#don't snort the pixie dust

[wxshxngstxr]

Casually slamming her elbow down just slightly away from Nod. Just.. let her score. Please. Pleaaaase. Her book won't let her get some cricket dick. Please. Please have some mercy.

[puckishpixie]

Kliff is short for Kliffany-

[lilithknoxville]

Don’t Say That I Didn’t Warn You (Johnny Knoxville x Reader)

Summary: Johnny was the king of bad decisions, and you were his worst one.

Content Warnings: Angst, Drug Usage and Mentions, Vulgar Language, Mild Sexual Content, Unhealthy/Toxic Relationship

Word Count: 2,375

AN: oh god holy fuck this is my first fic I’ve ever posted online. and it’s an angst. IM SO FUCKING NERVOUS HAHAHAHA. anyways, the song I based this fic off is linked below, you should totally listen to it alongside this, but it’s not something you have to do. It’s just a really good song. Also pls like,,, give me requests or smth. I’m gnawing at the bars of my cage for ideas. Uhhhhhhh ok no beta readers we die like men

Johnny knew the entire whirlwind that brought you into his life was going to hurt. The moment you met his eyes across the bar, his heart doing weird flips in his chest, he knew this was heading down a dark path. You were smoking hot, with a southern accent thicker than honey.

If he only knew how bad it would be.

You became a constant in his life, basically living at his house. Johnny was the king of bad decisions, and you were his worst one. You became everything he thought about quickly. You consumed everything waking thought he had, and even his dreams were filled with you. You had sunk your claws into him, and he knew it would crash and burn sooner rather than later. Even at the beginning.

Cocaine littered his kitchen countertops and his bedside tables, his addiction hitting an all time high with you. You brought out the best and the worst in him, both at the same time. You were simultaneously the fresh breath of air in his lungs and the poison that was killing him.

Ryan’s words echoed in his head, warning him to stay away from you. Ryan had watched you destroy men in the past, without a second thought. The conversation between them echoed in Johnny’s head constantly.

“Dude, I’m fuckin’ telling you,” Ryan had spoken through cigarette smoke, shaking his head, “You wanna stay yourself? Stay away from Pixie Stick.” The bar was crawling with people, but you were the only person Johnny gave a fraction of a fuck about.

“Pixie Stick?” Johnny commented on the nickname, taking a sip from his beer, his eyes unable to tear away from where you were leaning over a pool table, giggling. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from how the shorts you were wearing barely covered your ass.

“Bitch’s got a coke habit from hell. She didn’t have any, so she snorted pixie stick dust to try and get her buzz. Nickname stuck - Look,” Ryan shook his head, making Johnny focus back on him, “Regardless of what we call her, I’m not fuckin’ around when I tell you to stay away from her.”

“Jealous, are we?” Johnny smirked, which earned him a punch in the arm from Ryan.

“I wouldn’t fuck with her if my life depended on it, Knox. She’s bad news. She’s broken, and she’s on a path to destroy everyone around her. I’m not tryin’ to be a cock block, you could get literally any pussy you wanted in here. Just - man to man, friend to friend, whatever. Promise me you’ll stay the fuck away.”

Johnny had promised, half assed at best, but whatever he had said satisfied Ryan enough to get him off of Johnny’s case. Johnny couldn’t tear his eyes off of her half clothed ass, the tits straining to pop out of her skimpy shirt. Johnny’s mouth had gone dry, and he instantly forgot what Ryan had said.

He wished he had listened now, after months of heartbreak, turmoil, and trying to find himself again.

He had walked over to you, laying on the southern charm thick. He remembered how you looked at him head to foot, that smirk on your lips that dug its way into his psyche. The two of you hit it off immediately, and Johnny didn’t see a fraction of whatever Ryan was talking about. When small talk steered into if you had any exes, you looked up at him with the sweetest eyes, telling him that you had a few in high school, but they were all mutual breakups - you were still great friends with them to this day. You told him - in a purr that haunted his mind for months to come - that since you had been in California, you hadn’t dated at all. You were just enjoying being young.

Lie number one, Johnny would come to find out. He didn’t know how much you craved the destruction until he realized one of his close friends was one of your victims. Bam, who used to be loud and boisterous, had become a shell of himself after a brief fling with you.

When Bam found out about Johnny fucking around with you, he urged Johnny to just walk away while he still could. Sure, things were sunshine and roses now, but the destruction would start slowly. It would be a fire that licked at his bones and then turn into a full blown blaze. She wouldn’t stop until the men she fucked around with were nothing but ashes in the wind.

Johnny had always figured it was because Bam missed you, didn’t want Johnny to take his spot, but he soon came to find out that Bam wasn’t lying to him at all. You broke people down to their worst, and you left without a second thought.

Johnny, of course, didn’t find this out until he was at that same level.

Your relationship was tumultuous - on again, off again. Johnny would get enough strength to leave you, trying to move on. But he’d find himself in a moment of weakness. He’d call you, begging you to come over, to love him again. And there you were, knocking on his door, with a baggie of coke and a bottle of whiskey, and he’d be wrapped around your little finger again.

He knew it wasn’t love. Nothing about you was love. At best, it was just lust and jealousy. At worst, it was hatred and venom.

The image of you leaned up against his door frame, your silhouette wrapped in smoke from his cigarette was one that had yet to leave his mind. You had crawled over the bed to him, stealing the cigarette from his lips. You straddled his hips, his hands roaming over the expanse of your back.

“We can’t keep doin’ this.” He murmured against the skin of your neck, and the laugh you gave him rattled through his bones.

“You always say that. Yet, it’s always you who’s begging me to come back.” You took a last drag off the cigarette, extinguishing it on his tongue. The burn of the cherry made him groan in pleasure, his head lolling back against the pillows. You slid down, your lips wrapping around his cock. He groaned, his hand flying to your hair. He looked down at you, your plump lips wrapped so perfectly around him, and any complaint or worry he had was quickly dismissed from his mind.

