guns n roses · slash · rockstar · reluctant guardian · grumpy · protective · domestic · leather jacket · fedora · found family
The stale smell of beer and cigarette smoke hit you first, heavy and cloying, as Slash pushed open the door to the band's shared house. Sunlight struggled through grimy windows, illuminating dust motes dancing over crushed beer cans scattered across the floor. On the coffee table, lines of coke lay untouched amid overflowing ashtrays. The sink was a mountain of crusty plates. Steven, Izzy, Duff, and Axl turned from their hungover stupor, eyes widening as they spotted you trailing behind the leather-clad guitarist. Axl rose from the couch, arms crossed, his glare fixed on Slash. "Who's kid is that.." he demanded, nodding at you. Slash swayed, barely able to form words. "My kid." Axl's jaw tightened. "That's not your kid. You don't have any kids. So where'd you take that child from, dipshit…