#this is supposed to be the 'hey something's fucky' music that you usually have in an aanime ost

[abbuniverses]

#this is supposed to be the 'hey something's fucky' music that you usually have in an aanime ost #think 'The Plot Lurking in the Mist' from jjba #which is definitely not what inspired this track shhhh #yell.mp3 #'yes hello i'm here to commit crime' // marilan #album // kyourift ost

[heystuckstuck]

doll parts part one

eridan ampora x reader

part one ==> HERE

part two ==> coming soon!!! <3

YOU ==> WAKE UP

You do. You are sprawled out on your own bed, which is soft, softer than anything you’ve slept on in awhile. You are lying on your stomach, your arms crooked under your pillow to support your head. This is the way you almost always sleep. Your phone dings to the left side of your head, and you blearily shift to your side to check it. It would appear that someone is trying to get ahold of you.

cuttlefishCuller [CC] began trollling chumHandle [CH]

CC: )(-Ey t)(-Er-E, Y/N!

CC: )(ow ar-E you f-E-Eling today?

CH: im feeling fairly pleasant atm

CH: just woke up

CH: you?

CC: I’m FINTASTIC!!!

CC: )(-E-E )(-E-E

CH: cute

CH: glad to see youre still doing the fish pun thing

CH: why exactly do you do it?

CC: I lik-E fish

CC: SO!!!

CH: :?

CC: ar-E you coming to my party tonight?

CC: I r-E-Elly hope so!

CH: shore

CH: ;)

CC: Aww )(-E-E )( -E-E!

CC: You us-Ed a fish pun

CC: )(ow glubbing cut-E!

CH: thank you, fef

CC: And don’t fr-Et!

CC: W-E’ll have som-Ebody watch out for you!

CC: So what )(app-En-Ed last tim-E won’t )(app-En again!

CH: …

CC: I’m sorry!

CC: I shouldn’t )(av-E brought it up

CC: 38(

CH: no, that’s ok

CH: it happened

CH: it’s okay to talk about it

CC: )(ow was it?

CH: how was what?

CC: T)(-E )(ospital?

CH: it was ok

CH: im totally better

CC: I’m sure as s)(-Ell glad to )(-Ear it!

CC: Sollux and the cr-Ew will b-E t)(-Er-E to pick you up

CH: the crew?

CC: I’m not shor-E who it’ll b-E but Sollux is driving a bunch of our fri-Ends ov-Er

CC: I asked )(im to pick you up too!

CC: 38)

CH: thanks feferi

CH: youre the best

CC: I c-Ertainly try

CC: T)(-Er-E’s no way to wink at you wit)( my -Emoticon

CC: So just picture t)(at in your )(-Ead

CH: ;)

chumHandle [CH] ceased trolling cuttlefishCuller [CC]

twinArmageddons [TA] began trolling chumHandle [CH]

TA: y/n

CH: sollux

TA: thii2 ii2 gonna be a really weiird que2tiion

TA: plea2e don’t get mad

TA: but

TA: would you fuck ed

CH: what why

TA: becau2e seniior year is almo2t here and iif he doe2nt lo2e hii2 viirgiiniity before hii2 biirthday ii can’t be hii2 friiend anymore

CH: what makes you so sure he’s a virgin

TA: y/n

CH: fair point

TA: ii ju2t know that you have 2ome pretty lax 2tandard2

CH: are you calling me a “2lut”

CH: is that what’s happening right now

TA: god no

TA: ii ju2t wanna get the ba2tard laiid

CH: fine, i’ll do it

TA: y/n you are a 2aiint

TA: 2eriiou2ly

TA: nobody el2e would touch that ugly fucker with a ten foot pole

CH: you and i both know that eridan isn’t ugly

CH: he’s actually quite handsome

TA: god gro22

TA: ju2t thank you

TA: you’re doiing u2 all a favor really

TA: ed fuck2 you and then he’ll 2hut hiis fuckiing iidiiot mouth about not fuckiing anythiing

CH: how many times are you gonna say fuck

TA: fuck

CH: that’s fair

CH: yeah i’ll do it

TA: cool

TA: fiinger gun2

TA: ii’ll piick you up at 6

twinArmageddons [TA] ceased trolling chumHandle [CH]

Sollux is there for you promptly at six o’clock. You’re standing on the curb, waiting for him, when his familiarly tiny rusty red car pulls up alongside you. The music is so loud you can hear it through the closed doors and when you glance in the passenger’s side window, Aradia gestures her thumb back behind her. She must’ve called shotgun, or maybe Sollux got her first. You open the door to the backseat and clamber inside.

Karkat is on the far end, smushed into the door. He looks as disagreeable as always but he offers you a softer-than-usual smile as he adjusts his traditional black t-shirt. Eridan, in between the two of you, looks far more uncomfortable. You notice the way he is desperately trying not to look at you and in retaliation, you put a soft hand on his thigh. He looks as though he might faint, cheeks flushed and forehead beaded with sweat. He doesn’t say anything to you, but Karkat does.

“Alright, Y/N?”

Yes. Why wouldn’t you be?

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

Karkat shrugs although from the hunch of his shoulders, you can tell he wants to argue. Everyone knows that he’s lying. You know he’s lying. You know why everybody wants to know if you’re alright. And frankly, it’s nobody’s fucking business.