Your body was made for him, or that’s what he told himself. The way your pussy gripped onto his cock, a perfect fit, made his head swim in the best way possible.

You were an Angel, sent to him from Heaven above, before you sunk your fangs into his neck. You infected him, and no matter what, he couldn’t tear off the bandage and break things off for good. He knew you were destroying him, he knew that every word you spoke was just to get into his pants and get him wrapped even tighter around your finger.

But, fuck, was he enamored by you. Every swing of your hips, every lick of your lips, every breathless chuckle you gave him when he rolled off the top of you, everything you did and would ever do made his heart twist in his chest and make him dizzy. It wasn’t even a situation of rose coloured glasses tainting your view of someone. He knew you were shitty, he just couldn’t bear the thought of being without you.

But you couldn’t have one victim at a time, Johnny would also come to find out.

He came home early from a shoot one day, and he walked into his bedroom to find you underneath Bam. Fucking in his bed. Johnny had seen red, and he had enough strength to kick you out then and there. But he wasn’t strong for long, begging for you to come back after only three days. You came back into his life, forgiving him for what had happened. Somehow, he took all the blame for you cheating on him.

This happened countless more times, enough to where Johnny would just look past you underneath another man, his eyes glassing over and a dollar bill in his nose. You were here, who cared what you were doing? You fed his worst habits, keeping him medicated and drunk every night.

The final break came when you began to pack your things. Johnny had sat up in bed, looking at you with confused eyes. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of your body as you stripped out of his shirt, putting on an outfit of your own.

“Where are you goin’?” He had asked, anxiety eating at the lining of his stomach. You shrugged, continuing to shove clothes into a duffel bag. He watched shirts he loved go into your bag, his Knoxville belt buckle disappearing into the pile.

“Leavin’.” Was all you replied with, and Johnny felt his stomach hitting the ground. He scrambled up from bed, trying to stop your movements, even if just for a second. His hands went around your waist, to your wrists, your biceps. His hands ghosted over you, trying to get you to change your mind.

“Wait, wait. Leavin’? To where?” He asked, his voice tight and edged with panic. You pulled out of his hands, giving him a smile that even in that moment had his stomach doing flips and his head spinning.

“Nowhere in particular.” You had given him a final kiss, the door slamming behind you sending a shudder through his apartment. He had stood there, in your wake, still fully trying to process what had happened.

He frantically called you thirty seven times that night, before he drank himself into a restless sleep. He woke up the next morning, hungover as fuck, and you hadn’t answered him once. He sent text messages and called you endlessly over the next couple of days, but his texts were never opened, phone calls never answered. Eventually, his texts stopped getting delivered and his phone calls stopped connecting to your voicemail.

He was hollow, a shell of his former self. He fell asleep every night with a whiskey bottle in his hands, his mind crawling with nothing but you. Your smell lingered on everything he owned, and in a fit of drunken rage, he destroyed everything in his apartment that had your smell. He called Ryan, the only person he thought could help him. The call connected, and he cried out his sorrows. Ryan was silent on the other end.

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you, Knox.” Was the only reply Johnny had gotten before the call disconnected. He felt numb, laying there in an empty apartment. Your giggles, your voice whispering his name, and your voice telling him that you ‘loved him’ haunted the halls of his apartment, and it drove him insane.

He poured his pain into his stunts, not giving a fuck about his safety anymore. Concussions eased the memory of you for a while, and then you were back like an ice pick through his skull. Broken bones eased the pain in his heart until they healed and then that ache was back. He was destroying himself physically the way you destroyed him emotionally and mentally. He was teetering on the edge when Bam finally pulled him out of his stupor, allowing him to finally move on.

It had been months since he had last heard from you, your memory nothing but an ache in his chest and an ache in his nose. He cut coke completely out, dealt with the detox for a couple of weeks, and he was starting to finally heal. He smiled more, laughed way more, and his stunts went back to their perfect level of stupid and safe.

He started going to parties and bars again, letting himself live how he used to. He nursed sodas instead of whiskey, fully sober for the first time in his life since he was a child.

“PJ.” You had purred behind him, in the same tone of voice that had gotten him hooked all that time ago, and he stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around slowly, and there you were. Even though he knew in his right mind that you were nothing but trouble, every fibre of his skin and muscles ached to reach out and touch you again, run his fingers over your skin. He swallowed thickly, “Fancy seein’ you out again.” You had smiled, your white teeth gleaming.

“Yep, just enjoyin’ the time with my friends.” He swallowed uncomfortably, dancing from foot to foot nervously. You eyed him down again, and he couldn’t help but do the same. You were wearing his Knoxville belt buckle, it hanging low on your hips.

“Missed you, baby.” You reached up, feeling his chest through his shirt, “How have you been since-”

“Since you left me in my apartment, without even so much as an explanation?” He narrowed his eyes and he almost relished in the way you faltered for a second. Of course, you recovered flawlessly.

“Can you blame a girl for needing her space?” You asked, looking up at him with the most sickeningly sweet eyes. Your voice dripped with honey, and Johnny shuddered under your palms on his chest, “You’re actin’ like I murdered your dog, when I just needed space. I missed you.” You were in his bubble, the feeling all too much and not enough at once. Johnny’s breath came out in pants, his body thrumming with desire and disgust.

In a spark of courage - that he didn’t know where it came from- he placed his hands over yours, taking them off of his chest. He dropped your hands gently, grabbing his cup of soda again. He flashed you a dazzling smile, relishing in the way your cheeks puffed up in anger.

