#but you still remember being nineteen and lying next to her when your rent was too much to keep on top of

[softnoirr]

bestie you once mentioned offhand an au of pdd where christen sleeps with alex and it has stayed in my head ever since - what would be the context! when! does tobin find out! hit me with your thoughts if you’re into it, I love a rare pair!!

I do vaguely remember saying that but I also cannot find it so everything I'm saying now could totally contradict what I said then but. I think like. if C's relationship to T (not with her but towards her) is based in feelings of grief and anger then her relationship to Alex is much more acidic. They do have a lot of history but most of it is just time spent in the same vicinity of each other, coldly ignoring one another, sharing friends and being jealous. So I feel like them hooking up would be a much more viscous overflow but also much less weighted for them.

Probably it would be one of them getting the role the other wanted in studio company and having sex about it. If it was an ongoing thing I could see it being a moment after a Grand Prix where one of them won and the other messed up—probably with a lot of goading and also I do believe in this AU Alex is the kind of character who would wear her Grand Prix medal while having sex with C in the hotel afterwards. I don’t think it works as well as a dynamic between the two adult versions of the characters but I can still see some level of that bizarre psychosexual staunch avoidance thing they have going on.

Body and your relationship to your body and your connection to other peoples bodies and peoples perceived ownership or entitlement to your body is at the heart of a lot of pdd and because C and Alex have both been basically raised in that environment I think them hooking up would be very much about acting out frustration in a way they both understand. Like; Move like this because you feel this.

Like I sincerely don't mean for sex in this story to be about power. It isn't—even when power is a dynamic within it—but it is kind of about a feeling of being present in your own body for the first time, manipulating your body for someone else’s pleasure while getting to be the object rather than the subject of that pleasure.

I think how Tobin would react to it depends on any number of factors which would change with the context. Like if C and T were sleeping together the way they are in the actual story I think it would probably mean the end of the sexual part of their relationship, at least for a while, because T feels very invested in what she does with C and it would feel cheapened by finding out about Alex. If it was something that happened as teenagers I think she’d be kind of weirded out by it but hey we’ve all had weird overly invested hate sex with christen press so. actually this makes tobin very feel normal and usual and regular and it’s fine.

#I do think it’d be fun with some weird sex after one has gotten one over the other dynamic #because I think for the person who’s just lost it’s a sense of control back in the situation #and for the one who’s lost it’s a validation of that feeling and a level of like. somewhere to put the looming ‘this isn’t worth it’ #if someone else wants what you have so badly they’re willing to do *this* then surely it’s worth it. surely. surely. #also now that I’ve come up with it the image of Alex wearing her medal while they fuck isn’t getting out of my head #and of course they’re kind of narrative foils and the path is so inevitable and we’ve been here a million times before. #the story is finished before you’ve even opened the book the ending has already happened #so Christen comes back to New York and Alex has a baby and a room full of trophies and an undignified desire for more. more of anything. #and you were both always going to end up here. a hundred million miles apart even though you can sit across the table at a dinner party #or kiss her cheek in greeting or even mean it a little when you say congratulations #but you still remember being nineteen and lying next to her when your rent was too much to keep on top of #and you weren’t sure you’d ever be anything and you’re not sure that you loved her #but you’re not sure what else to call the gaping black hole of the year and even if #you didn’t love her it still seems so horribly unfair that you never got the chance to #because the story was already over before it begun and she was gone the first time you ever kissed her #asks #pas de deux

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Twenty Eight

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 25th, 1999

“Toby?” Remy asked.

“Yeah, Rem?” Toby asked, and Remy’s heart ached at the familiar nickname.

“Why don’t you write anymore?” Remy asked. “You would write all the time before Christmas, but now it’s Spring Break and you haven’t even written once!”

“Oh...uh...” Toby cleared his throat. “I just thought our parents knew you better than I would, since I’m not here, you know? And I trusted their judgement, and...yeah, I didn’t want you to obsess over the letters.”

“I don’t obsess over the letters!” Remy objected. “They help me get through the rough patches, yeah, but I don’t obsess over them! Haven’t you gotten any of my letters?”

Toby tilted his head to the side. “You’ve been sending letters?”

Remy felt a little piece of him die inside. “I bet Mom’s been stopping the mailman from sending them to you somehow,” he grumbled.

“What?” Toby asked.

“Never mind,” Remy said. “You can just...not write. I won’t bug you about it again.”

“Remy...”

But Remy was already running up the stairs to hide in his room.

  April 27th, 2001

Remy woke up the morning after his mother showed up with a pit of dread in his stomach. It was barely dawn yet, and Remy crept out of his room to the living room where there were two windows which looked out to the parking lot below. He peeked out of one of them, and sure enough, he could recognize the shape of his parents’ sedan, sitting on the edge of the street. He couldn’t see his mother inside, but as long as the car was nearby, she was around. He snuck over to Emile’s room and was barely inside the door before Emile was grumbling and sitting up. “Remy, what time is it?”

