#i don't wanna say get over it. but stop projecting your issues onto everyone who happens to share the same background as you omg!

[cxsmicmyeon]

You said friends should send their opinions about the Junmyeon thing. And like yeah they tease him but he always gives it back too? He would relentlessly tease Jongdae for instance, when Jongdae is the one who says Junmyeon is his bias in EXO - so you know hyper focusing in on how your fave is the one being treated badly is a weird mindset if you can not acknowledge all the way he gives that back and teases the other members too. Another example I could think of about Junmyeon saying something that out of context could seem quite mean spirited is when during the aquarium visit in climb the ladder he mentioned that Beluga whale's IQ is the same es Sehun's. If anon wants to bring up how members behaviour looks to non fans then how does Junmyeon calling the maknae stupid look to outsiders? I am not saying this to attack Junmyeon but merely to illustrate my point that this kind of thing is something they all do. He isn't the one victim TM in this group. Plenty of times someone else is the butt of the joke. Often even jokes made by Junmyeon. These guys even found ways to clown on Kyungsoo non verbally when he made a hand gesture to shoo the camera away they all copied him. Its like they are us here on tumblr with stupid shit becoming a meme in their group immediately kinda like how vanilla extract was a thing. And you don't have to find every meme funny. Just like you don't have to find their jokes funny. But they are jokes. Among friends. And francly you are doing a little too much self projecting onto your bias if you think he is the only one in the crosslines of this kind of bad fun. Like maybe if we tally up every joke on every aired second of exo content out there we can draw percentages of who they make fun of the most often. But what would be the point of that other than giving fans another metric for in fighting. Like do the solo stans of the members that get made fun of the most get to then go on and hate everyone else. People already hate each other over whose fave has the least amount of views the least amount of screentime the least jobs etc etc. We gotta stop doing this its ridiculous. Because these boys love each other. They have proven over nearly 11 years just how much they love each other genuinely so dredging up who said what about whom in order to sow discourse is in my opinion so so stupid

this is perf. just great points all across rina.

like i have been saying there is no malice or ill intentions with the joking around because they've known each other for so long. also not to mention theyre all grown adults so im pretty sure they can take light hearted teasing lol.

idk i never really saw this as some sort of issue considering the fact thats just what theyre like and everyone dishes it out and takes it. just bc theres teasing doesnt mean they dont like each other as ive said they are nothing but supportive of each other and have been for 11+ years.

i do wanna give anon the benefit of the doubt maybe theyre new to the fandom and arent aware of the dynamic just yet but never in my years of stanning did i think any member was a target in bad intentioned making fun and im kinda upset i was doubting it ngl

exo will always be together and are 9. exo will always be there for each other. i hope this makes sense im tired lol

[tauruswiftie]

sometimes it makes me a lil sad seeing other immigrant background/diaspora kids talking about cultural things bc i have like. deadass 0 connection to my parents’ or grandparents’ cultures. like genuinely literally none, and when i see people talking about speaking a second language or understanding cultural references/jokes or whatever sometimes i feel like i’m missing out... but on the other hand sometimes i feel like its overrated. like why should i be sad to not know x or y things? they have no relevance to me or my life! i shouldn’t have to feel sad because of other immigrant kids pushing their cultural issues on Me. i can fit in just fine where i am. i don’t have to feel bland just because i only speak english i don’t have to feel like i’m ‘acting white’ or ‘boring’ or whatever just because my idea of comfort food is like, mac n cheese. like that’s YOUR issues to deal with, not mine.... ya feel

[the-bjd-community-confess]

i am once again, bonkers, so let me tell you about hobby horses.

guess who got 2 thumbs and 0 adhd medication? it's me again, and i hope you can behoove me a moment of your time. between supply chain issues and my state's particularly heinous concept of medication management i am once again an uncontrolled amount of chaos. and so while i attempt to once again access a medication that we have been producing for actual decades (I LIVE NEAR A COMPOUNDING PHARMACY AND /yET/) i am here to tell you about hobby horses, because someone in the comments asked me to do so. is this doll related? tangentially, because i have also purchased scale model hobby horses for my dolls. truly you can find anything if you query a google in the right place. 

(you can put a readmore here if you want mod! i would.)

for starters, there is a real documentary called Hobbyhorse Revolution that goes over a lot of this- the people in the hobby, what drew them to it, and so forth. for many people, this is an organized sport, and honestly it's pretty athletically impressive. hobbyhorsers jump like basketball players it's something else, but i digress. there are people of all ages who took up the stickhorse and ran with it, from young folks doing hobbyhorse dressage to older folks making artisanal horse heads. it's one of those hobbies, much like our own, that draws a diverse range of interests and skillsets and gives them something to project those interests onto. you like to craft? make your own horse! you like to do photography? hobby-horseback photography is a genre now. want to pick up a fun new sport? just think they're cute? you're in good company! it's honestly pretty wholesome.

people form communities, they name their horses and give them personalities, and for many, this is a vital outlet for their mental health. sure, it's weird horse larping on the surface, but there's a lot of good to be found! but what drew Me to the hobby is this: at first, it was simply "wait, people do /what/??" the novelty blew me away! but i also came to respect the people involved- the artistry, the athleticism, the camaraderie, and most importantly, the commitment to just- do something because it's fun, never mind if it's cringey. listen- i've been on this bitch of an earth for a multitude of decades at this point, and if i've learned anything, it's that one would be wise to take whatever serotonin they can get in this life, especially in current year.

i think the world would genuinely and honestly be a better place if more people just went for it and stopped worrying about how other people will react- at least when it comes to harmless shit like this. people spend so much emotional bandwidth trying not to stand out too much, trying to be appealing, trying to be normal, but... aren't you tired of being nice? don't you wanna go apeshit? in the process of growing up, a lot of us forget how to have fun and do things for the pure unfettered fuck of it- and i think after the last few years in particular- and especially with how dire so many things are right now- we need to learn to play around again. it's not... irresponsible to stop doomscrolling and spend some time brushing doll hair or walking through the woods carrying a horse head on a stick, it's vital to being a person that we get away from the all-staring void of despair and do something that makes life worth living now and then.

we can't be there for people if we aren't okay ourselves... whatever gets you through the day, no matter how small or silly it may be, cling onto that and take your happiness deliberately.  listen, i'll wrap up this blogpost here, but the long and the short of it is this: we're all weird and cringey. we collect dolls. as someone who visibly cannot fit into mainstream society, you either live under a rock or you say Fuck It and make your weirdness everyone else's problem to cope with. and i've lived under the rock, folks! it's miserable and full of despair! so my earnest advice is Fuck It, everyone! buy the horse head on the stick. take your dolls out for that photoshoot you've been thinking about for weeks now. wear that fursuit or that lolita coord or that cosplay and get some starbucks- as someone who's worked retail, seeing that shit would make my WEEK.

replace the shame in your life with an appreciation for whimsy, and let's all try to learn to have fun again! (and sure, it ain't easy... i've spent too much of my life, shall we say, trying to justify the cost of my own survival. i still do not like myself in a broad sense. i still have many difficult days, especially recently, because once again i do not have access to my medication! (if this was insulin or blood thinner, I Would Be Fuckening Dead! but people do not consider The Brain to be an actual thing requiring treatment the way we do the heart.) but despite the many, many things that are Bad in this world and my life... it's the little things that make it bearable. and i hope that all of y'all can find something similar, whether it's dolls, hobby horses, or something else entirely. be cringe. be free. be WHOLE. and in the meantime, i'm gonna continue to be bonkers. let's hope i can get my medication before the summer gets here! and anyone else impacted by this, my condolences. hang in there. i'm sorry it's like this. we'll get through it, yeah? yeah. we got this.

~Anonymous

[smolthealmighty]

Who’s on the Roof?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28640127

Did anyone want to see Mr. Compress give Skeptic an aneurysm by quoting the classic Abbott and Costello routine “Who’s on First?”

