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hiskillingjar · 20 days

Note

Hey! I hope you're having a nice day. I'm the anon that asked about the inside names a while ago, I really appreciate you getting out of your way to answer me! <3. I was thinking, could you please write Ren x Strade where Ren gets jealous of one of the new victims and Strade "consoles" him by letting him watch TV with him in the sofa and *maybe* having some fun only the two of them? I firmly believe that Strade canonically did those kind of things (even if we didn't see it) to keep Ren closer and not make him want to escape. You're free to decline the request btw, no pressure intended! Hope you have a great day (:

huh…the poison really DOES drip through (that's a succession reference because i enjoy quality television)

1700+ words, she/her for a fem mc

Ren had grown accustomed to his new routine in Strade’s domain, for lack of a better word.

In the mornings (or early afternoons), he’d wake up, make breakfast, clean up after himself, then maybe, occupy his time with a new show or his filtered internet access. Mid-day, he’d eat lunch, take a nap, and, of course, try not to get himself killed (an important task!) In the evenings, if he made it that long, he’d make dinner, clean up, and maybe have a bath to balm his new wounds, before going to bed.

Then the cycle would start all over again, day after day.

It was easy, despite the danger, and it was stable, and though he was smart enough to know that this wasn't what a life should be, living like a captive animal, too scared to make even one mistake lest he be punished for it, there was a certain comfort to knowing exactly what he was going to do, every day for the rest of his life.

Hence, his irritation when a new pet had come in and fucked all that up.

And hence why now he was cleaning up after a dinner he hadn't even made (or enjoyed enough to warrant his exchange of chores. She was a vegetarian, for god's sake.)

He seethed silently to himself, dragging the metal scouring sponge up and down a greasy frying pan, sticky with brown sauce and burnt tofu, turning the dishwater a muddy brown colour.

This was just about the chores, he told himself, this was about the disruption to his routine throwing him out of wack and disorientating him, it was just that.

His anger surely had nothing to do with the beaming smile Strade gave her when she presented dinner, reminding the young man of a husband and a new (inexperienced) wife, or the way he pet her hair all the while as he ate, or even the way he complimented the meal, commenting that she should make dinner more often, because "Ren's got a routine about his cooking" and he’d grown bored of it.

It was nothing to do with that, surely.

No way.

“God, I can see that scowl from the other room.”

Ren let out a surprised yip when he heard Strade’s voice, dropping the pan in the soapy water and soaking the front of his tank top.

He always had a way of sneaking up on him.

“S-Strade,” Ren replied, looking over his shoulder to the older man, who was idling in the doorway of the kitchen, picking his teeth. “Sorry, I, um…I’m just doing the dishes.”

“I can see that,” Strade replied as if it was obvious (and it was) before he crossed the threshold of the kitchen and paced towards the younger man. "You're looking pretty dour, Ren. Why the long face, hm?" He then asked, raising a brow and leaning against the kitchen island, his hip slightly cocked.

"It's…it’s nothing," Ren murmured softly, his gaze going back and switching between his shaking hands, bunched up in the front of his murky grey tank top, and the dirty dishwater where the pan was still waiting to be cleaned.

"It's not nothing, otherwise you wouldn't be in such a mood," Strade retorted with a huffed chuckle. "Come on, tell me what's on your mind. I can’t deal with you acting bitchy for the rest of the evening."

"I just..." Ren sighed, forcing himself to relax. He had a tendency to be on edge around Strade, though.

“Just?” Strade drawled out. “Don’t lie to me, Ren. You know how bad you are at it.”

"I…” Ren’s voice was barely a whisper as he glanced off to the side, his face heating up and feeling hot. “I miss you, I suppose."

"You…miss me?" Strade sounded genuinely surprised as he took a step closer, encroaching on the younger man’s space, as he so often did. "Well, that’s pretty silly. We live in the same house, buddy. I see you every day."

"You know what I mean," Ren replied quietly, biting his lip, his sharp, little fangs hooking over his lips and marking them with stark indentations, about to bleed. "It’s like….since you picked up the new girl, it's just been...different, ya know. Like, with everything and not just…mm, between us."

Strade was quiet for a good while, his golden eyes drifting upwards with thought, before he let out a good-humoured chuckle (low and pleasant and rumbling), shaking his head fondly as he stepped even closer to the young man and slid his big palm along the exposed skin of his back.

"Are you jealous, Ren?" Strade murmured, his voice low and almost teasing.

"Of course, I'm fucking jealous," Ren replied openly (he was never good at lying anyway), his voice an irritated rasp as his extremities bristled with nervous (quietly delighted) energy at being touched so intimately. "I’m all alone and you've got a new...thing to play with. She's even doing all my chores, like...like you're husband and wife or something"

"Mm," Strade hummed with subdued amusement, resting his stubbly chin on Ren's shoulder and rubbing at the space where his skin and tail met. It was incredibly sensitive. "See, I always thought you didn't like my games...you fought back hard enough that I thought that way, anyway..."

"I-I don't," Ren said, his fingers curling into tight fists, trying to ignore the little jolts of pleasure that shot through his back as Strade pressed his thumb against the nub of flesh at the base of his tail. "But I, ah...i-it was worth it when you were nice to me, you know. Now, you just...ignore me. I hate it."

"Hmph," Strade huffed out a chuckle, so effortlessly charming, so easily likeable, no wonder he had no trouble picking up new prey. "Come now, there's no reason to be jealous. You know you're my first, don't you, fuchs?"

Ren said nothing but shivered as he felt Strade lean in even closer, felt his hot breath on his skin, the warmth and lowness of his accent when he said his pet name for the younger man enough to make every part of his body throb with desperate, needing want.

He was a sucker, that was for damn sure.

"You'll always be my first. Having someone new here doesn't get rid of that." Strade's hand ran further down, stroking over his tail before landing on his backside, giving it a firm grope. "There really is no reason at all to be jealous of someone new...though I have to admit, it's incredibly cute."

"Strade-" Ren whimpered, shaking hands gripping the edge of the marble counter (expensive, bespoke, how much blood had been spilt for him to afford this kitchen, this house, this life?)

"If I were a worse person, I'd use that to my advantage, you know." He continued, his fingers greedily palming Ren's ass before slipping beneath his shorts and reaching to the front. cupping and squeezing his slowly hardening cock as he pressed his cheek to Ren's, stubble-dotted skin against his, smooth and youthful and ripe for the taking. "Take this opportunity to see you really rip into my new pet, tear her apart, just for you to prove how loyal you are to me."

Ren bit his lip hard enough that he felt the slow trickle of blood bead down his chin, but the pain didn't deter him from shifting his hips forward and seeking more of Strade's warm grip.

"But, well..." The older man mused. "I'm pretty bad, but I'm not that bad."

"Mm," Ren moaned, bringing his fist to his lips to keep himself quiet (and to wipe away the blood) as Strade worked his cock to full hardness, his knot swelling with blood. "You're awful..."

"Ah, I don't think you mind," He quipped with another low chuckle, pressing his lips to Ren's cheek and squeezing him a little tighter. "Otherwise you wouldn't be jealous."

"Ngh-" Ren's hands went down to Strade's, his weak grip pulling at his wrist and his hips shifting forward even more, desperate for any degree of attention that the older man would give him, no matter the cost.

"You're my boy, Ren," Strade reminded him, his lips trailing down his trembling jaw, in a gesture as close to a kiss that someone like Strade could manage. "My number one. I'll never be able to replace that. You do know that, don’t you?"

"Mmhmm, yeah," Ren stammered, his voice weak and quiet and so utterly submissive that it made his legs (and cock) twitch. "I'm...mm, I'm your boy..."

"Yeah, you are," Strade growled indulgently, pushing his own hips forward and letting Ren feel the growing hardness of his cock through his khakis. "I hope you don't forget that, fuchs...I'd hate to have to remind you."

"Mm...n-no, sir," Ren replied quickly with a jerked nod of his head. "I won't forget, promise."

"Good boy," Strade praised, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head (right next to his twitching ear) and prying himself away, idly groping his cock as he did so but looking as casual and easy and so fucking untouchable, like he always did. "Hey, how about we have a night together, just us two?"

"H-Huh?" Ren looked towards the older man with a confused look (apparently unaware or uncaring just how much his cock was tenting his loose shorts).

"Yeah, I've got one of those, ah…those nature shows you like recorded." He beamed, just as he had with the girl when she'd made dinner, and it was enough to make Ren’s heart hurt. "How about it? Boy's night?"

