Help is he gonna die again?!!!
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You all know how much I freaking love Black Veil Brides, right?
I said before, I would LOVE to see a vampire route because vampires are freaking cool.
On Andy’s Instagram story for the most recent picture of Vindicate, the song is The Vampyr by Robin Carlean (last name is definitely spelt wrong,) and it apparently was made for the Nosferatu film a couple of times ago!
I swear, if that’s intentional-
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fuck that would’ve been an iconic goal as the first bundesliga one for the club…. jobe my boy
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Borrowed Names & Broken Promises
An Andy Biersack love story
Chapter 20 - The Secret of Anastasia
The interstate continued to hum beneath them, a low-frequency vibration that seemed to anchor them to the earth even as they chased the horizon. Inside the bunk, the world had shrunk to the few inches of space between their heartbeats. The air was warm and heavy, thick with the scent of clean skin, the fading ghost of American Spirits, and the crushing weight of a decade’s worth of secrets finally being exhaled.
Andy didn’t pull away. He stayed tangled with her, his long, ink-stained limbs weaving around hers as if he were trying to physically stitch their stories together. He shifted, resting his chin on the top of her head, his chest rising and falling in a deep, melodic rhythm that she felt in her own bones.
“Nine years,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against her temple. “You were out there for nine years. Just a few feet away from me at festivals, behind a merch table in some humid club… and I didn’t find you until three weeks ago. It feels like a tragedy. Like we wasted half a life.”
She reached up, her fingers tracing the intricate lines of the tattoos on his forearm, feeling the slight, raised ridges of the ink. “It wasn’t a waste, Andy. I was learning how to survive the cold. You were learning how to carry the weight of being a king. Maybe if we’d met sooner, we would have just turned each other to ash.”
Andy tightened his grip, his hand splaying across the small of her back, pulling her so flush against him that she could feel the frantic, steady drum of his heart. “I don’t think so,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I think I would have recognized you even then. The girl in the back of the room with the notebooks… I used to wonder who you were writing to. I used to look for you without even knowing your name.”
She shifted, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. The blue light of the bus cabin made his eyes look like deep water, swirling with a vulnerability that most of the world would never be allowed to see. She felt the truth rising in her throat—the weight of the identity she had constructed like a fortress.
“You know me as Lennon Cross,” she whispered, the words trembling. “I picked it when I was sixteen. Lennon… because of John. Because I wanted to believe in something better. And Cross… because I needed to draw a line in the dirt that no one was allowed to step over again. It was a boundary, Andy. A warning.”
She took a shaky breath, her fingers clutching his arms.
“But it’s not the name on my birth certificate,” she said, the syllables feeling heavy and strange on her tongue. “My real name is Anastasia. I left it in a bedroom I never went back to nine years ago. I thought if I buried it, the things that happened to her couldn’t find me.”
Andy went still, his eyes searching hers with a quiet, intense focus. He didn’t interrupt; he simply waited, giving her the space to exist in her entirety.
“I want you to know it,” she continued, her voice breaking. “I want you to be the only person in this world who holds it. Because I love you, Andy. I love you so much it makes me want to stop running. But… please keep calling me Lenny. Lenny is the one who found you. Lenny is the one who isn’t afraid.”
Andy’s expression softened into something so profoundly tender it was almost painful to look at. He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hitching as he absorbed the magnitude of what she’d just given him.
“Anastasia,” he breathed, the name a sacred secret whispered into the dark. “I’ve got you. I’ve got all of you. The girl who ran and the woman who stayed.”
He closed the distance, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was slow, deep, and thick with the promise of a future he hadn’t believed in until three weeks ago. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were wet, shimmering in the shadows.
“I’m not letting you go back to being a ghost, Anastasia Cross,” he promised, his voice fierce and steady. “And I’m never calling you a runaway again. Because as far as I’m concerned, you’re home.”
They lay there in the quiet afterglow, two broken things that had finally found the piece that made them whole, as the bus crossed the state line into the light of a brand-new day.
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Borrowed Names & Broken Promises
An Andy Biersack love story
Chapter 19 - The Quietest Mile
The bus leaned into a long, sweeping curve, the vibration of the engine humming through the mattress like a living thing. Inside the velvet-lined darkness of the bunk, the air was thick, charged with a heavy, electric silence. For years, Lenny had been a ghost in the machine—a sixteen-year-old runaway who had traded a broken home for the calloused sanctuary of the road, hopping from tour to tour just to keep a roof over her head. She had been with the Black Veil Brides crew for three years, a fixture behind the merch table, but she had always stayed in the shadows, a silent observer of the chaos.