No?

Too bad!

Skeptic was not having a good day. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had a good day ever since the moment Re-Destro issued his declaration of war to the League of Villains.

Not only had their plan backfired in almost every way possible, now they all had to work for this group of utter maniacs. He swore that trouble followed these loose cannons wherever they went, as each interaction with them always left him five seconds from having a conniption by the end of it. Toga acted like she was having a perpetual sugar high, Dabi would schedule meetings with him only to blow him off half of the time, and he had no idea how the rest of the league were able to understand Twice's constant contradictions. The only saving grace was that he didn’t have to deal with the full force of the league –yet– as Shigaraki was held back somewhat by his healing injuries, and Spinner usually hovered around him.

But they weren’t the reason why Skeptic wasn’t having a good day. No, the blame for that lay solely on Mr. Compress’s shoulders. He may be the voice of reason for the league, but with the company he kept it was like saying he was the tallest dwarf. The flashy magician always talked as if he was delivering a soliloquy on center stage with all the spotlights fixed on him. Worst of all was how his arrogant tone of voice made it impossible to tell whether or not he was joking at any given moment.

Needless to say, he was not looking forward to their scheduled meeting, which he was on his way towards at the moment. Dabi had once again left in the middle of an earlier conference before Skeptic was able to plan out the fire-wielder’s own meeting with the pro-hero Hawks, and for some reason Mr. Compress volunteered to help. Now they just had to finalize the details and make sure they got to Dabi before he tried to go off on his own again.

Skeptic entered the conference room, barely acknowledging the showman as he walked over to sit across from him. As usual, Mr. Compress was wearing one of his many masks, this one being a version he hadn’t seen before. It was plain white like the others, but the design was of a diamond divided into four smaller ones. He didn’t bother looking at it for long; there were more important matters to get to.

"Alright, this better not be a waste of my time,” Skeptic grumbled as he sat down at the table across from the showman and began pulling out his laptop. “Hawks is going to bring proof of his loyalty tomorrow night, if Dabi’s to be believed, and we need to make sure there’s at least some type of back up in case something goes wrong. So you’d better have come up with a plan for that."

He looked up from his laptop, now displaying a blank document to take notes with, and gave Mr. Compress the most serious look he could muster. This was his last meeting of the day and he was not going to end it with an anger-induced aneurysm.

"Oh Skeptic, there’s no need to look so grim. Of course I have a plan!” exclaimed Mr. Compress, pausing to dramatically unfurl a set of blue prints, which he spread across the table. Upon closer inspection, it was of the warehouse Dabi intended to hold his meeting at.

“When Hawks arrives for his rendezvous Dabi, I believe the best strategy would be to have the least detectable people scattered around the place to listen in, that way they can intervene if need be with Hawks being none the wiser.”

‘Well good,’ thought Skeptic, ‘He actually seems to know what he’s doing for once.’

“With that in mind,” Mr. Compress continued, “I have reviewed your lists of members –goodness it was a lot– and I chose the best candidates for the job based on their quirks. I also went ahead and the most secure positions as follows. So, Who will be on the roof, What is behind the wall, and I Don’t Know is by the window…"

‘Never mind, I jinxed it,’ thought Skeptic, as he quickly interrupted the showman. "Hold on, stop! Excuse me?"

Mr. Compress paused for a moment, raising his head to look at Skeptic instead of the blueprints, before repeating himself, slightly slower this time. "Who is on the roof, What is behind the wall, and I Don’t Know is by the win-"

"No, why are you asking me?"

At that question, Mr. Compress tilted his head to the side before responding condescendingly –the nerve– "I’m not asking anything."

Skeptic looked at him, stunned into silence, then quickly recomposed himself. "Look, you’re the one setting everything up here, right?"

"Right."

"So you should know where everyone is and their names so you can give them their stations."

"Of course," Mr. Compress replied eagerly.

Skeptic sighed in relief, thinking that whatever mix-up had occurred was now resolved, and asked, "So, who’s on the roof?"

"Yes."

Skeptic startled at how matter-of-factly the answer was. "No, I mean his name."

"Who."

"The one on the roof."

"Who."

"The person stationed on the warehouse roof."

"Who."

"The guy-"

"Who is on the roof," Mr. Compress interjected.

“No that’s what I’m asking you!” Skeptic shouted in confusion, “Who’s on the roof?"

Mr. Compress pleasantly replied, "Yes, that’s his name."

"Who’s name?" Skeptic asked perplexed.

"Yes."

"Alright so tell me his name."

Mr. Compress shrugged his shoulders as he responded, "That’s it."

"That’s who?"

"Precisely."

Skeptic growled, "Stop fooling around and give me his name!"

"Who."

"The person that’s going to be on the warehouse roof!"

"Who is on the roof, Skeptic."

"WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME?!" Skeptic bellowed, shaking in utter frustration. Two minutes. Two minutes into this meeting and Skeptic was done with whatever Mr. Compress was doing! After taking a moment to take a deep breath and recompose himself, he tried to steer the conversation back on track. “Look, Mr. Compress, I just want to know. What’s the name of the one on the roof?"

Mr. Compress gasped, "Goodness no Skeptic! What’s behind the wall."

"I’m not asking who’s behind the wall!" Skeptic exclaimed.

"No, Who’s on the roof."

“Stop, one position at a time!” cried Skeptic, hammering the point home by slamming his palm onto the table with a loud bang. “Now, what’s the name of the guy on the roof?"

Mr. Compress interjected, "We went over this, Who is on the roof."

“I don’t know!”

“Oh, he’s by the window,” Mr. Compress responded delightfully, “Are you quite alright? You keep switching topics-"

Skeptic, at this point utterly baffled, cut him off, "Wait, how the hell did we get to talking about the person by the window?"

Mr. Compress paused, and replied in a slightly patronizing tone, "...Because you brought him up, Skeptic."

Ignoring that insulting tone, Skeptic attempted to draw the connection needed to finally make sense of the planned positions. "So, if I mentioned his name, who did I say is by the window?"

"No. Who's on the roof."

"What's on roof?"

"What's behind the wall."

"I don't know!"

"He's by the window."

"OH GREAT, NOW WE’RE BACK AT THE-" Skeptic threw his arms up in the air as he cut himself off, taking another breath to prevent himself from shrieking  again at the quick succession of confusing statements he just went through. ‘That pompous bastard! Calling me inept when he can’t even make his own plan clear! I wonder how he’d take that same implication.’

With his face still visibly red, Skeptic decided to give the magician a taste of his own medicine and shot back, "With all due respect Mr. Compress, do you even know the names of the people you’re using for this plan?"

"Oh my,” muttered Mr. Compress, looking genuinely flabbergasted from what Skeptic could see in his body language, but he also knew that the performer could very well be acting the part. “Skeptic, I think there may be a misunderstanding. You see, there’s a man I want to station on the roof-"

Skeptic was not keen on retreading this particular ground again, so he interrupted, "I know you have someone on the roof! I’m asking you, what’s-"

"No, What’s behind the-"

“Oh no I’m stopping you right there! I am asking you, Mr. Compress,” Skeptic demanded, jabbing his pointer finger on the blueprints, “What is the name of the person stationed on the roof?”

Mr. Compress looked down at where Skeptic was pointing, then back up at Skeptic, and said, just as matter-of-factly as he had several times before, "What is behind the wall."

"I don’t even- Alright, who’s behind the wall?"

"Who’s on the roof."

"WHAT POSITION DO YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT?!" Skeptic screeched, punctuating his outrage by smashing both of his fists on the desk hard enough to bruise.

Mr. Compress was unfazed by this, choosing to lean his head upon his hand before replying, "Whichever position you want to focus on."

Skeptic hollered, "WHO’S ON THE ROOF?"