“Well, I ain’t missed you, darlin’.” He patted your shoulder, disappearing into the crowd. They weren’t the words he wanted to say, but they were the words he needed to say. He couldn’t let himself fall back into your snare again, for fear of how devastating you’d break him again.

Johnny was only a smart man sometimes, but his smartest move was walking away from you for good.

[batdaddylol]

pile of 'sugar'

enjoy.

don't let Crowley see it. He will kill me!

I tried to snort this through the bloody screen thinking it was pixie dust.

Leave me alone I’m sobbing now.

[theglitchywriterboi]

The Life And Times Of A Power Dealer

Issue Zero

AUTHORS NOTE: This is a really rough draft I wrote at like 7AM on no sleep & in a format I generally don't write in [first person kinda talking to the audience]. So apologies for any mistakes

I'm not a drug dealer per se… Yes, I do sell things that, to some, may be considered drugs due to the fact they do alter your physical &/or mental capabilities. And yes, the selling of these items may not technically be legal but… Okay, maybe I am a drug dealer.

But what I sell isn't traditional drugs. What I sell gives people… Abilities. Whatever power you want, I probably have on deck. & if I don't, for the right price, I can in a few days.

Superspeed? Obviously. Shape-shifting? You might as well ask if the supermarket has bottled water. Flying? Of course!

See, a few years ago - nine to be exact, about 6% of the population gained Superpowers. Some got only one, but were very powerful - like being so strong they’re able to fold a bus as if it were a piece of paper. Others got several, but were weak - like being able to blow bubbles & being able to float two inches off the floor. Not many people could do it sure [and given how rare powers were in general, may make people - especially kids, stunned], but not really useful, or flashy.

Of course there were others that varied. Some got one weak power - one guy I know can teleport. One inch at a time.

And before you think it’d somehow still be faster than walking, its not. Powers use energy - if you train enough its not super exerting, but when you teleport less than the average step, while simultaneously using up more energy than a step, it’s kinda pointless to train.

Then theres people with multiple strong powers. Super strength & being able to breathe fire. Or being able to control water & the ability to fly as high as you want.

Naturally, some non-powered individuals [and some with subpar powers] are upset they got the short end of the stick.

I can’t blame them to be fair.

So, thats where I come in.

I lucked out, having a few fairly overpowered abilities. The main two relevant for you to know right now though, are: Hyper intelligence, and being able to clone myself.

The government, both the new superpower branch & the normal branch, don’t like people having powers, so they try to keep it suppressed. Ironically, by hiring those with powers [because how can someone with no powers go up against someone who can turn your body inside out?

I make ability supplements. Any way you want them. Some want a patch, others want pills, the weird few want it to be powered - I really hope they’re making a “Super power drink” not snorting it, but once the sales done, it’s none of my business.

Cute story, one guy came in & he wanted a very specific order. Format was glitter, and you cant absorb the power through latex gloves, & once the glitter touches the ground [carpet or grass], it no longer has the power in it. He wanted two powers in it: The ability to fly about six feet off the ground & invincibility. Flying to last two hours & the invincibility to last two & a half hours. He got five doses to take home.

A few days later he comes back absolutely beaming. Turns out his kids [two daughters & a son] fell in love with the Peter Pan movie, so he & his husband dressed in their best Peter Pan outfits, and sprinkled the glitter - or Pixie dust as far as the kids know, on top of all their heads.

He showed me a video - while I wouldn’t recommend videoing yourself using my products [seeing as its a crime & you never know when a bootlicking superpowered motherfucker may somehow access your phone & see your video] it was very adorable. When he showed me he gave a big tip, which most usually don’t, especially after the fact.

Unfortunately, not all customers have such sweet intentions. But once again, after the sale is finalized, what they do is none of my business. Though since I’m still a small timer, there haven’t been any big crimes committed by the people who solicit my services. As far as I know at least.

Being able to clone yourself comes in all forms. Some have what I like to call “Instant spawn”. Basically, versions of themselves spawn near The Origin [the non-clone version] - surrounding a person they're going to attack, different parts of the room, whatever. Traditionally somewhere in proximity to The Origin, though it is incredibly rare for someone to make a clone in lets say Moscow while they're in Seattle. Possible, but again, rare.

Others have my favorite, “The walk out”. Basically the clones seemingly [or literally maybe] walk out of the The Origin. Generally those with that kind stand still while their clones walk out of The Origin but others like to be flashy, making their clones walk out as they walk/run.

The kind I have is… Okay. I call it the meditation method. I close my eyes, generally I sit crisscross or lay down, then my clones walk out of me. Similar to the previous method I suppose, but I have to have my eyes closed & if The Origin [myself in this case] is disturbed - whether I open my eyes voluntarily or I’m attacked, my clones snap out of existence.

I & most people who can clone themselves, retain all the information & memories that our clone went through.

Anyway, I should get onto telling the happenings of my life instead of rambling about powers [I will do more rambling, apologies in advance, but also… You read this & made an active choice to keep reading…].

It all started with an angry father. Different father than the cute story guy [and not his husband either].

[lavender-town-radio]

The Pixie Stick What Incident?

You can't just drop that and not elaborate.

the pixie stick cocaine* incident: (*no actual drugs are involved)

Alright, I'm 16 years old and I am FUCKING STUPID. A bunch of older (male) teens are snorting pixie sticks up their nose like drugs. I get convinced (not exactly peer pressure but like I definitely Wanted To Fit In) to join in.

Snorting powder up your nose hurts. Like. I know this probably seems obvious if you've ever gotten dirt or dust in your nose but snorting shit hurts. Espc like. A fucking pixie stick. Anyway I somehow did not get a nosebleed and also unfortunately did not make any friends (I use first person pronoun I/i here but it was one of the system's former hosts) and went on to drop out of school and get my GED at the end of the year (10th grade, idk the outside US equiv but you have 2 more years of school after 10th is over since it goes up to 12). This becomes a semi-funny story to share with people years down the line, the one positive outcome of this dumbass fucking decision.

so yeah that's the pixie stick cocaine incident. people do weird things to be included when they don't have (m)any friends.

