#i'm actually really tempted to throw this into the tags but it doesn't really go anywhere so...

[nym-wibbly]

Fic: My Bonds in Thee by Nym - Good Omens (TV)

Aziraphale comes back. Their love was never in doubt but they still have different exactlys.

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Wordcount: 42,600 of (probably 80,000 - WIP) Rating: Explicit AO3 Archive Warning: No archive warnings apply Tags: Second Kiss, First Time, Flashbacks, Angst, Hurt/Comfort Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49148341/

If you need an AO3 invite code to view fanworks set as 'visible to logged-in users only', just contact me at the e-mail address on my AO3 profile.

Excerpt from My Bonds in Thee chapter 8:

The world ended here just a few days ago. His world. He's not sure he feels good about returning, but Gabriel got one thing right (one damned thing in his damned smug damned charmed damned bloody Supreme existence). Home is wherever the heart is. And Crowley's already given his to Aziraphale. That's like Armageddon: You don't get a do-over when it goes pear-shaped. Push on, then.

Crowley scratches his head through the cloth of the hood, relieved to feel that he still has hair.

"How, um, deviant are we thinking? I mean," he gestures to the spiral staircase, upstairs, shocked to feel his cheeks and ears getting hot. "Physically?"

Aziraphale freezes while putting the front door keys into the top drawer of the desk. He clears his throat lightly and composes his features into his usual expression of placid warmth.

"If you can't choose your form, my dear," he says, with a facade of ease that Crowley really admires under the circumstances, "I'd say, 'very'. Not that one knows much about these matters, being an angel." He closes the drawer, slowly, and turns around. "Were you, um, hoping to find out now?"

Crowley pictures Aziraphale in Eden, hastily turning his back on Adam and Eve with a shocked little huff when they figured out what all the naked bits were for.

He still wonders what would've happened if he hadn't tempted Eve to try the bloody fruit. Suppose he'd seduced an angel instead—whispered visceral temptation in that innocent ear and stroked that sweet, soft, angelic hair until Aziraphale shivered and dropped his flaming sword?

That would've looked great in Genesis.

"One doesn't bloody know," he says, throwing himself lengthways onto the couch in a dramatic sprawl. "And one would like a bloody big drink now."

Aziraphale brings him a small drink, a careful measure of Scotch, but he has the decency to bring the bottle too.

For a moment, the angel hesitates about where to sit. Crowley sees the moment when Aziraphale remembers the park, the water's edge, and their kiss. It softens his whole face with wonder and quiet joy. This in turn makes Crowley stop breathing. He pats the edge of the couch beside his hip, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Aziraphale sits there, flustered, and hands him the glass.

"Can we really do this?"

"It's too late to ask that now." Crowley's not sure of much right now, but he's clear on that. They can only move forward.

"No. I mean, the other thing. 'Pillar of salt time'."

"Oh." Crowley empties the whisky down his throat in one gulp. "I've no idea. Can we? It's not actually written down anywhere, is it? 'Thou shalt not have carnal knowledge of an angel stroke demon'?"

"Carnal knowledge," Aziraphale echoes fretfully. "Sounds very bad when you put it like that."

"You'd blush if I put it any other way."

"I'm already blushing. They call it 'making love'. The humans, I mean. That's nice. I like that one."

"I think we..." Frowning, Crowley tries to think it over. He's not supposed to be out of his mind with temptation. It's been his job to do that to other people. But the possibility of the two of them, more together than they're already together... "We can be anything we want. Any shape, I mean. So I guess we can find one that, you know." He gestures vaguely with his glass, unwilling to sully the idea with what Aziraphale would call 'vulgar language', "Works," he finishes, awkwardly.

"Do snakes, um..."

"Don't go there."

"I'm a bit worried that we could accidentally destroy each other," Aziraphale admits. "With carnal knowledge."

"According to most humans, it's one hell of a way to go."

"Oh." Aziraphale bites his bottom lip. Crowley holds up his empty glass with a meaningful nod. Aziraphale ignores it, instead putting the whisky bottle down on the floor. "It's worrying me," he confesses, almost whispering. "I know nothing worries you, but—"

"You think that?"

"What?"

"That nothing worries me?"

"Well..."

"I'm terrified." Crowley slaps a hand to his chest as evidence of his thundering heart. "I'm absolutely scared out of my mind. Hence the empty glass," he adds, meaningfully. "I don't have the answers, Angel. I'm not sure I even know the questions."

Aziraphale takes the glass out of his hand and puts it down next to the bottle with a tidy little 'chink'. Crowley watches it go with a tiny pang of grief, the hint of a pout.

"I had no idea. I'm sorry." He lays his hand on top of Crowley's with slow care. "I assumed again. That you'd— Being a demon, with all the temptations and everything..." It tails off as the merest hint of a question.

Crowley wrinkles his nose.

"Humans?"

"Yes."

"Ugh. No. It was my job to get them doing it to each other without, you know. The love bit. Selfishly. Destructively. Unadulterated lust. Except when it's adultery, I suppose. Does that adulterate it? Does it get cancelled out if it's adultery but they love each other? Or if they love each other but do it selfishly? There's a few decades of temptation time I'll never get back."

Crowley realises he's babbling and stops.

"I see." Aziraphale's fingers curl around Crowley's unresisting hand, fingertips brushing his chest. Even through two layers of clothing, the sensation makes Crowley's toes curl. "And how exactly does one tempt a human to succumb to the flesh?"

"Uh..." Crowley blows out his cheeks. It's been a while. His temptations, halfhearted anyway, have been on a larger scale since the Industrial Revolution. Whole populations, technology, not furtive couples. "Well, you know. Rainstorms, shelter together under an awning, Jane Austen's balls. That sort of thing. They look uncertainly into each other's eyes, go in for the big, climactic kiss and... and Bob's your uncle. Carnal knowledge all over the sho—place." He fidgets uncomfortably, suddenly regretting the way he draped a nonchalant leg over the far arm of the couch. He's exposed everything, and Aziraphale is looking uncertainly into his eyes. His sunglasses, anyway. "It's programmed in for them. Some of them. A lot of them."

"Crowley," Aziraphale says, making a devastatingly unsuccessful attempt to look naughty. "Take off your glasses. I can't kiss you if you're not looking at me."

Never, never, in the thousands of years since he invented the bloody things, has it taken Crowley so many agonising eternities to snatch the stupid bits of glass and wire from his nose.

Aziraphale plants a hand on either side of Crowley's shoulders and bends swiftly, pecking him on the lips and—Crowley gulps—chuckling in the back of his throat. It's a deep sound. It's the sexy, evil twin of Aziraphale's guilty, nervous titter.

"Oh, God," Crowley mumbles, kissing upwards, like it's programmed in. "If this doesn't work—" kiss, "—we'll be cringin—" kiss, "—cringing about it 'til mumnff—" kiss, open mouths, a shared gasp, "'til the heat death of the universe."