"Yes." Mr. Compress happily nodded.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGH!!!”

~

Dabi was taking a walk, meandering through the corridors of the mansion at random. Suddenly, one of the double doors in his path slammed open and out tumbled Mr. Compress, with the roaring voice of Skeptic following him.

“Get out of my sight you IDIOTIC ILLUSIONIST!”

By the time the doors slammed closed, said illusionist had gracefully transformed his tumble into a somersault and ended up back on his feet in a victorious pose. He then turned to Dabi and waved, “Why hello Dabi, and how are you this fine day?”

Dabi took in the man’s composure, then observed the newly formed cracks on the door frame, before shrugging, “Nothing much. Just taking a walk around.”

“Ah yes, avoiding your responsibilities as usual. May I join you?”

“Eh, knock yourself out.” Dabi said, rolling his eyes at the showman, as if he was going to leave Dabi alone if he told him to scram. As he continued down the hall, now walking side-by-side with Mr. Compress, Dabi decided to address the elephant in the room. “Alright, I’ll bite. What exactly did you do to piss off I.T. McGee?”

The masked magician visibly lit up, in spite of his concealed expression, and immediately began to answer Dabi’s question. “Well Dabi, in order to tell you about what just happened, I’d have to give you a quite a bit of backstory to get there. You see, when you make your rounds as an entertainer…” Mr. Compress continued as he took off his mask to show Dabi his Cheshire grin, “… you learn a few classic routines.”

[ambivalent-anarchy]

Hurts So Bad... (Part 3)

-

The Week That Flashed By (Part 1/3)

Masterlist

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: For the first time, Peter Parker meets someone he has no idea how to save...

Warning: angst(obviously), mentions of suicide, depression, self-harm, drug use, me just exposing myself

A/N- if you only see Flash as a villain at all times then these chapters ain't for you. Not a lot of Peter this chapter but it's integral to the story so don't skip lol

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe he was hoping it'd go away.

Maybe he was wishing for the best.

Maybe he was just disregarding and ignoring you completely.

But for whatever reason, it took Peter a week to finally act. A week.

In the grand scheme of life, a week is incredibly short. However, circumstances can always change the way you perceive things.

When you have an essay due, a week seems to fly by. But when you're waiting for the new episode of your favorite tv to come, a week seems to just drag on.

The normal, busy people don't realize is that when you don't have anything to do, and when you're so far gone into the abyss, a week can genuinely seem like forever.

And your week had been nothing short of endless.

You might've finally been done with the physical low, but the mental low was practically just as bad. You could exert energy without feeling like you'd drop if a feather were to touch your shoulder, but your brain was tired.

On the upside, no one bothered you.

On the downside, no one bothered you.

You hated the silence, but strangely that's what followed you everywhere you went. Deafening silence.

You wanted so much for someone to just talk to you. Talk with you. Even if they were lying. Doesn't matter. You just wanted someone to speak. To have some type of change in your life that forced you out of the mundane, redundant, silent cycle you lived in.

Flash Thomspon was your lab partner.

You'd seen him around. He was hard to miss. Always with his jokes and his livestreams. Forever with a smile on his face. Just like Cecilia.

You remember asking her once why they weren't friends. She'd called him obnoxious.

You wouldn't call him obnoxious though, just... loud.

That Monday when lab partners were chosen, you were completely out of it.

Staring at nothing, not making a sound, setting your head down on the table, obviously not wanting to be bothered by anyone.

So when Flash got to your table, he hadn't bothered you. He walked over, simply looked at you for a bit, and once it was clear you weren't moving any time soon, he started on his notes alone.

Which you respected. That meant he was at the very least a bit sensible, if not just lazy.

The next day wasn't much different. You still weren't up for doing anything and Flash still wasn't up to bothering you.

The day after though, Wednesday, that was the day everything changed.

"Hello?," you said into your phone.

"Hey, is this [Y/N]? That quiet chick in a.p chem?"

You chuckled at the beyond simplistic description of yourself. "Uh, yeah this is she. Who's this?"

"Flash Thompson," he responded. "Coolest guy in the class."

You rolled your eyes. "Mhm, and why are you calling my phone?"

"Well-" you heard a bottle open "-we kinda have a project that's due at the end of the week. And, believe me, as much as I love doing duo projects on my own, you need to do something."

His upfrontness took you aback, but not particularly in a bad way.

And besides, you were getting sick of moping. Your curiosity wanted to see where this was going to go.

"Um, okay. So we'll crack down tomorrow then."

"How about now?" You could practically hear the smirk on his face.

"No," you quickly responded. "You mean come to your house right? Hell no."

"Why not?," he snickered. "Strict parents? Or is the pole really just that far up your ass?"

You rolled your eyes once again. You really didn't have the patience for this. "Okay I'm hanging up-"

"Wait! I'll text you my-" Click.

You stared at the wall for a good minute in complete irritation after that phone call. You had to have lost at least a hundred brain cells during that small conversation. The last thing you needed on your plate right now was some guy giving you shit.

A notification on your phone caught your attention.

3069 Oak Street

"Oh so you text me your address and now I'm just supposed to show up at your door?," you scoffed.

-

In retrospect, ringing that doorbell was probably the smartest dumb thing you ever did.

When you told your parents you were going to a friend's house, they just paused and then smiled. Your parents had no problem at all with you going out. They hadn't even asked questions. Heck they encouraged you to go out. That meant you were trying.

But fuck them. You were trying everyday. Trying not to just take the kitchen knife and slit your wrists after every dinner.

When the door to Flash's house opened you immediately noticed three things.

1) The alleged butler he'd been rumored around school to have was nowhere to be found.

2) This was an extremely nice house. Maybe even nicer than Cecilia's.

3) And Flash's eyes were red.

"Yo!," he greeted with an obnoxious grin. "Wassup?"

"We literally just stopped talking like ten mintues ago dude," you responded as you stepped into the house. "And what's with the shirt?"

This idiot actually had a Spider-Man t-shirt on.

"Excuse me? This is drip in the finest form," he defended, hopping onto his couch. "So anyway, the project or whatever. What're we gonna do for it?"

You sighed. "Well, unless I was actually invisible for all the class periods, it's obvious I wasn't paying much attention the last couple of days."

"Yeah I guess," he chuckled. "What was all that about anyway?," he asked, to which you simply shrugged. He squinted at you, but then rolled his eyes and then picked up the remote for the tv. "Oh well, you're better now, right?"

You winced, but you were glad Flash still wasn't looking your way. "Sure."

"Wanna take off your jacket? You're not outside anymore y'know."

And that's where the problem started.

You didn't know why, but you could look over knowing you were depressed. You'd easily come to terms with it. But it was the small things in normal conversations that hit you harder than anything else. Small little suggestions that you couldn't hide it all from everyone. Hell, you couldn't even take off a damn jacket like everyone else.

"I'm fine," you answered. "So... um, about that project?"

"Yeah," he said leaning forward. "You got the instruction papers or whatever?"

You gave him a look, confused. "I never picked them up. I thought you had the papers."

"I don't fucking pay attention in that boring ass class."

"So what was the purpose of me even coming here if we can't even do anything?," you snapped.

He just shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged again.

Your jaw clenched. Cecilia was right. "Obnoxious dumbass..."

You turned to walk back out of the front door before turning back around. "Hey Flash?"

He looked at you and grunted in acknowledgment.

"Were you just crying before I came in or are you just high?"

"High," he said rather quickly. "Why? Are my eyes red?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

"Fuck," he mumbled. "Want some?"

"Nah I'm good-" But he was already gone down the long hallway of his home. "Flash?"

You stood there, waiting for about five minutes before deciding that he wasn't coming back. Great.

So now you could either go get him, leave, or just continue standing there awkwardly.

And due to your lack of better judgment, you did the most classic horror movie move and walked further into a house that you weren't familiar with to go look for a guy you barely knew. If I die, I die, you thought with a shrug.

