#it is ALWAYS fucking late and some days it gets so packed they'll just blow past you at the stop so i usually don't risk it

[atopvisenyashill]

Since it's summer and hot as fuck what ice cream, smoothie, and popsicle flavors would asoiaf characters like?

first of all yes it IS hot as fuck my god i have to walk like a mile to work (and a mile back obviously) and it always feel like so much longer because i'm walking along a busy street that has NO FUCKING TREES it's hell, there is never any goddamn cloud coverage, i smell so fucking bad by the time I get to work alksjdf

ANYWAYS.

Sansa - obvious answer here is something lemony, I think she'd really like a nice, sweet lemon sorbet

Arya - arya actually also likes lemons, but given she's younger and also Siblings Don't Like Copying Each Other, i think she'd like orange creamsicle stuff. like you know that new wendy's frosty? i think she'd bankrupt ned eating those

Robb - robb is a good boy and he likes rocky road because it's an easy flavor that everyone has no matter where they go but it's also Not A Boring Flavor so he doesn't look like a square

Theon - theon will tell everyone that he really likes pistachio ice cream (because nuts, yes he does always make ball jokes) but in actuality he's a lil instagram girlie and he goes fucking wild for those delicate flower flavored things like lavender, rose, hibiscus, etc, and no one but robb and sansa know

Tyrion - he strikes me as a rum flavor guy, I remember him commenting a lot on the taste of the ales and beers and how he likes them a lil thick, so I bet he'd love a thick rum ice cream smoothie that you gotta go crazy on the straw with

Stannis - he likes french vanilla. sometimes he adds a cherry.

Davos - this is me projecting but since he grew up poor, i'm giving him part of my grandma's life (lmao) where the Local Sweet Shop lets his mom bring home leftovers so he hates most common flavors now bc that was dinner BUT he goes ham on a regional flavor. you know like the superman flavor in the midwest or tiger tail in canada, hokey pokey in i think australia? something like that that's a swirl of three really weird flavors

Shireen - she goes for sundaaaaaes baby, she loves getting funky with it with Patchface. Every time they go in one of those ice cream shops where you can add a million toppings, she loses her mind and spends like $40 for the two of them

Brienne - Butterscotch and she gets so self conscious whenever people are like "isn't that just caramel" NO there's an important flavor difference!

Catelyn - something maple flavored that was really easy to get in the riverlands but because they don't have that sort of tree in the north, it's a rare treat.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Sixty-One

Words: 3.6K

Warning(s): explicit language, sexual situations, mentions of drug abuse

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I pour dog food into Whisky's bowl, hearing his little paws smack against the floor as he rushes into the kitchen, his collar rattling and his excited panting greeting me when I feel his tongue licking at my arm.

"Good morning." I say to him, patting at his head before he starts eating. 

Once he's finished I'm picking him up as  Nikki comes in, scratching another thing off his to-do list. 

When he steps by me I grab at his hand to stop him and he shakes his head. 

"Nah, I don't need dog hair on me, babe." He grins, dodging me and I follow him. 

"But, daddy, look at this cute little face." I hold the puppy out to him, giving my best puppy dog eyes and Nikki raises a brow. 

"Whisky, tell mommy she can't call me 'daddy' because it'll make me wanna do stuff to her that I don't have time to do right now." He warns, grabbing his packed suit case. 

"We're about to leave for a couple months, Nikki, and he'll be at obedience school. At least hold him for a minute so he won't forget we love him." I suggest and Nikki blinks at me. "I'll give you a blowjob on the way to the airport." I add. 

"Aww, boy, am I gonna miss you!" He takes the happy little Whisky from me and holds him, kissing at his head and calling him a "good boy." "Viv, he's gonna be the best lookin' little stud muffin in that place." He tells me. 

"Speaking of which, maybe they'll figure out a way to combat the humping." I say and Nikki looks at me.

"We're not getting him fixed."

"Are we going to breed him or something?" 

"No, I just don't wanna take his balls, Viv. He's a man's man. He's a good boy. Not a good 'kinda/sorta' boy." 