[continue reading on AO3]

[abubblingcandle]

I love your Jamie Tartt meta so much and seeing your take on things is so interesting! People have been reblogging with tags about Jamie at Manchester City. What's your take on that?

I can't sleep and I'm back on my bullshit about S1 Jamie and his return to Man City and the Man City of it all and writing fic so you can definitely have more meta.

Because for me, I completely get the opinion that being benched for half of one game by Ted in Man City's eyes isn't much fodder for getting rid of Jamie. But we also don't see, apart from that last game in the season, Man City actually wanting Jamie there.

Full Disclosure - Now I am not a Pep fan, I'm actually a Pep enemy and will always wax lyrical about how he's not as good as he thinks he is. So that is the grain of salt to be taken here.

Back to Jamie - He's a top scorer. He's a dynamic versatile forward. Nothing that Cartrick or Ted taught him was worthwhile so he would have returned to city in the same shape that he left really just with game minutes under his belt. Yet ... he doesn't make the team. He only gets a few minutes, a few touches of the ball. When he does touch the ball he creates and he scores ... so why isn't he playing regularly?

Say it with me now ✨disciplinary issues✨

Because Jamie returning to Man City under a cloud isn't only bad for Jamie's reputation ... it's embarrassing for City as well. You've got this talent that you've fostered through the academy, spent money on, grown yourselves and he's got an attitude, needs the edges sanding down, doesn't really fit into your scheme so you send him off. Either he'll come back and be City ready or he'll come back with a nice little price tag for the summer. But neither happens and so your little academy pet project is now a "problem". He comes back still rough around the edges but now with a reputation for not caring about his teammates, fighting on the pitch and not going to training. No one is going to want to risk him until he proves he can fall in line but City can't risk playing him if he's not going to fall in line with their scheme and be a good fit which he likely won't be because if he would then he would have done it by now. They are at an impasse.

He's nearly 24, the longer he goes without breaking through the more people are going to look and go "what's wrong with him?" so your next option is to try over summer and send him out on loan in Europe or to a lower league. But you call up a League 1 team and go "hey wanna loan this guy who got in the teens goals in the prem last year?" What will they say? ... "What's wrong with him?"

Teams do not want a loan player that will stir the pot. The last thing you want is what happened at Richmond where a player who is only there for a few months fucks with the dynamics.

For an example of this there is Djed Spence. A Tottenham player who was returned for "not fitting the ideals of the club" by Leeds United. He was immediately put up for sale. No sale came through. He was eventually loaned to Genoa and is probably going to be sold there. Player sent away to a lower ranking club to mature and get game time he wouldn't at his home club. Returned for disciplinary issues. Rejected but barely anyone is interested.

We then get to the LCA of it all, because in my opinion if Jamie was getting good minutes in preseason, a chance of starting for City regularly then that's the dream and yeah his dad would have been shit but Jamie wouldn't throw away the dream. If he genuinely thought I am one of the starting eleven then Jamie wouldn't have wanted to do anything to risk that. But if preseason is rolling around and no one is interested in signing him, loaning him and he's sat on the bench for 75mins of most matches then ... getting away from it all looks a lot more tempting.

[transhawks]

ajsksak sorry you don't have to answer them, and patience is no issue at all, no pressure no rush!! and all the fics on ao3 are nsfw but I mean if ur cool with that, there's one pretty interesting one on there, and there might be sfw ones I can't remember and all my afohawks fics ideas aren't shippy enough but I'll consider adding wips to publish anonymously 😭 it's going to be super questionable tho with their age difference and afo and his pretty white hair and red eyes trying to charm hawks oooh but the fantasy-like aus tho....hmmm, I still really love the horror/supernatural aspects best

wait, you mean it actually already exists????????? who????? Gonna check.

Yeah unfortunately all the stuff on there is absolutely not my thing and doesn't hit on the same notes that I think make any interaction between them interesting. Really going to have to write stuff myself, or encourage you all to. (Uhh, for other readers, if you do go look up the fics, two of three have very triggering tags so please don't even search it up unless you can handle exposure to something like that.)

I'm usually not a huge fan of age gaps bigger than ten years, but idk, it's like AFO is immortal and there's absolutely no ship, not even with Ujiko, that doesn't have that enormous age and power gap. I just like the idea of Keigo managing to get the upperhand despite all that and outwitting him.

Like the appeal is a game of wits despite the clear physical power imbalance, at least it is for me, and the many similarities in how they work, even if there are core differences in motivations and how they view themselves.

AU works really well. Guh, a few years ago I was in a RP group where I played dhampir monster hunter!hawks and there was vampire coven leader!AFO (who he was there to kill by infiltrating local monster support group led by AFO's protege, a werewolf with fae blood named Tomura). And it was really fun throwing my keigo against my friend's AFO which is where we kind of discovered that they work similarly. A lot of this is making me really sad we never had Hawks really interact with Tomura in the manga because it would have been fantastic to have him involved with Shigaraki and AFO somehow. Really tempted to kind of go screw it and write some one-shot incorporating more Vampire the Masquerade kind of lore (fight me but Tomie is a Malkavian) and just do a Coven!Leader AFO x the dhampir (not a VTM thing but also Hawks doesn't strike me as thin-blooded) assassin sent to kill him.

[clarythericebot]

I posted 1,047 times in 2022

144 posts created (14%)

903 posts reblogged (86%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lilaccatholic

@feenyxblue

@deadsilenceeverywhere

@bemusedlybespectacled

I tagged 384 of my posts in 2022

#clary scribbles - 151 posts

#bookmark - 122 posts

#aesthetic - 27 posts

#poetry - 19 posts

#poem - 17 posts

#resources - 8 posts

#the hunger games - 7 posts

#soma x megumi - 6 posts

#soumegu - 6 posts

#meta - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#and the problem isnt him but the fact that he can't give up his power if he doesn't want his kingdom ruled by someone deliberately cruel

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

NO THEY GAVE HIM THE SOFT EYES

26 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

#4

this is how that scene went right

See the full post

51 notes - Posted July 13, 2022

#3

SouMegu, the Shinomiya Arc, and what if it wasn't love?

Gosh I will write metas about these two for anything.

Anyway.

Because I ship them together, I'm tempted (and hey, I do) read into the first Shinomiya arc of the series, wherein Soma decides to throw his goals and education and reputation at risk in order to help Megumi win her position in Totsuki back. This is very important because he never does this ever again with anyone in the series. (Yes, he takes up challenges that helps others, but never again for the sake of another person, really; it is always to do with some form of ideology in cooking.)

In this one, singular act in the first season, he decides to bet it all for the specific, articulated purpose of helping his best friend (and if his outright saying it wasn't enough, he flashbacks to everything he'd gone through with her right before he gets angry and makes that challenge to Shinomiya). And he loses.

Here is how that episode ends: Him slamming his fist against the wall, muttering "I lost, I lost" over and over again. He genuinely expected to win. Even though Doujima's commentary makes the audience see this positively - what all of us need is the gall of daring to hope we can succeed - this crushing disappointment also bespeaks that he never actually thought he'd have to give everything up for this one person. If he did, would he have been willing to make that sacrifice?