Walking into the long hallway the first thing you noticed was the abundance of doors. You weren't a stalker, so you didn't bother to look into any, but you could've swore you saw a room full of spiderman pictures and newspapers through the crack of one of them. Fucking weird.

In an attempt not to succumb to your curiosity, you walked faster down the hall. You stopped in your tracks when you heard sniffles. Whimpering? Whatever noises someone makes when they're crying. Someone was crying, that's for sure. And you were also pretty sure Flash was the only one in the house.

'Walk away [Y/N]. This isn't your business.'

But of course you walked closer, and the sniffles got louder. Until you found yourself opening the door and coming face to face with a crying Flash on the floor in the middle of some gaming room.

"Shit!," he yelled, turning away and attempting to cover up his crying with obnoxiously fake coughing.

"Are you okay?," you asked.

"I'm high," he kept repeating in mumbles, desperately reaching for something. "I'm just high, okay? Fuck."

You watched as he continued to search for whatever he was making it seem like he looking for. You wanted to reach out and maybe say something, anything that would make him feel better. But you knew that probably wouldn't help.

After all, it never helped you.

"I'm just... really fucking high right now, alright?"

He seemed incredibly off, even with the squirrelly, rude way he was being earlier. Like he was just trying too hard at something.

You were at a loss for words. You knew it was wrong, but the only thing you could think of was, hm. Rich boy's actually got some issues.

When he finally turned around, his face was dry and he carried a bong in his hands, lighting it and practically shoving it into his mouth in a weak attempt to cover up his unsteady breathing.

"Thought you left," he said, staring at the floor.

Realizing you'd been standing at the doorframe awkwardly, you moved to sit on the floor, opposite to him. "Well, you kinda offered me some weed and then left, I think."

"I thought I heard you say no though."

"I did..." you gulped. "But..I still stayed though."

And now you sat here with Flash and his bong.

He sat back on the side of the chair, his back leaning against it as he blew out the smoke. "Wanna try?," he offered, holding the small object up to you. He didn't wait for you to respond before setting it up again for you and passing it.

Without a word, you took it and breathed the smoke in. You sucked it up and felt it fill your lungs before leaning back and blowing it out, letting out a small cough afterwards. "Thanks."

"Fuck, you're a pro," Flash chuckled.

You shook your head and shrugged. "No. Common sense just tells you how it works, I guess."

"I feel that."

You hummed in amusement.

And then suddenly it was quiet again.

You fucking hated silence.

Luckily, Flash was a talker. Or so you thought.

At school there wasn't a dull moment if he was there. But now, seeing him in his home, he was quiet as a mouse. Contemplative. Searching.

"Say something," you said, earning a confused look from the boy in front of you.

He squinted. "Say what? I don't even know you."

You rolled yours eyes, shrugging. "Look, whatever was going on before I came in here, it's not my business, man. I only said to fucking speak."

Flash groaned. "About what?"

"I dunno," you answered. "I just don't like the quiet. Say anything you want. Just... talk."

"Um.." he looked up at the ceiling. "I got some new shoes the other day." He pointed at the Jordan's on his feet. "My mother got it shipped in from where she's out on business in Bora Bora."

Something about the way he said it made you sure that she wasn't out "on business".

"My butler is out today cuz it's his niece's birthday. She'd be cute enough, if her nose wasn't so big. It's like the wicked witch of the west."

You scrunched up your nose, imagining a younger version of wicked witch minus the green skin.

"Umm, I dunno uh, chocolate chip cookies are better than sugar cookies?"

You snorted at that. Now he was just thinking of anything.

"And uhh, I'm having spaghetti tonight.. and- well I don't know what you really want dude I'm just kinda.. life is just too boring to always have something to say for every second of every day, [Y/N]!," he suddenly snapped.

"Woah dude, chill." You blew out another round of smoke and handed Flash the bong. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was asking for too much."

He held his hand over his forehead. "Nah you're fine," sighed. "It's just- you ask that cuz I talk alot at school right? Yeah that makes sense I guess. I-I'm sorry," he rushed out before going back to the small contraption.

You'd been snapped at alot in your life. Way too many to count. But from those experiences you gathered a small truth; if someone has snapped at you over the smallest thing, they probably have something else going on. Or most likely a couple of things, piled up and ready to blow.

And you could smell that on Flash from a mile away.

"Flash, what's your real name?"

He paused, lifting his mouth from the bong. "Flash is my real name," he lied before passing it back over to you.

"No it's not," you stated, picking up another bag and the lighter up beside you for the bong, no longer satisfied with the loss of flavor. "I don't pay that much attention but I know for a fact that's not your name."

He rolled his eyes, quickly becoming frustrated with the conversation. "Eugene."

"Nice," you said, contemplating your next move. "So.. what does Eugene feel right now? Not Flash, but Eugene."

He reached over each practically snatched the bong away from you.

"Eugene is feeling annoyed, and frankly aggravated because some girl he barely knows is asking too much of him."

"Hey I'm only asking for what you'll give me," you said, throwing your hands in your defense.

"Well what about you?," he accused. "You're always down in the dumps, staring at the wall, looking all depressed 24/7 so how about you start talking? I mean, are you fucking okay?"

"No," you answered blandly. "Not in the slightest. Your turn. What does Eugene feel, Flash? Is Eugene, quote, 'fucking okay'?"

Flash scoffed. "What're you trying to say, that I'm depressed?"

"I never said that."

"Oh fuck that, you implied it!"

"I didn't-"

"You don't fucking know me, [Y/N]," he spat out, throwing the bong on the floor, watching as you picked it up before the water spilt. "You don't fucking know what I'm going through everyday, so please don't be like everyone else and tell me what I am, okay?!"

Were you being rude prying into his life? Totally.

Had you reached the level of nonchalantness with your and practically anybody else's wellbeing that you really couldn't possibly bring yourself to care? Yes.

And was Flash finally cracking? Completely.

"Flash is fake. And obnoxious. And rude," you deadpanned. "I wanna meet Eugene. See how he's doing."

Flash scoffed, looking for a comeback. You could see the expressions on his face flickering like random. Annoyance. Sadness. Want.

You were no psychologist but anyone with a brain could see what he was going through.

The two of you sat in silence again. But you didn't really mind it this time. You were waiting. Even without actually speaking, Flash was telling you everything about him.

Takes one to know one.

"Eugene's aggravated," he finally said, his eyes becoming watery. "Eugene's fucking angry all the time because people only seem to want Flash." He gave you a bitter smirk before averting his eyes to the ground. But you let him. If that's what was easiest for him, then whatever.

"And people assume things about Eugene all the damn time so eventually he decided -what the hell- he'll just give em what they want. And Eugene's fucking pissed because he knows for a fact that if he were to just disappear, no one would fucking care. His old man would just put him in the ground and everyone would be back to normal before fucking dinner." His breath was heavy and you could see mocha skin begin to turn a dark red. "And most of all he's pissed because he's been able to hide for so long and some girl just strolls in and figures him out."

And now here you were just there with Eugene and his bong.

You'd lost count of how much you'd smoked, and you knew he did too. But it didn't matter.

Nothing did anymore.

Not the pressure from your parents. Not the endless cycle of running through all the motions without actually taking anything in. Not even the stupid project that was worth half your grade that'd brought the two of you together in the first place.

Life was full of nothing just in millions of various forms.

Things dressed up and decorated to seem all fancy and important but in the grand scheme of things were just was worthless as you were.

You looked at Flash's home and all you saw was fancy nothing. Wealthy nothing. And you looked at his clothes and all you could possibly see was nothing.

And looking at Flash, you saw a nothing that was attempting to cover up something.

But looking at Eugene, you saw something.

Sadness. Neglect. Pain.

He was completely naked to you.