"He's gonna be more prone to hump anything and everything, and pee on everything more than normal and it'll be a struggle to take him anywhere with other dogs because he'll wanna misbehave."

"Exactly, it'll be like me as a dog." He explains with a smile. "Just look at him, babe. He wants to be just like daddy." 

"Okay, well, if he isn't fixed as soon as he can be, daddy isn't allowed to even breathe the same air as mommy until he gets neutered." I take Whisky back and Nikki cuts his eyes at me. 

"You use your pussy as a like a 'get out of jail free' card anytime you want something and it's annoying." He tells me and I raise my brows. 

"If it's so annoying, why haven't you just put your foot down already?" I ask him, putting Whisky back down on the floor. 

"Because I like the fear of never getting between your legs again. It's thrilling." He jokes and I roll my eyes. 

"Shut up and pack." I chuckle, nudge at him. 

"I'm packed." He states. 

"Four shirts, two pairs of pants, and a Bowie record, isn't 'packed', Nikki." 

"It is when you have money to buy everything else when you get to your destination." He states. 

I ignore him and grab my suit case, about to pack my own stuff. 

When I come back from my closet, two of my bikinis I only wear at home are already laying in the bottom of my suitcase and I look at Nikki, picking the neon pink and bright purple bathing suits up. 

"I already told you earlier, I'm not bringing these, Nikki." I tell him. 

"Why not?"

"The top barely covers my nipples and my boobs spill out, and the bottoms aren't much better."

"But I bought those for you." He reminds me.

"And I like wearing them here, when nobody else is around." 

"At least pack them just in case." 

"Nikki--"

"--Don't argue, Viv. Trust me, you're gonna want them." He says. 

"Fine." I give in, packing them, and my more modest bikinis, before packing clothes and essentials. 

When I come back with pads and tampons, there's articles of lingerie I've never seen before.

"Nikki." I look at him, holding up a scarlett red number with ribbons that criss-cross down the back and tie in a bow where the base of my spine should go. "Are you up to something?" 

"What?" 

"What are you planning?" I ask him and he scrunches his face up. 

"Nothing, baby, I just thought you'd look pretty in that while I'm knocking your hips lose." He shrugs casually. 

"You hate me wearing lingerie while we're fooling around because it interferes with your ability to see everything." I point out.

"Just accept it. And pack it. Because you'll want it." He mumbles. 

"I know you're up to something, Sixx." I accuse him and he shakes his head. 

"No, I'm not up to anything." He denies.

"Skimpy swimsuits, expensive lingerie, sketchy phone calls with Fred...you're up to something."

"Nope. I'm just looking forward to all the time we're gonna spend together on this tour, is all." He shrugs. 

"Mhmm." I sarcastically let out, doubtfully. 

"I mean, if you wanna spend our anniversary--which lands on our day off--with the guys, our opening band, and screaming fans then that's cool, too, I guess." He shrugs. 

"Oh, shit, we have our anniversary this month?"

I might have remembered our anniversary had I been able to wear my wedding ring but it'd gone missing at that point, and I had no clue where it was. 

And neither did Nikki, honestly. 

"I'm not even gonna say anything about you forgetting our anniversary because I've secretly forgotten our anniversary and your birthday every year until someone reminded me a couple weeks in advance, so..." He smiles innocently and I raise a brow. 

Whisky's picked up a couple hours later and Nikki and I are off to the airport without a moment to waste the second our driver pulls up. 

And then the clothes come off.

We don't even notice we're at the airport until the door is flying open to reveal Fred. 

"Get dressed and c'mon, guys, we're running late." He urges as Nikki marks up my neck with his teeth, causing me to laugh at Fred's face turning red in aggravation.

He slams the door shut and I hear them open the trunk to grab our bags and I hum out, smiling when Nikki presses his lips to mine. 

"We gotta go." I breathe out, moving off of him and he groans. "We can do plenty of this in the hotel." I motion between us, buckling my bra, and he smirks. 

"...And on the plane, and on the bus on the way to the show, and backstage, and during Tommy's drum solo, and after the show." He says slyly, pressing a trail of kisses up my arm to my shoulder. 