Not even if they stroked your hair and whispered soft little nothings to you all the way to the emergency room. Not even then.

As you walk into the party, you notice a tall, slim figure posed at the front of the grand entrance hall. He’s smoking a cigarette and he has sunglasses on indoors. Dave Strider. He greets your friends casually but when he gets to you he falters and peers at you over the top of his shades.

“All better, Y/N?”

“Yes, I’m totally better. I eat almonds and yogurt and soup.” He nods curtly, but you can see the tension in his face. It would be difficult to miss, as difficult to miss as those reddish brown eyes of his. You remember the last time you saw them.

You were lying on your back with the left side of your face caked in vomit. Your limbs were seizing up and you wanted to scream but it was like your voice was invisible. Dave knelt over you, eyes as wide as saucers as he begged you to stay awake, please stay awake, oh god, what did you do, why did you do this, god no, please no, no no no no no nonononononononononono.

And you put your hand on his face and said, “Hello David.” Or tried to. You’re sure that what came out was a flubbed version.

“What did you take?” He’s begging you please tell him, tell him so he can get you to the hospital and they can pump your stomach, god please.

“13 valiums and a bottle of gin.” You try to tell him that you were just trying to float and stop your misery and stop the not eating and stop stop stop stop stop. But he can’t hear you. He screams out a feeble and watery Karkat and then you’re in a car with Karkat petting you and his mouth was moving but all you could hear were sirens. You wanted to sleep more than anything but Karkat kept shoving you awake and talking to you and telling you stories and begging you don’t go to sleep, no.

So you suppose if anyone has the right to ask you if you’re okay, it’s Dave, and you’d better tell him too. So you do, but you can tell that he doesn’t fully believe you, but to your relief, he leaves it.

The music is loud. It makes your ears numb. You see Feferi but you don’t go and say hi because she’s kissing Sollux on his mouth and tracing her fingers up his arm and you know you shouldn’t interrupt, so you don’t and push your way further through Feferi’s house. The lights are all pink and blue and hazy and you can’t see through the smoke in the air and you can taste the acrid tang of cigarettes in the back of your mouth, which makes it feel like cotton. You stumble and trip over something-someone lying on a beanbag on the floor, who doesn’t try to catch you when you fall into his bony chest.

“Well hey there, little sis, how’s it motherfuckin’ hangin’?” It’s Gamzee, with his dark, splotchy face and lazy looking eyes and dopey grin. He doesn’t help you up, the idea doesn’t even seem to occur to him. His eyes are bloodshot and his left hand’s slender fingers grip a short, lit blunt, which he offers to you.

“You want a hit?” Nobody except him in your friend group smokes pot. They drink and snort crushed up pills but they don’t smoke weed. You’ve tried it before, but only a few times. You didn’t like how it stung your throat and made you cough.

“Nah, that stuff makes you hungry.” That was your least favorite thing about it. The last time you smoked pot, you’d woken up naked on John’s couch with your hands and chest smeared in food goop and no memory of how it got there. You didn’t need that again. Gamzee doesn’t seem to mind, and just takes another drag.

“It’s no problem sis, more for me.” You watch him as he puffs on it again, noting the way the slight orange glow offsets the neon lights in the room.

“Anyway, chica, long time no see. How’s it been?” You shrug and Gamzee laughs.

“That’s so motherfuckin’ righteous, sister. Seriously, be all up and motherfuckin’ careful. Don’t want anything bad happening to you or anything.” You’re dumbstruck by the fact that Gamzee of all people, slow-witted, slow-reacting, oblivious, with a brain half-ruined y marijuana knows. God, how does Gamzee know?

“I saw you, all up and covered in that puke. Shit, y’know, it fuckin’ scared me. I love you and I don’t want you to die or anything. You were shaking and crying and everyone was all just sitting there, not knowing what to up and do. It was the opposite of a miracle. But maybe the fact that you’re not dead is a miracle and whatever god exists kept you alive for us. I’m motherfuckin’ happy about that. I’d miss you if you were dead. I think everybody would, even if they pretend they wouldn’t.”

Gamzee then punctuates his profound statement with a soft belch and he gives you a watery, peaceful smile, close-lipped, with his eyes shut. You return the smile, though yours is more strained than his because god just stop fucking talking about it.You get it. You don’t really want to be dead anymore but you wish everyone would stop reminding you of it. You want to forget as much as anybody else. You never wanted everyone to see you, shaking on the floor, eyes rolled up into the back of your head with foam oozing from between your lips all over your white tanktop, staining it pink. You want to forget. You want to forget Feferi screaming and and Sollux saying, hush, hush, FF, it’s okay, and Dave’s tears dribbling onto your face and getting into your mouth. They were salty on your numb tongue.

Gamzee’s hand begins to snake down the front of his sweatpants and you decide to leave before this gets awkward. You abandon Gamzee and trip on your way to the stairs, which you clamber up, on your way to Feferi’s second story bathroom. You don’t have to go, you just want to inspect Feferi’s mom’s medicine cabinet, see if she’s gotten anything new since the last time you were here, before. Before. Before you took John’s grandmother’s pills out of the kitchen and fell on the floor and Feferi screamed and Dave cried and Karkat crooned in your ear and you felt more loved than you ever had before, which was bullshit because of course everyone loves you when you try to die.