“It’s early, I know,” Remy said, wincing. “But my mother is outside.”

“She’s what,” Emile said. Fury entered his voice as he declared, “I’m calling the cops.”

“No! Don’t! Please!” Remy exclaimed. “I swear she’s not that bad! If I just talk to her for five minutes she’ll leave! We can go out together if you want, but we don’t need to call the cops!”

“Remy,” Emile growled. “She’s terrorizing you, and stalking you. That’s not okay. I’m calling the cops.”

“Emile, please!” Remy begged. “You don’t have to do that!”

“Yes I do!” Emile practically bellowed.

Remy jumped a good six inches and all the blood drained from his face. Emile’s eyes widened and he stood, approaching Remy, but Remy just backed out of the room before running to his own, closing it with his whole body and trying to keep his breathing steady. Emile and Kim had both taught him techniques that could keep his breathing calm and even, but they didn’t seem to be working right now. All he could focus on was Emile’s yelling, echoing over and over in his head. His face was on fire as tears scorched his cheeks, and Emile was knocking on Remy’s door. “Remy! Remy, I’m sorry, please, let me in!”

Remy whimpered and pressed his hands against his ears. Much as he would love to let Emile in, he was also terrified that if he did so, he would be in massive trouble. He had spoken out of turn, he had argued against what Emile wanted, and Emile had gotten angry because of it. That usually meant the second Remy gave in, he’d be getting at least an earful, if not someone unintentionally hurting him.

There was a pounding at the front door, and Remy flinched. Was his mother making a reappearance this early? It was probably barely six in the morning! Footsteps went to the front door, opened it, and there was rushed mumbling that Remy couldn’t make out. He strained to listen closer, and heard words such as “abduction” and “search” and “press charges.”

Remy’s breathing wasn’t getting any better. He buried his head in his knees. If his mother had gone to the police claiming he had been kidnapped...he was going to throttle someone.

Emile yelped and then there was more knocking at Remy’s bedroom door. “Mister Picani?” a gruff voice asked.

“If my mother is the one who called you, I’m not leaving this room!” Remy screamed, voice cracking. “I’m a grown-ass man, she cannot dictate my life!”

“Son, we need you to come with us,” the man said. “You’re safe, you don’t have to lie to anyone about how old you are.”

Remy growled and moved away from the door, grabbing his wallet from his nightstand and pulling out his ID from one of the front pockets. He opened the door an inch and saw a heavily-built man on the other side, wearing a police uniform. He offered his ID out. “I’m of legal age,” he snapped. “I don’t know what my mother told you, but this is my ID.”

The policeman took it, examined it closely, and scrutinized Remy. “You still need to come with us, son,” he said.

“On what grounds?!” Remy snapped. “No, seriously, on what grounds?! Am I not allowed to split rent with Emile over there?” he asked, nodding to his boyfriend. “Am I legally required to go to college? Are you a truancy officer?” He huffed, “I don’t care what my mother told you, I’m not. Going. Anywhere.”

“We need to verify your age, Mister Picani, and ensure that this isn’t a fake ID,” the officer said.

“Okay, I don’t know what my mother told you—”

“—You’re not coming with us,” the officer finished, grabbing Remy roughly by the arm. “Kid, I’ll handcuff you if I have to.”

“Bite me,” Remy huffed, trying to wrench his arm free.

The officer’s nostrils flared as he asked, “Care to repeat that comment?”

“Remy. Remy!” Emile exclaimed, from where he was barricaded from moving by another officer. “Don’t fight back on this one, I’ll come pick you up from the station as soon as they realize your mother was lying about you being seventeen and a runaway.”

Remy bared his teeth at the officer. “I’m a grown-ass man! You can’t tell me that you seriously believe I’m seventeen!”

“I’ve seen kids taller than you at sixteen,” the officer replied. “March.”

Remy was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of his apartment and into a waiting patrol car. He was unceremoniously thrown in the back, and he fumed in silence all the way to the station. When he was dragged into the station, his mother was waiting for him, and judging by her face she had been crying to some officer or another. “Remy!” she exclaimed, rushing over and trying to hug him.

“Get off me!” Remy exclaimed, shoving her away. “Why would you leave your car outside Emile’s apartment complex and come to the police claiming I was a minor?!”

His mother stared at him in shock, and he just kept his arms crossed, and his teeth bared. “An explanation would be nice,” he threw the words back in her face.

“Remy, you of all people should know that you can’t run away from your responsibilities!” his mother chided. “Your father and I were so worried!”

“Of course you would see it that way,” Remy breathed, before laughing. “Bite me, mother! I’m nineteen years old, I know what I’m doing with my life, and you are not going to be a part of it!”