My shipping heart would like to think yes. Megumi was his best friend. Of course he would, and the fact that he was willing to do this for her shows that she's special.

But the fact that he extricates himself from the solely personal problems of others from here on out tells a slightly different story.

I think Soma is genuinely a selfless and kind character (look how sweet he was to Hisako when he encouraged her to go back to Erina), but the Shinomiya arc finally slapped him with the stakes of what he's undertaken. He's willing to fail miserably and succeed gloriously for the sake of advancing his cooking - he's always known that - but is he willing to lose everything just for potentially helping another person? The answer, it looks like, is no.

So his way of getting around that is justifying every potentially selfless match as something to do with cooking--whether it's about ideology (Mimasaka) or finally defeating them and getting them to admit that his cooking is delicious (Hayama and Erina). In fact, when Erina's grandfather asks Soma to save Erina, he tells him flippantly, "It has nothing to do with me." He only promises to continue on his quest to make Erina admit his cooking delicious.

What does this all mean? Well, this argument--Soma never actually gets to the crux of the show, even as he professes it. The secret to good cooking is to do it for someone that you love. Devote everything you have to one person. He does this so early on in the series with the Shinomiya arc, but he didn't really grasp the totality of what it meant until its end and everything might've been taken away from him. So, interestingly, what his take-away from all this is a subtle form of ruthlessness; not nearly as cruel as any of the characters we face, but it is more damaging than one might expect.

The ending of Season 5, I think, is proof enough of that. If he was doing this ultimately for Erina, he would've been happy that she got what she wanted--her mom to approve of cooking, to find the joy of it again. That s the ultimate goal.

But no--he is the same as he was at the end of that battle in season one, only fixating to onto his failure to the point that it's unhealthy. Second Place in Blue doesn't matter to him, and neither does helping one of his friends reconcile with her family. Joichiro, his father, tells Soma he approves of his ability and that he will allow him to take over the restaurant and it doesn't matter to him. He literally cuts himself off from his friends without warning and travels abroad so he can hone the skills he things are desperately inadequate. It's played for comedy, but it's not funny. And it's the farthest thing from triumphant.

I like Soma's growth mind set--his belief that anyone can improve and get better and do the impossible, with enough work and creativity. But the shadow to that is if I didn't win, it's not good enough, and if it's not good enough, I need to work even harder, even harder than I had before, even if I have to leave a place that I've grown to love, even if I have to sacrifice it all in the altar of cooking. I honestly have to wonder where the line is for Soma between it's not good enough and I'm not good enough. That's never explored, though, and I think that's a pity, considering that a recurrent criticism I've seen of season 5 is his lack of internal development.

But here's the thing--such a mindset would require him to care about someone so deeply he is willing to lose the battle to win the war. He doesn't really have that in the series, and problematically the series seems to want to keep him as an (ironically) static idol of self-improvement.

Wouldn't such a development have been fascinating and foreshadowed, though? In that first arc, we meet a chef that is burned out. That's tired. That's why Megumi's dish touched Shinomiya so much--even though it was imperfect, he still felt the care she put into this dish, and that assessment is literally against what Totsuki stands for. Perfection is what a make dish good. Seeing the face of the chef, and all that. How does love make anything better?

But it does. And it snaps Shinomiya out of his rut.

Would that mean, then, that Megumi is the secret to getting Soma out of his? Imagine a Soma that was allowed to circle back--to realize in the end what he instinctively did at the beginning; that he is willing to put everything on the line for a person that he loves, not just to impress or defeat them, but to help them, to give them joy. Imagine a Soma that is willing to enjoy both his victories and his losses, knowing that throughout both he is loved all the same.

59 notes - Posted February 15, 2022

#2

The Guardian

As heartbreaking as this fact may be, they cannot do this for all the sick children.

The child must be the perfect mixture of sleepy and awake; innocent enough to still believe in wondrous things and lucid enough to know they are not dreaming, that they are being trusted with a precious secret they must keep for however long they have left. Delilah only has three days.

That night, the guardian – the title they have come to know themself over the years – bundles Delilah’s frail body in the wheelchair and whisks her out into the hall.

“Is it another surgery?” the ten-year-old mumbles. Two years ago, the girl threw screaming fits at the thought of going under the knife, and her parents made a point of reassuring her and promising her treats and rewards weeks well in advance. These past few months, that ritual had been thrown out into the wind. There had been far too many emergency operations, and by now, Delilah was used to it.

“No, child,” they say. “You’re far past need of that now.”

Delilah doesn’t hear their voice catch. “Good,” she sighs as she sinks into the metal seat. It can’t be the most comfortable space, but the guardian understands that at this point, almost nowhere feels comfortable. The place they are taking her is perhaps the final one, in this life, that pain cannot completely follow. Delilah tugs at their sleeve. “Can I take a nap?”

“In a while. I have something to show you.” They point to the end of the low-lit corridor. “Do you see that door?”

“The door to the exit?” Delilah blinks and sits up. “No, wait, that’s different. That’s…” She frowns. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“I should hope not. I only put it there a minute ago.”

“You can’t just put doors-“

“I can.”

The guardian says it with so much authority that Delilah twists to look at them. Her lips form a small oh. “I’ve never seen you before, either,” she says.

“You haven’t.”

“But I thought you were my favorite nurse.”

“Why?”

“You sound just like her. No—you feel just like her. And my parents, too. You feel like whenever they give me a hug.”

“Is ‘safe’ the word you are a looking for?” they offer.

“Yes.”

“I am safe. Even though I’m not your nurse, I am your friend.” That hadn’t always been the case, of course. There was a time long ago when they were far from a friend of any human. But that no longer matters. “I want to show you something through that door. It’s the world that I came from.”

“You’re not from around here?”

“No.”

“I guess I should’ve figured. What are you waiting for?”

“Your permission, Delilah.” For the second time in five minutes, the girl’s mouth rounds in surprise. “Will you allow me to take you through the door? The decision is entirely up to you.”

It will probably be the last decision entirely up to her. They want to give Delilah that.

“Yes,” the young girl says. Then, belatedly: “Please.”

_ _ _

On the other side, the world is made of light.

When they first brought children here – Adrian, the first one, had been shaking with tremors even when his eyes were wide saucers of excitement – they were afraid that the shift between worlds would destroy the children’s already precarious health immediately. It is so different from their universe made of mud and blood and soil; here, essence is stripped bare and free to float along. Galaxies can be experienced with a single touch; so can oceans of anger, clouds of love, flights of whimsy. A lifetime’s worth of marvels—that’s what they wanted to give.

Why they had been willing to risk it.

See the full post

92 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

THIS MOMENT WAS JUST SO SOFT kajs;dlfjkaldsfk

"You okay?"