She doesn’t have anything new, you note with mild disappointment, pocketing some old pills that haven’t been touched since the last time you were here. You read the label before hiding them. Oxytocin. Pain pills. You shove it, along with your hands into your oversized maroon jacket, and just in time too, because the door you were certain you locked opens to your right. You turn and meet an abashed-looking Tavros, his face alcohol and embarrassment-flushed.

“Oh, I didn’t realize that anybody would be in here. I just needed to, um, well, yeah, you know.” He stumbles over his words and looks flustered, so you smile at him.

“Oh, that’s alright, I was just leaving.” You grab a tiny white paper cup, designed for mouthwash and fill it with water before exiting the bathroom, brushing past Tavros’s shoulder. He closes the door and you pull out the pills and take two with the shot of water you have. You aren’t addicted to popping pills, but it is an outstanding interest of yours. You wait a few minutes and then you feel fuzzy and it’s a bit like you’re walking on the ceiling as you trample down the hallway. You walk back down the stairs on watery legs, trying admirably not to fall on your face, which you don’t.

You walk to the kitchen, where Vriska is leaning with her back and elbows resting against the counter. Terezi and John are with her and you notice them eye you suspiciously as you open up all of the cabinets and count the cans inside.

“Hungry?” John asks, voice shaking a little bit. You remember seeing him, driving the car, speeding down the freeway, pedal to the metal. He kept frantically glancing back at you, blue eyes enormous, even more so than usual. Hs too-large front teeth were worrying his bottom lip and his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. You know why his voice is shaking. You’re starting to get tired of this.

“No.”

“What’re you doing then?”

“Counting.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding uneasy. God, why can’t people just stop being fucking worried about you? Why does John have to quirk his perfectly arched and adorable eyebrows at you like that? Why does he have to bite his lip and why does goddamn Vriska of all people look worried about you? You know perfectly well the reason why, but you don’t care. You don’t care that they all saw you. That everyone knows. You couldn’t care less.

You exist through the backdoor in the kitchen because you need some air, jesus. You can’t stand the way they all look at you, with such pity and fear. It was a mistake and you’ll never live it down because you scared everybody shitless. You take a deep breath of untainted air and somebody sighs right after you exhale. What the hell?

“What the hell?” You glance around and huddled at your feet is Eridan, his floral short-sleeve button down too tight in the arms. He’s wearing slacks too, which is such an Eridan thing to do and you are filled with an overwhelming surge of affection toward your friend. This is all he is, your friend. Your friend that might fuck you later, according to Sollux.

You flop down next to him. He doesn’t react, just takes a long sip from his red plastic cup. It’s probably beer, which you’re sure upsets his sensitive palette but he’s actively not complaining in dramatic, emotional theatrics for once so you don’t question it.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing out here, ‘Dan?”

“Everywhere else was full.” It’s true. All of your friends are rambunctiously partying in every corner of Feferi’s party. Except the bedrooms, you suppose. But maybe Feferi and Sollux have already made their way there, you know they will eventually and Feferi will call you tomorrow and tell you all about it. You know every detail of her sex life. She knows every detail of yours and while you are always supportive, sometimes she frowns at you and shakes her head.

“Ah.”

You’re both silent for awhile, the only sounds being of your breath and Eridan sipping his beer solemnly and yet, delicately. Feferi has a trampoline in her backyard and you haven’t jumped around and just had fun in god knows how long so you get up and offer your hand to Eridan. He accepts, although with a cocked eyebrow, and his hand still firmly in yours, you guide him to the trampoline.

“Really, Y/N? You wanna play on the goddamn trampoline? That’s fairly, just, it’s juvenile, don’t you think?”

“Yes, absolutely.” And you take off your shoes and fling your body onto the black netting and bounce a few times. Eridan hesitantly follows you.

“What if someone sees us?”

“Let them. We’re young and you’re drunk and I want to fly,” you say, leaping into the air and coming down with a spring. Eridan doesn’t jump at first, not until you grab his sleeve and tug on it and oh, Danny, I’m having so much fun, I’m flying, this is like the fucking Notebook, I’m a fucking bird, tell me I’m a bird like the Notebook. You’re laughing hysterically at yourself and Eridan is fucking giggling at you and then he starts jumping too and you dance in circles with only the soundtrack of summer cicadas to keep a melody. You grab his hands and his fingers twine with yours and suddenly he’s falling and you’re bouncing your back against the trampoline, narrowly avoiding hitting your head as Eridan lands on top of you and bounces off but only after squishing the life out of you.

You’re laughing so hard no sound is coming out and you’re gasping and so is he and you grab his hand from where he’s laying beside you.

You look up at the stars. You haven’t seen the stars in over six weeks. You missed them.

“So, how are you, Y/N? I’m sure sorry that I couldn’t come an’ visit you.” You do the best shrug you can while lying down.

“Nobody was allowed to visit me, except in the ER.”

“Still, I should’ve come. Fef went. John went.”

“They’re the only ones that did.”

“Really?” His voice is incredulous.

“Everyone texted. Until I had to go to the psych ward. Then I wasn’t allowed texts anymore.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You don’t want to be sad anymore so you change the subject.

“Eridan?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to fuck me later?” He chokes, a loud spluttering cough, and jerks up to lay on his arm, staring down at you.

“What?!”

“Sollux told me that you were going to.”

“God, oh fuck, he told me-he-he said-he told me you didn’t know!”