"Exactly, so, get dressed." I mumble against his lips when he kisses me again. 

Once we're done, we get out of the car and board the plane. 

The stewardesses are gorgeous blondes, which doesn't surprise me, because if Vince has any say in what their female help looks like, they're going to be blonde. 

"Guys, we need a picture!" Tansy insists. 

"Tansy--"

"--I want one." She interrupts Fred, her blue eyes silently begging, and he gives in. 

Morbid reality was that Tansy didn't expect to live much longer, and she wanted to take as many pictures as possible for us to remember her by.

No one really expected Nikki to live much longer, either, of course they never told me that until it was obvious he was crashing.

Once we get the picture taken and take off, it only takes ten minutes before Tommy and Nikki are snorting zombie dust like it's pixie stick powder, and demanding alcohol. 

"You guys need to stay as sober as possible for the show!" Doc argues when Nikki calls him an "asshole" for not giving him a whole bottle of whiskey. 

"We'll be fine like we always are, man, just fucking--"

"--Nikki, please, sit down." I gently tug at his arm when he stands as if he's about to march to Doc and start throwing punches. 

He just glares down at me. 

"Please, baby." I ask him, really, really not wanting to deal with a messed up Nikki Sixx before their show even begins. 

He just stares at Doc before plopping back down beside me, lingering in and out of focus. 

As if it can't get any worse, when we land, there's a slew of groupies waiting in the airport. 

Which we only realize this when we're in their sight and they start in out of nowhere. 

And, of course, ignoring Fred's orders--made from the motivation to keep the guys protected and out of trouble, which is why they hired him--Tommy and Vince gladly accept every single woman throwing herself at them, from the comfort of the bathroom. 

The "Girls, Girls, Girls" tour was nicknamed the "Airport Blowjob Tour" because at every airport we came to, and I mean literally every airport, groupies were like Hornets swarming the place with all the motivation in the world to simply blow the band. 

A few of them would make multiple trips to multiple airports, following the guys wherever city they flew to. 

I admired their passion. 

Some of them were more dedicated to trying to blow my husband than I was. 

Which said a lot because I was pretty dedicated. 

"It's hot as satan's balls out here." Nikki groans when we step off the tour bus after leaving the airport. 

"We're in the middle of Arizona, babe." I remind him. 

He just looks at me from behind his sunglasses. 

"What?" I ask as we head to the hotel's building. 

"Nothing." He shakes his head, opening the door to the lobby, letting me walk in first. 

Doc gets everyone checked in, before I'm getting a shower and getting ready for tonight while Nikki and Tommy dick around. 

By the time we all meet at bus to head to the venue, Fred's got the backstage IDs ready for the road crew and Tansy and I. 

"Here." Fred puts the lanyard over my head with my picture on it, under it reading "Vivian, 6½".

"Thank you." I tell him, climbing in to see Nikki already sitting down, bottle of Jack in his hand as he hands Tommy a lighter for his cigarette.

I'm slightly startled, feeling Vince suddenly throw his arm around me, causing me to stop in my tracks.

"I want a drink. I'm gonna hide in the bathroom and you're gonna sneak it to me." He tells me in my ear and I look at him.

Before I can say, "hell no", I can tell he's desperate. 

"Please, Viv. My nerves are eating me alive right now and I can't drink anything without them jumping on me about it." He nods to Nikki and Tommy who aren't paying attention in the slightest. 

"Vince--"

"C'mon, move it." Doc nudges at Vince's back to get us to hurry up and sit down so he can get by. 

"Fine, gimme a couple minutes." I mumble to Vince before walking to Nikki, sitting down beside him. 

Vince goes to the bathroom, and Emi and Donna sit in front of me and Nikki as Mick sits with Tommy.

Within a few minutes, I'm actively attempting to slyly sneak Nikki's bottle of Jack back to the bathroom after Nikki abandons it to comment on this month's issue of Hustler Magazine with Tommy. 

I tuck the bottle into my purse, well...the best I can, at least. 