Ren didn't care about nature shows.

But Strade did, and it was one of the few things they actually did together, before the girl had interrupted their peace.

So, Ren smiled back, his tail wagging and his ears perked up high on his head.

"Y-Yeah! That sounds...really great." He nodded eagerly. "Um, let me just finish the dishes and then we can...yeah, watch it."

"Wunderschon," Strade laughed handsomely and crossed his thick arms over his chest. "That’s great, I'll get it queued up.” He turned to leave the kitchen. “But don't take long, buddy, or I'll start without you."

"Sure, won't take long." Ren smiled to himself again, turning back to the dishes.

"Oh, and Ren?"

"Hm?"

"You really should warm up to our new guest already, hm? I never said I minded sharing her with you...and she's a better fuck than you probably give her credit for~"

#ren hana #strade btd #ren btd #strade x ren #qs #drabbles #fics #hey. it's okay. incest allegories.#i'm in the office hence the writing lol

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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wallflower 6

Warnings: age gap, creepin’, slow burn, stepdad-adjacent, possible noncon/dubcon, abuse, violence, self-harm.

Character: silverfox!Thor

Your mother meets a new man, but he doesn’t seem very interested in her.

Note: Here we go again. Another erratic drabble series. Appreciate any and all feedback. Love you all.

“Please, you don’t have to,” Thor says as he places the stack of dishes beside the sink as you run the faucet and test the water with your fingers. “You’re my guest, just as your mother is.”

“I want to. It’s only polite.”

“You can leave them,” he suggests, “come and enjoy the evening with your mother. I can put on some coffee or tea–”

“Oh, I can do that,” you offer to the sink as you put the stopper in, “just tell me where everything is.”

“Honey,” he intones, “really, I don’t feel right having you and letting you do all this.”

You keep your eyes on the rising water as you add soap and bubbles foam over the surface, “I don’t feel right not doing it.”

He lets out a breath and clicks his tongue, “yes, I know.”

“Really, it’s not a big deal,” you shift the plates carefully into the hot water as he lingers close, adding to the heat of the steam roiling from the faucet.

“Hm,” he sounds unhappy and you squirm as you wet the sponge, “the coffee is above the toaster, tea too. Kettle just over there… if you need help, please ask.”

“Thank you,” you murmur as you plunge your hands into the sink.

“I feel as if I should thank you,” he says as he gives a gentle brush along your back.

You say nothing and keep your attention on the dishes. You hold your breath until he leaves, his steps reluctant and dawdling. When you dare to look back, you drop your shoulders and let yourself relax. You’re thankful for the excuse to be alone.

The familiar clunk of dishes muffled under the suds keeps you distracted as your eyes wander across the granite counter. The stainless steel toaster shines, each appliance the same sparkling sheen. You set the plates in the rack, ignoring the dishwasher as you note the kettle against the wall and the little crystal dish of sugar.

It doesn’t take long to finish the washing and you dry each piece, searching the cupboards and drawers for their place. When all is away, you flip on the kettle and venture across the foyer to the living room, your mother’s manufactured laughter guiding your way.

You stop in the doorway as she stands behind Thor as he sits in a chair. She rubs his chest from behind as she bends over the back of the recliner and mutters into his hair. He grimaces at the room as she lets her hand stray further.

“Er,” you clear your throat, “would you like coffee or tea?”

Thor catches your mother’s hands and pushes them off him, “please, enough. Sorry, honey–”

“I would prefer you leave us alone,” your mother snaps as she stands, wobbling slightly as she slurs.

“Kat,” Thor retorts as he sits up, “I’d like some tea, the breakfast blend is fine, and I think your mother would do well with some coffee.”

“I haven’t finished my wine,” she pouts and she rustles his hair, pulling a few strands loose from the twisted bun.

“Maybe it would be better if you didn’t,” Thor gets up and sighs, pacing across the floor, “did you need any help with that, honey?”

“N-no,” you give a look to your mother as she glowers at you from behind Thor, “no, please, I’m fine. I’ll go… get it on.”

“I’ll be here if you need me,” he offers.

You spin on your heel, fleeing from the doorway. Your mother’s voice floats out behind you, “I need you,” she purrs, “I could pay for her taxi and we could–”

He grunts but you hear nothing else as you enter the haven of the kitchen. You search for the box of breakfast tea before setting up the machine. It’s slightly different than the one at home and takes you a bit of fumbling to get the filter out, but you loud it and push several buttons before it brews.

You bounce on your heels as you wait, wandering back and forth as the kettle slowly comes to a boil and the aroma of coffee fills the air. You pour the hot water over the sachets. You twine your fingers together and bite your knuckles nervously. How long until you can leave? Your mother hardly seems in a rush but you’re only getting in the way.

“Hey, honey,” Thor’s voice draws you around, startling you, “your mother’s not doing so well, I’m going to put her in a spare room. I was gonna tell you not to bother with the coffee but…”

“Oh, sorry,” you tug on your finger, almost until it pops from the socket. He notices the nervous tick but doesn’t mention it.

“No sorry needed, if you’re still up to meet Fen, you can take your tea to the living room.”

“Okay, is mom okay?”

“She’s just had a bit much,” he assures you.

You nod and turn back to the counter. You near and pull out a tea bag. His shadow looms behind you for a moment before he goes. You toss out the used sachets and go to the fridge. You add a small bit of milk to your cup and leave his on the counter as you stop the grinding coffee machine.

The front room is empty as you enter. Uncertain, you put your cup on a wooden coaster and sit on the edge of the chair next to the square end table. You clutch your hands in your lap and stare at your socks. Maybe you should go see if your mom’s alright. It’s not completely unexpected, you often find her passed out on the couch after one of her girls’ nights.

Before you can muster the courage to go check in, Thor appears, carrying his mug with him. He smiles and puts it near the recliner.

“The couch is cozy,” he suggests and gestures to the chair you sit in, “that old thing is stiff as bones.”

“I’m okay,” you assure him as you pick at a fingernail.

“Shall I fetch the old beast?” He asks playfully.

“Um, sure, if you think… it’s alright.”

“Give me a sec, honey.”

He leaves again and you let your eyes crawl around the room. Your mother’s stockings are crumpled up on the floor and her wine glass is empty. Her fourth by your count. You’re almost embarrassed until you think of how ashamed she must be of you.

You hear claws tapping on the floor and sit up, watching the door expectantly. A great grey hound bounds in as Thor chases in after him.

“--back here, you oaf, god–” he stops himself as the dog nears you, “he slipped his collar.”

Thor holds up the thick band as the dog sniffs at you eagerly, wetting your knuckles with his long snout. He’s huge, his grey fur wiry and long, his grey eyes curiously as he looks at you, his nose nearly touching yours as he raises his head. In a moment, he hops up and the chair creaks under his weight as he forces himself into your lap, draping over you as you lean back and let out a squeak of surprise.

“Fenrir, don’t crush the kitten,” Thor booms and hurries towards you.

“It’s fine,” you gulp under the weight, “he’s being friendly.”

You pet him and he wiggles, bound to fall right off of you in his excitement.

“It’s rude,” he says tersely as he waggles his finger at the defiant dog, “but he does seem to like you. He’s usually a bit more standoffish.”

Fen lifts his head and twists to lick your cheek with his large tongue, you giggle and drag your hand over his side.

“He’s funny,” you let yourself smile as the dog’s warmth calms you, “I always wanted a puppy.”

“Ah, yes,” Thor hovers cautiously, ready to rein in the hound at any moment, “I wouldn’t exactly call him a puppy.”

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #drabble #wallflower #dark drabble #dark!drabble #drabble series #au #silverfox!thor #mcu #marvel #avengers

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thewertsearch · 1 year

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AT: i JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND, wHY, AT: wE CAN'T DO THIS THE EASY WAY, AG: What good would that do you? AG: Whatever the purpose of this game is, it makes you work hard for it! AG: That way you 8ecome stronger along the way and you are 8etter prepared for whatever's next.

I agree with Vriska, insofar that I do think the game is designed to challenge its Players, through slowly escalating trials. This has been my theory for quite a while, and it’s nice to see the characters are on the same page.

However, I think Vriska has taken this idea, filtered it through her worldview, and come to a very Vriska-like, very incorrect conclusion. She seems to think she needs to help this process along - that she should manually force Tavros to grow stronger, through whatever pain and hardship she can come up with. I’m sure it helps that she wanted to do that to him anyway.