His mother turned on the waterworks and suddenly everyone in the station was glaring at him. His mother kept wailing and trying to hug him and he kept shoving her away until the officers who had brought him in dragged him to a holding cell, presumably to stop a fight in the front. It wasn’t the classiest place he had ever been in, but it was away from his mother, so he could relax just a little bit. Two other guys were in there with him, one who looked like he was recovering from a bender, and another who Remy had no idea what he might be here for, but who had tattoo sleeves all up and down both arms. “Nice tats,” he said.

The man tilted his chin up at Remy. “Thanks. You mind my asking why you’re here?”

“My mother’s a nut job?” Remy laughed incredulously. “Claimed I was seventeen and a runaway because I dropped out of college and didn’t call her over Christmas.”

The man roared with laughter, causing the drunk to glare at the both of them. “Wow. That’s...certainly something,” the man said. “I’m here because my girlfriend and I got in a fight, and I was angry enough and stupid enough to punch the cop trying to get in between us.”

Remy grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Tell me about it,” the man said. “I really hope they just give me a fine and not, like, jail time.”

“Me too,” Remy said. “My...my friend and I got in a fight this morning too, before the cops showed up at our door.”

“Your...friend?” the man asked.

“Well, yeah. He and I split rent. We’re having some issues and frequent arguments about keeping the place clean, but at the end of the day, he’s still a friend. It’s just hard to remember that sometimes.” Remy leaned against the wall and sighed. “But my mother likes to ruin everything good I ever find for myself in the world, if it doesn’t fit her vision of what she wants for me.”

The man winced. “Oh, she’s one of those,” he said with distaste. “I hate those. The kind where if you so much as bring up getting a tattoo, they’ll start screaming that you’re ruining your life, that this isn’t what you want when in reality it isn’t what they want. I hate those types.”

“Mhm,” Remy hummed. “She’s... the worst.”

“You look beat, kid,” the man said.

“I look how I feel, then,” Remy mumbled.

The man checked by the door but no one was standing there. “You should probably get some rest, kid, especially if your mom tries to get to you.”

“Like I could sleep when she knows where I live,” he laughed.

The man shook his head. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but if you make it clear you want nothing to do with her, sooner or later she’ll back off.”

“You’ve clearly never met her,” Remy sighed. But even as he said it, he was already drifting off to sleep from exhaustion.

When he next woke up, it was to the door of the holding cell opening with a screech. “Mister Picani,” an officer regarded him coolly. “Please come with me.”

Remy stood and followed, somewhat confused. He was led to the lobby, and handed his ID. Both Emile and his mother were waiting for him on opposite sides of the lobby, and the officer said. “The ID is legitimate. Our apologies for disrupting your morning.” And with that, the officer left.

Emile and his mother were both starting to talk to him at once, but Remy just watched the police officer leave. When he couldn’t even pretend to be distracted anymore he sighed, looked between them, and winced as he realized he was still in his pajamas and had no shoes, and he’d have to walk outside like this. He held up a hand and Emile paused in his tidal wave of apologies, but his mother was still going on her tirade. He sighed and gave Emile a look that roughly equated to do you see what I have to deal with? and Emile snorted, nodding.

His mother paused at that, looking between the two of them. Remy took the opportunity to say, “Yeah, I’m going back to Emile’s place, Mom, and there’s nothing you can do about that. I’m not going home with you, I’m not doing whatever you want me to do to ‘redeem’ myself in your eyes, and you can’t stop me.”

“You’ll never get Tobias’ number,” his mother threatened.

Remy laughed, and even though it felt painfully fake to him, his mother looked shocked. “Oh, I doubt that Toby would even want me calling him, Mom. After all, I only ever pestered him about everything, isn’t that what you said?”

Emile visibly twitched, fingers clenching and unclenching in a strangling motion at his sides.

“Don’t bother either of us again, Mom, Emile needs his time to study and I need to actually work if I want to uphold my half of rent,” he said. “Come on, Emile, let’s go. I still need to get my shoes from yours.”

Emile looked down, seemed to notice Remy’s bare feet for the first time, and snickered as he said, “Yeah, I can’t imagine walking around barefoot is accepted at work. Let’s go.”

They walked out of the station in minorly strained silence. “I’m really sorry for yelling,” Emile said once they were in his car.

“It is what it is,” Remy said with a shrug. “Not like I’m going to break up with you over it.”

“Remy, I traumatized you. I...that’s not okay,” Emile said, glancing over at Remy.

Remy shrugged. “Don’t worry about it, Emile,” Remy said. “Give me some time and I’ll forgive you. It will take time, but provided you’re willing to give it to me...”

“Of course,” Emile said.

“Then it’s no worries,” Remy said. He bit his lip. “I really wish I could call Toby.”

“I’m sure you guys will find each other one day,” Emile said. “I doubt he’d just...give up on seeing you ever again.”

“I hope you’re right,” Remy mumbled, moping as he stared out the car window. “I just...could really use his support right about now.”