[ggomos-maribat]

A young Jason Todd dusted off the headstone with his calloused hands. He could hear giggles echoing left and right as a little girl ran around, picking up stray petals off the ground. "Marinette," he called out to his little sister. "Don't run off too far." 

Marinette merely laughed out loud, moving over to another headstone to sprinkle petals over it. 

"Do you like the cemetery, Pixie?" Jason gave a sad smile. 

"I like it 'cause Jay Jay's here," Marinette replied. 

"It's not exactly a happy place." 

"It is if I say so," she huffed. 

The girl moved over to where Jason was sitting, offering him a small flower crown of her creation. Jason bowed so she could put it on top of his head. Marinette grinned toothily at the sight of her brother, the delicate flowers contrasting his rugged appearance. 

"Are you okay?" Marinette asked when she suddenly saw tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. 

"Yes," he breathed out. "It's just . . . You're really a ray of sunshine, aren't you? Or do you just not know?" 

"Know what?" 

He shook his head, as if dismissing the thought. "Nevermind. Want me to read you a story?" 

"Right now?" Marinette wrinkled her nose. 

"Of course. Here, I brought your favorite storybook." 

Marinette listened in earnest as Jason started reading to her. He got the character voices just right, making her snort out laughs at each dialogue spoken out loud. 

"Thanks for reading to me, Jay." 

"Next time I'll bring another storybook?" 

"Mmkay." 

The second Jason shut the book, he vanished all of a sudden. Marinette looked around, blinking in confusion. "Jay? Jay Jay?" 

Her tiny hands balled into fists when she realized that her brother was nowhere to be found. The girl sniffed, panicking at the disappearance of her companion. She repeatedly yelled out his name, eyes darting around the cemetery to look for Jason. 

And as she stood up from her spot to search for him, the headstone was left behind once more, still bearing the words she couldn't read by herself: Here lies Jason Peter Todd, a great soldier. 

[rywritten]

Bartender!Dream x Baker!Techno? 👀

(this was initially going to be really poetic with an atmospheric vibe going on, but then my lizard brain was like: nah, make it crack and have them bicker the entire time.

also, it was pretty hard to incorporate Baker!Techno into the story due to the scene i was writing, so i had to make it a bit vague.. so yeah, i hope this is still your cup of tea anon!)

In all of Dream's three years of experience serving as a bartender, he's never met a man quite like his current customer.

Now, he's dealt with the typical drunks who would either talk to him in gibberish or say nothing at all – too out of it to really form any words, then there's the self entitled pricks who would demand far too much from him and still find something to complain about. Hell, he's even had his fair share of grabby perverts with their sleezy smiles and wandering hands, but not once has he ever had the misfortune of dealing with the growing headache who has introduced himself as "the blood god."

The blood god, who's still surprisingly stone cold sobber even after the late hours of the evening, walked into the bar counter with only one order in mind, and out of all the drinks one would request at such a high end place, he had requested Dream for the impossible.

"I'm sorry, but did you just say you wanted a tall glass of Kool-Aid?"

"Yea."

"What?"

The blood god's frowning at him now, looking at Dream as if he was the one being weird.

"Don't you know what that is?" He asked slowly like he's talking to a child. "It's blood red, artificially sweet, probably made up of pixie dust."

"I know what a Kool-Aid is, sir."

"Then hop to it." He makes a shooing motion at Dream and there's a smirk on his lips like he knows just how frustrating he's being. "I want it to give me heartburn as soon as the first drop hits my tongue."

"I'm afraid we don't have any Kool-Aid available at the moment."

The blood god makes a face at him and he lets out an audible gasp, sounding far too dramatic to be real. "What kind of bar are you running here?"

A normal kind. Dream wanted to answer him, maybe even punch the smirk right out of his stupidly handsome face.

But he can't.

Their boss had given him his second warning two hours before they opened.

"Don't pick a fight with any of the customers." Wilbur had specifically told him with a warning glare and Dream was forced to agree, unless he wants to kiss his chances of a stable income goodbye.

"Would you prefer ordering anything else?" Dream forced himself to smile, showcasing his best customer service voice.

The blood god paused, thinking on the suggestion as if there weren't any other customers waiting, completely unbothered.

"Do you have any Fruitopia?"

There's a look of sick amusement on the guy's face when Dream answered his question with an exasperated no, and as Dream proceeded to turn down all the other specifically labelled 90's kids drink the guy kept asking for, the more he's convinced that the sick fuck was messing with him.

"We only serve alcohol here, sir." Dream had to explain calmly, willing his nerves to settle, least he does something he'll regret later on, like possibly punching a customer in the face.

"Really? I had no idea." The blood god replied in mock surprise.

"Look man, I don't know why you decided to come here tonight, but if your only goal is to piss me off, I swear I'll–"

Dream pauses mid rant when heard the guy snort.

"I knew you'd catch on eventually." He teased, clearly amused by the annoyed glare Dream was giving him.

"Why?"

The guy opens his mouth, about to answer his question, but stops when Wilbur all but tackles him to the ground.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Dream's boss was practically shaking the guy by the collar of his shirt, clearly annoyed. "I was looking everywhere for you."

"Well, I specifically remember telling you that I never wanted to come."

"So you retaliate by harassing my staff?"

"Yes."

"You're a fucking menace, Techno."

The blood god–Techno–smiles at Wilbur's words, obviously happy to have given the other man a hard time.

"I'll kill you." Dream heard Wilbur muttering under his breath. "And no one would be able to find your body."

"You wouldn't do that to your one and only older brother." Techno answered him with surety. "You love me too much."