"Baby, can you let me out so I can go use the bathroom." I sweetly ask Nikki, and he doesn't even look at me as he responds: "Sure, babe" and stands up, pointing at a girl in the magazine and going "there's no way she's actually able to do that, that's gotta be edited", and I roll my eyes. I wish he wouldn't look at magazines like that, but it's a lost cause if I try to ask him not to, so I just ignore it the best I can and try to tell myself he doesn't look at them because I'm not good enough or something. 

He just looks at them because guys just like looking at naked girls in explicit positions. 

By the time I get to the bathroom, Vince is snatching the bottle from me as I lock the door behind me, crossing my arms in the small bathroom as he takes a long drink of it. 

"You're welcome." I state to him, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"Did I thank you?" He smartly asks and I raise my brows. 

"Umm, you should. I'm risking getting an earful from Nikki if he finds out I'm giving his singer--who's on a court mandated sobriety streak--liquor." I blink at him and he rolls his eyes. 

"Oh, please, if he or Tommy were in my shoes they would've put sobriety aside two weeks after it was in place and never would have looked back." He scoffs out. 

I don't argue because it's true. 

"Be nice." Is all I say and he looks at me pointedly. 

"C'mon, Viv, you know it's true. And if it were one of them that got in that wreck with Razzle, and they got caught drinking afterward, nobody would blink an eye because they're Nikki and Tommy."

"Vince, that's not true." I try to tell him.

"Whatever Nikki says, goes. Whatever Nikki wants, he gets. He's the one that put the band together which means his say is the final say, and same with Tommy because he's close with Nikki and Nikki backs him up." 

I can't say anything. 

"And you're not even arguing because you know as well as everyone else that it's true. It's Nikki and Tommy and nobody else fucking matters. Certainly not the washed up singer that nearly killed their careers." 

He hands me the bottle back and I rub my lips together. 

"Thanks." He mumbles before sliding past me to open the door and leave. 

I put the lid back on the bottle and hide it back in my purse before I go back to Nikki and put the bottle back, undetected, my mind reeling over what Vince said. 

It was clear there was a disconnect between Nikki, Tommy, and Vince after Razzle died, and it just got worse and worse as the years went by.

Tommy and Nikki, notorious "Terror Twins" got into more shit than anyone else around us, combined. 

The deepest shit Vince got into was that wreck, and after that he quit a majority of his bullshit on making life for everyone around him, difficult by acting up, and just started moving in silence. 

He'd have his petty moments, but for the most part, he would lay low and leave Tommy and Nikki to raise hell and embarrass the band and their team. 

I could tell he was bothered by the fact that he made a mistake that Nikki or Tommy had a higher chance of making at the time, and because of that, he was kicked out of their little club. 

And the fact that Tommy and Nikki got away with absolutely everything, got to him the most. 

I admit, Vince should have served more time for the Razzle tragedy, but he still had to live knowing Hanoi Rocks was no more, knowing he let fans down, knowing he gutted Razzle's friends, family, band and fans, and knowing--although accidental--he was partly to blame for one of his friends' deaths. 

But Nikki and Tommy didn't give a fuck what they did, who they did it to, why they did it, how they did it, or whether they meant to do it or not. 

And they didn't care because they would always get away with it. 

Always. 

Vince was tempted to tell me about Vanity, but decided not to because he didn't want to hear shit from Nikki, but also because he'd rather me find out from a place of genuine concern. 

Not just him blurting it to me in order to spite Nikki and finally make sure there was something he didn't get away with doing. 

My lips pull into a wide grin as I cover my mouth before a loud shriek can fall past my lips and alert everyone outside the bathroom of the venue, what's going on in here. 

Nikki continues to slide his hot, warm tongue against my clit as I grind in rhythm with his mouth. 

Just as I'm about to come, someone's banging on the door. 

"C'mon, guys!" It's Fred. "Nikki, you're on in, like, two minutes!"

"Got it!" I reply for him, being that his mouth is busy, and Nikki just grins up at me, causing my third orgasm to begin to build. 

"Nikki, dude, we gotta go!" Tommy calls from the other side of the door. 

Just as I'm coming, the door is unlocked with Fred's key, and I'm too shell shocked to try to get away from Nikki. 