Absolutely nothing we've seen supports this - indeed, Sgrub is very obviously trying to get the trolls to cooperate, seemingly tricking them into merging their ‘competing’ teams together into one single get-along session. Sgrub’s ‘hardships’ are supposed to come from the game, and the Players are supposed to tackle them together.

AG: Remem8er when we used to flarp together???????? It was the exact same principle. And that's why you were always outmatched! You were too soft and not well prepared.

Actually, I seem to recall that Tavros never let you win.

Funny how you seem to ‘forget’ that - particularly when there’s no one around with the guts to correct you.

AG: Nothing comes easy, Tavros. That is why we go through the trials in the 8rooding caverns when we are young. AG: To make sure we are strong when we come out!

Vriska believes that what Alternia put them through was good for them - which is understandable, really. She’s reframed her brutal life as a sick sort of ‘training’, allowing her to pretend that nothing bad ever happened to her.

It was good. It made her a better, stronger troll.

AG: Do you remem8er the trials, Tavros? AT: nOT VERY WELL, nO, AG: Well, I do, and they were a 8itch. AG: 8ut now that I think a8out it, it would make perfect sense if your trials were really easy 8y some mistake. AG: That is why you are such a soggy phlegm sponge, and why you got picked 8y such a sad, frail little lusus!

And because Tavros didn’t get brutalized, he’s weak.

Which is a bad thing, of course. His stupid, sweet, caring, frail little lusus did him a disservice, and Vriska isn’t jealous at all.

AT: mAYBE i SHOULD ASK TINKERBULL ABOUT THIS, AT: hE'S REALLY SMART, nOW THAT HE CAN TALK, AG: No!!!!!!!! AG: You don't need help from your lame 8ull fairy. He is only holding you 8ack.

She’s not j8alous 8t all!!!!!!!!

#2350 #homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5 #s33

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angeltreasure · 11 months

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I saw something the other day I think another anon but it made me think so this is pathetic probs anyway like I know your answer esp because you’re a woman of God and I’m tryna get closer to him. Is outer beauty all that matters I know everyone is all different and God made us and things happen and inner beauty is what God sees too. One of my old friends said being ‘skinny’ and looking like a model and having perfect face is the goal and everything it just made me feel sad for all reasons

No. Outer beauty is not all that matters. We don’t stay young forever but money talks so that’s why you see all kinds of things people try in order to stretch their youth and make them appear younger. That’s why you see so many beauty product commercials, plastic surgeries, strange fashions worn by people clearly too old to wear them, photoshop photos for magazines and movies to slim down models and sexualize women, AI photo filters, people posting older photos as their profile picture to trick others, etc!

People will spend thousands and thousands of dollars to make themself appear to have eternal youth. Some go to extremes with surgery. Some try other methods not as expensive such as restrictive dieting, getting a new haircut, medication over the counter, using tiktok filters, etc. It ends up becoming trendy and leads younger and younger people to want a certain unattainable image. Then the younger crowd below them sees how they behave and try to copy them. Ballerinas look pretty when they dance but a lot of them suffer eating disorders.

Youth and prime don’t last forever. We age in this life if God wills that we live long enough. Over time, our cells don’t divide as fast so bruises and wounds take longer to heal. We get wrinkles and our skin can even feel rough. Our hair color will most likely change to grey and white depending on our genes. If we don’t use our muscles they can break down. Joints wear out. We can get stretch marks. Our fertility declines once reaching a certain age, or earlier from medical conditions and complications. Bones become sponge if we don’t take care of them. And more. Aging is normal. It’s supposed to be normal.

When we become skinny, there is a certain BMI that is dangerous depending on if we are male or female and how tall we are. Being super skinny or underweight isn’t without consequences. When people forcefully starve their own bodies to drop dramatically in weight, it can cause permanent organ damage. If we binge eat by forcing ourselves to throw up constantly you can damage all of your teeth and gums. Blood pressures drop causing you to pass out. White blood cell counts can start to decline, making it harder for your body to fight offensively against disease, and more. Eventually, once the body is too weak and when you stop eating altogether, you can even die. Please don’t try any of those eating disorders!

No one has a perfect face except God. We humans can’t even look upon in this life or we can literally die.

The goal is not to be a super skinny model for likes and attention and praise from men but rather, our true goal for you and I is to become saints. Don’t waste your life away in this life trying to give yourself the fountain of youth and materialism. Instead, store your treasures up in Heaven and keep the faith.

Don’t look to movie stars and Victoria Secret models. Look instead for our the example of Our Lady, Mary. She was so filled with grace and never sinned. She was full of virtue and was taken straight to Heaven. She was closest to Jesus. Look at her beauty instead and model after her wanting to do the will of God. Her beauty shines not by skinniness but by grace and love, Motherly love. Turn to our lady and our Lord and pray the Rosary. It is a powerful Bibical prayer that will get your mind off body appearances and instead to focus on the lives of Jesus and Mary. Turn away from worldly desires and instead, pray the Rosary each day and go to Mass.

#asks

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xxisxxisxxis · 2 years

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Gateway Drug: Volume II | Part One

Words: 5.2k

Warning(s): explicit language

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3 MONTHS LATER

"I'll be home for Christmas, you can count on me…" It filters through the pocket radio perched on my bathroom vanity as I finish off my lipstick, taking one last look at my curled hair in the mirror, my stomach turning as I let out a breath, clearing my throat and practicing my smile a couple times, dreading leaving the comfort of my bathroom.

"You're such a dork, Viv, why're you so nervous?" I snap at myself in a whisper, trying to catch my breath that runs further and further from me the longer I think about my husband waiting in the living room.

"Viv?" Mandy's voice calls from the other side of the door and I'm trying to snap out of it.

"Yeah?"

"You're ten minutes behind schedule." She politely reminds me like I had asked her to when I started getting ready.

"I'm coming." I tell her, turning off the radio and inhaling deeply, breathing it out and opening the door, meeting the step-mother of my baby boy. "Are you sure you guys will be alright staying so late? I really don't want to be a bother – "

" – Vivian, me and Duff have the baby. You go have some fun and relax." She assures me, and I hear Duff laughing in the living room, no doubt amused by our son.

"Okay." I say, swallowing the lump in my throat before pulling my heels on as she slips out of my room.

I follow once my shoes are on, stepping through the masses of Christmas decorations before walking past the kitchen, getting to the living room.

A Charlie Brown Christmas is on the T.V., and Duff's on the cream colored carpet with the baby in a t-shirt and boxers, blowing against the bottom of his little foot, getting him to kick and squeal as a big toothless smile comes to his face.

I watch the exchange, my heart further tugging at the idea of leaving him, but glancing at Nikki to see his attention has been pulled from his step-son and redirected onto me, his amused laughter halting as hungry eyes lick up from my feet to my hair, causing heat to rise up in my face.

I'm walking over to Duff, Mandy, and Monroe, his green eyes shifting to me, and he's smiling wider.

"Hey, handsome!" I pipe, Duff picking him up and handing me to him. "Ohh, my big man." I add, kissing at his cheek when I forget I'm wearing lipstick. "Oops, sorry," I chuckle, wiping at his cheek, smearing it. "Okay, bottles are in the fridge, they're ready to go just warm them up. Tommy fed him before you guys got here so don't give him his next one for another hour. He's still doing the thing when you lay him down at night where he cries for no reason. Remember how the doctor said just let him cry it out."

"Viv, I know, you've told me this a hundred times." Duff assures me, and I have to remind myself he's been soaking everything I’ve told him about our child like a sponge, and he's aware of the same things I am at this point.

"Right." I breathe out. "We should be back by midnight." I add, looking down at my ex-boyfriend who's got his happy eyes glued to our son.

"You can stay gone all night, we don't care." He says, and I know he means it, enjoying the time he's had to see his kid.

It just happened that Duff would have one day home after the birth of Monroe before he and the rest of Guns ‘N Roses were being swept away on tour with Aerosmith. It was a month-long spree, and then they toured with Alice Cooper, then Iron Maiden followed after that. By the time Duff got home, our newborn sprouted into his twin with a head full of brown hair, and was dressed in Christmas-themed onesies marked 3-6 months.

I think he freaked out when he realized how much he had missed in the few short months. Of course he would call, send letters, and when they returned he’d have a plethora of baby clothes/toys.

