his hoodie pocket to filch another smoke and Stretch let him. Probably needed a little extra nicotine boost because Stretch sure as shit did. They traded the lighter again, both of them with a smoldering cigarette before Sans went on. “the state of the place was a good clue. all your hydroponic plants are dead, pal, sorry.”

That made him wince; that was months of work down the tubes. “it wasn’t as much an accident as it was stupidity. not following basic lab protocol isn’t accidental.”

They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, not even pretending to walk anymore, and Sans looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he shook his head. “you’re gonna have to talk to your therapist, you know that.”

He couldn’t dance around with Sans on that point and knew it. Sans was firmly on the side of therapy after starting his own and it had done him well. He was better with the therapy, the permanent shadows under his sockets faded. He was still an asshole, sure, but character flaws were past the skills of even the best headshrinker.

He didn’t know the full laundry list of Sans’s issues aside from some about Flowey. They’d all been there when the Human first showed up here so Stretch knew that wasn’t it.

They’d never had the problems Underswap did with their Human; Frisk was a sweetheart of a kid. Their resemblance to… someone else…was superficial at best.

Still, the first time seeing them had been enough of a shock to send Stretch to his knees. He still didn’t pal around the kid too often, and the idea of being a diplomat like the others? Yeah, pass.

Stretch took a long drag of his cigarette, held in the smoke until it burned, remembering that first meeting. Edge had given him a disgusted look then, even as Blue fussed. He hadn’t known about…about Chara, okay, he could think the name. He could fucking do that much. Hadn’t known about what had happened to his brother, to Blue, during their patch of resets, but even then, buried beneath his disgust, there had been a hint of concern.

Edge cared so much, even when he didn’t want to.

Stretch slipped the infusion bottle into his hoodie pocket, avoiding Sans’s keen look as he said through his teeth, “i will, okay? i have an appointment in a couple days, i’ve been going every week like a good little boy, so you can save the lecture for a rainy day.”

Sans only held up his hands in mock surrender. “no lecture here. only, when the when the two talls and a small start worrying about you, it tends to roll over to me and red. gotta keep solidarity with the low hp crowd, kid.”

He easily dodged the half-hearted kick Stretch aimed at him. “we are the same age, sans, you are such an asshole.”

He only smirked and gave Stretch a wink. “own it and bone it. welp, i’m going to take off from here, have fun with the edgelord!”

He was gone with barely a pop of displaced air. They’d only walked about two houses down. Stretch finished his cigarette before shortcutting back. Probably going to need to conserve his energy.

Edge was sitting in front of the coffee table when Stretch stepped inside. He was doing an actual jigsaw puzzle, the pieces spread out evenly. It was hard to call what he was doing enjoyment from the way seemed to be trying to light the pieces on fire from the force of his glare, but at least he wasn’t scrubbing the grout again.

Stretch kicked off his shoes and walked over, picking up the discarded box where the picture showed an endless pile of jelly beans and cheery letters declared it was ‘impuzzible’.

Well, he liked it already.

Edge could only have started it this morning and he was already half-done, picking up a piece and snapping it in while Stretch watched.

His baby was so brilliant. He liked to call Stretch a genius and maybe he was, but Edge’s brilliance was a hell of a lot more useful in practice. Strategy and skill were more valuable than being able to calculate a square root at any given time.

Didn’t matter, back to the task at hand, hmmm, there were so many fake emotions to go for…

“hey, babe.” Stretch went with relentlessly cheery and from the look Edge sent his way, he’d fooled him right around zero percent. Ah, well, can’t win ‘em all. “can you help me with something?”

“Of course,” Edge said briskly and gave Stretch the full weight of his attention. That was a little heavier than Stretch wanted to deal with on no coffee so he rummaged through his hoodie for the bottle of oil and handed it over to give him something else to stare at.

Edge took it with wary curiosity, shaking it a little the same way Stretch had. “What is it?”

Partial honesty was a good place to start. “it’s an infusion similar to what i used on you before, only there’s a little more juice to it.”

Edge hummed thoughtfully. “Why did Sans give it to you?”

“because it’s my turn to play guinea pig,” and before the inevitable protests could spill out, he hurried to add, “gotta have a control for tests, babe. and sans thought you might be bored. said helping with an oil change might refuel you.”

Okay, as rude as the sound Edge made was, it was also incredibly funny. “I can’t say I appreciate how concerned everyone is for my well-being.”

“trust me, we know.” But he seemed sufficiently distracted, at least. “why don’t you go lay down some towels while i grab a coffee?”

“Why is it, I wonder, that when you do experiments, I get extra chores?” But he stole a lingering kiss when he stood and the way he went up the stairs had a certain eagerness to it.

Stretch watched him go; he was never too tired to appreciate those hips in a pair of jeans. Then he went to the kitchen for a cup of sweet liquid caffeination. He was going to need all the wits he could muster up.

By the time he went upstairs, Edge had layered their bed in towels and changed into an old t-shirt that was worn so thin Stretch could see the outline of his rib cage. He’d also swapped out his gloves for a pair of inexpensive white cotton ones, which, ah, well, too much to hope he’d go without.

“Well, let’s get started,” Edge said briskly.

Stretch only smiled sweetly, tugging his hoodie over his head. “you’re awful eager to give me a rubdown, babe. can’t wait to get your hands on these bones?”

“Always.” His voice was low and dark, and Stretch shivered helplessly.

Okay, yeah, Sans might have had practical reasons, but his theory was sound. This was a great idea. Stretch shimmied out of his track pants and sprawled out in his front, wriggling until he was comfortable against the terrycloth. “have at it, babe.”

There was a slosh of liquid and the next sound Edge made was one of disgust. “Wonderful, you’ll smell like you took a swim in a vat of cheap piña coladas.”

“hey, you can piña my colada anytime you want—oh, fuck,” Stretch groaned as Edge’s thumbs pressed firmly against his thoracic vertebra.