"You should probably stop," he mumbled, finally opening his eyes and sitting up a bit. "You're looking at me all weird." He reached for the bong, laying it aside once he grabbed it.

"Is that a bad thing?," you asked.

"No," he responded with a small shrug. "...just scares me is all."

You smirked. The only resemblance of a smile you'd been able to make in a long while. "And how do I, of all people, scare you, Eugene?"

You could see his jaw clench. Could see him debating with himself. Even relaxed from the weed, his eyes still darted around the room, and he was shaking his head the tiniest bit. Finally he looked back at you.

"Because -fucking somehow.. you see me-" a tear rolled down his face. "You actually see me. Not Flash... You see Eugene."

His mother's words rang through his ears like a cautionary tale. Real men don't cry. Don't be weak, like your father...

But he wanted to be. So badly he wanted, just for one moment, to be weak and to be able to fall into someone's arms and not act like he was always okay on his own. To not act like he didn't desperately yearn for someone's compassion. Someone's trust.

Flash was fun. Flash was the cool, funny side character in everyone's story. Flash was the picture perfect of everything he wanted to be.

"-And Eugene's a mess," he let out in a small, quiet sob, his expression not moving, though the tears streamed down his face. "I'm just high... that's why I'm saying all this crap. I'm just being dumb and high. Forget all this. I never said anything okay?"

You wouldn't see him break. Not some girl he just met...

Regardless of how he already felt about you.

He slowly looked back up at your face, fully expecting to see pity or disgust. Instead, your face remained neutral like his, and you were crying too.

"I don't think you're a mess Eugene." You sat up straighter, moved a little closer. "Just hurt."

He gave a bitter chuckle. "Isn't basically everybody?"

You shook your head slightly. "No...at least I don't think so. Everyone goes through something- and then there are those people that, in some sick way, want to be hurting.. but with people like us.." You found yourself grabbing his hand, not even thinking for what reason. You just did. "With us.. it's real. And not some temporary problem," you whispered. "It won't ever stop."

Eugene looked back at you again and it was over for him. He felt small. He felt naked. He felt fucking pure.

And then it happened.

You went in for a hug and he went in for a kiss.

But he made it first... and you didn't push him away.

Feeling his lips on yours.. wasn't bad. It surprised you at first, but ultimately it was pleasant.

He sighed against your lips and you could taste the smoke in between the two of you. You hadn't had much experience with guys before. Practically nonexistent if you were being honest, but that didn't matter. Eugene pressed his kiss firmer on yours, and you began to reciprocate his movements.

He held the side of your head lightly as he pulled away, his face growing further apart from yours the slightest bit. He rubbed his nose against yours. You both closing your eyes.

"Stay here with me," he pleaded softly, his breathing slightly erratic. "I-i won't try anything, I swear. I just..." He sniffed and used his shoulder to wipe away at some of the tears on his cheek. "You really see me. A-and I see you, y'know? And we're just-"

You nodded, taking your hand to run through his hair. "Okay," you whispered. "I'll stay."

A small smile started to break through his tears. "Thank you," he mumbled against your cheek before planting a soft kiss onto it.

Your mind was blank. You couldn't think of more than one thing at a time. But you knew one thing; you wanted to be there. That much you were sure of. You still weren't happy. You weren't safe. Just content with this idea of change.

For once, you weren't overly sure of what you were doing. It wasn't routine.

For once, you felt like something was different.

----------Back on the other side of town-----------

You weren't home.

Peter had finished his patrol, swung to your apartment, and you were nowhere to be found.

"No. N-no please don't do this," he pleaded to himself. "Be in the bathroom. Please just be somewhere. Come on, get in here."

He'd already looked through every window available and he could only hope you were in some inside room. Your bed was completely untouched.

"I should've reached out to you. Fuck! I should've done something. Just please be alive..."

He waited anxiously to see if you'd show, even sending a drone to Cecilia's address to see if you were there in the meantime. "I-I'm so sorry I- just please! Be at a friend's house! Something!"

He didn't even realize how much he was shaking. How much your life was in his hands. If you were dead, he'd never forgive himself.

"She's not at the Gulliver residence, Peter. Are there any other places you'd like for me to check?," E.D.I.T.H asked.

"She's somewhere!," he yelled out. "It's one in the morning on a school night. Find her! Please...."

He looked back toward the window. After while he didn't even know how much time had passed. He was just staring. Waiting for you to walk through that door. And when you never came he could only hope that you'd be at school.

"I'll help you," he whimpered. "Just..please. Please just stay alive long enough for me to try."

---------------------------------------

Lmao don't worry y/n won't end up with Flash and this certainly won't end up being a love triangle

Taglist - @eridanuswave, @imahardcase, @jules-and-gemss, @yetchann, @captainamericasdaughter, @starlight-starks, @everydaymj, @rubberducky-jrr, @chiaramrvl, @dreamofaprilsblog, @hello--zuko-here, @spidey-mads, @cuddlefishpeter

[nico-idc]

random vent because i'm numb rn and feel like it

This is a vent post, ill probably talk about su!cide, self h*rm, eating disorders and depression. I’ll also cuss a lot, and things will not be censored. Also, this may seem insensitive to people experiencing any of this, sorry about that.  Dont read this if youre triggered by that.

Also, this is my experience with mental health. Everyone deals with it differently. 

So, If anyone doesnt know, I have depression and anxiety. And right now, I’m feeling numb as it’s often described by people with depression. But, numb isn’t a very good description. I can still feel. I’ll still smile if you tell me a joke, or if something funny is on a video. I’ll still cry if there’s something super sad. Emotion is just watered down. I feel it, but not as much as I should. Me and my boyfriend were talking, and i couldnt tell him I loved him. It’s not becuase I dont love him, but I just cant feel much of anything, so I dont want to tell him I loved him. Becuase If i did that, I felt as though I was lying. The funniest thing is, I randomly started crying. Still felt nothing, but hey, I had tears streaming down my face. Who fucking knows why. 

I havent been doing to great for a while now, but this is the worst i’ve ever gotten. Ive never felt numb before. I mean, I’ve felt myself starting to go through the motions, but i’ve never gone completely numb before. And before this i’ve had a few mental breakdowns. Hell, I’ve sat in a corner twice in the past month or so doing nothing but sobbing and begging myself not to move so I dont grab something sharp and cut myself. (I did not relapse, don’t worry). and recently I completely broke down over simply eating a cereal bar, got through it, ate it. I’m good now. 

Figures. That does seem to be my experience. Oh no, big bad issue one time, then magically I just talk myself out of my bullshit, and im fixed. Ha ha, yet I act like I have all these issues. I mean, I didnt even attempt to starve myself, just thought “oh, friends and family wont let me” and didnt. Had a breakdown about a year later, been fine since. Cut for a few months, went to therapy for a few months, stopped cutting. had a few breakdowns about a year or two later, then was fine. was suicidal for a while, went to therapy for a bit, was happy for months. Had breakdowns every now and then, fine now.

ha ha, first time I say alot of this is online. Figures. I’ve done that a lot too. My boyfriend has found out a bit about my depression through this site. Becuase I cant talk to my boyfriend about my shit, but hey random people on the internet! hear about my problems.

So on another note, I recently found a song that describes part of depression pretty well. It’s called “i’m not dead” by boyinaband. it’s linked below, I’ll copy paste the lyrics, and explain how I relate, and what the lyrics mean to me, becuase why not? (lyrics will be in bold)

I'm not dead

I'm not fixed, but I'm not giving up yet

Basically, this means that im still here, im still depressed, but I’m still trying to fight depression. 

I'm sick of saying that I still don't have anything done

I hate telling friends I'm trying something just to give it up

I never commit to anything, I just say I’ll do something, then decide I dont want to.