It helped me out that his family wanted to be as involved as they could be, two of his sisters coming to stay a couple weeks after he was born, his mother as well. Even Matt, who I had possibly dreaded seeing the most being that he was well aware that we had been fooling around long before anyone else knew — and had even warned Duff of this kinda thing at some point, I’m sure — was ecstatic to be with his nephew.

I expected some petty, catiness from Mandy, but there was none to be found. She was all for practically moving in to my house with me while Duff went on tour with the guys, and we didn't have anymore qualms. Like I stated before, she was really good to my son, and that's all that I cared about by that point.

Tommy also stayed an exuberant amount of time (An entire month straight with no interruptions), and by day 21 I asked, “Does Heather not mind you not being at home even though you’re in the same city?” To which he responded, “she’s working, anyway, she’s cool with it.”

I didn't realize how awesome he was with kids. It made sense since he himself was like a giant child, but he loved every moment of time with the new little man in my life – even when he would get shit on or covered in throwup.

Sharise helped me out, majorly, recommending brands she had used and tried with Skylar that worked the best for her.

It wasn't a hard adjustment for me, I was used to not getting much sleep at night and cleaning up puke, and once Monroe got to be a toddler and went through a phase of not wanting to keep his clothes on, I realized just how much Motley Crue had prepared me for motherhood.

As for Nikki and I, he and the boys had started writing for Dr. Feelgood, and we had decided that once I had gone through the eight weeks of healing – thanks to Monroe, for not wanting to just do what he was supposed to and forcing me to go through the fever dream that is caesarean delivery – every Saturday night was dedicated to a date night between the two of us. I thought it was a good plan and a great way to try to get back to how we were before had gotten married.

Except I completely forgot we were also screwing like rabbits before we got married, so our dates back then would always end happily and satisfied, whereas once we started dating again, he was so nervous he was scared to even touch my hand while I was used to him taking the lead and making all the first moves. So, whatever awkward dates I avoided in my teenage years had caught up with me in my mid-twenties through my own husband.

"Did you have a good day?" He asks me once we get into his car – the blacked out Mercedes I had told him not to get last year and he had gotten it anyway as a reward for sticking it out in rehab for the majority of the time he was supposed to.

"Yeah."

It's been decent, to say the least.

"I was gonna try to go down to my studio and see what all needed to be repaired and then go look at cars but Tommy absolutely forbade me." I add, looking at him. "He said I don't get to leave him since we haven't gotten to hangout much. So I didn't argue or tell him we'd've had more time to hangout over the years if he wouldn't have been so freaking insufferable from being loaded and lying to me all the time."

Nikki doesn't say anything, and I'm not sure if it's because he just doesn't have anything to say, or if he's trying not to get into all that.

I decide it's the latter, and offer up a, "sorry," still working on the skill of letting shit go – which believe it or not has become easier to do since I've had a kid.

As if everything that I saw as monumental before was just background noise compared to motherhood, now.

"So…" I start as we start down the street to get out of the neighborhood. "...Where are we going?"

"It's an early surprise for my birthday." He explains to me and I furrow my brows, looking at him.

"You're surprising me for your birthday that isn't for another, what, almost two weeks?" I ask him, and he licks his lips, nodding.

"Yeah."

"Sixx, if you bought me a car or a house or anything at all, other than dinner, I'm going to kick your ass." I promise, raising my brows.

"I don't have the money to do all of that right now." He chuckles as we head to town. "The only car you're getting from me is in your driveway." He adds, referring to my Corvette.

I've been hard at work looking for a new car that I can legally ride Monroe around in, having to use either Duff's or Mandy's car for the time being, though Nikki offered his Jeep up but I'm not comfortable driving it with Monroe in tow.

It doesn't feel sturdy enough to face a potential car accident.

He starts up again, and I look over at him, his straight hair that's just past his shoulders, now, so vividly black that I know he's dyed it recently, his skin has maintained it's healthy glow since sobriety, no longer a yuckish yellow hue to it or unnecessary claminess to accompany the track marks.

It's a little shocking how vastly different he looks now compared to a year ago, down to the way he offers me a warm smile when he looks at me now instead of a cold snarl followed by a slew of curses and topped off with addressing me as, "crazy bitch."

Though I'm not too prideful to admit I wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine either, at that time.

I'd provoke him for the hell of it sometimes, so those "crazy bitch"s I'd get were deserved…sometimes.

"...But after this album and this new tour, I'm buying you anything you want."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." He nods, smacking his gum.

"You know I don't care about that stuff, Nikki." I mumble, looking at my lap for a moment before pushing a strand of red hair behind my ear, and he looks at me for a second.

"I know that, Viv, but I do." He shrugs.

"I'm well aware." I scoff, rubbing my lips together. "Just, don't buy me a bunch of shit I don't ask for again and then call me ungrateful anytime we get into a fight."

"I'm not gonna do that, anymore, alright? But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna buy you nice things, either." He counters. "I wanna spoil you." He adds, smirking, "Starting with a nice dinner."

"How nice?" I nearly dread asking it, beginning to feel underdressed suddenly, despite the fact that I know I'm not.

All he does is look at me with a sly grin, one that made me question ripping his head off – and his clothes – simultaneously.

As suspected, his dinner was a trap.

We arrived at the posh restaurant only to be met by Gene Simmons and his girlfriend – Shannon.

I'd never been more tempted to try to impossibly shotgun a bottle of wine in my life than that night.

I take a prolonged drink of water, trying to listen as Mr. Simmons – who I refuse to call "Gene" to his face thanks to him practically undressing me with his eyes upon seeing me, exuberantly extending his hand and offering a cocky, "Call me Gene," before kissing the top of my hand – continues to hammer on about anything and everything me, Nikki, and his beautiful girlfriend will listen to.

Even Shannon, blonde hair falling over her shoulders, straightened, as wisps of a bangs framing her face, can't help but eventually roll her blue eyes and politely interrupt, "Genie, maybe let someone else speak."

She talks to him as if trying to coax a toddler to eat vegetables, though I learned long ago that it's the only way most people can get him to do anything he doesn't want to do.

"Okay, baby, okay," He sighs out in an almost condescending tone that Shannon brushes off before looking at me.

"How's your baby boy?" She asks innocently, despite the fact that the question has me nearly choking on my water for a moment while Nikki awkwardly fumbles with his rings.

"He's great." I answer her.

"How old is he, now?" She asks next.

"Um, he just turned three months last week." I reply, and Gene leans back in his chair before bluntly asking:

"Does he look like the blonde kid?"

I know he's referring to Duff, my nails biting into my palms as I try to remember what I've been telling myself for the last three months.

People are going to ask questions. Talk about it like it's not a weird situation, and it won't be a weird situation.

"He does, actually." I nod, and he looks at Nikki.

"I bet you're thrilled about that." He tries to sound like he's joking, but I know he's not as sarcastically throws it out to my husband, to which Nikki scoffs it off and says, "It is what it is, man."

"At this point, I'm sure everyone's just grateful that he's a healthy baby." Shannon eases the tension before it even really arises.

"Exactly." Nikki agrees, glancing at Gene.

"Well, I commend you for what you're doing. I wouldn't be able to try to make it work if I were you." He adds, raising his thick, black brows.

"You wouldn't be able to pull Vivian in the first place for you to be me." Nikki passive aggressively counters, his jaw clenching and unclenching despite his smile on his face as Shannon and I look at one another for a moment as if we're expecting to dodge from the table and let them duke it out – well, kind of. Gene doesn't seem like the type.

"Haha." Gene laughs it off with the same passiveness.

"I heard you on Howard Stern." Shannon starts next, and I feel the color drain from my face.

"Oh, yeah?"

"You two held it together really good – he was invasive. It would've given me the creeps if I had to be there." She says.

Shortly after I had Monroe and Appetite for Destruction flew off the charts and the band started blowing up big-time, Howard Stern wanted to sit down and talk with me and Duff about our unique predicament and Duff's forthcoming fame. It was just as weird as I had feared it would've been, and because of it I failed to mention even doing it to Tommy, Vince, Mick, and especially…

"Howard Stern? You were on Howard Stern?" Nikki asks as he looks at me with furrowed brows.

"This morning." I nod, licking my lips. "Duff and I went."

"For what?"

"To talk about the stuff that's happened, and Duff talked about Guns 'N Roses, and the album, and the tour, and stuff." I try to emphasize Duff's involvement and brush over the fact that I essentially got an interview with Howard Stern just for screwing my husband's friend and getting knocked up.