Even through the gloves, Edge’s hands were warm, rubbing the oil over him in long, firm strokes. He shifted over to the scapulas, working his way down to the intricacies of his lumbar spine and massaging in between each vertebra, until Stretch was less of a skeleton and more of a puddle of bones against the towels. The desire that Stretch swore would be hibernating for at least a week was stirring with interest, settling into the hollow of his pelvic girdle.

When those strong hands reached his pelvis, Stretch whimpered, jerking as sly fingertips sought out places that Edge knew were sensitive.

“There?” Edge murmured when Stretch pushed up into his touch with a gasp.

“there! oh…”

He didn’t tease. Edge’s fingers moved with tender care as they brought him to a gentle peak and while Stretch lay gasping, shivering in pleasurable aftershocks, he continued downward, rubbing the oil into his femurs, down to the delicate bones of his ankles and feet. Sans hadn’t been kidding about the tingle but eh, he tended to get that whenever Edge touched him, anyway.

“Done.” Edge sat back on his heels. His hands lingered anyway, tweaking one iliac crest gently.

“okay,” Stretch was proud that his voice didn’t so much as wobble. “go ahead and check me.”

He tried not to cringe as the invasive prickle of it washed over him. Most people didn’t even seem to notice them; it was just a sign of his luck that Stretch was sensitive to it.

“Hm. It doesn’t seem to have done anything. Your HP is 5, the same as normal.”

Stretch kept his face in the pillow a minute longer, closing his sockets briefly.

“eh, that’s what was supposed to happen, babe,” Stretch said evenly. He rolled over and tried a leer on for size, finding the fit to be easy enough. “tell you what, how about i return about half of the favor? i promise it’ll be the better half.”

Edge arched a brow bone. As though Stretch couldn’t already see the faint crimson glow coming from right around his crotch level. “Do you mean you have more than a lackluster hand job to offer now?”

“oh, honey,” Stretch let his voice drop to a throaty growl, lifting his arms over his head and arching his spine with a groan. Edge’s eye lights flared, miniature supernovas. “i think i can do much better than that.”

But he laughed softly as Edge leaned over him. Catching his shoulders even as Stretch wrapped his legs around his hips, neither of them caring about the oily smears he left on the jeans.

Fuck it, he could give his pelvis a vacation of its own next week and besides, there were worse ways to dust.

~~*~~

Later, Edge didn’t even look up from his nearly finished puzzle when Stretch stepped outside, well accustomed to him wandering out for a smoke.

Instead of pulling out his cigarettes, Stretch teleported to the side door at his brother’s house. It was plain without even a window in it, steel and secure. He lifted the cover on the keypad and hesitated, fingers hovering over numbers.

Then he clenched his hand into a fist, ducking his head as he let it fall closed again.

“Mister Papyrus Stretch Sir?”

Stretch came too damn close to screaming and the fleeting urge to form an attack didn’t even make it past a thought. He turned to the kid standing behind him with a smile pasted firmly in place.

“hey kiddo,” he said cheerily, “what’s up?”

The kid wasn’t convinced. His small face showed his worry, small brow furrowed. “Are you okay? You looked sad.”

“yep, i’m all kinds of okay.” He crouched down and scrubbed his knuckles over the kid’s head the same way he’d done to his brother when he was little. The same way he still did to his bro. It earned him a little smile, but not quite a laugh, hrm. “tell you what, how do you feel about doing an experiment tomorrow? i’ve been making some plans and edge is still off work. bet we could rope him in to help.”

The kid brightened instantly. “Yeah, okay! Tomorrow morning?”

“sounds good. see you then!” He called as the kid ran away. Stretch winced as the kid took a header right into the snow. He scrambled back to his feet without missing a beat, running off to tell all the other brats what was up.

He let the smile drop, gave the door a last glance, and then turned away. Almost, he took a shortcut, but in the end, Stretch simply walked back home. He could use the air.

-finis-

[glitterandrocketfuel]

YBC Hot Takes: The Phoenix

Remember a few days ago I dropped a Hot Take that Youngblood Chronicles was actually Patrick’s solo career during the hiatus? Well, strap in and strap on, kids, I’m about to start a whole Lecture Series here at the Peterick Institute for FOB Meta and Fine Purveyors of Flexible Metallurgic Haberdashery. I’mma break this out into separate posts because I do like to go on, and will tag the series.

I’ll be focusing on the video aspects more than the lyrics, because one big part of Fall Out Boy’s modus operandi is to create artistic disruption via cognitive dissonance between the songs and the videos. While each medium expresses a coherent narrative, they’re frequently at odds with each other on the surface levels (unless viewed within a multimedia continuum of the history of the band and its members).

The Phoenix: Changed and Raised

Save Rock and Roll emerged seemingly out of nowhere, catapulting Fall Out Boy back into the scene and onto the charts, and the ambitious project that YBC turned out to be only added fuel to the fire. But it’s no secret that the hiatus, while necessary, shook some of the foundations of Fall Out Boy’s dynamic enough for them to grow as people and as a band, but in so doing, it also had to rip away some illusions and shove each of them outside their comfort zones...and into dangerous, painful territory. Follow me below the cut to dig deeper...

The boys open the mysterious briefcase. They're all in agreement that whatever's in there is amazing, and it's amazing enough to handcuff to Patrick's wrist. Off you go, lad, with your not-at-all-suspicious-looking briefcase to some tranquil suburban neighborhood where you can get some rest and wear your cute little fedora and be your cute little self. Kids on bikes, little houses with white picket fences, nice green lawns, holy shit masked marauding wimmins comin' outta nowhere to taze your snack-sized ass--

It's telling that Patrick is out with his precious musical mcguffin strapped to his wrist and a kid crosses his path. Fall Out Boy's members have always called their fans "kids" even when those "kids" have kids of their own (who are now going to Fall Out Boy Concerts, but that's a sidequest). They do what they do "for the (starry-eyed) kids" (who feel like dead ends/who didn't make it/who never had it at all/you used to love but then we grew old...). At the same time the kid and Patrick make the connection, share a smile (Hey, do you like me? This thing I made? I know it's not the same as the last thing, but--), we learn that the kid was just a decoy. Bait. A distraction from the masked (adult) vixen to ambush Patrick and toss him into the windowless van behind the kid.