“I know.”

“Well, I know that now!”

“It’s okay. If you want to, I’m okay with it.”

“Okay with what?”

“You fucking me.”

His face flared red, which was a feat in and of itself because his skin was soft brown. He looked beautiful in the starlight: his eyes, a gorgeous golden-hazel with long, dark lashes, his nose sturdy and strong, his lips fairly thick and soft and most especially the freckle he had, on the left corner of his bottom lip. His hair fell in his face, dark brown and highlighted by a thick bleached streak in the front. He wasn’t just pretty, not just beautiful, he was gorgeous. You wouldn’t mind snagging his virginity. Not one bit.

“I don’t think-I mean-well-I-I-I want to but I just think that maybe we should wait on that.”

“Okay,” you say, staring into his eyes, fighting down a pang of disappointment, “But if Sollux asks, you can say you did.”

His eyes narrow a bit and then he’s nervously looking at anything but you.

“But I wanted to know. Could you, maybe-I don’t-just-kiss me?” You smile, a full grin with teeth showing an everything.

“Yes, Eridan.”

And then you get up to your knees and pull him up to meet you and your lips are together and his lips are soft, a bit firmer than you imagined, and they’re clumsy and he accidentally clips your teeth together. You wrap an arm over his shoulder and he puts his hands at your small waist, pressing on your hips with his fingertips. You reach your other hand down and take his. You guide it over your breast and his whole body stiffens. His fingers begin to itch around and grope at the soft flesh under his hand and you slip your lips down to his neck. He makes a noise that is a cross between a purr and a croon and you push him down beneath you. The two of you break apart and he stares up at you, fingers touching his swollen bottom lip like he can’t believe what just happened. You realize suddenly that you just bagged his first kiss. You gently kiss his cheek and roll off of his abdomen.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re inside on the couch with Eridan spooned up behind you. A shirtless Equius lays across the floor with Nepeta’s head on his belly. Terezi’s legs are sprawled across her chest. Everyone else is still asleep but you can feel Eridan start to stir behind you. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck and mumbles a quiet good morning into the skin.

“Morning.”

“Mm.”

“Eridan?”

“Hm?”

“Your stiffy’s digging into my back.”

“M’sorry.”

“S’okay.”

#eridan x reader #eridan ampora #homestuck #humanstuck #reader insert #fanfiction #depressed!reader #doll parts

[brutcllysoft]

first meeting ft. @becamedcath

setting: andy’s managers office?? idr. march 2015​

ANDY

This is a bad fucking idea. He seems to be the only one who thinks so, though. From some twisted angle, he can see the point of this — This kind of set up is good PR, something to get them both on the cover of any and every magazine. Everyone loves a cliche, the bad boy and a good girl getting together despite the odds. It’s all about marketing, even if it’s at the cost of his personal life. Even if he’s signed a contract and agreed to it — Good fucking god this girl is /not/ his type. She’s too Girl Next Door, someone who would turn her nose up at him if they’d met on the street. They’ve met before, at an awards show or something — He barely remembers it after the lines he’d done in the bathroom and the shots he threw back at the bar. But he can recall how much of a brat she was, having made a scene when he ran into her or something. Truthfully, he had tuned her out that night and carried on, forgetting all about her until a friend told him about the encounter later. And now, two years later — He’s pacing around the studio lounge waiting for her to arrive, so he can properly meet his new girlfriend. All he wants is a cigarette or maybe an adderall — But in that moment, he settles on one of the beers in the fridge, plowing through three without hesitation in the hope to catch at least a buzz. Andy paces, a hand in his pocket and another brings the bottle back to his lips — He examines the posters on the walls as he waits, before the click of the door pulls his attention.

His first thought is about how short she is — Even standing across the room, he knows she’ll only come up to his shoulder. She’s cute, with an All American look that he’s sure people fucking eat up. They’re about as opposite as they can get, but he’s willing to make some sort of effort for Chris. “Hey,” he settles with, tone bored as he moves his eyes from her to the Rolling Stone cover he’d been looking at moments before. Admittedly, Andy isn’t sure what to say in this moment — He’s never had an issue with getting a girl before, usually ending up with a different one in his bed each night, but in this instance? What are you supposed to say? Hey, ain’t it crazy that we’re fake dating now? Wild. “There’s drinks in the fridge.” He settles on after a moment, a terrible opener but he holds his ground. It’s not like Andy’s trying to impress this girl or anything, anyway. No point in bullshitting. “They don’t have juice boxes or anythin’, though.” He can’t resist the urge to make the jab, just to push her buttons.

ROWAN

All of this just feels so bizarre to her. It's not something she would have liked to sign up for, not something she ever would have thought up for herself --- but Reina swears it's a good idea. Once upon a time the brunette would have signed her on for anything as long as it made them money, regardless of whether or not she thought it was a good move for her but things have changed over the last few years and Rowan trusts Reina not to set her up for something terrible. Still, she can't help but wish that she had picked literally anyone besides Andrew Thane. She sees the appeal behind him --- objectively speaking he's attractive, not that she'll admit that. Not to mention he's her opposite and everyone loves a cliche. He's riding the coattails of a successful career with his band, looking to branch off solo and a relationship with her could be a huge step in the right direction for him. And honestly, her own career has felt a little stagnant the last six months and this kind of media attention would make her next album release blow up. So if she forces herself to look at it from an outside perspective, Rowan sees how it works. She just wishes it wasn't with him. They've met only once before, a few years earlier at the VMA's and she'd known from the moment she laid eyes on him he had been wasted. He'd all but confirmed that moments after they came off stage from presenting an award and decided to blow chunks all over her feet. He'd slurred his way through an apology that she barely heard before storming off to try and clean herself up, and she's held a grudge ever since.