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

[shy-fairy-levele3]

Our House

Strange Magic Week- Day 7: When We Are Old 

Inspired by this playlist 

AO3

Bog’s liver spotted hand shook slightly and he tightened the grip on the handle of his cane. Getting old sucked. Today though Bog liked to believe the minor tremor was a result of his being nervous and not simply old age. Sweet heavens, 85 years old and she could still make him nervous. Bog shook his head at the thought. Today was their 60th wedding anniversary.    

Bog shuffled around their Livingroom, stopping every so often to inspect one of the many pictures placed around the room. Some hung on the walls, a neat row lined the top of the fireplace mantle, and still more sat guard on end tables. The pictures were not just a record of their time together but also an art piece on the change in technology. From the black and white polaroid’s of their wedding to the crisp digital photos of their grandchildren’s birthdays.  

Bog looked at one photo, it had been taken the day they moved into this house. They stood on the front stoop, he and Marianne each held a cat in their arms, Bog held the white one, Imp they had called him, and Marianne held the grey tabby, Lizard. For five long years the cats had filled the otherwise emptiness of the house. Bog turned away from that picture, to look at another one, the day they brought home the twins.  

Waiting for that call had been one of the hardest things Bog and Marianne had to endure. At last the adoption centre called, a new baby needed a home. They had been willing to take any child in need of a good home, never dreamed that when they got there they would have a choice.  

“Would you like a boy or a girl?” the kind lady had asked.

When she further explained that the children were twins, Bog and Marianne hadn’t even discussed it.  

“We’ll take them both.”

That was how Ian and Innis became part of the King family.  

There were many summer time pictures taken out in a field by the lake, a place he and Marianne had frequented both before and after they were married. The orange and brown plaid blanket they had shared was prominent in so many of the photos. Halloween pictures and Christmas pictures blurred together, Bog didn’t know where the time had gone.  

The next picture his eyes landed on was a good example of that. It was from their 50th Wedding Anniversary party. It was a good photo of Bog, Sunny, Pare, and Gus all dressed in matching red and cream striped jackets. They had done a barbershop quartet routine to Billy Joel’s The Longest Time. It had been the highlight of the evening. Afterword’s Marianne had told him how handsome she thought he looked, “just like Dick Van Dyke in Marry Poppins” she had said. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Bog had asked in return, rather cheeky. It turned out to be a good thing. Had that really been ten years ago?

There was a tell-tale creak from the upstairs hallway and Bog made his way to the foot of the stairs. He didn’t know how after all these years the sight of Marianne could still take his breath away, and increase his heartrate- something that could be fatal at his age. Oh well, as his Da had always said, “it’s better to die, doing what you love.”

Marianne was dressed in a lilac poodle skirt-complete with poodle, white stockings, and a white t-shirt, over which she wore a wool cardigan that matched her skirt. Dawn, who had been a seamstress her whole life, and was still quick with a sewing machine at age 75 had made her sister’s skirt for the occasion. Marianne did not look her 79 years, though her once rich brown hair had faded to a lovely dark grey. She had dyed the tips purple for the anniversary and her upcoming 80th birthday.  

Bog himself still had a full head of hair, but the vibrant black had turned to what Marianne described as “a rather fetching shade of silver.”  Bog had styled it as though he was still in his early twenties, and living in the fifties. He had on a pair of black jeans, a white t-shirt, and had even shrugged on his old leather jacket, which now hung off his bent frame. The look would not be complete without his large, round and thick-rimmed glasses, and of course his polished wooden cane. A greaser with glasses, who would have thought?

Too preoccupied checking one another out, neither heard the car pull in the driveway so both of them jumped when the loud knock came at the front door.  

“Shall we?” Bog asked, extending his arm to his wife.

The whole thing was pretense, she knew he needed the support more that she did, but still Marianne played along, slipping her arm though his. The way he was just looking at her, had made her feel young again. One glance from him and Marianne was once more a blushing bride of nineteen.  

On the front porch, which had been upgraded from the small concrete step it had once been to a fully functional wood deck, complete with fancy pillars and a three seater swing, stood their youngest grandson, Kieran, dressed head to foot in white 1930’s limo driver livery. His long white-blonde ponytail hung out the back of the cap.  

“Oh Bog, you didn’t!” Marianne gasped at the sight of the car in the driveway.

“Aye, Ah did” Bog grinned at her like the fool he was and she took the opportunity to playfully slap his arm, which was followed by a quick peck on the cheek.  

In the drive sat a white 1936 Rolls-Royce Phantom III, the exact same car Marianne’s father had rented for them for a week as his wedding present to them. Marianne remembered thinking it must have cost a fortune back then, the car had already been 20-21 years old at the time, she couldn’t even fathom the figure it would cost today.

“Bog you shouldn’t have” she chastised, but still the thought that had gone into it, Marianne couldn’t begrudge him that.