Until three weeks ago. Until a chance conversation in a rain-slicked alleyway in Philly turned into hours of whispered truths behind the equipment trailers. Tonight, the distance between the “King” and the girl who had spent nine years running finally collapsed.
Andy’s touch was no longer frantic; it had shifted into something aching and reverent. His hands, long and scarred, moved over her with a slow, trembling wonder, as if he were trying to reconcile the girl who had been a fixture in his periphery with the woman now tangled in his sheets. He traced the line of her throat, his thumb grazing the frantic pulse point that matched the rhythm of his own.
“Lenny,” he whispered, her name sounding like a confession.
He kissed her, and it wasn’t the jagged, adrenaline-fueled claim from the wings. This was a slow-motion surrender. It tasted of the peppermint on his breath and the salt of the night’s exertion, but mostly, it tasted like the truth. He pulled back just an inch, his blue eyes searching hers in the dim blue light, looking for permission to finally put down the crown.
“I’ve spent my whole life feeling like a temporary person,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he tucked a dark lock of hair behind her ear. “I felt like I was made of glass and stage lights. But these last few weeks… talking to you… I feel solid. I feel like I’m finally allowed to stay.”
Lenny reached up, her hands sliding under the hem of his shirt to find the scorching, solid heat of his skin. She felt the jagged map of his tattoos and the frantic thud of his heart against her palms. “I’ve been running for nine years, Andy,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I learned how to disappear before I learned how to drive. But when I’m with you, I don’t want to run anymore. I want to be found.”
When he moved over her, the cramped, narrow space of the bunk seemed to expand, becoming a sanctuary built for two. Every touch was an unspoken vow, a silent apology for the years they had spent mere feet apart without truly seeing one another. He worshipped her with a quiet, fierce intensity, his lips tracing the curve of her shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against her skin. It was a slow unfolding, a peeling back of every defense until there was nothing left but the raw, aching reality of them.
As they finally came together, the world outside the bus—the screaming fans, the critics, the crushing weight of his own legend—dissolved into static. There was only the rhythmic sway of the interstate and the searing, skin-to-skin truth of her in his arms.
“I love you,” he breathed into the crook of her neck, the words sounding like a prayer he had been too afraid to speak until he met her eyes in that alleyway. He gripped her hand, his fingers lacing through hers so tightly it felt like they were fusing together. “I love you so much it’s terrifying. I don’t know how to do this without breaking.”
Lenny arched into him, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the absolute weight of his devotion. “Then break,” she whispered, her voice a steady anchor. “I’ll just put the pieces back together. I’m not going anywhere, Andy. I’m right here.”
In that moment, she wasn’t just the runaway who had survived on the road, and he wasn’t a rockstar. They were two people who had found the only thing that made the noise stop. He moved with her, his forehead pressed to hers, his eyes locked on hers until the very end, as if he were memorizing the way she looked when she was entirely, undeniably his.
The “King” was dead. In the quiet, rolling dark of the I-70, there was only Andy—and he had finally, truly come home.
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Borrowed Names & Broken Promises
An Andy Biersack love story
Chapter 12 - The Only Thing That’s Real
The stillness of the back lounge didn’t just break; it was detonated by the sound of a soul coming apart.
A jagged, choked sound tore from Andy’s throat—a stifled plea that never quite reached a scream, sounding like a man losing the last of his air underwater. His body jolted against the mattress, a violent, kinetic spasm of muscles trying to outrun a memory. His hands, usually so deliberate and commanding under the stage lights, were clawing at the empty air, his fingernails dragging against the sheets as his breathing came in terrified, shallow hitches.
“Andy! Andy, hey—look at me. Right here.”
Lenny was awake before his eyes even opened. She didn’t pull away from the frantic chaos of his movement; she threw herself into it. She pinned his trembling hands beneath hers, using her own body weight to ground him, and pressed her cool forehead against his burning, sweat-slicked skin.
“You’re on the bus. We’re past Chicago. I’m right here,” she whispered, her voice a low, steady vibration designed to cut through the static in his head. “Breathe with me. In for four, out for four. Come on, Andy. Find my voice. Focus on the sound of it.”