He's taken to a shadowy torture warehouse where everything from jackhammers to meat cleavers (and I will swear there was a flash of a speculum in there which *somebody* had to have a laugh over, but the significance of gender in Fall Out Boy videos is an entirely different academic track all its own here at the Peterick Institute). And Patrick's hand gets the chop-chop.

MEANWHILE...

Cut to Pete, curled up in bed with a girlfriend in a suburban house, doing the domestic thing. He says he was supposed to be naked, but he chickened out at the last minute, which is also telling (the prelude to the hiatus had him saying that the world had had enough Pete Wentz, and that colors his interactions even today). During the hiatus, Pete's putting his life together the best way he knows how--looking for the picket fences and the things we are all told are "normal." Maybe he's even getting some rest. He's interrupted when The Kid (The Fans) knocks on his door and delivers a gruesome Message.

Not only gruesome, but dropped into a grocery bag and hung on Pete's doorknob in a drive-by. At first glance, Pete looks at it and shrugs and goes back to whatever he was doing, but let's not get sidetracked by a drive-by suggestion of self-absorption or a whiff of an inability to cope with or comprehend what just happened right away, because Pete is not as dumb as he looks. He knows that anything Patrick does will always have Fall Out Boy hanging over him like a meat cleaver, cutting him off musically, until his connection is literally severed (the hand with the FOB tattoo is cut off). Not to mention, the whole media-circus vortex of The Life And Dramatic Times Of Pete Fucking Wentz that can't help but catch Patrick up in it. It's not out of the realm of possibility that Patrick has deliberately severed this vital part of himself in a pointed and violent, yet impersonal, way. To a heartbroken and head-fucked Pete, it's crossed his mind that he may have driven the people he cares about to drastic measures to escape his toxicity.

We all want to know why Pete eschewed cell phones, landlines, email, snail mail, fucking Western Union telegrams, or just driving over to his friends' places to check up on them in favor of sending a cryptic Raptor-Gram, but let's not forget the fact that during the hiatus they sometimes communicated through tweets to other people, media interviews or drive-by postings and hearsay. But whatever message Pete's trying to send becomes lost in translation, because it doesn't quite get to the other band members in time.

Andy in a parking lot, maybe a little stalled at the hiatus while he catches his breath, and Joe, at the gas station, trying to take a road-trip far away from all this bullshit. Hey, does this rag smell like chloroform? Didn't you guys learn not to get thrown into windowless vans with weirdos.

But where's our boy Pete? He might be sending Raptor-Grams to his buds, but he's let a viper into his bed as his girl, dressed in menace and eyeliner (let's table, for a moment, her 'vintage 2007 Pete Wentz' eyeliner game because there's a whole world of subtext ripe for speculation about how Eyeliner!Pete could be a funhouse-mirror Agent of Chaos for everybody in his orbit) pounces and, instead of chloroform or tazers, injects him with a chemical cocktail of distortion in order to get him into the van.

Back to Patrick at the charnel house, who's singing his heart out while the rest of his organs are being harvested as he pulls his intestines out and puts them on a wax pressing to vinyl. His hand's gone, because he's played his heart (and lungs and kidneys, and maybe a spleen, too). But the rest of his guts have been taken out and arranged on silver platters (or vinyl pressings, as it were), ready to be consumed by anyone who's interested.

Patrick himself is seated at the head of the ornately laid-out table, with feeder lines going into and out of his veins as he waits for the world to come consume the thing he's worked so hard and bled so much for, even down to the point of painfully severing a beloved and necessary part of him (the h(b)and).

[ruginite]

my muse has just come back from your muse’s funeral || Come at me, brochacho.

send one of the following for a letter from my muse to yours Status: Not Acceptin

~x listen x~

The radios on….just noise in the back ground. Christ but that’s been everything the last week or so, hasn’t it? Just god damn fucking noise. Nothing to make it stop, fuck him side ways he hasn’t even slept. Not for lack a trying mind. It just ain’t coming. To much shit, to many steps, he’s taken twice before in his life. 

He helps. He does everything he can to make it easier, knowing damn well it don’t do a fucking thing. That it don’t help. That nothing he or anybody does is gonna fucking help. He lost a friend…but Beth? Christ does he get what she’s feeling right now. 

So here he is. Sitting in thei—her apartment. Fridge stuffed so full of food, he had to manipulate the space to get it all to fit. Beth in her room, passed out from too much hurt, too many tears. And he’s alone for the first time in weeks. Staring at a blank piece of paper. Words rattling about in his head, he’s gotta get down on paper. He’d done it for them, Riley deserved the same. But fucking hell where does he even start?

Assfu  Sna Riley,

I ain’t good at this shit. Gettin’ all heart to heart. Writin’ shit down. And don’t you start, fucktard. I ain’t doin’ this for you. 

Funeral was proper. Everybody had somethin’ to say about you. Felt like we were gonna be there until the rest of us bit it. Felt fuckin’ outta place as hell asshole. Hope you fuckin’ get that. She wanted me to be the last one up there. Felt right I guess. I’m the one that knew you the shortest. Bullshitted my way through most of it. 

Procession was fuckin’ ridiculous. Right through the city. Bagpipes. Whole fuckin’ show. None of us said much on the way. Hell we ain’t said much in weeks seems like. You got to ride in style though and asshole let me tell ya about the view. Ain’t half bad. But damn gettin’ your ass there. Only you could gain an extra twenty pounds dyin’. Maybe it was just the other asshole’s carryin’ you awkward I dunno. But seriously…run off a few pounds with that new leg a yours. Christ.

She’s doin’ like ya would expect. Ain’t eaten much, won’t even when I nag her to. Can’t breathe for cryin’ most a the time. Don’t know what I’m doin’ here but I’m tryin’ asshole. Jay’s helpin’ more than I am for sure. I ain’t ever been good at this. Ask my mom. She’ll tell ya. Did a horrible fuckin’ job there too.

Don’t worry about Seren and the kids. They miss you like hell but they’ll be alright. Gettin’em moved soon. Some place the boys will have a yard to play in and I won’t be far in case they need me. I told ya I’d look after ‘em and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. All four of ‘em.