My sugar-coating doesn't work, however, Nikki's eyes staying on me while I drink more water to fill the gap of silence as Shannon looks as if she's in trouble for mentioning it while Mr. Simmons leans on his elbow, hand covering his mouth, hiding a smirk while he glances between the two of us.

I know we'll get into it on the way home tonight by the way he clears his throat, patting himself down before stating, "I forgot my wallet in the car, I'll be back in a second."

He offers a fake smile, patting my shoulder as he stands up and Shannon lets out a breath and smiles at me awkwardly.

"I'm gonna powder my nose." It's as if she's clawing to escape the quiet that has now engulfed our table, leaving me and her boyfriend alone so she can go to the bathroom, only for him to stare at me freely now, out from under the supervision of our significant others.

I stir my water with my straw, looking around for Nikki to come back as if he can walk at super-human speed.

I'd rather be arguing with him in the parking lot than sitting across from the man who's slept with over 2,000 women and allegedly has kept photo albums to document each conquest.

"Is that your natural hair color?" He asks me and I look at him.

"Yep…is that yours?" I nod to his jet black hair and he slowly cracks a smile.

"Yeah, it sure is." He states. "All the hair on my body is naturally colored, too." He adds. "And yours?"

"I don't like body hair." I say flatly, feeling I know where he's trying to go with this, his brows shooting up.

"Woah, they didn't say anything about that in Hustler." He retorts.

"It was Playboy." I correct him as he picks up his water glass.

"Porn is porn." He finishes off his drink, the bottom of it hitting the table as he puts it down. "And I personally think you should do more of it."

I get the same unsettled feeling I had in my stomach when Sparkie started to hit on me in a very abrupt and creepy way.

My face must be red because he furrows his brows, next, and says, "What? There's nothing to be embarrassed about. They were beautiful pictures." He adds. "Shannon's done Playboy before…"

"...Yeah." I try to sound as disinterested as I can, looking around for his girlfriend or Nikki.

"Maybe you two can do one together." He says next, smirking at the thought. "Or with me, for my own collection, of course." He offers smoothly, my throat drying up as well as other anatomical body parts, and I'm being snapped from my sudden need to throw up as Shannon comes back with a smile, plopping down in the chair, letting out a breath before kissing Gene's cheek.

Of course he glows under her affection, as if viewing it as worship, before he gives me one last glance while I wait for Nikki to return.

I never considered myself a prude, not really – especially not with flirting. I didn't mind when guys I was friends with laid on the pickup lines and heavy compliments, mostly because I knew that they knew nothing would've ever happened between us so it was more so a show of affection.

There was a distinct line between Robbin, Vince, or Stevie hitting on me, and then guys that were borderline giving the impression that they were entitled to me because they found me attractive.

And Gene had left me with the impression of being one of those guys.

The drive back to my house after dinner is awkwardly quiet, reminiscent of our trip home from Duff's wedding, though this time it's not Nikki's fear of me still being in love with Duff that keeps him so quiet, it's the fact I kept a decently big thing from him, again, and he's trying to bite his tongue to keep from getting into it with me.

I let out a breath and look at him, the silhouette of his toned bicep extending down his forearm to his wrist, connected to the single hand holding at the wheel of the car.

I’m wrestling myself not to reach over and run my hand along the warm skin of his arm and press kisses along his jaw while whispering how sorry I am for not telling him about the Howard Stern thing.

A couple years ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, it was an easy way to get out of an argument that we both utilized.

Trying to figure out what to say to him to start the inevitable conversation, I have to put an end to where my touch-starved train of thought is headed, knowing that we can’t solve our problems with sex anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the Howard thing.” I admit softly, hoping the tone of my voice is enough to melt some of his anger, being that a blowjob would be inappropriate right now. “I just didn’t want you to listen to it because I thought he’d be weird and creepy — and he was — but it was already a risk with Duff there, too, but he’s got a decent grip on his temper and takes stuff on the chin more than you do.” I explain.

He lets out a heavy huff of breath, not saying anything, his jaw tensing for a moment before relaxing, his hand adjusting on the wheel.

I have to pull my eyes away from him and look out the window, thinking of Gene to hopefully calm the ache that’s starting to grow the longer I’m sitting in close proximity to my husband.

It helps substantially, but it’s shot to hell when Nikki’s right hand falls to my thigh, his fingers having a stern hold to the flesh under them and my breath nearly hitches in my throat.

I want those fingers digging into my hips or wrapping tightly around my throat as he watches tears fall from my eyes from pleasure while he punishes me the way I know he wants to, despite the fact that we agreed to “wait” until marriage — more so our vow renewal on our anniversary in seven months.

Ever since that agreement, he hasn’t so much as given me a kiss on the cheek Goodnight.

“I’ll get over it.” He finally mumbles, ending the conversation there.

I figure it’s better for him to say that than start tearing into me the way he would’ve a year ago.

Once we get back to my house, he’s getting out of the car and opening the door for me, helping me out, before we head to the front door.

“Let’s never do that again.” I say, not wanting to go for the “that was fun” bullshit because it wasn’t.

“Yeah, Gene’s…” he trails off, trying to find the word to describe him.

“He made me uncomfortable, Nikki.” I say next.

“Same here.” He agrees.

“No, Nikki, he made me uncomfortable.” I repeat, blinking.

"What, he didn't say anything when I left, did he?" He questions, and I rub my lips together, my silence answering for itself. “You know, I wouldn’t have agreed to go out with him had I known you’d already had your fucking fill of creeps to last the rest of the month,Vivian, I’m sorry you got it back to back.” He says next, and I cross my arms.

“What the hell are you doing being friends with him anyway, Nikki? He's a dickhead."

"Because he called and I'm trying to do more than sit in the house and work on an album. I need to be more social – and you do, too – and I figured it couldn't hurt anything for us to be social together." He says as if this is an argument.

"I'm social." I snap back, furrowing my brows, and he acts as if he's trying not to laugh as he shoots back, "That's the biggest load of bullshit."

"Why the hell do you have to turn everything into an argument?!" I ask sharply.

"I'm just saying we needed to go out and be social with other people and you're flipping your shit."

"I am not flipping my shit." I reach for my house key in my purse, unlocking the door.

"Vivi – "

" – I can flip my shit if you want me to since you've clearly forgotten what that looks like." I say it as I open the door, only for him to pull it closed once more, grabbing at my hip to turn me to face him, gently shoving me against the door to trap me, his left hand flat against the door above my head, his right hand pointing in my face as he looks down at me and states, "I know what you're doing, and it's not gonna work," while he's trying to hide a smirk.

"What am I doing?" I ask, looking at his finger for a moment, resisting the urge to pull it into my mouth.

Perhaps on a subconscious level our bickering has been rewarded by the other person so many times in the past – ending in mind blowing orgasms – that it's something we (should I say 'me') fall into easily.

"We agreed not to do anything until June." He tells me.

"You won't even give me a goodnight kiss, though." I say, raising my brows.

"Because that always leads to more stuff."

"No, it doesn't."

"Viv."

I hate to admit that perhaps this is another time that he's better at this whole 'repairing our relationship' thing than I am.

"Just one. A little one." I look up at him, trying to give my best puppy dog eyes, and he licks his lips.

"No tongue." He adds.

"No tongue." I agree, rubbing my lips together as my eyes dart from his eyes to his lips.

"A little one." He repeats, getting a little closer to me.

"Barely noticeable." I reply, my breath hitching as he relents, leaning down fully to catch my lips with his, except the door swings open in full to reveal Mandy, immediately causing the both of us to dart from one another, clearing our throats awkwardly.

"Monroe woke up from the bickering." She tells us.

I can believe her words because the window facing the street, only a few feet from our door, is the same window his crib is beside.

"Sorry." I whisper, but she doesn't make a move to look at me, keeping her eyes on Nikki with a raised brow as if he's solely to blame as the baby whines behind her from the living room.

Duff must be rubbing off on her because she's no longer a fan of my husband, either.

"Sorry." Nikki doesn't bother trying to whisper because the damage is already done, though he does look at Mandy the same way she's looking at him, and I have to clear my throat again and say, "Well…", to get them to cut it out.

"I got it from here." I say to her and she steps aside so I can get into the house. "Goodnight." I look over my shoulder at Nikki.

"Goodnight. See ya later." He grins at me.

Mandy's looking between us and rolling her eyes.

"C'mon," She nudges me inside, shutting the door in Nikki's face.