His eyes snapped open—wild, dilated, and darting around the dim amber shadows of the cabin. For a terrifying beat, he looked straight through her, still trapped in a 2010 nightmare of flashing lights and suffocating expectations. Then, the recognition hit. The glassiness in his eyes shattered, and he slumped back into the pillows, his chest heaving as he pulled her into him with a desperate, crushing strength.
“I’m here,” she breathed into the damp mess of his hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I can’t… I can’t stay in here,” he rasped, his voice sounding like it had been scraped over broken glass. “I need air. I need the walls to move.”
They moved like ghosts through the narrow hallway. The galley was bathed in the pale, ghostly blue of the moonlight filtering through the skylights, casting long, skeletal shadows across the laminate floor. The bus was unnervingly silent; the boys had finally filtered into their bunks, the heavy, dark privacy curtains drawn tight. Lonny, CC, Jake, and Jinxx were asleep, but the very stillness of the bus felt like an audience to the secret they were carrying.
Andy sat at the small kitchenette table, his tall frame hunched over as if he were trying to fold himself small enough to disappear. Lenny moved quietly, grabbing his pack of American Spirits and a lighter. She sat across from him, sparking the flame and handing him the first cigarette.
The cherry glowed bright in the dim blue light, illuminating the hollows of his cheeks and the raw, unmasked vulnerability in his eyes. He took a long, shaky drag, the smoke veiling his face.
“I started this band in 2006,” Andy said suddenly, his voice a low vibration that seemed to come from his very marrow. He didn’t look at her; he watched the smoke curl toward the vent. “I was just a kid in Ohio with a dream that felt like a weapon. I built this world because the real one didn’t have a place for me. Then 2010 hit, and suddenly the weapon was pointed at me. Everyone wanted the ‘King.’ Everyone wanted the warpaint.”
He took another drag, his thumb tracing the scars on his knuckles. “I thought if I built the wall high enough—if I made the persona loud enough—the person underneath wouldn’t matter. But the higher the wall, the more lonely it gets inside. I’ve spent twenty years of my life being what they needed me to be. I’ve spent six years of my life on this bus with Lonny, and he’s had to listen to me pace these floors until dawn because the silence felt like it was going to swallow me whole.”
He finally looked at her, and Lenny felt the air leave her lungs. There was a devastating, naked honesty in his gaze.
“But with you… the noise just stops,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Being around you, Lennon… it’s the first time I’ve actually felt safe. In twenty years.”
Lenny looked down at the cigarette in her own hand, the ash trembling. The weight of his confession was pulling at the threads of her armor—the armor she’d spent nearly a decade perfecting in the shadows.
“I’m terrified, Andy,” she admitted, her voice so small it was almost lost to the hum of the engine. She looked up, her eyes shimmering. “I’ve spent nine years being a ghost. Nine years using names that weren’t mine because if nobody knows who you are, they can’t break you. I’ve stayed 'weightless’ so I could run the second things got heavy. I’m an expert at leaving.”
She reached across the table, her fingers grazing his knuckles, feeling the scorching heat of his skin.
“You’re the first person I’ve let get close enough to see my real face in nine years,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to stay. I’m scared that if I stop running, everything I’ve been hiding from will finally catch up to me.”
Andy didn’t pull away. He turned his hand over, interlacing his fingers with hers and squeezing with a fierce, grounding heat that felt like a vow. He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made the rest of the world fall away.
“Then we’ll face it together,” he said, his voice dropping to a vulnerable, absolute whisper. “Because when I have you in my arms… when I can feel you breathing… it’s the only thing that reminds me that everything is actually going to be okay. That I’m going to be okay. You’re the anchor, Lennon. Don’t go back to being a ghost.”
In the quiet blue light of the kitchenette, two runaways finally stopped looking for the exit. They sat there, sharing the smoke and the truth, while the rest of the world slept on the other side of the curtains.
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Borrowed Names & Broken Promises
An Andy Biersack love story
Chapter 9 - Andy’s Gravity
The dressing room door didn’t just close; it sealed the world away. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ozone, hairspray, and the metallic, electric tang that lingered after a blackout. Usually, this room was a battlefield of high-fives, shouted critiques, and the manic, rattling adrenaline of five men who had just conquered three thousand.
Tonight, it was a tomb.