“The kids chipped in a bit” he confessed, unable to stop smiling at the absolute pleasure reflected in Marianne’s face.  

“Nan, Gramps, your chariot awaits” Kieran declared, waving his hand out towards the car, he even had on white drivers gloves.

He hurried over to open the doors for each of his grandparents, and waited until each of them was settled before closing their doors.

Kieran hopped in the driver’s seat and started the car.  

“Hello, my name is Kieran and I will be your driver this evening” Kieran declared.

Kieran was not far past sixteen and had successfully passed his driving test the first time round’, something which neither of his two older siblings had achieved.  

Ian had blessed them with three grandchildren, only the first of which Marianne’s father had lived to meet. Innis and her wife Katie were awaiting confirmation on their adoption process, although Katie brought two step-grandchildren with her, from her first marriage. Marianne hopped they had been lying about the delay and that they would bring the new baby with them today as a surprise.  

Marianne couldn’t believe how much their family tree had grown. Sunny and Dawn had three of their own, and each of them had two or three kids. She and Bog had gone from zero to two in a heartbeat, which still made her ache. When the twins were two Marianne had become pregnant for a short time, she was almost ready to tell Bog the joyful news when she had suddenly lost it.  

He had of course been heartbroken when she finally got the courage to tell him two weeks later, but he had also been angry at himself. Bog had made an appointment that day for a vasectomy, not wanting Marianne to go through that pain of loss ever again. They had both cried but the twins were their light that brought them through.  

***

The rented hall was full of friends and family that erupted into a loud applause when Kieran ushered his grandparents in the door. Marianne and Bog had waved graciously as if they were royalty. The room was decorated with still more photographs, pictures of old friends, new friends, and friends long since passed.  

Marianne and Bog danced a jive to Dan Seal’s Bop, and then a waltz to Valdy’s Renaissance. Then they had to take a break because of Bog’s back and knees and Marianne’s hips. Getting old sucked.

Marianne slipped up only once, calling Kieran by Ian’s name and Ian had pulled his father aside.

“Mom’s getting worse” Ian said to his father, deep concern in his voice.

“She’s fine” Bog assured, but he had his own doubts. His biggest fear was that one morning he’d wake up and she wouldn’t know who he was.

The other day they had been out driving and Marianne had come to a full stop at a green light. He hadn’t been allowed to drive for years.

“We just don’t want you guys going all The Note Book on us. Have you thought any more about selling the house?”

“Pah, The Note Book” Bog said waving his hand in the air as if the title of the movie left behind a bad smell after being spoken.

“If anything” Bog said, raising a finger as if he was giving a lecture, “Your mother and I will go the way of Cocoon.”

“Alien abduction dad, really?” Ian asked raising a skeptic eyebrow.  

“The Note Book” Bog said, in counter protest, “do you really think your mother and I watch that romantic crap?”

“Dad, it’s mom’s favourite movie” Ian deadpanned, before turning serious again, “It’s just, I’m worried about you guys, we all are.”  

“Don’t worry so much son” Bog said, laying a comforting hand on Ian’s shoulder, “It’s no’ something ye have any control over.”  

“Losing you both at the same time would just be really hard” Ian confessed, “and I just know that if mom goes first-” Ian couldn’t finish his own sentence.  

“It would kill me too?” Bog finished, it was something that echoed his own thoughts on the matter.

Innis and Katie did surprise everyone by bringing along Ben, a sweet baby boy of eight months old, already sprouting dark curly hair. Sarah and Jenny tagged along sheepishly, knowing that they weren’t unwelcome but still feeling out of place.  

Everyone had a grand time and no one was surprised that when they cut the cake Marianne managed to get a swipe of icing on her husband’s large nose.

***

Bog awoke in the middle of the night to find the space beside him in bed empty. It was one of his worse fears come true. Marianne had gotten up and wandered off somewhere. Bog felt around on his nightstand until he found his glasses. As soon as Bog removed the blankets to get out of bed he felt the chilly night air and knew Marianne hadn’t gone far. Bog quickly wrapped himself in his brown fleecy house coat and slipped his feet into some slippers and padded out onto the small balcony.  

Marianne sat in one of the white wooden Adirondack chairs, with her coat, hat, boots, and scarf on right over her nightgown, a packed suitcase sat next to her. She just sat there gazing up at the starry night sky.

“Going somewhere love?” Bog asked cautiously.

It was another minute before she seemed to notice he was there.

“Bog?” she asked, turning to look at him, “what are you doing out of bed?”

“I was kind of wondering the same thing about you” he replied.

“Oh, I’m going home” Marianne said with firm resolution.

“You are home love, come back to bed.”  Bog’s voice was gentle, not pressuring, and etched with sadness.

“The garden folk say I can’t stay long. But we’ll see each other again.” She turned back towards the sky and Bog saw a tear glisten at the corner of her eye.