I don't think Mandy was going out of her way to be a bitch – I think she just didn't like Nikki much. Shortly after I had Monroe, she had tried to set me up with a friend of hers, another musician in the punk scene, but I told her I wasn't interested in being with anyone else other than Nikki, and that wasn't ever going to change.

I'm not sure if she just had more time to really think about it and dwell since Duff had been gone more often after that, but her attitude toward my husband had turned somewhat sour, and I couldn't really blame her. Anyone else in my shoes would've left him, but she should've also been glad I stayed with him, because if not for me staying, I would've ended up with Duff.

I made certain to never remind her of that, though, of course.

Once Monroe is back in his crib asleep and Mandy's in the kitchen washing his bottle, Duff's nudging me with his elbow, nodding to the back door of my house.

We get outside, the two of us sitting on lounge chairs, facing one another as his elbows rest on his knees, and my knees are almost touching his.

He rubs at his forehead, taking a moment to gather his thoughts as if he's hesitant to speak.

"What is it?" I ask him softly, plucking his hand from his forehead, holding it in mine, knowing he's doing it out of nervousness.

He looks at his hand in mine and lets out a heavy breath.

"So, we gotta be in Tokyo tomorrow night to be able to play Sunday." He gets it out, clearing his throat.

"I thought your tour was done?" I furrow my brows. "I thought you said – "

" – I should've told you sooner, Viv, I'm sorry." He says calmly.

"Oh, you lied to me." I look at him pointedly, dropping his hand.

"I didn't lie." He shakes his head.

"So, they just now let you guys know they were adding an extra leg to the tour while me and Nikki were out, or…?" I try to keep the sarcasm from my voice, irritation beginning to seep into my words.

"I didn't know how to tell you." He admits. "I've been gone a lot – "

" – No shit." I don't bite my tongue and he raises his brows.

"Excuse me?"

"You were here one day. One day. And it wasn't even the day he was born."

"How the hell was I supposed to know he was gonna be early, Vivian? That's not my fault!"

"But you did know you weren't gonna be here for his actual due date." I fire back. "And never told me."

"That doesn't even matter now, Vivian, he's here."

"It matters to me!" I raise my voice. "I didn't want Axl to be the one in the room with me during one of the scariest things I've had to go through. I didn't want him to be the first one – aside from myself – to hold our baby. And I tolerated it because I thought to myself, 'he came earlier than we planned, nobody was prepared for it', and then I found out that it wouldn't have mattered if he came when he was supposed to because you wouldn't have been there, anyway." I point at him and he takes in a breath, not saying another word. "You told me you'd be home at the end of September. You didn't get home until Thanksgiving. Then you told me you were done until the next album. Now, you're gonna be gone for how long, again?"

"We will be back December 20th." He replies flatly. "And we'll be done until next year." He adds.

"Okay, Duff, right. We'll see." I scoff, standing up, walking back into the house, slamming the door shut.

Perhaps I overreacted, or maybe he would’ve felt more comfortable telling me the truth sooner had he thought that I would’ve reacted more calmly.

I was proud of the guys and their success, and them being pressed to tour so much was a sign that they had finally made it the way they had dreamed of — it was a wonderful thing to happen to them, and I’m glad it did.

I just hadn’t exactly thought through raising a baby with someone who couldn’t be there 100 percent of the time, and it hurt the both of us for him to miss so much so early on, and had me wondering if I even wanted children with Nikki, because I knew it would be the same damn thing.

#nikki sixx #mötley crüe #nikki sixx fanfiction #nikki sixx x oc #gateway drug

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allylikethecat · 9 months

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Awww I love the prompts so much ❤️My little queer heart needs it: I’d love number 42 and 50, a combination would be nice, too (M&G, of course).

Thank you so much for sending this in! I'm sorry again that it took me so long to fill, also I apologize it turned out a bit more angsty than originally intended, I hope you still enjoy it! I had a lot of fun working on it 😊 Let me know what you think - if it's not what you're looking for let me know and I can try to tackle it again! As requested I've combined the two. I've really enjoyed working on all these Kiss prompts and am excited to finish up and share the last few!

❤️Ally

42. Kiss…out of pride & 50. Kiss…out of love

Matty’s heart was in his throat as he looked at George with wide eyes. He could hear the applause, people cheering, and felt the press of someone clapping him on the back. It felt distant, like he was underwater. It reminded him of being twenty six, overwhelmed with life, overwhelmed with addiction. They had stayed at a hotel that night, he couldn’t remember the city, just that it was somewhere in America. He had gone down to the hotel pool with George, a dangerous combination of drunk and high, playing pretend at being sober.

The air had been humid, the smell of chlorine stinging his nose, and making his eyes itch as he had kicked off his flip flops and shed his tee shirt. Everything felt heavy, too heavy. The weight of life pressing down on him as he stepped into the warm water. He hadn’t even intended to get in, had intended to sit on one of the deck chairs pretending to read while George did laps, trying to pretend he could read the words that were swirling on the page, the black ink dancing, giving him no hope of untangling the letters. Trying to pretend that he wasn’t there because George didn’t trust him in their room alone.

Instead he found himself drawn to the water, the pool wasn’t deep, three feet in the shallow end, six feet in the deep end. It was empty, ten at night on a weekday. The signs proclaiming “no diving” and “no lifeguard on duty - swim at your own risk.” Matty had found himself walking through the water, narrow body cutting through the surface easily, the water rising over his hips, over his chest, up to his neck. He took a deep breath and let himself sink, dropping to the bottom of the pool, resting with his back against the tile.

He felt weightless, but also cocooned, there was a pressure in his ears but nothing could hurt him where he lay at the bottom of the pool. He opened his eyes and stared up at the surface, at the overhead lights flickering, glittering like a kaleidoscope of broken glass, his curls dancing in the filter current like tentacles in his peripheral vision. He wanted to stay there forever. He had no idea how long he was down there, his lungs screaming as his vision darkened around the edges. The surface tension was broken, and next thing he knew he was sputtering, thrust back to the surface, George’s arm locked around him, banging on his back, as he coughed up a lung full of water, staring at him with a mixture of anger and terror.

It was always George. George was always there, grounding him, pulling him to the surface, pulling him from his thoughts and dragging him back to reality.

“We did it, love,” said George pulling him into his arms, when had he stood up? Matty wondered, Ross was whooping, and Adam was grinning, his feet moving without his brain telling them too, following George, being dragged by George up the steps to the stage. His brain felt heavy, sluggish, oversaturated and waterlogged like a sponge left in too long in a soapy sink, like he was oxygen deprived from laying at the bottom of the pool.

The award was thrust into one hand, and a microphone into the other. Matty swallowed hard, his hands shaking, his palms sweating as he passed the statue back to George so he wouldn’t drop it. He’s not sure what he ended up saying, he hoped he remembered to thank the fans, to thank their families before they were being herded backstage for photos.

He was sure he was making a fool out of himself, he was sure everyone thought he was drunk even though he hadn’t touched the glass of wine George had gotten him at the bar, his stomach churning with anxiety and nausea. He was stone cold sober as they stood in front of the backdrop, forcing himself to smile even as he felt like he was staring down at his body from above. The camera flashed and they were ushered to the side, they would be taken back to their table at the next commercial break.

He couldn’t believe it. They had actually done it. They had won. It felt like something he wasn’t a part of. He knew he contributed to it, he was the singer, the front man, it was his lyrics and George’s music, and Adam and Ross's talent. But it wasn’t his words that had won, it was the hours George spent in the studio, crafting the music that played in his mind. Pride burned in his throat. George had done it. George had won.

“I’m so proud of you,” said George, hooking his thumb into Matty’s belt loops, pulling him into a corner off to the side. He had given the statue back, the academy would send them each their own awards later once they had been engraved.

“Why?” asked Matty, confusion thick in his voice. George was the one that had produced the record, had written the music, Matty was merely his mouthpiece. Matty was proud of George. Proud to call him his best friend, his bandmate, his partner, his other half, his soul mate, the love of his life, his fiance.

George just blinked at him, leaning down to press their lips together, dragging his tongue over Matty’s bottom lip before biting at it gently, requesting access, licking into his mouth, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, disrupting the carefully styled curls, as if he could press his love into Matty, force it into his mouth and down his throat. Matty kissed him back eagerly, letting himself be consumed, enveloped in the weight of George. It was better than being at the bottom of the pool, it was better than the high of any drug. The force of his love pressing into his lungs, making his head feel fuzzy in the best kind of way.