CC slumped into a moth-eaten velvet armchair, his drumsticks—usually an extension of his own restless limbs—clattering to the floor. He didn’t reach for them. He stared at the scuffed industrial carpet, his chest heaving, his face drained of its usual neon vibrance.
“Did you see his eyes?” CC’s voice was a jagged whisper, stripped of its theatrical edge. “I’ve been sitting behind that man for fifteen years. I’ve seen him split his head open on a monitor and keep singing. I’ve seen him so sick he was puking in a bucket between verses. But I’ve never seen him… extinguished.”
“He wasn’t extinguished,” Lonny said, leaning his back against the cold brick wall. He reached up to wipe a smear of black kohl from his jaw, his hand trembling just enough to notice. “He was surrendered. There’s a difference.”
Jake paced the small length of the room like a caged animal, the heels of his boots clicking with a frantic, rhythmic precision. He stopped at the vanity, staring at the row of water bottles Lenny had lined up earlier—each cap loosened just enough for a quick grab, each one labeled with a name. His gaze lingered on the neatness of it, the quiet, invisible care she had been weaving into their lives for three weeks.
“We all knew he was redlining,” Jake muttered, his voice tight with a suppressed, protective anger. “He carries the whole damn Army on his back. He carries the label, the legacy, the ‘King’ bullshit. I think we just saw the moment the gravity finally won. The moment the crown got too heavy to even hold his head up.”
“It wasn’t just the gravity,” Jinxx interrupted.
He was the only one still standing by the door, his violin case gripped in a white-knuckled fist. He looked like a man who had just watched a miracle and was still vibrating from the shock of it.
“Andy doesn’t let go,” Jinxx continued, his voice low and resonant with a strange, fierce pride. “He’d rather break into a thousand pieces than let anyone see him fall. But did you see her? Did you see Lennon?”
The room went still. They all remembered the image: the tiny, silver-haired girl with the stolen name, bracing her spine against iron flight cases, taking the full, crushing weight of a collapsing rockstar and not giving a single inch.
“She didn’t flinch,” Jinxx whispered, his eyes shining with an older brother’s devastating clarity. “She didn’t panic. She didn’t call for a medic. She just… caught him. Like she’d been waiting her whole life to be the ground he landed on. She was the only thing in this entire building that was more solid than he was.”
“She’s the anchor,” CC breathed, a slow, somber realization dawning on his face. “The King finally found someone who isn’t afraid of the wreckage inside him. Someone who doesn’t want the crown—just the man underneath it.”
“If the fans find out… if the press sees that he’s that fragile,” Jake started, his protective instincts flaring.
“Then they’ll have to go through us,” Lonny snapped, his eyes hardening into flint. “She’s kin now. She told us her story—the running, the father, the cage she escaped. She chose this madness. And after what I just saw in the wings? I think she’s the only reason he’s still breathing.”
The heavy brass handle of the door rattled. The sound was slow, labored—the sound of someone leaning their entire body weight against the wood.
The room held its breath.
The door swung open. Andy was draped over Lenny, his arm hooked around her neck, his large hand buried deep in the shoulder of her denim jacket as if he were still drowning and she was the only air left in the room. He looked decimated—hair matted, face a blurred mask of sweat and ink, his eyes half-closed.
But Lenny was walking him in. Her jaw was set in a line of iron, her eyes blazing with a terrifying, holy protectiveness. She scanned the room, her gaze locking onto each of them in turn, a silent, lethal warning: Don’t you dare say a word.
The band didn’t joke. They didn’t cheer. They didn’t even move. One by one, they stood up in a silent, collective salute. It wasn’t for the frontman. It was for the girl who had caught the man they all loved, and for the man who was finally, for the first time in his life, brave enough to let himself be held.
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trying to get tickets to a bvb match is genuinely a nightmare if you are not a german and not a member :)
pls your girl just wants to cry out of happiness when she sees her team, lose her voice during the match and live out her dream. ONCE. 😩
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𝖗𝖊-𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖘. † 𝖆.𝖇. — MASTERLIST.
enemies to lovers.andy biersack x ofc.
WARNINGS: alcohol/drug use, depression/suicide, domestic violence, child abuse. 18+ MDNI.
. ✦ ⋆. . ˚
[[MORE]]✦ MOODBOARD.
✦ INDEX.
01: IT’S NOT A FASHION STATEMENT, IT’S A DEATHWISH.
02: SOFT SPINE.
03: THROW THE FIRST STONE.
04: GLASS HOUSES.