Bog sat out with her a while longer but the autumn night chilled him quickly and he soon made his way back to bed.  

It wasn’t long before Bog woke again, this time Marianne back in bed beside him. He felt relieved, they still had time.

***

In the morning there were fresh flowers in the vase on the kitchen table, as there had been every morning since they moved into the house. Neither Bog nor Marianne had ever picked or bought the flowers. Bog knew as long as there were flowers in the vase Marianne would still be with him.

She entered the kitchen, a plum housecoat wrapped tight around her humming a song, a song Bog knew well….

                 “I’ll light the fire, while you place the flowers in the vase…”

#strange magic #strange magic week #butterfly bog #when we are old #our house #i'm sorry if you cry #lofe #love #old people #bog king #marianne

[wildandrunning]

01: Plastic Scene

It genuinely puzzled Andy why anyone would enjoy parties. Despite the countless ones he’d been to (more like forced to go to) since moving to Hollywood he’d yet to figure it out. As far as the nineteen-year-old could see they were loud, hot, crowded and ended in people passing out or puking. Not exactly his idea of a good time, but that didn’t change the fact that attending the godforsaken things was practically mandatory if you want to succeed. As Black Veil Brides’ new manager had put it ‘think of all your favorite bands, how many of them got famous because they stayed at home on Friday nights?’ point taken... 

The singer couldn’t help but think that his time would be better spent preparing for their upcoming tour. In three days the band would be on the road for their ‘Entertainment or Death’ tour as the headliner. He had been assured that things were going to be taken care of, supplies, tour bus, riders, gear, all of it would be ready in 72 hours. 

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” A stranger’s voice broke through Andy’s thoughts. 

The person in front of him was a scantily dressed bottle-blonde woman. Her clearly fake boobs were stuffed into a tight mini dress, and she seemed unstable in her ruby red stilettos. There was never a shortage of carbon copies of women like her at band parties. Hollywood was infested with them, wannabe actresses, singer, and gold diggers. All of them hoping to hop on some musician’s dick just before he made it big. 

“Ya ain’t gonna answer me?” she huffed, placing her hands on her thin hips. 

“I’m smoking,” Andy replied, holding up his fifth cigarette of the night. 

“But all by yourself? They’re doing shots inside don’t you wanna come join?”  “I don’t drink,” Andy stated coldly. 

No drugs, no drinking, no wild sex. He’d made a vow to himself that unlike all his rock heroes he wouldn’t make that mistake. What use was making it big if you couldn’t remember any of it? Besides, he wasn’t even old enough to drink. After almost six months of living in Hollywood, he’d kept his promise to himself and wasn’t about to break it to impress some bimbo. 

“You’re in a band, and you don’t drink?” she laughed, the judgmental tone of her voice cut him like a knife. 

“Weird right, it’s almost like I have morals.” tossing his cigarette on the ground, the singer stood up, turning his back on the woman and walking inside. 

The smell of booze and weed was overwhelming to his senses as he made his way to where the rest of his band was. The panic of being surrounded by so many people was starting to build in his gut. Subconsciously, he grasped at it, trying to calm the feeling. He realized how ridiculous it was to have anxiety at parties. How in the world could he go on stage where he was the center of attention but being in a room of strangers at a party sent him into panic attacks? 

Ashley eyed his younger bandmate. Andy’s crystal blue eyes gave away how uncomfortable he was. They shifted around the room frantically, searching for a place he could hide. The bassist took another sip of his beer. Perhaps he should have let Andy skip the party tonight. It had been him that insisted Andy come. Ashley knew the importance that ‘stupid’ parties could have. If it weren’t for them they wouldn’t have run into Jake and Jinxx; valuable parts of their band. You never knew who you might run into, and as a new band, you had to be in everyone’s face. 

Andy was downright miserable at them. He insisted on not drinking which already made him the odd man out. The older man had to hand it to him that it was a respectable choice. Ashley sure as hell wished he had that strength when he first started his music career. If he had avoided drugs and alcohol then maybe he would be more successful than a Myspace emo band. 

“Six, over here,” he shouted over the music. 

Andy maneuvered his thin body through the crowd and over to where  Ashley was. The kid was beautiful, no doubt about that. His piercing blue eyes stood out against the black eye makeup he wore, and his plump lips were coated with a powder pink lip gloss. Long black hair framed his porcelain face and fell over his frail shoulders. There was no denying it, Andy’s looks were the reason the band got so popular so fast. The fangirls just ate it up, androgynous emo boys in makeup were the ‘in’ thing. 

“Where have you been hiding doll face?” “I was just smoking outside... it’s hot in here.” Andy had an impossibly deep voice that didn’t seem like it belonged to him. Ashley liked it though, it made him unique. 

“You’re going to ruin your vocal cords doing that.” he teased. 