I'm still unsure of my emotional state

I'm still incapable of focusing lately

I don't feel like creating

I'm tired of asking Google how to find motivation

I’ve been on break from writing for months now. tried to get back to it, lost concentration. I think this is self explanatory. 

I don't think I've ever made

Something that's as good as I'm capable of

Ha, I dont put in enough effort and commitment to make something as good as possible.

I hate not having a reason to look my best

I only ever take care of myself with the intent to show the internet

I mean, I dont try to show the internet, but I only take care of myself when other people will see me.

If what made me successful was an imposed sense of stress then

I am so so glad that I hated myself

The only thing that makes me do things is extreme stress.

I didn't luck into this position

I struggle with decisions

I mean, im not in any high position, but I do struggle with decisions. 

I wouldn't be my own friend

I'm too inconsistent

I’m inconsistent as hell. I’m in like 10 group chats, don't talk in any of them for months, then just show up like “hi, havent talked to you all in ages, but hi”. 

Without immense pressure nothing ever gets finished

If these words make it to your ears it'll be a fucking miracle.

Yep. I went on  whole rant about this on wattpad. Without pressure to do something, I don’t do it.

I'm fortunate to know more good people than most do

I wish I had more friends I could be physically close to

I dont personally have a lot of friends that dont live in my city, so the last line isnt an issue, but I do know a lot of good people”

I'm pretty good at like 20 different skill sets

At the expense of never being great at any one of them

I’m good at quite a few things. Drawing, math, even writing. But im not great at it. I’m average.

I wish this beat hit harder

I wish more syllables rhymed

I know 99 percent of people really don't mind

I dont personally relate to this, seeing as I dont make music.

I think collaborating forced me to finish things

'Cause I was terrified of wasting famous people's time

Oh yeah. Group projects would not get done if i wasnt scared of wasting my partner’s time.

I wish I could focus on what I define priority

I wish I was as grateful as I want to be

Dont really relate to these things

I wish I knew more people who were mentally stable

But if I did,

I wouldn't let them waste their time on me while I'm disabled

Oh yeah. Id love to have a friend who isnt depressed, but I wouldnt let them see that im fucked up becuase i dont wanna drag them down.

I feel alone

I know I'm not

I have a lot of friends, but I still fell alone in this world

I used to talk to lots of people.

Lately I've stopped

They didn't deserve it,

I've been a terrible friend.

But I couldn't bear to let myself become boring to them

I ignore group chats all the time. no reason. Probably shouldnt. 

I don't let myself get my hopes up.

I love people who do.

Something good happens? what could go wrong? that is my thought precess.

I never know if what I say I feel is the truth

I have no damn Idea what I think, so its so hard to know what the truth in my head is.

I wish I didn't instinctively try to be less specific

So more people could relate, when they read along with the lyrics.

Not lyrics, but if i write/explain something, I immediately generalize things so its relateable.

I can be happy in the moment

I am not when I reflect

I smile watching youtube, but then I look back and think about how I wasted time.

I distract myself with gaming, waiting to get better

I hate it

Youtube will cure depression right? /s

I wanna do the most good, and prevent the most hurt

But I've gotta put on my own oxygen mask first

This is just an important phrase I try to remember when I’m down. for people who dont do well with metaphors, he’s saying that if you want to help people, you need to help yourself first. 

I can't predict what I'll do.

I can never be sure

I am terrified of making promises any more

I can't face my work,

I feel sick from the word

I genuinely believe I'm capable of changing the world

Don’t relate much here, except for the more positive, upbeat tone the song takes on, and i feel that this part, the part above and everything below is dave fighting his depression.

I still think I can get better

I’m holding onto hope.

I still think I can create and get pleasure from it

I hope so, I want my art and writing to improve.

I'll keep aiming to make my emotion and my logic agree

The eternal stuggle. I always try to get the two to line up, it rarely works. I try to use logic more often though.

And become the best version of me

Always trying to improve myself.

I don't want to stop!

I don't want to stop!

I don't want to stop!

I don't want to stop!

There’s alot this could mean. I dont want to stop creating. I dont want to stop fighting. I dont want to stop getting better. I dont want to stop living. I relate to all these things.

I’ll expand on this more later, it’s too late now for me to continue this

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Sixty

Words: 4K

Warning(s): Explicit language, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of violence

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"...Viv?!" Nikki's voice echoes through the house and I continue turning over everything in our bedroom for the fourth time tonight.

"What, babe?!" I reply, glancing at the clock to see it's only 1:30am.

"Look who I found!" He calls back and I let out a sigh of frustration in myself for not being able to find it, and I stand from the floor and step into our living room. "Yeah?"

I stop in my tracks at the sight of crooked teeth grinning widely at me, overzealous clothing adorning one...

"Andy!" I pipe.

"Vivian!" He enthusiastically exclaims, his accent wrapping around every syllable of my name.

He's swallowing me in a tight hug, laughing, before pulling away to cup my face with his ring-heavy fingers.

"You look a little tired." He tells me.

I put my hands on his cheeks, holding his face like he is mine, not skipping a beat as I say:

"You look a little sober."

His teeth show with his genuine grin and he chuckles.

"Because I am." He confirms my suspicion and happiness floods me.

"That's great, Andy, oh, God, that's great." I smile, the two of us breaking away from each other as Nikki clears his throat.

"What're you doing in L.A.?" I ask, ignoring Nikki scowling at the two of us.

"I'm thinking about moving here--thinking." He emphasizes on "thinking."

"Why just 'thinking'?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"It's so fuckin' loud, Vivian, it's so loud." He groans a little, rubbing his forehead. "I only like my music loud."

"Well, ye--"

"--Andy, c'mere." Nikki cuts in from our bedroom.

I hadn't even noticed he went in there.

"Coming." He says to him, the two of us heading to Nikki.

Once we step foot into the bedroom, my heart tightens in my chest as Nikki's standing at the closet door with it wide open, smirking.

"I wanna show you something." He tells him, motioning into the closet, that's completely pitched dark, looking like a sadistic carnie inviting a freshly sober Andy into his heroin hell.

"Nikki." I warn, glaring at him.

"Fuck off, Viv." Nikki states as Andy walks to him, curiously.

"Nikki--"

"He's a big boy, Vivian." Nikki cuts me short.

Ah, yes. Another thing Nikki took up as a form of entertaining himself: trying to get people to shoot up with him.

Didn't matter if they'd never done it before, had been sober for a couple months, or a couple years...it was a challenge in his eyes and he enjoyed it.

I rub my lips together nervously as Nikki waves me off and I let out a sigh, going to the kitchen.

It doesn't take long at all before Andy's walking into the kitchen, his brows furrowed and his eyes wild with confusion.

"Psst, V!" He whisper yells as I open my Pepsi and I look at him.

He gets closer to me.

"He's got a habit." He tells me, referring to Nikki.

I want to burst out into laughter.

A habit? No shit, Sherlock.

Which I can't blame, Andy. He has no idea the utter hell Nikki has been in and projected onto everyone else the past year.

But taking one look at Nikki's disgusting, strung out, hellacious closet-- filled with used needles, plastic lemons, cotton, pipes, burnt carpet, spoons, empty bottles and bodily fluid stains--is what made this man realize he's got a "habit"? Ray fucking Charles can see that Nikki's got a habit.

All anybody has to do is take one look at him at the end of the night...or just smell him.

Apparently I'm smiling because Andy's scolding me.

"That's not fucking funny, Vivian, what the hell are you laughing about?" He questions me.

"Me, and everybody else around him, is aware he's got a problem, Andy. Trust me." I assure him and he rolls his jaw.

"Then why aren't you doing a thing about it?"

"You know it doesn't work like that." I tell him, shaking my head.

"I wish it did." He admits, looking back at the kitchen door to make sure Nikki isn't there. "Look, I told him he has an issue and needs help, but I know the bastard won't listen. So I'm telling you." He points at me. "He's this close," he holds his thumb and pointer finger apart by barely the width of a single hair, "to being out."