"Just get your ass over to the second floor." Wilbur tells him tiredly. "Everyone's waiting for you."

"What can I say, I'm the life of the party." He smiles and turns to go, but not before turning to Dream with a knowing smirk. "I'll see you later, Dream." Techno drawls, reading the name from Dream's tag.

The man places a cheque on top of the counter and slides it towards Dream. "For all the trouble." He adds with a wink, giving Dream a two finger salute before heading off to follow his brother.

Dream watches him go in equal parts relief and confusion. He turns to his co-worker as soon as Techno and Wilbur's figure disappear from view and heaves out a sigh.

"Who even was that guy?"

"Dude, that was Technoblade." Punz all but shouts at him, exasperated by Dream's complete ignorance.

Dream only looks at him in confusion.

"That one world renowned chef? Practically a prodigy? A living legend? They based a movie off of him? He's our boss's brother for fuck's sake."

Punz listed out a few more titles but Dream didn't really care.

Techno had decided to mess with him tonight and Dream wasn't one to forgive so easily, even when said menace decided to give him a tip as a token of apology.

Speaking of tips, Dream finally took his time to read the cheque Techo had given, and as soon as his eyes lands on the amount, he nearly passes out by the sheer number of zeros.

"No way in hell." Dream whispered to himself as he reread the cheque again and still seeing the same amount.

"He probably likes you." Dream heard Punz saying over his shoulder. "This is the first time I've ever seen him talk to any of the staff."

[hatterstan-shameblog]

aye :> i would want to request something as well. you know @aceofspadegrass's post? the one with aib au where the characters switch personalities? Can you make a short fic where chishiya and hatter switch bodies for a whole day? pls?

@thee-yunatic-pixie

A short fic?

You drop a golden concept like that on my head and you want a short fic?

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Give Me Back My Body, You Bitch: The Awakening

Rating: ‼️18+‼️

Warnings: allusions to sexual situatios, vague descriptions of nudity, alcohol and drug mentions, light violence, explicit language

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Sunlight slices in through the crack in the drapes, the sliver of inconvenience shining directly into Hatter's bleary eyes as he blinks away the last vestiges of slumber.

With a disgruntled groan, the man flops to lie on his other side and shield his face from the unrelenting morning; he's got a terrible headache. A dull pounding right between his eyes, like someone's bouncing a tennis ball against the inside of his skull.

It's probably just a hangover. Last night is a technicolor smudge in his memory, the specifics of which are not coming easily to mind. He remembers having a glass of red wine with a select few of his closest acquaintances, offering a few sips to the lovely lady perched atop his lap—oh, she had been quite the little treat, giggling and squirming every time his hands dared to stray just past the bounds of propriety...

He reaches out to feel for her soft, warm body in the bed next to him, but is disappointed to find nothing except cool, unoccupied sheets.

How disappointing.

He's also rather disturbed when he realizes that the bed feels different. Smaller, and the pillowcases have a much lesser threadcount than he's used to.

Something's not right.

Hatter's eyes fly open.

This is a standard room—the second bed a few feet from the one he occupies is testament to that—as is the decidedly lackluster decor and lack of assorted beverages he usually keeps on the bedside table.

It also explains the woman leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, looking down at him with a sly, albeit condescending, smile.

"Ah," she says, "you're finally awake."

She moves the staw between her lips from one side of her mouth to the other before flopping backwards onto the other bed.

She looks familiar—oh, that's Chisiya's friend. His sexy, long-legged friend. The tall one. The one with the oral fixation. The one who could bring a man to his knees with a flick of her sultry gaze.

Oh yes.

"Well, hello there," he purrs, making sure to flash her his most seductive smirk, "Fancy running into you here."

The woman on the next bed snorts

"Fuck off," she scoffs, "Now's not the time to be weird. Hatter called a meeting at noon, you're gonna be late if you keep lazing around in bed all day."

Hm. That's odd. Hatter furrows his brow—being blackout drunk is nothing new, but being blackout drunk and calling a meeting is not the norm. Not only that, but it seems that his advances are being rejected by the enticing lady across the room, her focus entirely on filing her fingernails instead of ogling his devilish good looks.

"Dont worry," he says, letting the sheet slip down slightly to offer her a view of his collarbone—women love a well-defined collarbone, "The meeting doesn't start until I get there."

The woman shrugs.

"Suit yourself. But I ran into Hatter this morning and he was pretty insistent you be there," She pauses to blow the dust away from her cuticles, "He seemed kinda...off. Can't really explain it, but I don't think today's the day to piss the guy off. The only thing worse than a crazy man with a gun is a crazy man with a gun and a reason to shoot somebody."

That's when everything starts to fall into place. The room, the sheets, the woman who inexplicably has no interest in flirting. Hatter brings a shaky hand up to his head and grabs a fistful of dry, chemical-fried hair.

No, no, no, he thinks to himself, grabbing the covers and pulling them up over his head as if to hide from his awful new reality. This is a nightmare. Or a bad acid trip. Or a nightmare after a bad acid trip....

And it is here, beneath the sheets of an unfamiliar bed, where he discovers two terrible truths.

One: he is, indeed, in Chisiya's body.

Two: Chisiya sleeps naked.

Hatter can't help but yelp, quickly surfacing from the depths of his blanket-y fortress and smushing the bunched-up fabric close to his body lest he get another eyeful of Chisiya's unclothed form.

"Why are you acting so weird?" the woman asks pointedly.

"Uh. Um. I'm—"

"And your voice sounds different," she observes, although it sounds more like an accusation, "You sick or something?"

"Yes! I mean, uh," Hatter clears his throat—Chisiya's throat?—and begins scanning the room for something to wear, "There's a...a flu going around! Super gross. Highly infective."

"Infectious?"