The sound of a bottle shattering across the room caused Andy to almost jump out of his skin. He just wanted to leave.. immediately.  Ashley didn’t even seem to register the noise, he was used to the scene. 

“You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  “I-I’m fine.” Andy stuttered. 

The younger boy looked up to Ashley. The man seemed to have it all together. Nothing bothered him, nothing upset him, he was the poster child for cool. At almost twelve years older, Andy wished he had the experience and knowledge that Ashley did. The last thing he wanted was for Ash to think he was some loser kid who didn’t belong here. 

“Whatever you say, anyways it’s getting late what do you say we round up the others and bounce?”

“I mean yeah.. if you’re ready to go,” Andy said, silently thanking the god he didn’t believe in for his chance to escape. 

---

Andy stared up at the ceiling fan spinning above him. He was finally home, or at least he was finally back to the place he called home. The apartment that he Jake and Ashley shared was far from what he was used to. The place was a dump, it was falling apart and way overpriced. Between the three of them, they could barely afford the two bedroom pig sty. His ‘room’ consisted of a beat up mattress on the floor, a pile of clothes, a couple posters, and a suitcase. 

He’d given up his room at home, full of his childhood furniture and clean for this. One day he’d have his own home, and all of this would be a distant memory. No more parties, no more worrying over bills, no more sleeping on the floor. But what if that wasn’t what happened? 

The overwhelming sense of dread started to fill his mind, he fought against it but failed. What if the band didn’t make it, what if everyone was lying to him about having what it takes? What if they failed and couldn’t make rent? After what his parents said to him when he left would they even let him come home? Crawling back to Ohio.. to everyone who said he wouldn’t be shit. Proving them all right... 

Tears threatened to fall as the young boy shut his eyes, willing the thoughts to go away. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t free himself from his mind. For nineteen years he’d tried to escape himself, and he thought a fresh start would do that. It hadn’t. Now he was stuck, and he felt like the floor could fall out from under him at any moment. 

Ashley tossed a few dirty dishes into the overflowing sink. His buzz was starting to wear off, and a nagging headache was developing in his brain. He had to be up early the next day to go over the expenses for the tour. He sighed, leaning back against the counter. Thoughts started racing through his mind, there was so much to do before they left. Bills had to be paid, Jake’s dog had to be taken care of, the place had to be cleaned, plus there was still packing. Then there was the thought that had lodged itself inside his head for months. Andy. 

Ashley worried about Andy. He could tell that the kid was unstable. When he first met him and agreed to support his band he had no idea. Andy presented as someone with the confidence of a god. He had sold himself well, he’d even lied about the band. The truth was that he didn’t even have members, it was just an idea and a cheap music video. Ashley had bought into all of it and agreed to own the band with him (and foot the bill). It was a huge gamble, and it was actually starting to pay off. 

He quickly was starting to realize though that the problem may not be the band, the problem might be that he was now tied to a kid who was in over his head. He wanted Andy to succeed, but he wasn’t sure if he would be able to. 

This next tour would put him to the test. At almost two months long it would be the band’s longest tour yet. Time will tell he figured. 

#andley #bvb #black veil brides #andy biersack #ashley purdy #andy six #andy black #alightwhendarknessfell #fan fiction #slash fiction #jinxx #jake pitts #cc #wild and running #01

[katriddellwrites]

happily ever after

She’s five years old and trying to remember what love sounds like. Her parents are fighting. It’s morning; she hasn’t been dropped off at school and her father hasn’t left for work yet. His lunchbox ends up on the floor and a pear rolls under the table. She crawls under to get it, and she holds it up, a peace offering. It is unnoticed, and she feels the emptiness that comes with trying all you can and having no effect.

She is nine, lying on her bed, staring at the mural painted on her ceiling. Downstairs, her parents are shouting again. She wants nothing more than to go downstairs and shout with them. She wants to tell them to shut up, to take their arguments outside. She wants to say that she and her six-year-old sister shouldn’t have to listen to them fight. She tells herself that she doesn’t care that they fight, as long as her sister doesn’t have to hear it. She knows that children don’t understand these kind of things and that she has not real right to call them out. But in her mind she goes downstairs and says everything she’s kept bottled up and she feels full again.

She’s sixteen and her father wants to chase dreams and her mother wants stability. But she’s still young, idealistic, and won’t believe that having children means you have to be chained to a life you don’t love. She is torn, and doesn’t really talk to both of them for a while, until she learns the value of stability when her father throws her out of the house and she spends the night in the park. She doesn’t tell her mother about this for several years.

She’s eighteen. Four months in and out of the hospital and fighting with the insurance company over the telephone have taught her about responsibility. Her parents have been having trouble for a while now. Her father is unemployed and apathetic. Her mother is frustrated. After a couple months she sums up the courage to tell her mother that she thinks they should get a divorce. Her mother wants to try counseling, and says if that fails there is nothing else that can be done to save this marriage.  She thinks her mother should get over it and divorce him. She thinks the marriage has run its course and is now a lost cause.