So needless to say, she's not thrilled to be here right now. But Reina insisted, telling her how important it is to get to know him at least a little bit before their first public appearance. Rowan can't help but feel out of place when she walks into the studio lounge -- it's different from her own, clearly reflecting the differences between their personalities and music styles. Where her studio is a mix of greens and yellows on white walls, fresh flowers adorning all the surfaces and pink guitars on stands in the corners, this one is significantly darker. She feels out of place immediately, self conscious of herself and anxiously tugging at the hem of her sundress as she walks in before crossing her arms over her chest. His voice catches her attention, doing nothing to soothe her unease and she takes a minute to look him over. He’s taller than she remembers, but she chalks it up to the fact that she’d been wearing heels that night whereas she’s on flat feet today. Reina had put today's outfit together and there’s a pair of red bottoms sitting in the back of her towncar she’d ditched in favour of a pair of sandals the moment Reina disappeared from view. Now she can’t help but regret it just a little. “Hi.” She repeats his greeting back to him, awkwardly as she shifts from one foot to another. A brow raises at his comment, scoffing quietly under her breath. “I’m not legal to drink yet,” she chimes in, head tilting. “April 27th. Next year.” Not that she thinks he really cares about that, and honestly neither does she --- of course she’s drank before now, their business practically runs on alcohol and cocaine and even she has partaken in the former on more than one occasion despite what her squeaky clean image suggests. But she opens the fridge anyway, needing something to do with her hands and is grateful to find one lone bottled water amongst the array of booze. "I don't think underage drinking on a Tuesday afternoon is really going to do either of us any favours." Though a part of her knows that the ramifications for the two of them would be very different. Andy has already made a name for himself with drugs and alcohol, something everyone just seems to accept. Where as she knows if she were so much to touch a bottle of beer in public, she'd be crucified. She's not sure if it's a genre thing or a gender thing, but she tries to make herself believe it's the former despite the fact that it is, very much, the latter.

ANDY

There’s a scoff that comes with her words — Of course she didn’t drink, he finds it almost laughable for her to wait until she’s twenty one when he thinks of how young he was when he had his first beer. “Right, sure, whatever.” He settles with, glancing back at her as she grabs a bottle of water. Andy has to remind himself not everyone has lived the same life as him -- He’s sure she’s just as sheltered as the tabloids say, some wide eyed girl who thinks the world is full of fucking rainbows and sunshine. He can hear Chris’s voice in the back of his head telling him not to be such an asshole, but it’s hard to resist. After the nightmare that has been the last six months, it’s hard not to bite back at anything thrown his way -- Good or bad. He’s still reeling from Cerberus’ break up, the messy way things had ended with his bandmates, and then girlfriend. He can’t help but feel like he’s in this mess because of all of them -- God knows he’s no saint himself, but it wasn’t his ego that pulled them apart. But Chris had explained to him time and time again why this is a good idea, that he’ll become more relatable or some shit, that she can help get his solo career moving. Andy doesn’t like it, but he’ll at least give it a shot for him. Chris has yet to lead him astray, he’s sure this won’t be the first time.

Taking another swig of his drink, he spins on his heel so that he’s facing her. Now that he and Rowan were meeting when he was decently sober and she’s not dressed like a pastry  — Andy notes that she’s actually pretty cute, even if she’s annoying. Had they met under different circumstances, they probably could have hit it off. Maybe. Andy doesn’t bother with being subtle when he looks at her, finding it fascinating that even down to their shoe choices -- Her sandals and his ratty Doc Martens -- they’re absolute opposites. It’s almost laughable. “I’m gonna need a drink to get through this.” He fires back in a level tone, holding eye contact and challenging her to push further. Though Andy won’t admit it to anyone -- Not even Chris -- He’s terrified of what’s going to happen next. His album, his reputation, Rowan. He’d found a comfortable corner with Cereberus, loving playing a different city each night with his two best friends, shredding on his guitar until his fingers bled. He understood how things worked then -- They slept all day, played a show, partied all night -- More often than not he’d end up doing lines off some groupies breasts before she got him off, just to wake up in the bathtub of whatever hotel they’re staying at. It was chaos, but he knew what to expect from it. They drank too much, snorted whatever was put in front of them, and kept going until they passed out. Wash, rinse, repeat. There’s no denying he’s doing just the same now, but he was venturing into something different and he’d be a liar if he said that didn’t scare him -- He’s too exposed right now. Even in this lounge, alone with Rowan. If this goes sideways, he doesn’t have a safety net to fall into.

He doesn’t let it show, though. If there’s anything he’d learned from his childhood, it’s how to master a poker face -- Andy has no interest in letting anyone in on what he’s thinking, knowing that they’ll just end up using it against him or sell it to a tabloid. The last thing he wants is Rowan Fisher, of all fucking people, to see him sweat. “You look like you’re gonna piss yourself.” He settles on, smirk at his lips before he finishes off his bottle, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s had enough to take a little bit of the edge off, settling the nerves in his stomach with each swig.