“I love you,” said Matty, his voice rough as he pulled away, resting his forehead against George’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. "And I'm so fucking proud of you."

#allylikethecat #ask ally #anon ask #fanfiction #matty healy fanfiction #fanfic #the 1975 rpf #matty healy rpf #prompt fill #prompt fills #prompt fill request things #kiss prompt #kiss prompts #thank you so much for requesting this!#im sorry it got really emo #i hope you still like it #but if you dont let me know and i will rewrite it

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spongebob-connoisseur · 2 years

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are we just getting to a point in spongebob hate that people are now just scraping the bottom of the barrel on hating fan content and not actual official stuff and claiming the creator wouldn’t like it like bruh i am already tired of people assuming what hillenburg would’ve wanted after he passed away but going after fan content creators is not cool and i seen someone call it fugly in the comments man people are just so attached to their idealized nostalgia that they have to call a simply appreciated piece of fan work by a social media account “fucking ugly” how low will these people go

have people heard of things called “art styles”

Oh they're definitely scraping at the bottom of the barrel. Its easier to just filter it out because there's no point of really doing anything.

Tbh stuff that's posted on the official spongebob accounts, no matter the content, gets a lot of hate unless it's jacking off the nostalgia of episodes from 20+ years ago.

Like one time they featured a black cosplayer using these spongebob collab makeup products and people went insane and called her slurs, the SB insta account eventually had to take the video down.

People are just shitty and regardless of the facts that are available, they still rather think they're fighting for Hillenburg when they're actually disrespecting him more. Tbh I just wish they'd stop. I'm sure he would have loved that spongebob scene reanimated.

I get there's a hate train specifically towards SU and anything SU adjacent hence why they hate that fan reanimated scene. But why don't you just come out saying you simply dislike it and that's just your personal opinion? You have to spin this in a way like "oh they're disrespecting Hillenburg blah blah blah" that's so dishonest and honestly cowardly.

I honestly feel sorry for the person who made it. They were probably just having fun and felt so honored when the official SB accounts offered to feature their fan creations on their page. Only to get bombarded with hate. And when it comes with these groups of people, you can pretty much guarantee that they got slurs and death threats hurdled their way as well.

The art style isn't bad. I'm not a fan of it but holy shit, it reminds me of the drama that happened around turning red. At this point you need to touch grass if you're acting this way over ART STYLES.

I'm willing to guarantee that if spongebob came out today, it would've gotten an INSANE amount of hate for its unusual art style. Could you imagine people picking apart spongebob like they do with modern cartoons? "Why is spongebob drawn differently in every episode??" "Why is there fire under water??" "There's no continuity, its just garbage that will rot your brain" relax man. Its just a cartoon.

Honestly it would've been more tolerable if it was just that. Now they're just using a dead man as a prop for their rage which is 100000% worse. And somehow they think they're doing the right thing too?? That's insanity.

This kinda reminds me. There was thie SB review of the 3rd movie that kept popping up in my feed on youtube and the first few minutes is nothing but "they went behind Hillenburg's back to make this movie" "he would've hated this movie" "this disrespects Hillenburg" could you at least critique the movie?? Also this mocie was in production since 2016. Hillenburg was WELL aware of this movie and worked on it for as much as he can. Honestly his death wasn't that far from when the movie was completed. Sponge on the run's release was just delayed sooooo many times.

Idk the dishonesty and bullshit people do for the sake of nostalgia is honestly scary. Imagine blatantly lying like that.

#Ask #spongebob #spongebob squarepants #the spongebob connoisseur #sb #spongebon squarepants #spongebob meme

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butchdykekondraki · 1 year

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Ghosty may be small but can absolutely speak up when needed. My god, Parasocial Anon. You do not know Ghosty and what is and isn't fine with her. She has a big enough vocabulary, even when small, to say something.

I understand the concern but this doesn't concern you. You can't shield people from things forever. People get curious and will ask questions. We alllll know children love asking questions because their mind is a sponge. They absorb knowledge.

Ghosty asked a question and it was answered. The question could've been ignored but it was turned into a brief teaching moment so that she could learn.

There will always be content children shouldn't see on this blog and several blogs out there in the vast hellsite that is Tumblr. For crying out loud, things are tagged for a reason. If Ghosty, or anyone else for that matter, didn't want to see that then they can filter it. They absolutely can and will curate their own online experience. Ghosty is doing that. Ghosty is smart.

Don't shield her from asking a question???

– Scott ❄️

^^^^^^^^^^^^^ THIS

#[roe]#THANK U SCOTT

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benredington · 1 year

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growing old & staying young.

before you read the post below, please consider listening to this playlist while you read and take in the photos below. thankyou,

to live life with no filter. something many strive to do, but many also subconsciously fail in doing. in my personal opinion, this means to live being the realest, most genuine version of you. enjoying things you wish to enjoy, doing what you feel is best for you and not letting social expectations or others opinions get in the way. like who you want to like, create what you want to create and trust your instinct.

because at the end of the day, what's the worst that can happen? someone says they don't like what you've created? ok, as long as you enjoy it, who cares. you ask someone out and they say no? who cares. the one thing you can be in life is genuine. the moment you try mask it to fit what you think others will like, to impress or satisfy them, is the moment you loose sight of your own needs.

I believe that as people get older, they tarnish their lives with more and more filters. they learn from past judgement and hide pieces of them that they believe will be looked down on. when you're sat, taking your final breaths and thinking back over your life, do you really think that the opinion of someone else is going to matter.

living life with no filter is to be a sponge. take in information and get rid of what you don't want. find beauty in day to day life. create something.

a quote from tyler, the creators song 'MASSA' reads, 'whatever brings you that immense joy, do that, that's your luxury'. find your luxury. find what makes you happy, your 'immense joy'.

as kids, we know what we do and don't like. we stick to our beliefs and learn over time what we do and don't like. when did we lose that? why? learn from your culture, embrace the community of people around you.

the adults around me in my life have always said to enjoy my youth. that school days, half terms and no bills were the best times of their life. and while they may have been some of the most enjoyable, the more you tell yourself you're past the "best times of your life", the more that'll become true. kids want to be adults for the freedom and ability to go out and do things, adults want to be kids for the lack of ability to do things and a more carefree life, room to make mistakes and learn. the only reason we've lost the ability to make mistakes and learn is ourselves. we think others will push us down, we will loose it all over one risk. this simply isn't true.

i've loved my youth, each part for different reasons. the naïve years from 0-9 ish, the tween years of learning of 10-12, the growth and change from 13-16 and now the next chapter of maturing and finding out who I truly am. house parties with no parents, drinking slightly alcoholised apple juice in a field and thinking that's being drunk, being dumb and making mistakes, uncontrollable laughter at the back of a science lesson, sharing music with your friends. I have barely delved into my youth. there is a huge difference between getting older and getting old.

getting older is natural. it is the years passing by and the candles on your cake increasing. getting old is staying put. not changing as you grow, stopping learning. many ask why people who are in their 30s and 40s seem so young and full of youth. the simple answer is that they didn't let themselves stay static. they truly lived life with no filter, and let themselves grow, learn and make mistakes no matter the number on their birthday card. that, that is the no filter life I strive to have.

below are images that relate to this eternal youth structure of my blog. thankyou for reading, I know I am by no means a poet, and that my analogies can sometimes be a little off the rails, but I hope this displays the theme I intended.

love.

-ben

#Spotify #nofilter #art #photography

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shadyelizabeth · 2 years

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8.07. PROMISE

The sun had begun to set over the lake; orange gold covered the deep blue-green of the water like oil. The air was warm and smelled of wildflowers. Crickets chirped along to the music filtering from the little handheld radio sitting in the corner of the tent, something light and twangy. Draco sat encircled in Harry’s arms; his short blonde hair tickled the underside of his chin.

When Draco had told Harry he was considering not attending Hogwarts for their final year, Harry hadn’t taken the news well. He’d wanted to be supportive. He’d wanted to smile and encourage Draco to chase his dreams because that’s what a good boyfriend would’ve done, but Harry had needed some time and space to process.

Draco had always been an academic, on par with Hermione. He was like a sponge, wanting to soak up and experience everything he could get his hands on. Despite his family’s–more specifically, his father’s–expectations for him to follow in the Malfoy family’s footsteps of wizarding politics, Draco was first and foremost a scholar, and he was determined to walk his own path. Their relationship as friends, and now as boyfriends, was the perfect example of that, of Draco being his own person, so it hadn’t come as a total surprise that he wanted to study at Ilvermorny next year.