"Uh-huh. That. Anyways," He spies a pair of white basketball shorts lying in the floor and snatches them up in his noticeably smaller fist, "We're gonna try to figure out how to stop it from spreading."

"Well, if Hatter's got it, we're all doomed. With the way that guy gets around..."

"Hey!" Hatter snaps, "I—he is a passionate man!"

He slips on the shorts hastily. The woman is giving him an impressive side-eye.

Oh. Right. He's supposed to be Chisiya.

"Passionate," he adds carefully, "about, uh...being a total dick. That guy's got more issues than Vogue."

"...Yeah. Anyways," the woman says, "You gotta steal me more of his edibles. You know, the little purple ones. Dude's a train wreck, but he's got excellent taste in weed."

Is Chisiya the one who's been stealing all of his drugs? Hatter feels a tsunami of rage rise in his blood, but he has to tamp it down.

Later. He'll kick that skinny little sneak's ass later.

"He does have good taste in weed. And alcohol." Hatter snips, "but, apparently, he's absolute shit when it comes to picking Executive members..."

Chisiya's signature white hoodie is draped over the chair in the corner, and Hatter reluctantly rouses his new body up from the mattress to fetch it. He feels short. His feet are slightly smaller, too, he notices as he slides into Chisiya's flip-flops. Smaller, but well-moisturized. In fact, his whole body feels well-moisturized. What an oddly uncomfortable thing to be aware of in another person.

"Don't wait up, darling," he says as he quickly shuffles towards door—every second spent in this body is a second of his life being something other than his extraordinarily charming and uncommonly beautiful self, which is simply tragic.

Chisiya's friend scoffs from her bed.

"Okay, sweetheart," she sneers. "Try not to let the door hit you on the way out."

But, unfortunately, the door does hit him on the way out, and he nearly smashes Chisiya's nose into the opposing wall from the force of his stumble. Piloting a new body is difficult. Especially a stupid, ugly, pathetic body like this one.

The journey to his suite is thankfully uneventful, although longer than usual because he's doing his best to imitate Chisiya's snarky slouch and unhurried pace; he tries his best to do that weird little smile Chisiya does, like an evil baby who likes to scream at 3 AM for no reason other than to exhaust its parents.

Chisiya was probably an evil baby, Hatter thinks to himself as he's let into his own room, Manipulative and mean. And not even cute like all the other evil babies out there.

It's difficult to keep up the Chisiya façade when being in his own environment, and the second the door clicks shut behind him, Hatter is storming into room with a firey rage that could burn the entire Beach to the ground.

"Give me back my body, you bitch!"

One of the many perks of occupying the nicest suite in the place is the acoustics—those opulent high ceilings really know how to handle a good scream. Hatter's shout echoes throughout the room at a window-rattling volume that the people in normal, murder-game-free Tokyo could probably hear.

It's cathartic.

...Until he rounds the corner and sees something that causes his stomach to seize up in regret.

Himself—inhabited by Chisiya, ew—lounging in one of the leather arm chairs situated around the low center table, an amused smirk on his lips and a half-finished plastic cup of what can only be his usual venti mocha cold brew with added espresso shot and caramel drizzle on top.

But the real problem is the fact that Aguni is sitting opposite him, looking positive gobsmacked at Chisiya's presence during their little meeting.

Their secret pre-meeting meeting.

The secret pre-meeting meeting that nobody is supposed to know about.

"The hell is he doing here," Aguni shouts, and—ooh, that's his angry face. A face Hatter has come to know very well over the years, with a hard-lined mouth and furrowed brow.

"I—" Hatter says cautiously. He has to think quick; what would that smarmy jerk Chisiya say right now?

"I...could be asking the same for you," Hatter muses, attempting his best impression of the other man's airy snobbery, "I thought you two hated each other?"

Aguni tenses up. If there's one thing that man hates (aside from broccoli and waiting in line to renew his license), it's having any aspect of his personal life on display.

Aguni's frown deepens as he looks between the two men. He knows something's gone wrong, but the confusion in his eyes leads Hatter to believe that he hasn't quite figured it out yet. It's probably best he doesn't know, for now at least.

"We're done here," Aguni grumbles, rising from the armchair he had been occupying. He makes a swift exit, almost clipping Chisiya's shoulder as he storms out of the room.

"It's funny," Chisiya says, tucking an absent strand of Hatter's hair behind his ear in a totally uncool way Hatter would never do, "Mori is a surprisingly sweet man when he's not on a murderous rampage. He even stopped for coffee on his way here; what a lovely surprise it was to see he knew exactly what to order for you..."

Hatter makes Chisiya's body stomp over to where his body is sitting and snatches the cup from his hand. He takes a defiant sip and immediately recoils.

"Fucking disgusting," Hatter hisses. He all but throws the cup back onto the table. "The hell did you—?"

"You seem to have forgotten," Chisiya says, "You're in my body now. And my body doesn't consume disgusting amounts of sugar every day. I tried to drink a glass of water earlier and almost had to spit it out because you are apparently so adverse to hydration."

"Fine," Hatter snips. He swings Chisiya's hand down to swipe up a bottle of vodka from the end table, "I don't need coffee. I have this."

He gives the bottle a shake and starts to unscrew the cap.

"I would prefer if you didn't," Chisiya says. "I don't tolerate hard liquor very well."

"Sounds like a 'you' problem. I'm sure I'll be just fine."

Chisiya nods Hatter's head solemnly.

"Very well. I didn't want it to come to this, but you leave me no choice."

In a flash, Chisiya forces Hatter's hand to the table and snatches up something shiny. By the time Hatter realizes that it's his favorite pair of sewing scissors, Chisiya already has the blades parted over a section of Hatter's hair.