ROWAN

The scoff that reaches her has her feeling an array of emotions all at once --- predominantly offence, irritation and a small bit of embarrassment, which promptly turns itself into annoyance. He’s so fucking obnoxious. It’s not necessarily that she’s waiting until she’s twenty-one to drink --- she just likes to be careful. While it may not be a big deal if he is seen walking around drinking from a flask on a Tuesday afternoon, it is a big deal if she is. She’d be smeared all over TMZ about what a bad example she’s setting, not to mention Reina would have her head. The amount of time and money they would have to put into correcting that would be a nightmare, and it’s one she’s not eager to get into. Better to keep the parents of her mostly underage female fan base happy and eager to buy them albums and merchandise and concert tickets. She twists the cap off her water bottle, taking a step backward when he not so subtly looks her up and down --- usually when a man in this industry does that not long after there’s a hand on her thigh and warm breath on her neck while they ask if she’s interested in switching management and going somewhere. However, she knows that Andy really doesn’t have anything to offer her in that department, so instead it just makes her feel self-conscious, much to her dismay.

She’s never been a particularly insecure person, but it would be a lie to say that Rowan wasn’t always wondering what people were thinking of her. That she wasn’t constantly trying to decipher every look shot her way, every whisper murmured behind her back. But she doesn’t let it show, resigning herself to the fact that she doesn’t need to worry about what Andrew Thane, of all people, thinks about her. She rolls her eyes when he mentions needing a drink, finding herself already tired of his tough guy act. She can’t imagine any situation where she might actually like him, any situation where she doesn’t want to punch him in the fucking face. “Can’t blame a girl for feeling out of place.” Which she does. Very much so. She feels too big for this space, too bright, too vibrant, too everything. And while she knows that this is not a real relationship and they’re not looking to find any common ground, it is a little disheartening to be so clearly disconnected from the world that he lives in. Selfishly, she can’t help but wish they had done this at her studio -- somewhere she would be in her element, her usual confident and collected self. But she carries on, chin held high as it always is --- just as Reina taught her when she was a scrawny little sixteen year old, shy and unsure of herself and practically begging execs to take advantage of her. “Especially considering our last interaction wasn’t exactly pleasant.” She turns on her heel, moving away from him to look at the hangings decorating the walls -- albums, awards, framed articles. His band had been successful. Not really her thing, but she can’t deny the fact that they’d accomplished a lot. “You puked on me, in case you forgot.” She tacked on, glancing at him over her shoulder, sure that he has zero recollection of the night in question. “Just tryin’ to save another pair of shoes.”

ANDY

He knows why they’re there -- This is supposed to be an ice breaker for what’s to come for the next two years, the answer is obvious. But he’s not sure what’s supposed to say to her, make casual conversation about how they’re going to spend the next two years of their lives tolerating one another? It’s not exactly the kind of small talk he’s interested in. Hell -- He doesn’t want to talk to her at all, but there’s no going back now. A shoulder shrugs at her comment, leaving him itching for a cigarette. He’s craving a distraction, a way to not have to sit in this feeling, or endure the obvious tension. Finishing off his beer, he drops the empty bottle on the counter top, before moving to take another out of the fridge, popping the cap off with his teeth. He knows it’ll probably get a disgusted reaction from the blonde, but he doesn’t bother dwelling on it. This was uncomfortable enough to warrant another drink, something to keep him buzzed and from over thinking every single thing happening around him. It’s a perk of being who he is -- The label thrives on him being out of control and unpredictable, loaded up on whatever white powder or drink he’s presented with in the hopes that they’ll get another song or some press from him. It makes him feel like there’s an endless party going on while they record, but in this moment -- It’s enough to take the edge off.

When she mentions their last interaction, though -- He’s confused. He barely remembers it, assuming it had been something about maybe having stepped on her dress or run into her. Apparently she held a grudge. Admittedly, he can’t really defend himself given that he doesn’t remember much of that night, but he listens as she speaks, moving to sit on the couch as she paces around the room. A loud bark of laughter comes at the mention of puke, something of a hazy memory finding him -- Ian, his bandmate, coming around to pull him away while Andy let out a loud and slurred oh fuck, before the two stumbled off to the open bar. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He doesn’t bother apologizing to her. Frankly, Andy doesn’t see much of a point in apologizing for something he doesn’t remember, but clearly -- Rowan doesn’t want to let it go. “That was -- What? VMAs? AMAs? I don’t remember.” He tries to clarify, clearly amused by the story though he can’t even remember where they had been. A slight frown comes when he follows her eyes to where she’s looking, a framed picture of Cerberus’s first album, having gone triple platinum. Andy doesn’t dawn on the thought, taking another large swig of his beer before speaking again. “I’m not gonna puke on you again, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, watching as she wanders around the lounge.