This shit ain’t.  

It’s my fault. There I fuckin’ said it. You happy? I should a reacted faster. But damn it Riley what the hell were you thinkin? Stick to the plan. Keep your distance. That’s what you were supposed to do. Not come bustin’ in like some cowboy that don’t know what he’s steppin’ into. I had it. Fuck, you should known that. Yer a fuckin’ dick. Thought you’d pull a page outta my playbook? What shit is that? How’d that work out for you?

I ain’t never had a friend til you. But you just had to go fuck that up didn’t you? Just had to make me bury somebody else. Fuckin’ hate your ass for this.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. I still needed you here, we all did.

-Baz

p.s. You’re still an asshole, Snarky

He stares at his friend’s name for what feels like hours. His friend. The only one he’s ever had. And there’s a glass near by that’s filled before he fills his own. A clink of glass on glass before he knocks it back.  A settling wince, a slow gaze cast about the living room in which he sits. Pieces of a life that’s over. Pieces of a guy that’s never gonna come back through that door, mid-argument with your’s truly about who had the better game last season. Pieces of a person, who didn’t deserve the card life dealt them. Who didn’t deserve dying the way they had. Over a god damn mistake, that Bastian can’t take back.

The weight of everything crashing down around him, then. The guilt of another life staining his hands. The responsibility he didn’t ask for, but shoulders anyway. It’s too god damn much. He’s buried to many people, and now to many people need him to step up. He’s going to try, but there’s a bitterness to it. The kind that only comes with knowing he’s going to fail. The kind that settles in the back of his throat because he’s got shoes to fill. And there too god damn big to ever fit into proper. He should know. His parents both left him pairs he still couldn’t walk right in.

And somewhere along the way between the whiskey and the chair, if he were a better man, hands would shake, cradle his head, fist in his hair. Shoulders would shutter and quake. Hard blues, would crack in pained bits of orange; as they were squeezed shut. That feeling of sophisticating would ensnare and choke him. And the letter would bleed. 

But he’s not a better man. He never has been. Anything better about him had been pieces of his parents left behind that Andrew Fucking Riley had drawn out into the light. With a pair of pliers, tough love and a finely aged bad attitude.  And where a better man, a stronger one would let it go. Let the loss bleed out of him in a torrent—Bastian can’t. Never has. And probably never will.

            “God damn it, Andy. ”

[precious-boring-life-blog]

Whirlwind of Fuckery.