139 notes - Posted January 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[thetrashthatsmilesback]

I know I joked about it in the tags of a reblog, but honestly I might go on TikTok and just spread the rumor that Carrie Kelley and Stephanie Brown were girlfriends who bonded over being the only girl Robins during preboot. Nobody over there seems to know what readcomiconline is so I could just doctor some panels, name a random arc that was less popular, and nobody would question it.

Like, it would genuinely be so easy to do this.

"Penguin and Batman fucked in The Penguin Affair!" Am I lying? The people on TikTok sure as hell won't know.

The StephCarrie would also be made more believable by the fact that around the time Steph started getting centered in more arcs (centered used loosely as DC is sexist as hell towards her, and even "her" arcs are more Tim reacting to things happening to Steph. Batman: Huntress and Spoiler was an okay book though), DC was actually starting to introduce more lgbt+ characters, namely bisexual characters. I could genuinely make this so believable.

If I say it was during the Outsiders 2003, then that automatically guarantees that no JayRoy shippers will go looking for it since that's like, THE Dickroy Comic TM. If I say it was during the one year later event of Nightwing 96, then again no one will actually go check, at least based on how few people know about anything past D⭐vin Gr⭐son's arc.

Sure sone people might be like "wait, wasn't Steph off pretending to be dead?" But lbr, DC doesn't even do back reading. There are comics that refer to Dick as Kory's husband just because no one was talking so they slipped through editing after those two broke up. It's totally something I could pass off as a one off line in a random ass Teen Titans 03 comic or something.

Throw in the fact that people either A) don't know who Carrie Kelley is or B) know she was in n52 then just forgotten about.... Well I could go the route of, instead of "they bonded over being the two girl Robins," that they met when Carrie was tutoring Damian and dated briefly. It might be a little less believable since most people know more about n52 than preboot, but I think I could pull it off.

Basically I'm really tempted to spread my bi/pan Stephanie Brown agenda, and to do it by just straight up lying and seeing if people even notice lmao.

[deistarr]

Tags I honestly appreciated on AO3 (various fandoms):

The Canon Did Not Spark Joy | So I Made It My Bitch

If The Canon Does Not Spark Joy Throw It Out

Scott McCall Can Have A Braincell. As A Treat.

Relationship Pairing: Albus Dumbledore/His Ginormous Ego

Lan Wangji's Canonical Inability To Tell The Difference Between Instant Hatred & Instant Attraction

LWJ Gets Sexually Aroused For The First Time | He Mistakes The Feeling For Murderous Rage | It's A Very Confusing Time For Him

Fix-It Via Accidental World Domination

Accidental Overlord Tony Stark

LWJ Can Punch JC In The Face. As A Treat.

JC's Canonical Torture Habit

Gender: Tired - Sexually Attracted To: Beds

Everyone Deserves Better | Except For JC | He Can Suffer

Fluffy Vore-Adjacent Behaviour

Please note that this list is by no means comprehensive. It just contains the ones I remember off the top of my head at this moment.

Some of my favourite tags that I have used:

(Not So) Secretly A Virgin

Tiny Time-Travel Hell-Child

LXC Has The Braincell | Oops | No He Doesn't

Now With A Hundred Percent More WangXian!

Albus Dumbledore Is Not Actually Evil | He's Just Very Bad At Being A Decent Person

OC Was Not Expecting Reincarnation | Again | She Wants To Know Why Fate Keeps On Giving Her A Penis

The Genitalia That Must Not Be Named

If You Didn't Want To Be Blackmailed | You Shouldn't Have Done It | Sounds Legit

Hello Alcoholism | My Old Friend

LWJ Tries To Be Good | He Fails | To Be Fair | WWX Is Terribly Tempting

For A Fic Without Any Sexual Content Some Of These Tags Sound Incredibly Inappropriate

Mostly Canon Compliant | Except That Lan Xichen Actually Got Laid

Lans Gone Wild(TM) | Featuring Nie Mingjue As: The Voice Of Reason

Body-Swap Gone Wrong | AKA | That Fic Where Wei Wuxian Pees Lan Zhan's Pants

It Doesn't Have To Be Biologically Possible They're Hybrids Karen

Lan Xichen Can Have A Little Harem. As A Treat.

Jin Zixuan The Beautiful Lan/Jiang Sect Concubine

Nie Huaisang Saves The Day | He's As Surprised As Anyone

I Wrote This Instead Of Sleeping | Then Fell Asleep Instead Of Posting It

LWJ Stabs His Father | Non-Lethally But Still | It's Surprisingly Cathartic

The Mortifying Ordeal Of Discussing Your Sex Life With Your Family

Trip To The ER With Something Stuck Inside Your Dick | Somehow Everyone You Know Shows Up | Thanks Huaisang | That Was Not Actually Helpful

That Moment When Everyone Learns TMI About Your Sex Life

Lan Xichen Accidentally Starts A Revolution In The Lan Sect | This Was Not Supposed To Happen | Rebel Leader!LWJ

Lan Wangji Needs Friends | Xichen Just Never Expected Him To Make Them This Way | This Is Not Going As Planned

Asexual Relationship | Where Neither Of Them Are Actually Asexual | This Is What We Call A Lack Of Communication

BAMF Nie Mingjue | Why Is That Not Already A Tag? | That's Basically His Entire Personality | I'm Feeling Very Insulted On His Behalf

Nie Mingjue Pretty Much Lives To Kick Ass & Take Names | If He Disapproves He Won't Hesitate To Let You Know | Loudly & At Length | He Practically Exists To Smite Evil-Doers & Fuck Their Shit Up | Anyone Who Says Nie Mingjue Is Not BAMF Is Lying | Or Else Really Not Paying Attention

NMJ Is Basically The Chinese Version Of A Spartan Warrior | Charging Onto The Battlefield With Baxia Held Aloft | Wearing The Blood Of His Enemies | "This! Is! Qinghe!!!" | When I Read The Novel My Brain Dubbed Him "Chinese Leonidas" | CQL Did Nothing To Dispell That Impression TBH

BAMF Uchiha Shisui | WTF Is That Not Already A Tag? | Danzou Only Beat Him Because Of Izanagi | With The Stolen Sharingan Shisui Didn't Know He Had | He Kicked Danzou's Ass | While Poisoned | And Fending Off ROOT As Well | He Won Until Danzou Got An Unexpected Do-Over | And Even Then He Still Got Away | He Might Have Been Dying But He Still Escaped | Uchiha Shisui Is A Total BAMF | This Is A Hill I Will Die On

Severus Snape Has Asperger's | No One's Ever Handled It Well | At All | Especially Not Dumbledore | It's Why He's So Bitter | Snape's Just So Done With Humanity | And With Human Interaction In General | He'd Like To Go Live Alone In A Nice Cave Somewhere | And Never Speak To Anyone Else Ever Again | Dumbledore Insists On Keeping Him In A School | Where He Was Bullied And Traumatized | Surrounded By Screaming Adolescents | Who He Can't Just Ignore | He Has To Teach | Interact With The Hellspawn | Be A Role Model | Severus Snape Regrets Everything

[clatterbane]

And, finally arrived for me today: medical dog tags I don't really want to wear, but know I probably should now!