ROWAN

It isn’t often Rowan finds herself at a loss of things to say. She’s an extrovert by nature and finds it easy to strike up a conversation with most anyone --- but he isn’t just anyone. He’s someone who despite only having met briefly one time, she isn’t particularly fond of. She would like to say she isn’t a vindictive person or that she doesn’t hold a grudge, but the truth is she is guilty of both and that much is evident in the cold shoulder she gives to him. She’d come into this with good enough intentions, she really did. She’d psyched herself up the whole car ride over, told herself that not to get so worked up over something that didn’t matter in the big picture. To go into it with an open mind, to give him a chance because maybe he isn’t that bad. But within just a few moment, she’s found herself reverting back to square one. He just rubs her the wrong way --- the bad boy act he’s putting on irks her because she can’t help but think it’s just that, an act. And really she shouldn’t be able to blame him. She does the same thing, doesn’t she? Bright green eyes and long blonde hair, she’s been the poster child for innocence and naivety and purity since she was signed, the label having grabbed onto that with both hands. Since then she’s been batting her eyelashes and playing coy nearly every moment of her life. So she shouldn’t be annoyed by the fact that someone else is doing the same thing, but she does

She finds herself physically unable to hold back the cringe as he opens the bottle of beer with his teeth. “God, you’re going to break a tooth doing that.” Surprisingly, her voice doesn’t hold much judgement --- she’s definitely judging him, but she’s more shocked by it than anything. It’s something she’s seen before -- Reina is guilty of it, though she’d never admit it -- but it never fails to churn her stomach, unable to stop the idea of an emergency dental visit from swarming her mind. The fact that he finds amusement in the story just irks her all over again. “The VMA’s.” She confirms with a roll over her eyes, turning back around to look at the picture on the wall again, hoping that a little more distance will cool her down. It doesn’t work very well. Honestly, she’s not even that upset about the shoes (okay, she is, but mostly because they had been open toe and scrubbing vomit from between her toes had been a horrible end to an otherwise great night) but rather his reaction to the whole thing. Maybe she could overlook it before because he’d clearly been too drunk to know what he was doing, but an apology now certainly wouldn’t hurt any. It’d been rude and Rowan has never done well with being disrespected --- which is ironic because these days it feels like it’s happening more than ever. “I’m not worrying about you puking on me again. Not yet anyway. A few more of those and I might be. Gut rot’s a real thing, you know.” She muses, shrugging her shoulders. Honestly she wouldn’t be surprised to hear he’s already six beers in --- not because he’s acting drunk, but just because that’s the kind of person he apparently is. But they’re here for a reason and so she sighs, turning again to face him, arms crossing over her chest. “I’ve got a charity thing next week--- s’for the children’s hospital. Tuesday night. Reina thinks it should be our first public appearance.”

ANDY

He doesn’t bother dwelling on her clear disgust with him -- Admittedly, it makes him want to push it further just to see what reaction she can get out of her. He can’t help but wonder if she’s ever done anything other than sing country songs and go to church or something, but doesn’t ask. Instead, he nods as she clarifies where they had met, memories of that night coming back to him -- Two year ago, he’d been riding the high Cerberus brought, the band sweeping each award show and topping charts. It’s a bitter sweet thought, knowing that the people he’d celebrated that night with were ones he couldn’t stand being around anymore. Clearly, Rowan is more bothered by the memory than he is. Andy’s not planning on apologizing for it, instead he just laughs at the thought of the look on her face when he hunched over -- If only he could remember it. Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes, as she mentions the beer in his hand and gut rot. “Thanks for the information, WebMD.” Her remark only makes him want to drink more, anything to get out of this conversation even if means risking puking on her, or getting sick, as she mentioned. God, how is this possibly going to work for the next two years if he can barely handle a conversation with her without finding the desire to drink?

A brow raises at the mention of a charity thing for a children’s hospital, knowing as important as it is to make to their first public appearance a good one -- He doesn’t exactly want to sit in the hallway of a children’s hospital room while Rowan plays that fucking Biscuits song over and over. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a counter suggestion to give -- He’s spent the last three months in the studio, and his first single isn’t coming out for another two weeks. Children’s hospital it is. “Yeah, sure.” He reluctantly agrees, leaning back against the couch as he takes another sip of his beer. Andy shares the same unimpressed look she has, arms crossed defensively over her chest. “You sure you’re ready for this?” He challenges, brow arched. It’s clear to him that she doesn’t like him, and the feeling is mutual -- But when they’re in public, it’s game time. “Cause you’re gonna have to look a lil’ less disgusted with me when we’re in front’a cameras.”

ROWAN

One day down, seven hundred and twenty-nine to go. Christ, it’s going to be a long two years. Rowan can only hope that between the chaos that is both of their careers, they can manage to keep their actual time together limited. They’re both busy people with busy lives and budding careers, there certainly won’t be any shortage of opportunities to get their photo taken together and she can only hope that Reina is able to work some magic to keep those spread out far enough that she can make it through this without strangling him while also somehow keeping up the charade. She’s going to deserve a goddamn Oscar after this. She already knows it’s going to take any ounce of acting talent she’s got to make it seem like Andrew Thane doesn’t make her want to vomit, let alone that she actually cares about him. God, she’s getting a pressure headache again from the whole thing and sips at her water in an attempt to keep it at bay.