😈Today is Tuesday. Saturday was the last day I wrote, if I'm not mistaken. What all has happened? Hmm.. Let me think. Tons of bullshit with that older man. Promises not kept. Lies that I KNOW are being told, but don't dare go in with full-blown accusations, because he has money.. & since I'm on a run, I always need dope. Whatever. He left me hanging all day yesterday while I kept stringing Chris along all day & he kept stringing HIS dude along all day... Finally, after getting dropped off at 10 AM, receiving a promise he'd return at 1 o'clock and we would go & get a bag... Then proceeding to wait ALL day while being fed some bullshit... I finally mustered up some mojo & formulated a plan to get my own shit. Had to create a huge Smorgasbord of a lie to convince my dad out of $40 for dinner & a movie with NA people. Yeah.... I'm bottom-of-the-barrel terrible & although that rhyme sounded cool, it's not meant to be lighthearted. For some reason when I wrote that down about my dad, I feel super awful & ashamed all of a sudden. Honestly, I fucking should, too. My parents have sacrificed so much to try and save me from my addiction to heroin & I have thrown it down the drain AGAIN. I don't know how they haven't caught on or kicked me out yet. My mom has asked me multiple times & all except once, several weeks ago, it's something I always deny. Still.... Can't help but wonder... A part of me feels like they have got to fucking know. I had Chris pick me up last night around 6, & the timing was perfect. I needed to leave before 6:30 and be gone until at least 11. Problem solved. We went back to his house, I smoked my whole sack up quick despite a weak willed promise to myself I'd save a LITTLE bit for the morning. Blazed a bowl & a joint of this weed also procured from this older man. Then we fell asleep on his bed until tapping on the ajoined bathroom window from the porch woke us up - it was just Abraham returning home from work in Royal City. I came home & passed the fuck out from midnight until basically 11 AM. I did wake up once around 6, managed to stumble out into the kitchen while my dad was sitting at his computer & bum a smoke from him. After several long drags, I smashed the smelly, cancerous slave-driver of a product face first into the glass ashtray on the stove ; small round and clear with a psychedelic heart painted in the center, it was a gift from my mother. I shuffle back to my bedroom shut the door dive back into warm covers turn a pill bottle over into my palm, two little hot pink ovals pop em into my mouth and away to sleep I go. Benadryl only works like that (for inducing sleep) whenever I'm high. While sober it didn't have that effect. Weird, whatever... Unimportant! Really, though, none of what I've written on this blog so far is important. Just the loaded ramblings of a 25 year old on-going, off-again junkie loser without a future, destined to die probably living in this same fucking room. When I finally woke up again, 5 hours after popping those allergy meds in hopes of them doing exactly what they actually did (sleeeeep💗) I hung out around the house with my Ma. A&E has started showing a trailer advertising the February 20th premiere of the new & FINAL season of a show we binge-watched on Netflix together & fell in love with... Sooo that means Netflix added new episodes of Bates Motel! We watched at least 6-7 episodes I think. Old guy hit me up saying he wanted to buy a sack; had $100. He didn't want to go pick anyone up other than me (which was a problem) because Chris wasn't answering & Kayleigh is in jail, poor thing. After bullshitting with Andy Packard for a bit on when his dude was going to pick him up & then meet us... I wasn't sure if I believed that was really going to happen, so I decided to take a chance. Instructed Romeo to swoop me and drive me up past the car wash. Had him park further back then normal, and decided to try my luck knocking on the bathroom window of the Naab house. BOOM. IT WORKED. I'M IN. Fucker was sleeping all day. I had just seen him the night before (he dropped me off just after 11) but apparently he didn't didn't go to bed until 9 o'clock this morning. Anyways. He called his dude. I told my ride / ATM to wait over at the gas station (GOD I'M AN ASSHOLE) and while waiting Packard called me ten times cause guys dude was in the way, I made up some story we got pulled over on the other side of town & "homeboy" got arrested on a warrant outta Kittitas County. The little Mexican teenager Chris goes through showed up (we heard his car crunching over snow & ice out in the driveway) so my buddy ran out, and minutes later returned with a nice hefty chunk of some super-fire, or as fire as it gets around these podunk parts. I smoked two pieces with him, as a peace offering for waking him up, broke off some more and put it in a second baggie hidden stealthily away in my right sock, and called my ride to swoop me back up. We get to his house, do all of the bag (aside from what I had hidden) and talk about my plan to get off this shit using subs - subs he got from his coworker that are waiting in his locker at work... Subs that he is supposed to be bringing me shortly after his shift ends at 7 AM Wednesday morning. This morning. Today. I hope to God he comes through with those. I worry, because while he HAS done alot for me he has also been pretty flaky on a couple occasions. I've actuality been sitting on a message in my FB inbox from him that I need to reply to NOW (not purposefully avoiding it, I just honestly keep forgetting) so he stays engaged and it's still thinking about me (so I can get those subs here in the next 6 hours). Very important. Pause all of this ; I'm going to reply to him now. OH, but I cleaned out my tooter less than a minute ago & it was funky full, for all variables considered... So honestly I'm gonna hit this real quick & THEN reply. &&&&& I'M BAAAAACK. 😈💗😐 So I'm back. One more hit real quick. Smoking my last cig for the night. Oh boy... I told myself I'd be going to bed early tonight; it's now closing in on 3 AM. I have to be awake at a quarter to seven (6:45- DON'T FORGET TO SET AN ALARM, DUMMY) to meet J. Romeo for those subs when he gets off work. Please, good lord, PLEASE... Let him come through. Please, please, pleeeease. 🙏 Soon as I finish this little blurb of a blog.... Well, what was supposed to be a quick daily check in / drug-a-log... I skipped the last 2 days since Saturday so this entry turned into more of an amphetamine-fueled nonsensical novel HAH! (If a statement could ever perfectly describe my style of writing... That would be it 😂) but as soon as I'm done with this cigarette, I have to be done with this entry. Then, I'm going to brush my teeth, put Neosporin on my face (which I picked to hell and back this evening...sad day) and try to pee one last time... Then I'm crawling into bed, setting a 15-minute timer, and doing a Stream of Consciousness exercise (S.O.C.). Basically the concept is just to set a timer and do not stop writing until the bell. Sense doesn't need to be made nor does punctuation really need to be used. The idea is just to spill your guts, your heart, your soul, out onto the pages. Free your mind from the hamster wheel of worry and thought by expelling it onto the empty lines of a journal. Cigarette is done. Think I might just do the rest of that bag right now... Fuuck it. One last hurrah; thirty dollar chunk of fuego and a few pages of chicken-scratch prose. Debating... Debating... I'm already pretty high... I don't know if he will come through for SURE with those subs... If he doesn't, & I smoked this all tonight, I'm screwed. I'm screwed either way without em, whether I smoke now or not... Totally irrelevant. If he does, I will be so relieved. I will be able to get off this shit, finally... After TWO FUCKING MONTHS. WHAT HAPPENED? WHERE DID THE TIME GO? HOW THE FUCK DID I END UP HERE? Why on earth did I decide to go back out? I don't want to live like this anymore... Please Goddess, hear my cry & help me. Please let him come through with those Suboxone, that is my one and only hope.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Forty-One

Table of Content or Part Forty

Read here on wattpad.

Words: 3.2k

Warning(s): Explicit language, minor sexual situations, drug abuse, drug over dose

A/N: Had to cut this chapter in half because tumblr was being sketchy w the length of it for some reason. Anyway, second half will be up asap but I'm about to pass tf out. Also, this chapter was gonna have some smut but I put it in with the second half instead because the vibe didn't mesh well with it included in this one. Have a good night, update coming tomorrow/late tonight (Jan. 3). Goodnight!!

Tag List: @unknownoblivion @sinningsixx @edwardtriggerhandzz @lemmyjelly @haileynicoleseavey17 @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphordarling @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @xpoisonousrosesx @cruecifymesixx @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor @emmaelizabeth2014 @meetthesixxter @sixxsixxsexx @sublimeprincesswasteland @arianareirg @girlnight-terror @mcnibberachi

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I can't help but laugh a little as Nikki presses kisses up and down my neck, bottle of Jack in one hand, part of my ass in the other as our car takes the both of us through London.

Valentine's Day, 1986, started out as one of the best Valentine's Days we'd spent together.

Nikki's mood wasn't too good or too bad, it was a tolerant neutral, I suppose it's because we hadn't done much talking at all.

He'd woken me up with his tongue between my legs and it stayed that way until I had soaked the sheets and was practically begging him to give me a break because I couldn't take it anymore.

Then we proceeded to screw around, then got ready to leave to meet everyone at the Hammersmith Odeon where they were due to play that night.

"How much longer?" I ask him, pulling away from a tongue filled, lust fueled kiss, referring to the time left before we get where we're going.

"Like, ten minutes, maybe." He tells me.

My hand reaches between us, rubbing over the obvious bulge in his pants, before he reads my mind.

After our quicky, I'm pulling my panties back on while he's pulling his gear from his boot.

I just let out a breath.

"Nikki--"

"--I'm fucked on blow right now, Viv. I gotta get myself leveled out." He tells me.

I just nod a little, not bothering to argue.

Once we arrive, Fred's meeting us in the back to escort us inside as fans are already crowding around the front entrance.

Nikki's grabbing at my hand once we get out, as he and Fred start talking.

"And there's a surprise for you." Fred tells me as we walk in.

I furrow my brows before he's nodding to our left.

I see the massive, teased, blonde hair and flashy clothing and I'm leaving Nikki's side before I can help myself.