(And not that one "just throw me in the trash" option, tempting as it may have been! 😅)

I decided to go with a fairly basic sterling silver pendant from Universal Medical ID. (Which besides the UK, is apparently operating in the US and Canada.) They offer a pretty good selection of styles and materials, and seem to be the main place for more stylish-looking sterling/gold options here in the UK.

I went fairly basic, not intending to wear it outside my clothes that often anyway--thinking that in an actual emergency, people might be less likely to overlook something like this if they were quickly trying to find medical jewelry.

They also threw in that small charm, which AFAICT is usually sold separately for charm bracelets, etc. It was already on the chain too, so I just left it there for the time being. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I considered a bracelet, but for "rarely take it off" wear jewelry? I have personally found (loose) necklaces easier to get used to with my sensory issues, and less likely to get in the way. YMMV, of course.

This is one of the companies offering a subscription-based medical info database service, but instead of adding that I just went clear and to the point with my name plus the most essential medical info engraved on the pendant.

That way actually seemed safer. Besides avoiding that ongoing fee, nobody should need to call a number or use a website to immediately see at a glance that I am T1 diabetic. I also included the penicillin allergy to be extra safe, with an additional "see wallet card" for any further details.

Note to self: fill out and carry that expandable wallet card! (Along with the similar diabetes-specific NHS "Insulin Passport" thing they gave me in the hospital...) But, that's an optional extra for good measure.

A bonus, since Universal Medical ID was offering a discount on further personalized items if you buy one (doesn't have to be the same info/person either):

A cheap stainless steel bracelet style, with a set of interchangeable silicone wristbands. For backup, besides occasions (like exercise/swimming maybe?) when you might not want to wear the usual necklace. I seriously doubt that I would ever wear most of those colored bands, but choice is good.

That style also has room for engraving on the back--more space than the pendant style I chose, in general.

But yeah, while I certainly hope I will never keel over or somehow wind up unconscious/otherwise unable to communicate while I'm alone out in public? At least I shouldn't have quite as much to worry about now, just in case.

[allofthisnonsenseplease]

GabexJack modern AU meet-cute featuring bodymod!tattooartist!Gabe.

I hadn’t seen that done, and thought it might be a cool idea. =)

Gabriel had just finished putting up his inks and sterilizing his equipment when he heard the front door open. After years of extra shifts at secondary jobs, sacrifice, and saving up, he had finally managed to open his own shop, Death Blossom Tattoos. He still wasn't used to being the only one on shift, though, and this wouldn't be the first time he'd forgotten to lock up after his last client.

“We're closed,” he called.

“Hello...?”

The voice that called from the front was rough—pack-a-day smoker who gargles with gravel, rough—but hesitant. Feeling every second of the long, long day that he'd been on his feet, Gabriel stripped off his gloves and flung them into the trash, then stepped out to send the man on his way. He didn't anticipate that it would take long. Being just over six feet tall and built like a pro-wrestler alone sufficed to make most people think twice about crossing him, but Gabriel had taken that canvas and run with it. His curly hair was shaved on the sides, just long enough on top to spike into a mohawk when he felt like bothering, and tipped in red. Steel glinted against his dark skin from multiple piercings: left eyebrow, bridge, septum on the right, and a labret winking like a ruby in a patch of hair below his lips. His ears sported rings and studs from top to bottom in steel, jet, and candy apple red acrylic, and the lobes were stretched around inch-wide gauges. Dark, tattooed clouds of red-tinged nebulae seemed to issue from the gauges opening his cheeks and exposing his teeth. Malevolent red eyes stared out of the deepest black of the ink as it bled back into the stubble on his skull. His tongue was forked. His sclera had been tattooed black, although he had foregone the red contacts today.

He fixed a neutral expression on his face, and turned the corner to get a look at whoever it was that had wandered into his shop so late at night. The sight almost—almost—made him falter a moment.

The guy was hot. Tall as Gabriel and absolutely ripped, dressed in dark jeans and a tight black polo that contrasted deliciously against the creamy latte color of his lightly tanned skin. The shirt clung to his pecs, shaping them out of shadows and soft edges, leaving his trim waist less defined. His hair was too bright, bottle-blond over darker eyebrows. Freckles dusted his nose and flushed cheeks. His pale eyes were wide, lips parted as he stared.

Gabriel licked his lips reflexively, then frowned, hoping the gesture had gone unnoticed. He stepped up to the man, close enough to smell the alcohol reek of his breath.

“We're closed,” he repeated shortly.

“Oh,” the man said. Then: “Shit.” He goggled at Gabriel a moment longer, taking in the tattoos and piercings and visible mods with drunken intensity and a vaguely worried expression. “I went to Hell.” He said it with a fatalistic sort of acceptance that made it hard for Gabriel not to laugh.

He must have been very drunk. Gabriel watched as he looked over each shoulder and made a wobbling turn to check behind himself. All the while, he was absentmindedly patting himself down as if searching for the feel of lost keys in pockets. Or trying to make sure he was still in one piece. When he turned back to Gabriel, wavering but still managing to remain upright, he looked downright bewildered.

“Did that car actually hit me?”

“Wouldn't know about that. But I can tell you that you aren't in Hell.”

“I'm not?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Good.”

“I can also tell you that we're closed.”

“Um.” His gaze wandered uncertainly for a moment before returning to the general vicinity of Gabriel's face. “I'm lost.”

“Not my problem, Blondie.”

The man's shoulders sagged. His heavy brows drew in, his lips turned down at the corners, and he hung his head. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Gabriel felt like he'd kicked a puppy. Heaving a sigh, and hoping the drunk could take directions at least long enough to get lost someplace else, he asked: “Where are you trying to go?”

“Home.”

He waited a beat, just to see if a kernel of common sense might take root in the man's head. When it didn't, Gabriel crossed his arms and scowled. “If you want directions, then you have to tell me where you live.”

“In...an apartment complex. I just moved here. My name's Jack.”

He was staring at Gabriel's crossed arms, eyes wide. They were an unusual washed-out shade of blue, like pale sea glass. Gabriel pictured wave tattoos for him, a sleeve in the Japanese style, spotted with white camellias. Maybe with a fish, seeing as he apparently drank like one.

“You have....” Jack gestured unsteadily at Gabriel's arms, then looked up to meet his eyes once more. “There're...faces,” he said. “In your hands.”

“Subdermal implants,” Gabriel said by way of explanation. Uncrossing his arms, he held up one of his hands for Jack to take a closer look at the glowering, skull-like owl face rising up just beneath his skin.

He wasn't quite prepared, although maybe he should have been, for Jack to take his hand in both of his and hold it close to his face. Jack's hands were warm, fingers pleasantly rough with calluses, and his breath tickled over Gabriel's skin. He shifted his grip, one hand holding Gabriel's, the other moving to stroke hesitantly over the implant. His fingertips skated erratically over it, dipping clumsily into the recesses of the eyes. Jack looked up at him suddenly, eyes fever-bright in his flushed face.