"I know. Okay? I know. But I can't do anything. He won't listen, he won't listen to me, or Doc, or Bob Timmons, or his friends or--"

"--Why would he listen to his friends telling him to get help when they're all on the same bloody thing?" He asks me.

I raise a brow, realizing he's got a point. "Childhood, and friends, influence who we are." He states wisely. "I won't be back around here until he's laid his mess to rest." He adds.

"I understand." I assure him, the gears in my mind starting to turn as he heads to our front door and I follow him.

He turns to face me, kissing my cheek.

"Keep your head clear." He orders me, once again.

Oh, I was.

A week later, I'm still trying to figure out a way to talk to Nikki about sobering up before the tour, but I know he's one step ahead of me.

Dealers have been coming to the house less and less.

I grab my overnight bag from the passenger seat after coming back from staying the night with Sharise and Skylar, before stepping to the front door.

I turn my key in the lock and open it, immediately hit with the smell of a shitshow.

People are passed out from the foyer to the living room, spreading into the kitchen and more than likely the hallways.

Empty cups, glasses, bottles, syringes, bindles, baggies, cigarette packages, abandoned condom wrappers and full condoms, all litter my fucking house.

Broken dishes, stains on the carpet, cigarette burns on our furniture, broken picture frames that were accidentally knocked off the walls, and inevitably more damage to be determined, all greet me as I make my way through the house, trying to keep from panicking as vomit and exposed genitalia is nearly everywhere I step.

I open our bedroom to see naked strangers in our bed, and I step to the closet to see Nikki, passed out, a nearly naked Tansy beside him.

There weren't many times where Tansy wasn't nearly naked at that point.

I let out a breath, realizing I've spoken too soon on the state of Nikki's attempt to get off drugs.

I cross my arms and kick at Nikki's side with my boot until he's groaning awake.

"Is there any chance you found my ring last night?" I ask him, furrowing my brows, because his exact words before I left were "I'll look for your ring tonight, baby."

He let's out another incoherent grumble before his eyes are closing slowly.

"Okay." I reach my hand past him and grab his shotgun, making sure it's loaded as I go to the back door, opening it, standing out from under the shade area by the door, before firing into the air.

The racket tears through the house, startling people awake as I fire off three shots, and I come back into the house to see wide eyes and confused expressions.

"Get out!" I pipe, clapping my hands together repeatedly, kicking gently at people to herd them up and get them to the door.

Within fifteen minutes they're all scattered on the curb of the street outside our gate, and I'm locking my house and getting a good look at the hellhole.

Slash's girlfriend is stumbling out of our guest bedroom before rubbing her sleepy face and looking at me.

"He's messed the bed." She tells me, sleepy frustration in her voice.

"What?"

"Slash, he's messed the bed."

I don't know what she means by that, but when I walk in and see the puddle underneath him, I groan.

He wet the bed.

"I'll scrub the mattress, I promise." She assures me and I shake my head.

"I'm scrubbing it and mine, anyway, so don't worry about it." I tell her. "You do need to wake him up, though, alright? He's got rehearsal in a couple hours."

"Yeah, I'm already on it." She assures me. "Right after I puke my guts out." Her face pales and I scramble to grab a boot off the floor at our feet and she throws up into it as I hold her hair back.

"Viv?" Stevie asks tiredly from the couch, a naked girl passed out on top of him and I run a hand through my hair.

"Okay, how many of you are here?" I ask him.

"Him, Slash, and Duff." Slash's girlfriend replies after dry heaving some more.

"Duff?" I think I mishear her.

"Yeah?" His tired, hungover voice is asking me and I take a few steps into the living room seeing him shirtless, covered in lipstick marks, by the fireplace, passed out, two completely naked girls on either side of him.

When I'm standing over him, his eyes are slowly blinking open before closing again.

"Hey, Viv." He mumbles.

His bloodshot eyes are soon bugging open and he's sitting up so fast, he has to vomit, and he's accidentally spewing it all over girl number 1's torso, causing her to squeal out in disgust.

"I am so sorry, holy shit." Duff apologizes to her as I rush to grab some paper towels to help her clean herself up.

When I get back, he's helping her wipe off with his discarded t-shirt.

"You can use our shower." I tell her, helping her up, and she covers her exposed body the best she can as I lead her to mine and Nikki's bathroom.

When I get back in the living room, Steven's pulling his clothes on, and Duff's standing up, and they both have something in common.

"With all due respect, please put your bushes away." I say in reference to their pubes hanging out of their unzipped pants.

"Oh, sorry." Duff says, zipping his pants up.

"Gimme a second, Viv, alright, it's a process." Steven tells me. "If they get caught in my zipper--"

"--Got it, Stevie." I squeeze my eyes shut as I tell him.

"I'm gonna go get Nikki up an--"

"--Hey, I'm sorry about your mattress but, I didn't mean to." Slash slurs, his pants nowhere to be found and I keep my eyes closed the second I get an eyeful of everything down south.

I have seen too many penises in the past twenty minutes I am...I am..." I try to speak. "...I am...I am going to church. That's what I'm gonna do. And when I get back, I want the girls gone, I want Nikki and Tansy up, I want my guest bed mattress cleaned up, and I want the penises put away." I sigh out, going to my bedroom to get dressed. "Also, if any of you happen to find my wedding ring, I would appreciate it."

Duff ended up meeting me after church to apologize, which he really didn't have to.

There's a lot of stuff he's apologized for that he really didn't have to.

He just likes to keep peace and make sure there's no ill feelings left undisclosed.

He's always been that way.

"Duff, don't worry about it, alright?" I ask, stepping to my car.

"No, seriously, Viv, we helped trash your house and I'm sorry."

"Duff--"

"--And I-I know Nikki's got his shit he's struggling with and last night none of us tried to keep him out of trouble and it was just really shitty." He goes on.

"Duff, it's okay. I'm not mad." I tell him, honestly.

"Really?"

"Yes, now get to rehearsal before Axl shits a brick."

"I just came from rehearsal. He didn't show." He shrugs.

"He didn't what?" This catches my attention. "That's like the fifth time this single month."

"Well, it's just how he is. If everything isn't perfect, he just stays to himself until it is in his mind." He explains.

"But that's useless because everything gets to him."

"...Yeah, but, I mean, we're all use to it by now so it's really nothing. He does take it seriously, he really does. He just handles things the way he handles them is all."

"He just handles things the way he handles them" is something I'd hear repeatedly in the years to follow from everyone around Axl as he became more and more difficult.

He didn't make rehearsal? "That's just him."

He didn't make a show? "He's just going through some stuff."

He indirectly started a riot that hurt and killed fans? "He's trying, he really is."

The issue: all the "yes" men he had surrounding him that refused to argue or speak up against him.

And all the guys would just keep their mouths shut to avoid pulling the pin on the angry-Axl bomb.

I had to have an eye on me at all times when I was around him because I reached a point I'd just start fights with him--especially after Steven was kicked out--anytime he did something assholish, because Axl always went big or went home no matter what he did, and they'd sometimes get physical.

But unlike Nikki or Vince or Robbin or anyone else I'd hit over the years, Axl would hit back, and hit back hard.

We'd be as bad as drunk frat boys with everybody and anybody trying to get and keep us separated while Monroe would be in the next room oblivious that his mom and God-Father were going at it like a dog fight.

I found out later that, that big party was a "goodbye" to Nikki's smack addiction because he actually managed to get it together somewhat in the months to follow.

Nikki's gaining a tighter grip on my hand as Doc and Rich Fischer, the bands tour manager, go over the schedule for the tour with us.

"We will staying in the same location for about a week, and just traveling to the surrounding locations for the actual shows an--"

"--Woah, woah, woah," Tommy starts, "why?"