"Motherfucker," Hatter growls. Not only is he threatening to destroy his perfectly-maintained image, but everyone knows that using fabric shears on anything but fabric will ruin the blades!

"I'll do it," Chisiya warns. The scissors close a centimeter. "The second that bottle touches my lips, I'll start cutting. And I promise not to stop until you beg."

They still for a moment, each man holding the other's body hostage in a truly mind-bending stalemate. Hatter's hair and millions of Chisiya's brain cells hang in the balance. One wrong move could prove deadly.

Hatter is the first to give—a show of good faith, because he's a much better person than Chisiya could every hope to be. He places the bottle back on the table and strides to his preferred seat on the sofa and drapes Chisiya's body over it dramatically. Hatter may not be allowed to destroy the man's liver, but he didn't say anything about his spine.

"You're a hell of a negotiator," Hatter says, and Chisiya releases Hatter's hair from his grip and drops the scissors where he originally got them. "And, I must say, you've never looked better."

"I would expect nothing less from you," He responds, sipping on the sugary drink absently, "You have a lovely room, by the way. The flowers, the drapes. The ensuite is particularly well-stocked. I had the hardest time choosing which bath bomb I wanted to use this morning."

"I saw you naked, too. I think. If you had been anything remarkable, I would've remembered it," Hatter replies. He selects a grape from the overflowing fruit bowl on the table and snaps it between Chisiya's incisors. "I imagine you had quite the shock, though. Not used to handling a body like mine—"

"Not to worry; I've bathed plenty of elderly patients as part of my clinical rotation."

With a quick jab, Hatter makes Chisiya's arm punch him in the eye.

"I've also bathed stupid ones," Chisiya remarks, "just in case you were wondering."

Hatter hisses in pain but shoots a devious smile to the man across from him.

"It's gonna hurt ten times worse tomorrow morning," he says with a dark chuckle, "I plan on being back in my own body by then, so...enjoy."

Chisiya hums.

"While I appreciate your optimism," he says, "I haven't figured out how we get switched back yet. So, until one of us finds a way to undo this...predicament, I propose we set some boundaries."

Hatter pops a strawberry into Chisiya's mouth. Oh, that tastes amazing—even better than usual! Strawberries must be Chisiya's body's favorite.

"Fine," Hatter snips. He takes a chunk of pineapple next, which isn't as nearly as good as the strawberry, but still quite nice. "No chestnuts. I'm allergic. Every other nut is fine, but not those."

"Noted. I also insist that we refrain from sexual activity while in each other's bodies. It's a consent issue, you understand."

Hatter chuckles.

"Not a problem," he says. He gestures a lazy hand down Chisiya's form, "Nobody wants this anyways."

"I also request that we remain civil—that means we respect our new bodies and refrain from intentional harm," Chisiya frowns, "No chestnuts for you, no more punches for me."

"Sounds reasonable. Boring, but reasonable."

"And, finally," Chisiya says, employing a dramatic pause to enhance the seriousness of his final rule, "we have to maintain the illusion that nothing is wrong. If people find out we've switched bodies, it's likely to cause problems."

"That's putting it lightly," Hatter comments. He drops a blueberry into Chisiya's open mouth and chews thoughtfully, "There's a lot you don't know about me, about this place. How long until the meeting with the other Executives?"

"Ten minutes."

Hatter sighs. That's barely enough time to get their stories straight, never mind prep him for the meeting. And, as much as the idea upsets him, he'll have toearn a few things about Chisiya, too.

He rolls up Chisiya's sleeves and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Well, I guess that'll just have to do."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Chapter 2 is going to be the meeting from Chisiya's POV. Will they manage to make it through the whole thing without blowing their secret? Are Kuina and Aguni onto them? Are Hatter and Chisiya going to end up as unlikely friends through this bizarre bonding experience?

...You'll just have to wait and see...

[wxshxngstxr]

She might just go grant some people the gift of song just on spite. Just on a little bit of spite. Right now. And maybe they'll write something revolutionary. Maybe.

[puckishpixie]

Also in my slut era. (wanting to be emotionally vulnerable with someone)

[dailydoseofveigar]

Day 53:

"I'm going to go rest."

"You can sleep?" Someone curiously prodded.

Veigar cast a glance before huffing, "Yes, I can I simply choose not to; incorporating magic into my form let alone the physical cosmics leaves me unable to grow exhausted or hunger."

Almost immediately, "Is that why you don't eat with us?"

"Among other reasons."

Someone else decided to pitch in, "Why sleep now?"

"Lulu insisted I lie down with her for a nap."

Someone snorted. It didn't take much more than a glare in their general direction before the palpable feeling of death loomed in the air.

"I will return shortly, Lulu never sleeps long," and with that he left.

...

"Lulu, sweetie-," someone was shaking her awake, "It's time to get up. Veigar wouldn't want you sleeping much longer than this."

"Did he wake up?" She mewled pitifully, her eyes not opening and sleep still heavy in her voice.

"Not yet, but I need you to get up. We fixed some food and we know you must be hungry-"

Lulu fussed and yanked herself back curling into the sheets, "Not hungry!"

"Lulu-"

A second voice loomed from the door, "She's waking up right?"

"She won't get up."

"Come on Pixie Dust, Veigar's not gonna be too happy hearing you were so fussy all this time."

Lulu flinched and almost growled but her stomach beat her to it.

"See, you are hungry, come on," after the nudging Lulu finally rolled back over and slipped off the bed. Hair a mess, she didn't even take off her robes to nap in, and she had a faltering pep in her step, but she walked to the door following the other yordles out. Only glancing back at the bed for a moment.

...

It didn't seem to take Lulu long to cheer up with an abundance of sugary, mostly breakfast, foods. Pix was glad to see her up but too busy bossing around the kitchen to fetch her itself. The other yordles would groan at another immenent sugar rush on the horizon, not entirely haply about their intake lately either to appease Lulu's ever growing bad mood.