“What's your name?”

“Gabriel.” He jerked his hand back more roughly than he needed to. “What apartment complex do you live in?”

“The one near the park.”

There were three parks in the city, all with several apartment complexes within a block or two. “That narrows it down to a couple dozen. Try again.”

“Over...Overlook?”

“Overwatch Apartments?” Gabriel asked, thinking: No, it couldn't be.

Jack lit up. “Yes! How do I get there?”

Small world. With a sigh, Gabriel waved him to the bench against the side wall. “Sit down. You live in the same complex as me. I'll take you there once I'm done closing up.” While Jack got settled, Gabriel took a moment to grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge behind the desk. “Here. Drink this. I think you need it.”

Jack took the bottle, staring first at it, then up at Gabriel. “You're not s'posed to drink the water in Hell. You get stuck there.”

Leaning down to look Jack in the eye, Gabriel reminded him, enunciating carefully: “You are not in Hell, Jack.”

“Oh. Okay.” He paused, water probably all but forgotten, and lifted a finger to point at Gabriel's face. “Your eyes are...kinda...black.”

“Tattoos.”

“Oh. Cool.”

It didn't take long to finish straightening up and close out the register. Gabriel locked the day's take in the safe, leaving the deposit for his future self to deal with. He herded Jack out the door, locked up, and led him down to the bus stop. Any thoughts he'd had about babysitting Jack being nothing but a pain flew out of his head when the bus pulled up and Jack lurched in front of him to get on first. Jack stood between him and the bus driver, a man who was neither unfamiliar with Gabriel nor drunk, and proceeded to reassure the driver that Gabriel was not, in fact, a devil, but was his friend and a very nice man. The driver shot Gabriel a look over Jack's shoulder. Gabriel was too busy shaking with repressed laughter to respond.

They took their seats at the back of the bus, and Jack explained in a halting, wandering monologue about how his new coworkers had dragged him out for a party, then disappeared one by one until he was alone in a bar in a part of town he didn't recognize. Not a great thing to do to a guy, Gabriel thought, but Jack was an adult and should have been able to fend for himself. He was just lucky that the person he had asked directions from could take him home, rather than just sending him on his way alone.

Jack was doubly lucky, as it turned out. He could barely keep his eyes open, even as he finished explaining how he'd gotten into his predicament. Long before they had reached their stop, he was slouching against Gabriel, head resting on his shoulder. The warmth was nice, the contact pleasant. Gabriel let him doze, wondering if Jack's freckles spread like a star chart across the rest of his skin; if he already had tattoos, or if he was a blank canvas; if he might someday let Gabriel leave his own mark. He wondered what sort of design would suit Jack best.

Their stop was only a block away from the complex, but Jack was too muddled by alcohol and exhaustion to wake up fully. He followed groggily along in Gabriel's wake, responding to questions in grunts and brief nods or shakes of his head. In the stairwell, he dug his keys out of his pocket and let Gabriel sort through them for the one with his apartment number barely legible in scratched black sharpie. Jack lived on the same floor, several doors down. Very small world, indeed.

When Gabriel stopped in front of Jack's door, he had just enough time to get it unlocked and open before Jack stumbled into him from behind. The warmth and weight of his body didn't linger, but the feel of his hand did. Gabriel held still as Jack rubbed a hand up and down his spine, tracing the bumps of small, rounded spikes.

“More like your hands?” Jack murmured. He sounded far more alert after their march up the stairs.

“Got it in one.”

“Do you have more tattoos?” Both hands were resting on Gabriel's back now, firm against his shoulder blades.

“Of course.”

“Can I see?”

Gabriel let himself be pushed into the apartment, reaching out to flip the light switch as automatically as if he were in his own home. Jack slipped past him, emptying his pockets of phone, wallet, and spare change onto the coffee table. When Gabriel handed back his keys, they joined the pile as well.

Jack turned back to look at him, shadows under his sea glass eyes, expectation making his expression eager, almost hungry. The air between them felt charged, and Jack's drunken intensity sent a shiver running over Gabriel's skin. Lips twisted in a crooked smile, he tugged off his hoodie, then his tank top. He grinned to see the way Jack caught his lower lip between his teeth as he stared.

Most of Gabriel's body was covered in tattoos. His chest featured a massive one done in red and black, glistening with white highlights. The edges were cracked and burned skin, dry as desert rock, peeling away from the curved lines of ribs, the rounded lump of a heart. More of the nebula-edged darkness congealed around the edges, dripping from just beneath his collarbone. Eyes opened up in the depths, iris and pupils livid red against the black. His right arm was tattooed with slashes that puckered red around the edges, weeping more of the watching darkness and exposing musculature, tendons, ligaments, and bone. A black barn owl perched on his left arm, talons just above his elbow, head on the curve of his shoulder. Its face was ghostly white, its eyes deep blue and dotted with stars. Feathers fell the length of his forearm, mingling with graceful curls of smoke, and morphing into shell casings by they time they reached his wrist.

He turned to show off his back, the column of subdermal implants like spikes down his spine, the twin shotguns, heavy and black, that stretched nearly from the crest of his shoulders to the curve of his lower back. They breathed smoke that coiled up his neck, darkening against his skull to mingle with the clouds that wrapped around over his temples and cheeks.

Facing away, he didn't see Jack move, didn't hear him step closer. The first warning he had was a breath of moving air against his skin, and then the heat of Jack's palm was back, far warmer without the barrier of clothing between them. Jack stroked down his back, thumb ticking against the sides of the implants, fingertips lingering just over the waistband of Gabriel's jeans as he pulled his hand back.

Gabriel turned and Jack took another step in, entranced by the tattoos, by the shape and planes of Gabriel's body half hidden beneath the lines of the ink. He watched as Jack reached up, slow as a dreamer, to set his palms against the flesh of Gabriel's chest and drag his touch down over the swell of pecs, the toned muscles of his stomach. Gabriel's nipples and navel were pierced, as well as parts further south. However, despite Jack's open show of fascination, he wasn't going to be seeing anything else. At least...not just yet. Gabriel had seen the heated look in his eyes from others before, often enough that he knew it wasn't only the tattoos that were arousing Jack's interest. Drunken one night stands held no appeal for him, but if Jack still looked at him like that when he was sober....

Gabriel definitely wouldn't mind feeling those plush pecs fill his hands, finding out what Jack's creamy skin tasted like, getting a good look at the bared canvas of his body. He wondered again if it would be blank, or if Jack already had some ink of his own. Something patriotic, maybe? He had something of a military air about him, something in the way he carried himself, even drunk. Some iconography from the service? A motto, maybe? Discoveries to be made later when Jack could think straight and they'd had a chance to get to know each other a little better.

“That's it for tonight,” Gabriel said, pulling his hoodie back on and stuffing his shirt into the pocket. “Lend me your phone for a sec.”