Mike's just as happy to see me and I am to see him, the both of us hugging each other tightly before pulling away to examine each other with wide smiles.

He looks incredible.

He's glowing.

He's gained back the weight he lost dramatically after Razzle died, and it's so obvious that he hasn't touched a drink or Drug in months.

He looks at peace.

"You look great." I tell him, looking him up and down.

"I feel great." He replies. "You look..." He starts, examining me similarly.

I look like I've been dragged through hell.

"Like shit." I finish for him and he rolls his eyes.

"Beautiful, Vivian. You've always been beautiful." He argues.

The shining of a silver band around his left ring finger catches my eye, despite multiple rings decorating his hands.

"Now, I've heard about this." I take his hand and look at the wedding band and he gets giddy. "But I have yet to even see her."

He's pulling his wallet out of his pocket and pulling a picture out, showing me a photo of a woman with dark hair, arched brows, who's no-bullshit demeanor is practically jumping out of the picture.

Jude Wilder had been working at CBS when she'd met Michael while working on Hanoi Rocks' project called "Two Steps From The Move."

She was nine years older than him, but that didn't surprise me. Michael's always been nine years ahead of everyone else in maturity, and they were perfect for each other.

They got married in 1985, and were inseparable.

When she died in 2001, after suffering an intracranial hemorrhage, Michael sunk into the excruciatingly low place he sunk to when Razzle died. But in true Mike Monroe fashion, he didn't allow himself to be down very long, threw the drugs out, and was remarried to a gorgeous, sweet, ball of light named Johanna by mid-2003.

"She's gorgeous, Michael." I tell him in admiration, although I know he's never necessarily been into looks as much as he's after a good personality and clear head.

"Thank you. She'll love to hear that." He chuckles, tucking the picture back into his wallet. "Have you seen the other guys here?" He asks me and I raise my brows.

He motions behind me and I see Andy, Sami, and Nasty, talking to Tommy and Nikki.

Nikki beckons for me and I go to them, trying not to be overly motherly upon seeing them, the three of us sharing the same exchange Michael and I did.

Tight hugs, and an invisible thankfulness that they're in a more positive headspace than the last time I saw them.

Well, except one.

Andy's still on heroin. It doesn't take me two seconds to pick up on it and I can tell it's gonna be a priority to keep him and Nikki separated after the show.

I don't need them fueling the fire under each other's spoons.

Sami and Nasty look better than the last time I saw them, which is amazing.

I'm surprised any of the guys want anything to do with us after the thick of their grieving.

"Are you staying for the show?" I ask Andy.

"Absolutely." Andy states, pointing at Nikki. "And I'm showing him around when it's all over."

A protective chord is struck in me, and I'm finding myself having to pull back on the reins before I offend Andy.

Nikki seems to agree, before I shit all over it.

"It's Valentine's Day." I cut in. "I was hoping we could hang out." I look to Nikki.

"You can come with us, babe." He suggests and I try to hide my true emotions about it, but Michael sees through it.

"Oh, c'mon, Nikki. It's Valentines Day." He interjects, picking up on my concern of Andy and Nikki out on the town, binging.

Nikki's pulling a handful of bills out of his pocket before handing it to Michael.

"You take her out, then." He tells him casually, and Michael looks at me, caught off guard, able tell this isn't the first time Nikki's acted like this towards me and it's as if he's saying, "he's like this now?"

"Guys, c'mon, you gotta get dressed." Doc pulls at Nikki and Tommy.

The show goes smoothly, despite a few hiccups and—as predicted—Andy and Nikki are thick as thieves.

I help Nikki get his white and black polka dotted suit off, before he's pulling on his tshirt and jeans, pulling his boots on.

Before I head for the door when he's dressed, he's grasping at my hand and stopping me.

"What is it?" I ask, raising my brows.

"C'mere." He tugs me to him and I chuckle a little. 

"What is it?" I repeat, grinning, and he leans down and presses his lips to mine, sweetly.

"I really wish you would come with me tonight." He tucks some of my hair behind my ear and I shake my head a little.

"Nah, I'll just hangout with Mike."

"No, I wanna hangout with you." He argues lightly.

"You and Andy are gonna be doing things I'm not into." I point out.

"Like what?" He asks.

"You know what." I reply.

"Alright, how about you and Mike come with us so you aren't by yourself?"

"How about you just don't touch heroin?" I suggest and his smile falters, his jaw rolling. I don't even let him say anything else.

I kiss him one last time before trying to sweep whatever argument is brewing, under the rug.

"I'll see you when you get back tonight, Nikki, okay?" I ask and he sighs out.

"Whatever, Viv." He mumbles as I step out.

I find Mike and Tommy telling Nasty and Sami "goodbye", and I step to them, glancing around for Vince, who isn't anywhere to be seen.

It's obvious he's keeping his distance.

"Leaving already?" I ask the two dark haired boys.

"Got to get back home for a bit. We'll see you around, eventually." Nasty tells me, grinning as he squeezes my hand assuringly.

"I'll be meeting Mike back in the states in about a month." Sami adds. "We'll he sure to stop by."

"Okay." I nod, smiling at the both of them. "Be careful, I'll see you later." I them.

"See you, man." Mike tells the two of them, hugging the both of them.

"Big plans tonight, Viv?" Tommy nudges me and I point my thumb in Mike's direction. "What about Nikki?"

"He's married to Andy's dealer tonight." I reply and Mike raises his brows, not saying a word, and Tommy seems like he doesn't quite know how to respond.

"We're outta here!" Andy exclaims, he and Nikki stepping to the exit with Fred escorting them out to their car.

"He's really not spending tonight with you?" Tommy asks me, disappointed, and I raise my brows.

"Are you surprised?"

"..." He says everything with a single look and I nod.

"Exactly." I scoff, going to the dressing room to grab my purse.

Once I get back, Fred is waiting for Mike and I.

"Press talks." Fred warns us right before we step outside.

The paps aren't horrid here like in America, but there's enough here to spin a narrative if they choose.

"So does bullshit." I reply as he opens the car door and I slide in with Mike following me.