However, it would be a new dynamic for them. It would be the first time since they started dating that they’d be apart for more than a few weeks, and it terrified Harry. Even with magic at their very fingertips, he was unsure how to make their relationship work if they were more than 5500 kilometers apart.

Almost everything everywhere said long-distance relationships usually didn’t last, and no matter how much he thought what he and Draco had was strong enough to withstand anything, he was afraid his wishful thinking may have been just that.

But Harry didn’t want fear and uncertainty to dictate his actions. Not only did Draco deserve better than that; he deserved better from him.

After a swift kick in the arse (and a long talk with Ron and Hermione), Harry was able to accept that Draco’s decision whether to go or not wasn’t about him, or even about their relationship. But they still needed to have a long conversation about if he’d decided to go to Ilvermorny and what that would mean for them.

It was partially why he’d planned this little weekend outing, so they could talk in peace. It was also nice to get away from the hustle and bustle of the castle and nosey classmates.

He’d been trying to find a way to bring up the subject but no time up to this point had felt right . . . But there was no time like the present.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Can we talk?”

Draco tipped his head back, looking up at him through long silver lashes. “About what?”

Harry took a deep breath, knowing he could feel the rise and fall of his chest but hoping he couldn’t feel the rapid pace of his heart.

“You haven’t said anything more about Ilvermorny, but I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I haven’t brought the subject back up because I was too afraid to hear your answer, and I haven’t pushed you to talk about it because I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. I know it shouldn’t be a big deal, but I’ve been thinking a lot about what going could mean for us and I need to get some things off my chest.”

Pulling free from Harry’s arms, he turned around, so they were face-to-face. “You’re freaking me out, Potter.”

“Don’t freak out.”

“But you sound like–like you wanna end–”

“No!” Harry said before he could finish that statement.

“You’re not trying to break up with me?”

“Absolutely not! I’m hoping your desire to study overseas isn’t an elaborate plan to break up with me?”

Shaking his head, he said, “No! Of course not!”

Harry let out a little sigh of relief. He knew Draco wouldn’t actually do something like that, but it was nice to hear him say it aloud.

Cupping his face, Harry gently rubbed the soft spot behind Draco’s ear with his thumb. “I don’t wanna break up. That’s the last thing I wanna do. I was tryna figure out how to say this without freaking you out, but I think I might do so either way.” Calling for his bag, it popped into his hand seconds later. He dug around for a moment until his hand felt the small, green velvet box and pulled it out.

Draco’s eyes went wide. He leaned back and rapidly blinked as if he was trying to make sure they weren’t deceiving him. “Harry.” His name left his lips in a breathy whisper.

He held up his hands. “It’s not what you think. I just need a few minutes to explain.”

Nodding slowly, Draco’s gaze never left his face.

“I didn’t react the best when you told me about wanting to study in America. I spiraled. I automatically started thinking about how the distance would put a lot of strain on our relationship, and–I don’t think I even admitted it to myself yet–how much I would fucking miss you. And on top of all of that, I mean, Draco, you’re amazing and charming and beautiful. Who’s to say you wouldn’t meet someone else–someone better suited–”

Laying a hand on his knees, Draco squeezed. Fervently shaking his head, he said, “That would never happen!”

“You don’t know that.” His shoulders came up in a half shrug. “On New Year’s, you said we have no idea what the future has in store for us. I don’t know if you said that because you were already thinking about leaving Hogwarts or just in general, but either way, you’re right. Maybe you stay and we live happily ever after. Maybe you go and the space is wondrous for us. Maybe you stay and what I’m about to say will be moot in a few months anyway, but–”

Harry popped open the small, green velvet box with a crisp snap. Draco’s eyes automatically went to the sterling silver knot.

When he’d started looking for a ring, he had hundreds of options in front of him: silver and rose gold bands inlaid with square cut, circular, or heart-shaped diamonds; silver bands engraved with secret messages; rings shaped like crowns, and ring pairs that, when placed side-by-side, made a full heart. Out of everything he could have chosen from, he had selected a silver band in an eternal loop. It was the one ring that felt simply Draco.

“I love you. I think I always have. Despite what the world expected of us, we chose our own truths. We chose love. We chose each other. I will continue to choose you, to choose us, no matter what you decide.

“I want you to do whatever is best for you. I will not be the one to hold you back; I will support whatever you decide. I will continue to walk this path with you, and this ring is a promise of that.”

Setting the box aside, he laced their fingers together and brought his knuckles to his mouth, leaving a trail of light kisses.

“I understand; it’s a lot to take in, and if you need some time to think about it, take all the time you need.”

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His eyes flicked between Harry and the ring. In the moments of silence, Harry’s heartbeat sounded thunderous in his ears. The longer Draco said nothing, the more anxious he became. He needed him to say something, do something.

When the quiet became too much, Harry started, “You don’t have–”

“Harry. I–” Draco said at the same time.

They shared a sheepish smile.

“You first,” he said.

“I was just gonna say that I wasn’t sure what to say.”

“I was gonna say that you don’t have to say anything right now. I mean, like, don’t stop talking to me, but you don’t have to take the ring now if you don’t wanna. And you don’t have to–”

He placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “Well, I do–want the ring,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“You do?”

“Yes,” he said, holding out his right hand.

Without taking his eyes off Draco, Harry fumbled for the box dislodging the ring from its small sheath when he found it. With the steadiest hands he could manage, he slid the ring onto his finger, having visions of placing a more permanent fixture there one day.

“Thank you,” Draco said quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

Pushing himself forward, Draco pressed a slow, gentle kiss to his lips, his fingers curling into the soft material of Harry’s t-shirt. His hands went to Draco’s waist to hold him in place.

“Mmm.” Draco hummed, the space between their mouths just big enough for him to say, “As much as I would love to continue doing this and only this, maybe we should have that talk,” bracing himself before he sat back.

“What were we even talking about?” Harry asked, still reeling from the feeling of his lips on his. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to it.

“About the future, our future.”

“Oh yeah. Right.” Harry nodded curtly.

“The way my father talked about your parents, growing up, I thought they were villains, and when I learned we’d be in the same year together, I was sure you were gonna be just as bad. But when you smiled at me that first day, all wide-eyed and toothy, I had to wonder what else I’d been led to believe that wasn’t true.”

Lacing their fingers together, Draco continued, “You, Harry Potter, are the best truth I’ve ever uncovered. Younger me would’ve never thought that I’d feel so safe and loved with you, but I do. I feel so unconditionally loved by you, and I hope you know that I love you so, so much, more than I’ll ever have words to articulate. And because of that, I thought whatever I decided, everything would be okay.”

Draco went to his knees and scooted closer, bumping his nose against his. “

“I’m sorry for not saying something sooner. I truly didn’t think my going would weigh so heavily on you. After talking it over with Snape and McGonagall, I’ve decided to stay. Ilvermorny would be a fantastic opportunity, but I would be leaving everything I know and love for something I can do later. So, if you only bought this ring because you thought I was leaving, I think I have to give it back.”

“No. I mean”–Harry met his eyes–“a big reason I did was because of the school thing, but mostly, I bought it as a symbol of my love for you. No matter where you are, whether that be miles away or right here beside me, that ring belongs on your finger and nowhere else.”

Draco threw his arms around Harry’s neck and started peppering kisses from his forehead to his mouth, each punctuated with a word.

“I”–kiss–“really”–kiss–“fucking”–kiss–“love”–kiss–“you!”–kiss.

His legs straightened out. Draco crawled into his lap, his legs going around Harry’s waist, their bodies flush. This kiss was heavy and held intention, like dropping a match in gasoline. Draco's nails scraped against his scalp where they tangled in his hair.

Harry’s hands on his lower back held him steady and close. He could feel the heat of Draco’s skin through the thin material of their shirts. His hands dipped under his collar, smoothing over the expanse of his back. There was a sudden rush of blood to his groin as Draco rolled his hips.

Pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, Draco stood up and held out his hand, wiggling his long delicate fingers. Nodding toward the back of the tent, he said, “Come to bed with me, my love.” His hazy and heavy-lidded eyes make it very clear they won’t be sleeping.

Taking Draco’s outstretched hand, he let him pull him to his feet. With a quick colloportus spell, they spent the rest of the night making new promises to each other.

AUGUST MASTERPOST

#august 2022 #august writing prompts #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fic #word prompt: promise #this started out as camping #but i don't know anything about camping #fluff

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