Jack blinked at him, a bit slow on the uptake, but handed it over without question. He watched as Gabriel took a selfie, grinning around his forked tongue, then saved his contact information and sent himself a message. Maybe Jack would want to forget the whole thing come the morning, but Gabriel wouldn't bet on that.

“I'll text you tomorrow. We can set up a day to get you better acquainted with the city, if you want.”

“Sure. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, neighbor.” Grinning and feeling well-rewarded for his good deed, Gabriel waved and left for his own apartment and his waiting bed.

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

Jack woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, an unpleasantly roiling stomach, and a mouth that felt like he'd been chewing on dirty laundry. He groaned, realized that the vibration was making his head pound worse and his stomach threaten to revolt, and stopped. Blindly, he reached out and groped across the nightstand for his phone, wondering what time it was and half afraid to find out. When he peered blearily at the screen, he saw that he had a new message from....

“Not A Devil...? Who the—”

[good luck with that hangover jackie]

Memories trickled back in, slow at first, then in a rush. The bar. The empty, unfamiliar streets. The bright light of the tattoo parlor.

Gabriel.

“Oh, God...!”

He remembered an unfairly handsome man with more tattoos and body modifications than Jack had even realized existed. Had the whites of his eyes really been black? He squinted at the picture, saw that yes, they were, and yes, Gabriel was just as good-looking through the unforgiving fog of a hangover as he had been when Jack had been drunkenly mistaking him for a devil and later pawing him in the living room of his apartment.

Not the sort of first impression he would ever be able to live down.

“I'm in Hell,” he groaned into his pillows. “Never drinking again.”

His only consolation was the vague memory of having somehow earned a second chance. He must have done something right in that case, and whatever it was, he was glad it had worked. Jack definitely wanted to get to know that particular neighbor much better.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Forty-Seven

Table of Content or Part Forty-Six

Wattpad

Words: 2.6k

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

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"...Viv, I can't afford to bail anyone out of jail right now." Doc sighs out sleepily and I roll my jaw.

"Well, none of the guys have enough money either. We're in a bind."

"How'd you even get arrested?" He asks me and I rub my lips together.

"This douche face was being obnoxious and creepy and we had a misunderstanding." I explain.

"Misunderstanding?"

"Okay he got his ass handed to him and security called the cops." I mumble, rolling my eyes.

"Who exactly handed him his ass, Vivian?"

"...A red head..."

"Vivian Sixx--"

"--Um, Axl's locked up, too, it coulda been either one of us!" I defend myself. "If one of the guys called you from jail, you'd bail them out asap." I add.

A moment of silence passes as I pray in my mind that he agrees to something.

"Alright, Viv, alright. I'll handle it." He sighs out.

He hangs up and I put the phone back on the hook as the officer escorts me back to the holding cell Axl, Duff, Izzy, Slash, Steven and Tansy are in.

"What did he say?" Duff asks.

"He's handling it." I say to him.

"Oh, I'm sure." Axl mumbles, his head leaned back against the block wall, sunglasses covering his eyes up. "Must be nice to snap your fingers and get what you want."

"Oh, damn." Stevie says under his breath, knowing this is about to cause an argument.

Slash is busy tying the laces of his boots with Tansy's, Izzy's trying to catch a nap, and Duff is scooting over on the floor so I can sit next to him.

"I get it even faster using 'Sixx'." I don't even deny Axl's accusation and he scoffs.

"Coulda used that card to keep us from getting arrested in the first place."

"No, you could've kept us from getting arrested had you kept your temper together instead of punching the guy." I snap.

"And like you threatening the police officer helped." He shoots back at me.

"I didn't threaten him." I argue.

"You told him you'd break your foot off in his ass." Steven points out, rubbing his tired eyes.

"It was a promise, not a threat, and I wouldn't have said it if he wouldn't have been unnecessarily aggressive." I scoff.

"Yeah, well it got everyone else in trouble for being associated with us. So next time keep your fuckin' mouth shut." He states.

"There won't be a 'next time' because I refuse to be locked in a tiny space with you ever again." I roll my eyes.

There was a "next time" a couple years later.

It was my first time out since having Monroe when a paparazzi so boldly called me a "passaround" and asked me what other bassists I had "sucked and fucked."

Axl and I both went for him without realizing the other person was throwing a punch, and he got double the trouble.

We were deemed "Twin Tornados" after that because apparently were both loud, aggressive, unpredictable, and could make a mess.

Within an hour and a half, it's five in the morning, and Duff is nudging me awake.

"Hmm?" I sit up from laying against his arm.

"I think Doc's here." He tells me, nudging everyone else awake.

Within a few more minutes an officer is stepping to us, unlocking the cell.

Once we get our stuff back and go to the lobby, bitterly glare at Doc...

Nikki's leaned against the counter, leather jacket clad arms are crossed, and I can just feel his hazel eyes looking me up and down from behind his blacked out sunglasses.

I ignore him the best I can, stepping outside, only for Doc to trail behind me as Nikki and the guys make small talk as they walk out after us.

"Viv, I didn't have any other choice." Doc tells me and I turn to face him.

"Vince, Tommy...?" I ask. "They would've come and got us out. You just went to Nikki because you were pissed I inconvenienced you."

"I went to Nikki because once the two of you said 'I do', you promised to take care of each other. He wanted to come make sure you were alright. Regardless of this dumb separation you two have going on, you're still his wife."

"Dumb separation he insisted on." I point out, tears swelling in my eyes.

"Well, he's not exactly singing that song anymore." He tells me lowly and I furrow my brows.

"What?"

"Just believe me. He misses you." He mumbles.

I don't have time to question him anymore.

"Can we go home now?" Steven yawns, stretching.

"I can take you guys home." Doc offers. "Viv, you can go back with Nikki." He suggests and I raise my brow as tension collects in the air.

Everyone looks at me knowingly, waiting for me to answer.

"I can't do that." I argue, crossing my arms.

"It's been a month, Viv." Doc states, his eyes flickering to Nikki for a second.

"Which means we have two more to go." I raise my brows.

"Vivian." He says more sternly. "Stop being ridiculous."

"He wanted to get away from me for three months. He's getting what he wants, like he always does." I laugh without humor.

"You didn't really expect him to go that long with his wife--"

"--Oh, I did. He was oh so sure he wanted to be separated for that long." I cut Doc off, looking at Nikki. "I'll see you in two months. Whether it's with open arms or divorce papers, is up to you. I could give a damn at this point."

I wanted to punish him. He hurt me by making me feel like he didn't care. He didn't throw "ninety days" out there to have that much time to gather his thoughts and reflect and do better by me, he threw out that number so he could have more time to do whatever the hell he wanted to without his wife in the house.

And he did whatever and whoever the hell he wanted to do the entire time.

For years I blamed my reluctance and pettiness as the main contributor to his affair with Vanity.

After that night at the police station, I refused to come home, even when he called the apartment, fucked up and crying, repeating "I'm sorry."

Had I come home, it might have decreased their time spent together or something. At least that's how I felt for years after the actual affair took place.