She is nineteen, and her parents seem to be doing better. She allows herself to feel proud of her mother for not giving up. When she calls her mother just to say hi she finds out that her father is still the same as ever. She worries about her mother and wishes that they would just get a divorce already. Her sister, who has never had a good relationship with their father, calls to complain, and she’s overwhelmed because she doesn’t want to be in college really and she wishes she could just run away to northern Greenland and raise caribou.

She’s twenty-four, and for the most part she’s glad her parents are still together. Until her father manages to fuck up again. But her mother says that there’s something about spending so much of your life with someone that you can’t imagine spending your life without them anymore, no matter how they infuriate you. She thinks about this and decides that she never wants to be that dependent on anyone. She goes out to karaoke and makes out with a girl with blue hair. She leaves without getting the girl’s number.

She knows she is incapable of falling in love. She tells her best friend this and her best friend just shakes her head and laughs and says that she’s in for a big surprise. Her best friend believes that every girl falls in love at least twice and that every breakup is the end of the world and a valid excuse for getting blackout drunk for a weekend. Gradually she and her best friend stop talking to each other, and when her best friend goes to Madagascar for a semester she doesn’t keep in touch.

Her new best friend is engaged, after toeing the line of commitment for years. She wants to be happy for them both, and she hears herself saying that if anyone can make it work, they can. But she doesn’t think she believes it, not really. But pessimism and stunted emotional development have no place at an engagement party, and so she swallows her doubts and discomforts with her champagne and strawberry tart.

She tells all of this to her therapist, who is very understanding and nonjudgmental and writes everything down in a manila folder. She goes more out of a sense of obligation than any real desire to feel better. She tries to juggle her friend’s impending nuptials with her parents’ imploding marriage and she can’t ever say anything because it isn’t her place.  

Yet another couple in her class gets engaged and she tries to see a happy future for them, but when she looks at pictures of the ring all she can see is divorce.  She stops talking about marriage with her friends. Being single is less complicated, and none of them argue with her. Her mother stops wearing her wedding ring and the two of them shell out money they don’t have to go to a hotel for a night to use the hot tub. They bitch about men and her mother tries to persuade her that happy relationships do exist in real life.  She ignores this and jumps into the pool to cool off.

In the stories love is easy. The princess, because every girl in a story is a princess, simply has to meet a prince or a knight or a kindhearted servant and within paragraphs the two are wed. And the stories always end there. Happily ever after. None of them mention mortgages and arguments and in-laws and anniversaries. Everything is just happily ever after.  

She is seventeen and she hasn’t spoken to either of her parents for eight days. Her father tried to throw her out of the house again and yelled at her when she didn’t come home until after school on Thursday. Her mother commutes between home and school and work and Starbucks and nobody ever sees each other for more than ninety seconds at a time. She goes to prom and does not get high afterwards, then returns home and watches Sunday morning documentaries with her kid brother and ignores the fact she has to see her prom date hungover in class the next day.

She is thirteen and has just broken up with her only boyfriend ever. She doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll go on to date each of her best friends in succession before finally coming out of the closet at the end of high school. Her mother says that she doesn’t need to worry about boyfriends yet, and she focuses on choir and passing math and reading the latest Nicholas Sparks novel. She would almost believe she was happy if it weren’t for the other girls telling her that no boy would ever want to date her if she kept wearing her jeans with the knees ripped out and her favorite green sweater.

She is eleven and playing parent to a baby brother whose father has no idea how to be a parent. Her mother is starting to feel sick and she can feel that the whole family is on the precipice of something huge and terrible. She looks old for her age, and people are rude to her, thinking she’s an irresponsible teen mother. Never mind that she’s a thousand times a better parent than a father who thinks discipline means picking your kid up by the back of their neck. She decides that once her brother can take care of himself, she’s done with parenting for good.

She is seven and her parents are separated. Her dad lives in a rented room in an old farmhouse and she gets to spend Tuesdays and every other weekend sleeping on an old gym mat and eating Pop-tarts and canned spaghetti. She doesn’t think it’s a very big deal. Lots of her friends’ parents are divorced and hers aren’t fighting anymore. It’s a bit of a surprise when they get back together, and she feels a little bit guilty that they stayed together for her.

It’s playtime at kindergarten and she’s wearing the wedding dress from the costume trunk. She’s convinced Mike from two blocks over to marry her. They are going to be happy and have two girls and two boys and a Great Dane. Mike will be a woodworker and she’ll be an artist. He kisses her on the playground and everyone knows that they’re married. Divorce doesn’t exist in kindergarten, and when Mike decides he’d rather play soccer than house she climbs the jungle gym with the other girls and they watch their husbands run around and get dirty.  

She is four years old, and she will live happily ever after.

******

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