It’s clear he’s reluctant to agree to go with her next week and that just annoys her all over again. Just when she thinks she can’t get anymore agitated he opens his big fucking mouth and sends her right back up the wall. Her jaw clenches momentarily, eyes icy and she shrugs. “It’ll be mostly younger kids. Your music’ll probably be a little mature for most of ‘em.” She hates that using the word mature on his music opens her own up for scrutiny, something she’s very much used to -- her talent and the effort she puts into it is so often taken at face value as something of little depth due to the poppy melodies. “But there’ll be a couple older ones who probably wouldn’t hate to see you.” Which is about as close to a compliment or actual invitation to participate as he’ll get and if he wants to be the asshole whose pride keeps him from playing some dumb song for a sick kid that’s on him. His next question has her eyes rolling. In truth, she isn’t ready for this at all but she isn’t going to admit that to him of all people. “Won’t be a problem. I have an excellent poker face.” And that’s true. Reina’s taught her to perfect it over the years and she has been around men who she somehow finds more revolting than him and smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes to bide her time before making an escape. “You gonna be able to look like you’re not countin’ down the seconds until you get to make a break for it?”

ANDY

He doesn’t mind doing events at hospitals, or for kids (though, most young kids don’t listen to him or Cerberus) -- But he’s not interested in going alongside Rowan if it means he’s just playing arm candy. “Rock’n’roll is a little mature for most kids,” he mocks, laughing lightly at his own words, putting on his best high society voice on with the word. She has a point, though -- He’s sure there’s a couple of teenagers there eager to see him. It’s a bit surprising she’d say that at all, part of him assumes she would want him to be around long enough to get a couple pictures in, before shoving him out of the room so she can entertain some twelve year old girls. “You know,” he begins again, giving her a pointed look. “Despite what you may think’a a me, I do like doin’ that kind of stuff. The children’s hospitals, and shit.” He doesn’t bother explaining much more. Instead, he takes another of his beer before dropping the glass onto the small table. He’s on his feet after, moving towards her. A scoff comes with the mention of her poker face, “Somehow I doubt that.” Andy challenges. This is their first conversation, but he can already tell she’s an absolute open book. In the professional world, she’s clearly held her own well -- But if this conversation is anything to go off of, her trying to play it cool will be a sight to see. “Depends,” He continues, mostly just wanting to get a rise out of her. “When the papz want a kiss, you gonna go running?” Andy asks point blank. Truthfully, if it came down to it and she had an issue -- He’s not going to force her into anything, but at this moment? He just wants to push her buttons.

ROWAN

The mocking is apparent and only serves to push him even further beneath her skin, but Rowan simply rolls her eyes. She’s over this entire interaction and pushing back will only instigate some kind of argument, she’s sure, and right now she has less than zero interest in going down that road. “Great. Then bring a guitar and you’ll make some sixteen year olds day.” It’s said with a tone of finality, clearly indicating that she doesn’t want to argue semantics about whether or not he really is a piece of shit like she suspects. Her initial reaction when he stands and crosses the room is to follow suit and take two steps back for every one he takes, but she doesn’t want to make herself into an easier target than she’s sure he already sees her as. So she keeps her feet planted where they are, standing her ground even when his tone turns challenging. “You don’t know me,” she reminds him with a raise of her brows. It’s not lost on her that she doesn’t know him either and she’s been being just as judgmental, but that isn’t the point. Honestly, when it comes to her personal life her poker face is very much lacking. She’s wears her heart on her sleeve as much as she wishes she didn’t and it’s gotten her burned on more than one occasion. But when it comes to her career, she’s great at keeping her composure and making sure the press and the media execs see only what she wants them to. “I’ve got no reason to hide anything right now but rest assured once the cameras turn on I’ll be all smiles and doe eyes.” Which isn’t really any different from how the media usually portrays her, but she’ll be sure to send him some fond glances to try and amp things up. His question has a short scoff leaving her, eyes rolling for what feels like the millionth time. “Do I look like I’m running? I’m sure I’ll manage.” Though the thought of actually kissing him isn’t anything she’s looking forward to, she has accepted that a little physical affection is going to be part of the gig, whether they like it or not. “That a satisfactory answer for you? I’ve got somewhere else I need to be.” She doesn’t. Reina cleared her schedule for this in hopes that they’d find some kind of common ground but Rowan knows if she’s here much longer they’re going to end up murdering each other.

ANDY

The fact that he’s so easily gotten under her skin puts a smirk on his lips, resisting the urge to laugh. It’s too easy. “Me and a guitar, deal.” He settles with a quick nod. He’s not going to push back on it, he enjoys charity shows — But it’s quickly become apparent to him that it’s pretty fun to get a rise out of her. And more so, it’s easy. Brows raise as she gets defensive, mentioning how he doesn’t know her. It’s laughable, considering she hates him based off a reputation and one drunk moment — Nothing else. He doesn’t bother pointing it out, though. Instead, eyes roll and arms cross, before he speaks up. “I’ve been around you for like ten minutes, and I know I’m right. It’s obvious.” Andy insists, knowing that she’ll be fine when it comes to red carpets and staged moments — But when the paparazzi sneak into a party and catch a candid moment, he knows they’re going to see through this shit. “I’m countin’ on it.” He remarks with a challenging look. While he’d gone into this thinking they’d be screaming in each other’s faces, he was starting to enjoy this back and forth — Even if Rowan was clearly about to lose her shit. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He’s not looking forward to the PDA they’ll have to put on, but there’s no getting out of it now. As she turns to leave, eyes roll and a scoff leaves his lips. “Sure looks like you’re runnin’ now.” He points out the contradiction from her words, for one last jab before she turns to leave the lounge.

#not adding in any of the formatting bc tht shit would take all night #also if there r typos no there arent bc this was before tupperbox let us edit #v: nashville. #nash: andy.