"Be careful, guys. I'll see you later, Viv." Fred tells me and I nod before he shuts the door.

Michael looks at me with a smile.

"What now?" He asks me and I shake my head a little.

"Food." I tell him. "And a lot of it."

Although I would have loved to spend the day of love with my husband, spending it with Michael Monroe while stuffing my face with London's very best take-out, was nice.

But there was someone who upstaged Nikki, aside from Mike.

I step into the hotel after dinner with Michael and his wife, carrying my heels in my hands because my feet are killing me, ready to go to sleep.

"Mrs. Sixx, there was a delivery made to your room by your management earlier." The woman at the front desk tells me as I walk by to the elevator.

"Alright, thank you." I reply.

When I get to my room, I unlock the door and I'm met with a large bouquet of classic red roses.

I furrow my brows, knowing they can't be from Nikki, but already know who they can be from when I see two little plastic water guns tucked into the flowers, a bottle of Pepsi and a bag of gummy worms beside them.

I pick up the card and nearly start crying.

"We miss you! Happy V-Day, V!

Love, more than Jack and Marlboro (or Pepsi and gummy worms), Tansy, Steven, Axl, Izzy, Slash, and Duff."

It's etched in Doc's handwriting, and I chuckle at the thought of Doc on the phone with Tansy while she dictates what he writes on a card for flowers she probably begged him to get me before the show ended tonight.

I keep myself from crying, a strong sense of homesickness washing over me.

I pick up the phone, trying to calculate the time difference.

It's 2:00am here, which means it's only 6:00pm in L.A.

I'm dialing their apartment—damning the overseas charge that I know will be billed to us—knowing they're probably getting ready to go out or head to a club for a gig.

"Yo." I hear Steven's voice on the other line.

"Hey, Steven, it's Viv."

"Viv?" He asks excitedly. "Aye, Viv's on the phone!" I hear him say, hearing indistinguishable sentences in the back ground.

"Yeah, I just called to let you guys know I just got back to my room and saw the flowers." I explain, fumbling with the phone chord, sitting down on the bed.

"Do you like 'em?" He asks me and I nod to myself.

"Yes, they're beautiful." I reply.

"Well, Tansy mentioned getting you something for Valentine's Day and she and Duff called the guys' manager and told him some stuff you'd like." He informs me.

"I-Is Duff there?" I ask.

"Uhh, yeah, gimme a second." He tells me. "Duff! Man, it's Viv!" He calls into the apartment. "He's comin', baby." He assures me. "Alright, here he is."

"Bye, I love you." I tell him.

"I love you, too." He replies as I hear the phone being handed off.

"Hello?" Duff answers and I rub my lips together.

"Hey, I know you're probably busy so I wasn't gonna keep you long, I just wanted to say 'thank you' for the flowers and the junkfood I really shouldn't be eating but I'm going to eat anyway." I state and he chuckles.

"I'm just waiting on the guys, and I thought about Coke and potatoe chips but I knew that would be kinda mean so I played it safe." He informs me.

"You don't have a mean bone in your body, Duff." I point out. "Oh, guess who I ate dinner with tonight?"

"Nikki?" He asks and I scoff.

"That's an entire conversation on it's own." I reply. "Michael Monroe and his lovely wife, Jude, took me out to dinner."

"You can't just say it that casually, Viv." He tells me. "You gotta cry tears of joy or something, holy shit."

"Well, I suggest you learn how to keep your cool because him and Sami Yaffa will be visiting L.A. soon and I will be introducing you and the guys, if you're interested."

"Shut up." He says it in disbelief and I smile.

"Guns N' Roses came up during dinner and I may or may not have bragged about one W.Axl Rose, Steven Adler, Izzy Stradlin, Slash Hudson, and Duff McKagan and piqued his interest."

"Shut up!" He says it louder. "Viv, I know it's not a big deal to you because he's one of your friends but...holy shit, Sixx, you didn't have to do that."

"I did, Duff. You guys deserve it." I argue. "You deserve it."

"I fucking love you." He tells me, genuinely. "And I'm not just saying that because you did something nice, like, I can't say 'thank you' enough or tell you how much I love you for being just as enthusiastic as we are and believing in us as much as you have for the past year."

"You guys are great people, Duff. And God's given the five of you incredible musical gifts. It's against my religion not to help expose those gifts to the rest of the world and I know you guys can do it, as much as you guys know you can."

"Thank you, Viv." He tells me again. "And where's Nikki at?" He asks me and I close my eyes for a second, not wanting to say something that will put a damper on his mood.

"He wasn't feeling well so he came back to the hotel while the three of us went to dinner. But he's feeling better now and he's in the shower so we'll spend some time together when he's out." I lie.

"Okay, good. The guys are about ready to go, now, so I'm gonna let you go." He tells me.

"Alright, have fun." I reply, trying to force back tears. "And tell the guys I said 'hey' and that I miss them." I add.

"I will, Viv. Goodnight. I love you." He states, and a tear topples over my lashline, pretending, just for a moment, I'm hearing those words from Nikki.

A sad, broken smile cracks at my lips.

"I love you, too, Duff." I reply. "Goodnight."

I hang up, stepping to the bathroom to take off my makeup and get a shower.

By the time I get out of the shower, I'm so tired my mind practically shuts down the second my head hits the pillow. 

Typically I wouldn't be able to sleep due to being alone, however, I'm not technically alone. 

A loud, startling bang rattles at my door, and I jerk awake, confused for a moment. I glance at the clock, seeing it's only 3:30am, and I roll my eyes, knowing it's Nikki and he probably left his key somewhere.

Without even looking in the peep-hole, I open the door to see a frantic, panicking Andy.

Before this continues, I need to clarify that I understand it isn't anyone else's fault that Nikki did drugs. He had his struggles and demons all without anyone offering him anything to shoot up, snort, swallow down, or drink. He could have easily said "no" to these things, but for some reason just couldn't.

But back then, I knew people knew he couldn't help himself. So no one who could have been considered an enabler was off limits. And Andy was an enabler.

All it takes is for him to say the words "Nikki's in bad trouble" and my face twists, tears toppling from my eyes, an entire wave of emotions rocking through my body, before I'm throwing both of my fists at him.