I didn't realize he wasn't calling and saying "sorry" because he regretted suggesting we be apart for that long...but because he'd slept with another woman. Another woman he found himself becoming slightly emotionally connected to, and knew, almost immediately, wouldn't just be a one-night stand or a fling, but would become "the other woman."

And she would hold that position, without my knowledge, for an entire year and a half.

Of course when I found out I was angry at the both of them, but I was more angry at him.

He sought her out.

He saw her in Vanity 6's "Nasty Gal" video, called his people at the office, they contacted her people, and set up a date for them to meet. Just like that. And he wasn't even thinking of me because I wasn't even living in the house with him.

So to me, for a long time, I was just as much to blame as Nikki and Vanity.

And that doesn't even count the many times I blamed myself for his straying after staring in a mirror and comparing myself to her.

We were on the complete opposite sides of the spectrum in looks, personality, how we carried ourselves, and hobbies.

And it's not like she was Nikki's outlet to an entirely different lifestyle than he had with me.

It wasn't like he was a sober, church going, family man who kept things vanilla and just visited her when he needed a wild night of smoking crack, shooting heroin and screwing around.

He was the same person with her as he was with me.

The only reason they stayed together so long is because she never made him feel bad for fucking himself up. She encouraged it.

And that was the one thing I had over her.

Well that, and, according to Izzy, "she's a ten but the drugs make her a five. And her being batshit crazy knocks her to a solid two...on a good day. You're a ten."

He followed that up with, "don't compare yourself to a fucking crack addict when there's barely anything left of her to compare to. The only thing she can say she's got on you, is screwing your husband, and she brags about it because strung out Nikki Sixx is obviously a prize."

His sarcasm had me laughing and wiping my tears.

I was tempted to get "strung out Nikki Sixx is obviously a prize" tattooed on me, but decided not to.

The door opens and Slash and Steven come in, chuckling, as I scrub the last cup in the sink.

"Wow, it's only three in the afternoon and you're up?" I ask them.

"We took Tans to the airport." Stevie explains. "I don't know why she doesn't just move back here." He adds.

"She works out of New York." I say with a shrug.

"She's alright got Miss 1985. The hell else is there left for her to do?" He sighs, pouting a little and I rub my lips together.

"Hustler magazine called her a few days ago." I tell them and they look at each other.

"Hustler's more graphic than Playboy..." Steven points out with slight distaste.

"I think the wrong people have their feet on her neck, and there's not a damn thing any of us can do about it." I tell him, rubbing my forehead.

"Oh." He says lowly, a sad expression on his face.

I decide to change the subject.

"So." I start, sitting on the counter. "Any idea for an album yet?"

"We got plenty of songs. We're looking for a producer." Slash informs me, sitting on the couch. "Tom wants to bring in Paul Stanley."

"Ugh." I can't hide my wrinkling nose at the idea of Paul Stanley producing Guns N' Roses.

"What's wrong with that?" Steven asks me.

"I like Paul but KISS isn't Guns N' Roses. I don't think he would give you a sound that's signature to you guys' style."

"Yeah, that's what the guys think." Stevie replies, sighing out. "It's still cool we got his attention."

"Yeah, it is." I agree. "You just gotta stick to what your sound is, is all."

"Well, who produced Mötley's first big album?"

"Oh, it wa--" I stop myself abruptly after the name completely leaves my mind. I furrow my brows, knowing that I know who produced it, but I can't. "I'm not crazy. I know who produced it."

They wait for a moment.

"Did they even have a producer?" I mumble to myself. "Well then who the hell produced 'Shout at the Devil' and 'Theater of Pain'?" I ask myself, thinking harder than I should be. "You're telling me you were the only sober one around and you can't even remember who the hell was working with them?" I keep talking to myself and I can see Steven and Slash looking at each other from the corner of my eye. "I give up. I can't remember. I'm not crazy." I tell them and Stevie spins his pointer finger beside his temple to signal to Slash that I'm looney and I throw the dish towel at him, hitting him in the face, causing him to chuckle some more.

"I'm gonna go get a shower." I tell them, trying to calm my laughter spell with them as I step to the bathroom and start the shower before undressing and getting in.

I've been fine, actually getting out of bed at a reasonable time every day and cleaning up the apartment while the guys are out doing whatever. I haven't missed any doses of my medicine in a while, and that's helping my mood more than I thought it would.

I've been slowly starting to dance again. I'm not sure if Mandy is aware Duff sneaks me to her band's rehearsal space almost every other night, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

I still miss Nikki--and it's been two weeks since we last saw each other--but it's not a "can't breathe without you" feeling, I just miss his company, his smart-ass comments, his teasing, his laugh, his smile, his eyes, the sound of his bass as he fumbles with it to recreate a riff he thought up in his head at some point, the way he would do tiny things to help me around the house, our conversations in the dead of night about stupid things he would think up under the influence...I miss him sneaking into my bedroom window at night and the two of us trying not to wake up my parents with our laughter, I miss feeling like I never wanted to leave the apartment he shared with Vince and Tommy because I'd have to leave his bed, I miss not having the weight of the world on my shoulders, not constantly thinking "you're his wife, people are looking at you, dress like this, look like this, act like this, look happy, be sexy, fuck him good, and he won't give groupies a second glance."

I miss life before the access to excess.

I miss Nikki.

Not "Nikki Sixx of Mötley Crüe."

Just Nikki.

I'm rinsing shampoo from my hair when someone knocks at the door.

"Viv?"

Speaking of Mandy, her voice sounds from the other side of the door.

"Yeah?" I reply, hearing the door open a little.

"You've got a phone call. He says it's an emergency." She tells me. "He says it's about your husband." She adds.

I'm nearly breaking my neck to scramble out of the shower, not bothering with taking the time to wrap up in the towel, rushing past her and my heart sinks to my stomach.

"Emergency" and "Nikki" are never good in the same sentence.

Duff is holding the phone for me, mouthing "Doc" to me as I take it, trying to convince myself not to start crying before I even know what exactly is going on.

"H-Hello?" I ask into the phone, my body shaking. I don't know if it's due to anxiousness or the cold air clinging to my wet skin.

Duff's draping my shoulders with his jacket, and Mandy pulls it shut so I'm not flashing Slash or Steven, who're in front of us, sitting on the couch.

"Viv, I need you to break that fucking bullshit you have for therapy and go back home." Doc orders me.

"Why? What happened? What's wrong? Is Nikki okay?" I frantically ask one after the other.

"I don't know, I'm about to head over there and make sure." He says.

"Doc, what the hell happened? What's wrong?" I demand, getting more and more impatient.

He's quiet on the other end, hesitating for some reason, only pissing me off more and more because I feel like I'm about to have a heart attack.

"Doc!" I bark, tears rolling down my cheeks.

"His grandfather, Tom, just called me so I could pass the message on to you. He's already called Nikki." He starts, pausing as if what he's about to say is a tough thing to get out. "Nikki's grandmother has passed away, Vivian."