"You guys will have a jet so it'll just be easier that way instead of having to try to fly to a city that's just an hour away if we drive." Rich cuts in to explain.

Translation: if we travel city to city, you have a higher chance to get into trouble, whereas if we stay in the same city for several days at a time, you'll get bored with it quicker.

What actually happened: staying in the same location for so long just gave them more time to rack up dealers and figure out what places they shouldn't have gone, but went anyway and still get into plenty of trouble without Doc's knowledge.

"Now, we sent in the request to have your jet spray painted black with the naked chick on the side, but the best they could do was a half naked girl riding the bomb." Doc states next and Nikki groans like a child, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.

"Tansy, you and Sparkie are gonna be tagging along, so we've already booked rooms for you guys, as well." Doc assures her and she nods.

"Thanks, Doc."

"And guys, since the past tours have been a little hectic because kids will come into the hotel or be at the shows and pick up on what you're up to or where you're at because they'll hear us say your names and they'll start tuning in, we've given everybody a number for security purposes." Fred adds, pulling a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. "1: Doc, 2: Me, 3: Rich, 4: Tansy, 5: Vince, 6: Nikki, 6½: Vivian, 7: Mick, and 00: Tommy. And Tommy, Vince, when Sharise or Heather is along with us we'll have Sharise set as 5½, and 00½, alright?"

"Sounds good." Vince nods.

"Dude, '00'." Tommy grins, happy with his code number before he turns to Mick. "We're 007, man." He nudges Mick in the arm. "Except instead of killing bad guys, we're killing pussy."

"Yes, because that's exactly what I'm known for." Mick replies sarcastically.

"I think it's cool." Tommy states.

"And that's all that matters, drummer." Mick assures him, his hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Does Sparkie get a number?" Tansy asks next.

"If he gets sought out and mauled, he gets sought out and mauled. There's nothing we can do." Nikki bluntly replies to her and everybody attempts not to chuckle.

"4½, Tans." Fred forces his laughter back to keep from hurting her feelings.

"Be nice." I say quietly to Nikki and he smirks.

"I am." He argues lightly.

"North America through November, then Japan until the end of December, then Europe at the start of '88, and back to North America in the Spring." Rich tells us. "Of course you'll have breaks in between, but that's that for the most part. We'll be on the road for almost a year. Any questions?"

They all stay quiet and he nods.

"Alright, I'll see you guys in a couple weeks and we'll head to Tucson." He assures us.

"Woo!" Tommy gives a couple of claps, a happy smile on his face as we all stand up to leave our meeting.

Once we get out in the parking lot of the office, he's nudging at my shoulder.

"Where we goin', Viv?" He asks me and I raise my brows.

"What do you mean, Tommy?"

"Tonight, remember? We've got a date." He adds. 

"We do?"

"Yeah, I told you last week I wanted to hangout and you said tonight would be fine." He explains.

"Oh, yeah." I nod, glancing at Nikki. "Are you--"

"I'm meeting up with Steven anyway, babe, you go." He rubs his jaw and I look at Tommy.

"So, what do you wanna do?" He asks next and I raise my brows.

"Umm..."

Within a few minutes we're sitting in my car, listening to "Space Truckin'" by Deep purple, eating icecream while he rambles on about his love life.

"And I love her, Viv, I really do, ya know? But she doesn't take in to consideration my feelings and how I feel about stuff. It's bullshit."

I gasp dramatically, sarcastically.

"You mean, Heatherland isn't as fun as advertised? Oh, no. How terrible."

"Ha ha, Viv, funny, but I'm being serious." He states. "Like, right now. We're in a rut."

"What kind of rut?"

"Like...okay, we love each other. I know we do. But I don't feel like I'm in love with her anymore."

"Tommy that's normal." I tell him. "If you're with the same person, you're gonna eventually feel like that. It doesn't mean you aren't in love with her, it just means you're out of the honeymoon phase." I shrug. "Do you still like her?"

"Of course." He tells me.

"Then you're fine. When you stop liking her, is when you may need to talk about some stuff. Also," I take another bite of icecream, "sleeping with other women probably isn't helping anything so I'd stop that, too, if I were you."

He doesn't say anything before letting out a breath.

"I know I shouldn't do it, but, Viv, it's not like it really means anything, really. It's just a pastime, ya know?"

"Tommy, Chess is a pastime. Girls aren't, when you're married." I explain.

"Well, you don't really get it, Viv." He shrugs.

"Agree to disagree." I mumble, taking another bite of dessert.

A long moment of quiet passes before he chuckles a little to himself.

"What?" I ask him and he shakes his head a little.

"Just remembering the look of horror on your mom's face when she came and found us after she found out I was in Mötley Crüe." He explains and I also remember how terrified she was, and start laughing.

"We had to hid Nikki under the table at the Rainbow when we saw her car pull up." I recall.

"She was so freaked out, dude. I thought her mouth was gonna start foaming."

"Then you freaked out when she started speaking in tongues."

"Oh, she was? I just thought she was so pissed she forgot how to talk."

We're both almost wheezing at this point.

"Viv?" He says when he calms down and I raise my brows and look at him.

"Yeah?"

"I miss being close like we use to be." He admits. "And I know we stopped hanging out for a while after I got married but that's partly my fault, too."

"It's mine, too, Tommy." I assure him. "And I'm sorry I haven't really tried to spend time with you one-on-one after Nikki and I got married."

"I was upset at first, but now that Heather and me are married, I get that sometimes you gotta prioritize."

"Yeah, you do." I finish my icecream.

"Especially when you start having kids." He adds and I try to play off the spiking of my nerves.

"You guys want kids, right? I mean, you were both pretty ready for it when you thought you were pregnant that one time right after you got married."

"I'm waiting for Nikki to get it together before we try for any." I say.

"He told me he's gotten off Methadone and he's holding up pretty good."

"He is." I confirm. "He's doing good."

It wasn't a lie. Nikki had finally given up on trying to fix his problem himself and asked Bob for help.

He got in on a Methadone program and got off of it as soon as he could to avoid getting hooked on it, too. He still drank and snorted a little coke, but he went weeks without touching junk or smoking crack.

I really should have told him more than I did, how proud I was of him.

I also should have told him I experienced disappearing twin syndrome before miscarrying altogether, and every single one before that, but it would have knocked him off his sobriety in a heartbeat.

I planned on telling him, I just didn't know when or how, but I knew I wanted to wait until he was at least a year sober.

It obviously didn't turn out like that.

I drop Tommy off back at the office to grab his bike before I head home to see Vanity sitting on the front steps by the door.

"Is Nikki not with you?" She asks me.

"Um, no, I think he went to meet Steven." I explain to her.

"Oh...well, do you know where they may be?"

I open the door and sigh out, turning to face her.

"Vanity, Nikki's doing well. He's got his shit together for the most part and I don't think it would be a good idea to be around him if you're just going to bring him back down to where he use to be." I tell her.

Her soft smile falls.

"I'm really not trying to offend you. You're my friend and I love you but that stuff isn't good for you and maybe you should follow Nikki's example. I mean, if he can do it, almost anybody can."

"You don't get it, do you?" She asks me and I furrow my brows. "I'm not the one causing him to do any of it, Viv. You are."

"What?" I furrow my brows.

"You have a tumultuous relationship and it makes him want to escape." She explains.

"Vanity, you don't know a thing about our relationship so don't go there."

"I know what he tells me."

"What Nikki tells you, or what who he is when he's stoned, tells you? Because Nikki takes responsibility for his shit. Who he is when he's strung out, avoids it at all cost and just points his finger at everybody else." I state.

"I know all I need to know simply based off how he acts when you aren't around." She insists.

"And how exactly does he act, Vanity?" I start to lose my patience, taking a step toward her.

"Like. Himself." She says through a clenched jaw.

"You don't know him like you think you do." I tell her, shaking my head.

"And neither do you." She guarantees.