Idle chit chat took place shortly after, Lulu pitching in no matter how stuffed her face was, and their loud voices, for bodies so small, almost drowned out the noise.

A door slamming somewhere in the castle. Open or closed it wasn't sure.

But they were all accounted for. Everyone held their breath and stared at the opening of the dining room. Seconds ticked by, but they heard it: the rush of someone hurrying, clinking of metal on stone-

And Veigar appeared in the doorway.

"HOW LONG-," apparently just waking up didn't capsize his volume control when upset still, "-HAVE I BEEN ASLEEP?!"

Before anyone could answer Lulu practically fell out of her seat, bounding over, "VEIGAR!" And smothering him in a hug.

He looked unfazed still glaring at the room, "WELL?!"

"Oh-," someone bumbled out.

"Um."

"A couple of months-."

"MONTHS?!"

Everyone flinched, "We tried to wake you-"

"Are you, like, ok?"

Veigar paused abruptly, "I have not slept in over hundreds of years. I did not think... I didn't account for-Lulu! Please! I'm trying to seethe!"

The awkwardness in the room: palpable. Veigar's distress: immense. Estimated time of Lulu letting Veigar go: never.

"...You hungry?"

[weeinterpreter]

And here is part 3- hope i clearified everything.

She breathed the heavy, dusty air into her empty chest.

She killed this Fowl guy and then she could go back to her mission. To freeing the evil demons.

When Opal was burying her, she gave her a promise, That there was a chance. That the lock that made her suffer alive, was her way out too. That acorn, was the lock.

She has found her bones actually grown up without her noticing. And she was even taller than she should have been, looking like a human. And Opal was watching her through the acorn, now placed where her heart should have been.

Now, Fowl was an easy bait. She had possessed some people on her way, he had seemed to have killed his most loyal allies. Couldn't get better.

Breathed one last time. She pushed the wooden dusted door open, stepping into the all wooden attic. The room was all empty, a small round shape window, the only light source. She saw the teenager leaning on the wall, his face in the shadow.

-what do you want?

She shrugged.

-maybe a little chat?

The boy chuckled.

She went towards him, touching his cheeks. He pulled back "don't." He said with the most disgusted voice he possibly had,

She made a cute face,

-Who's going to stop me? Your bodyguard?

Artemis' pupils tightened.

-who are you.

She blinked.

She didn't remember her name actually- so she used the first name crossing through her mind-

-Nopal.

He snorted.

-Nopal's a clone. A dead one.

-No, i'm Opal's sister actually.

He moved a bit.

-and what is Miss. Nopal up to?

-i wanna free some demons. Evil, magical ones.

He laughed once more.

She frowned this time-

"Know, get lost or_

-or what? she cut him off.

She stared into those hypothetic eyes..

Then he attacked her, grabbing the nut in her chest trying to pull it off, the nut slipped from his fingers, he bumped into the wall.

She poked at the acorn, "steadier than it seems-"

She froze for a moment, then picked up the hovering acorn, playing with it in her hand,

"If you really want it..

Then have it." She said, dropping the acorn.

She glanced once more at the pale teenage giving her mean looks.

-you are extremely evil Artemis, i like you, but sometimes you should sacrifice othe people's lives for your own goals, I am sure you know what I mean.

She smiled at his eyes now widened, then she shoot a lightning to the nut a few inches away from her feet on the left side, the room turned red, Opal's evil laugh filling it..

the Fowl Manor was turned into pieces.

So, uhm yes i am a dead skeleton. Good luck with that.

And i am not asking anonymously ... 😬

Ah, shoot, I didn't realise there was another part to it. Apologies for being too eager, haha. Thanks for sharing your identity with us. :-)

So, a dead skeleton, huh? Well, I got the zombie pixie wrong then, too! But a fitting end to all the bloodshed. XD

[droidmom]

me: idk i just don't really vibe with fantasy that much

also me: i wanna be a fairy so i can snort pixie dust into oblivion

[whaleofatjme1920]

I come baring the pixie stix story that I vaguely mentioned in our dms. I feel like it be something to tell the internet so here.

So backstory wise,, I grew up being raised Mormon. I'm not anymore because of religious trauma and honestly it's a cult. But anyways every summer girls from 12-18 go on this thing called girls camp. You are like there for a week leave Monday mornings and leave Friday morning. Okay anyways, it's like Wednesday night on this week and we have these weird devotional things ya know and it's afterwards and one of my friends from another word gave me an pixie stick and me in the brilliant 15 year old stupidity look at them and was like "Guys I'm gonna snort this." No one stopped me and watched me as I opened the pixie stix shoved it up my nose and snorted it. It burn,, like burned. I doubled over coughing and in pain for a good minute before getting back up. At first nothing,, just a stupid thing that put me in pain. Until it hit. I kid you not that sugar high was something else. I don't remember much other then heading back to my cabin and tripping down the slope and eating dirt because of that and vaguely climbing in my bunk. I woke up the next morning to sneezing out pixie stix dust and banging headache. So yeah, I have snorted pixie stix dust none of the less at a church camp.

Another girls camp that was my last my tentmate taught me how to gamble as well. So yeah despite the religious trauma from it,, I had some interesting experiences. It kind of sucked at the time as cis bisexual female because some of the girls from other wards were good looking. But I digress, the pixie stix story.

AHAH this reminds me of that shitty movie Happy Time Murders where Melissa McCarthy’s character snorts sugar through a twizzler and goes off the wall with a whole bunch of muppets.

Sincerest apologies about the religious trauma, I was raised Catholic but my parents never cared? There were quite a few times I was like ??? Catholic education highkey sucks, can’t imagine what Mormonism or evangelicalism is like.

[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.