"Vivian!" He's screaming repeatedly as I'm yelling out nonsense at him, sobbing, weakly hitting him.

Once I've gotten calmed down in a couple minutes, Andy's grabbing at my shoulders, his cheek bleeding from my ring cutting him.

"Get your head clear." He practically has to pull me together for myself.

I'm running down the street from the hotel as fast as my bare feet can take me, Andy leading me to the run-down apartment he and Nikki were hanging out at. 

I walk into to this rat holding a baseball bat of Nikki, about to hit him.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Andy barks at him as I snatch the bat from his hands.

I'm about to hit him with it instead, but Andy's grabbing at me. "Viv, keep your head clear." He tells me again, pulling the bat from my hands and I glare into the sunken in eyes of the stranger, silently promising he'll get his when I get my blue husband awake.

I'm overwhelmed and feel defeated at the sight of him.

Blue, soaking wet from being wet down in an attempt to be woken up, and the deterioration of his body from his use is even more evident in his current state. 

Andy is screaming at the guy for hitting him with a bat instead of continuing to give him mouth to mouth and pumping his chest like Andy had been doing before he came and got me. 

I start CPR, trying to keep my shit together, but I obviously fail.

My stomach cramps like shards of glass are scraping at me. Except it's not my stomach, it's my uterus. 

"Andy." I cry out, keeping my hands on Nikki's chest, but the Finnish rockstar keeps yelling back and forth with the dealer. "Andy." I repeat, louder, but he still doesn't hear me. "Andy!" I'm pleading in a holler, catching his attention. "I-I can't do this, I'm sick, just call an ambulance!" I beg and Andy heads to the phone hanging on the wall. 

"No!" The living dead-rat argues roughly, fear in his pinned eyes as he practically snatches the phone off the wall, refusing to hand it to Andy.

"My husband is dying if not already dead! He needs help!" I argue, sweat beginning to perspire thinly on my skin, my own pain intensifies, my vision starting to blur slightly as I feel hot liquid rush from between my bare legs, and I'm blacking out along with Nikki. 

[xxisxxisxxis]

Preview: Gateway Drug | Part Forty-Three

Tag List: @unknownoblivion @sinningsixx @edwardtriggerhandzz @lemmyjelly @haileynicoleseavey17 @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swwopyboi @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @xpoisonousrosesx @cruecifymesixx @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor @emmaelizabeth2014 @meetthesixxter @sixxsixxsexx @sublimeprincesswasteland @arianareirg @girlnight-terror @mcnibberachi @fancywasmyname1 @teller258316 @ggorehorror @mylifeisjustafeverdream

.

.

.

My head is aching from the pressure put on it after crying for hours on end, balls of tissue shrouding the bed around me.

My mind floods with how I'm going to propose attempting to do one of the two things Nikki despises most, not wanting to ask him about it from the jump, but wanting to fix whatever it is that's lacking in our marriage that has me feeling something for someone who I'm not married to.

I know what's lacking, but I'd rather he  hear it from a professional so he can't accuse me of just throwing out bullshit.

Nikki's been home for a few hours now, but he's been avoiding me.

I wonder if he's mad at me for leaving during the tour, or if he hasn't even thought about me and came home, shot up and passed out.

I'm sick with myself, the approach of Nikki's homecoming causing an onslaught of self-chastisement that occurs in the form of random tidbits of Duff and I in my dream, and the possibility that I'm subconsciously getting ready to give up on my marriage, which is the last thing I want to do.

I hear the front door open and shut, along with the sound of Nikki's footsteps growing closer and closer to our bedroom, the rustling of paper bags accompanying him.

I haven't even realized he left the house.

Nerves ball up in my stomach, my hands get sweaty and my breathing starts getting deep.

"Keep your head clear" I hear Andy's voice in my mind and I calm myself down.

The door opens, and the smell of food wafts in the air.

Nikki's carrying fastfood bags, seemingly decently sober.

I sit up, sniffling, and he hands me my drink and a straw before pulling a cheeseburger out of the paper bag, handing it over to me as well as my fries.

"Do you feel any better?" He asks me, calmly, and I furrow my brows a little. "I knew something was up when you weren't waiting by the door. I came in and you were passed out." He explains, his hand pressing to my forehead. "You don't feel like you're running fever."

"I'm not. I just feel like shit." I mumble, taking a sip of my Pepsi.

"I got this while I was out." He adds, opening another paper bag from our pharmacy and I rub my lips together. "The bottle was on the bathroom counter and saw you haven't gotten a refill yet, so..." He shrugs, handing me a pill of my Nardil.

"Thanks." I say, swallowing it down.

He gets his food and knocks my balled up tissues out of the way as he gets into bed next to me.

"What all did you do?" He asks and I look at him, tensing up.

"What?"

"While you've been here? And I've been gone? What all have you done?" He repeats.

"Oh, just went out a few times with the guys. I stayed at home, mostly." I reply.

"I can tell. This place is spotless." He chuckles, eating a few fries.

"Sharise and Skylar stayed with me at night so I wouldn't be by myself." I add and he shakes his head a little.

"We gotta get you outta that, babe." He states and I raise my brows a little in confusion. "Your 'I can't be alone' mentality."

"What about it?"

"It's not really healthy to be that way, don't you think?"

"I think it's normal. Humans weren't made to be by themselves."

"Viv, not being able to be alone is one thing. Not being able to sleep alone is another." He scoffs.

"Vince doesn't ever sleep alone." I point out.

"That's because Vince fucks and then falls asleep with chicks who aren't his wife." Nikki points out.

"Well, I've fallen asleep with dudes who aren't you." I add.

"Robbin, Steven and Vince don't really count." He tells me. "Well, Vince counts a little, but that's because he's a fucking dick."

"Okay, so, who all counts?" I ask him, trying to keep the light tone in my voice.

His answer is blatantly but casually said as if it's common sense, and further causes me to curl into my shell, even more petrified to suggest what I've been planning to suggest to him:

"Anyone you can see yourself fucking." He says.