We both just look at Doc, Fred, and Rich Fischer, who are nearly fuming. 

"Fred, what the fuck is wrong?" Nikki snaps as I pull my dress back down, my face burning bright red as I try to fix my hair and my lipstick, and ignore my cum running down my legs. 

"You're about to be late for your first show of this tour over some pussy, that's what the fuck is wrong. Get out there." Doc snaps at him. 

"Wait." I say, taking my crucifix off, handing it to him. 

He takes it with a sly little grin, looking at me before clasping it around his neck for good luck on the first show. 

"Thanks, Viv." He tells me, kissing my cheek before he heads to stage. 

I follow after him, but Doc grabs at my arm, gently, to stop me. 

"What?" I ask him, still embarrassed from earlier. 

"You're not going to be too big of a distraction, are you?" He asks me and I raise my brows. 

"Excuse me?"

"Anytime he's late, Vivian, it's either linked to you or heroin, and he's off smack so he's gonna be onto you more." He explains. 

"We've been married for four years, Doc, and I've never been a 'distraction'. What the hell are you talking about?" I ask. 

He just lets out a breath. 

"Just don't let this happen again." He tells me and I exhale, rolling my jaw. 

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again." I assure him, feeling like I've just been scolded by my freaking mother.

"Good." 

Did I mention that Mötley was in their prime and Doc was considerably paranoid of someone throwing a wrench in the machine that was Mötley Crüe? 

Once the show is finished, the guys are given masks for hyperventilation, their sweaty, liquor purging bodies slumped.

After they calm down, it starts. 

"Alright, where we going?" Tommy asks Nikki, punching lightly at his shoulder as Vince is about to get a shower to get the sweat off of him. 

"Strip club, probably." Nikki pants out, drinking a bottle of water in 20 seconds, handing it to me when he's finished. "What about you, Mick, you coming this time?" Nikki asks him and Mick shrugs. 

"Doesn't really matter to me." He states.

"Guys, you want food?" Fred offers, sticking his head in the dressing room. 

"Yes." We all say and he chuckles. 

"Alright, we're on it." He assures us.

"You're not getting a shower?" I ask Nikki and he shakes his head. 

"Nope." He replies and I wrinkle my nose. 

"As long as you shower before you get in the bed with me." I say to him and he smirks. 

"There's two beds in the room." He reminds me. 

I blink at him, blankly. 

"Don't even play like that." I tell him and he chuckles. 

"Don't be a baby, Sixx." He says as he nudges at me and I exaggeratingly move away from him. 

"No, stop." I try to hide my smile as he just gets closer to me again, so I move some more, only causing him to follow. "Nikki, chill out." I say, seeing the look in his eyes: he's up to no good. "Nikki, don't!" 

He's suddenly tugging me into his lap, his sweaty, soaked clothing pressing to my back, causing me to squeal as he tickles at my sides, and I scream out in laughter as I get that nostalgic feeling I felt when I realized I first loved him, and would rather die than go without being with him forever. 

We weren't arguing, we weren't trying to hurt each other, we were getting closer and closer to how we were when we first got married. 

There was no heroin, there was no blatant meanness...we were just starting to learn to be in love with each other again.

I, completely overlooking blatant signs and red flags, figured, "we made it through his heroin addiction, we're making it through fame and public scrutiny, we're getting stronger and stronger and back to normal...mom was wrong, and we can handle anything."

And that was the problem: I felt too fucking secure. 

Hearing and knowing about all these rockstars cheating on their significant others, and I felt prideful that Nikki might've been an asshole, but he'd never do such a thing to me. 

I was beginning to have an arrogance about it.

And that's the thing about us when we get arrogant: God, or the universe, or Karma--whatever we believe--humbles us. 

And I thought all of them had gotten together and made a plan to humble me to absolute hell. 

[ex-priest]

have i told youhow much i hate summer?because i do. hate summer. it's so fucking bland. and i know that's my fault, it's not our problem you're such a fucking loser, but whatever. summer can eat my shorts. my well-loved, well-worn, haven't-been-washed-in-seven-days-and-stained-with-all-kinds-of-foreign-contaminants shorts.

if you read my old posts you'll know all about this blazing, unprofessional rivalry between The Heat™ and me. although nowadays he's getting sloppy and sluggish, cool to the touch instead of infuriatingly warm. i would say i'm winning, but i'm just the fucking same. sloppy and sluggish, bedridden, crusty-eyed, bleary. can't get out of bed except to stuff shit down my throat like some kind of soon-to-be-obese caveman in a gagshow about travelling through time. the comic relief, if you will. although the only audience is my family and myself and the fake pitchy laughter is replaced with pitying glares.

so we're just the same, The Heat™ and me. only he's better off because he can't fucking feel because he's a season and not a sentient human being and he doesn't even fucking know he's my mortal nemesis because i'm stuck in a one-sided delusion about all of this and i'm lashing out at absolutely nothing.

he's probably laughing at me now, the fucker. don't you have ice caps to melt or something?

i wish i was 15 again. i used to love summer. the lazy days. the ice cream for lunch and hanging out with my friends days. the i still have everything ahead of me days. i still love doing nothing, is the thing, but it's quickly becoming a toxic relationship and you don't understand okay he hurts me sometimes but i know he still loves me he's just under a lot of pressure and it's okay he doesn't mean to hurt me i can't just leave him he loves me he loves me he loves me.

and i'm fucking scared, sure, but am i going to do something about it? pack my bags, say goodbye to jonathan and just fuck off and throw away our 5 years of marriage? what about the kids? and the mortgage? and remember when he got down on one knee and promised to love you forever and keep you safe always? what about that?

toxic, i tell ya.

so i just lay here and wait to rot. it's not very hard. i read and i laugh and i smile at allthe appropriate times and try not to blow up. i don't come out of my room anymore. i like to pretend i don't exist. my family plays along, and for that i am grateful. i just lay here and do nothing. absolute, beautifully nothing. if i could, i would stop breathing, just to prove my devotion to nothingness.

i thought about killing myself today. not with intent or purpose, just a passing thought, a little wave of hello, you know, like how suicidal thoughts always do. i pictured it perfectly. i'd take a handful of pretty pills. i don't think i'd be able to stand cutting myself. too much mess. the door would be locked when i do it, and it would be nighttime, around 7 pm. early enough to make them knock on my door to yell at me about dinner or washing the dishes but late enough to make them assume i'm asleep when i don't answer and they'll leave me alone overnight, not knowing my eyes would be glassy and unmoving and my lungs would've stopped altogether by the time they settle into their beds and slip into the unconscious. and i'd be asleep, too, but mine would be forever. permanent. take that, mom! you wouldn't let me get a tattoo because it was too permanent and now i've out permanent-ed everything ever! now you have to let me get a tattoo! (oh, wait. i'm dead. nevermind.)

and they wouldn't knock in the morning, because they think i'm still asleep, and if i'm lucky it would be one full day before they realize i'm dead and they've been strolling and laughing and breathing just five feet away from my cold, blue corpse.

they'd notice eventually, and they would knock and knock and knock. nonchalant (wake up and get outta ya room for godsake) to angry (GET OUTTA THAT GODDAMN ROOM FUCKING ANSWER US) to worried (are you okay are you awake why won't you answer us oh my god please answer us) to frantic (WHERE ARE THE GODDAMN KEYS TO THIS ROOM CAN YOU BREAK IT DOWN ALREADY WHERE'S THE SAW WHERE ARE THE KEYS GET THIS FUCKING DOOR OPEN) to horrified. and it would be silent when they find my body for a good ten seconds before my father swears and my grandmother cries out and my mother yells and everyone's just making one big hoopla.

i'd say nothing, of course. just let my tongue loll out of my foaming mouth like a cartoon zombie.

it's a refreshing, cathartic experience, writing about your death. my heart is racing and i can't deny there's a smug little smile on my lips. the Guilloteen, finally realized. died before twenty because she couldn't stand the thought of growing up and growing old and never amounting to anything.

but i digress.

the main point is: i absolutey hate summer. i should get a job.