#why’s freddie mercury here

[mx-hyperfixation]

I started reading good omens but my brother’s playing portal 2 so crowley’s got the defective turret voice in my brain sob Anyway happy new years in like 2 hours for me 🎉

#book omens #portal #defective turret #gahhh #my brains got a word and sound association so now I’m associating these two #why’s freddie mercury here

[darcydoesfuckall]

Ha??? What????

Bea???????? I fucking love your shit???????

Everyone!! Go follow @bea-n-art right fucking now!!!!

#AHHH #WHY ARE YOU HERE?? #IT FEELS LIKE FREDDIE MERCURY JUST WALKED INTO MY LIVING ROOM AND WENT “sup.” LIKE HUH????

[everysongineverykey]

what the fuck do you mean soul brother is about brian may. what do you MEAN freddie mercury wrote a song about brian harold may that went "he's my best friend, he's my champion, and he will rock you, rock you, rock you, cause he's the saviour of the universe, he can make you keep yourself alive, make you keep yourself alive, cause he's somebody, somebody you can love" what do you mean he just wrote that and then casually told brian may about it in the studio one day and was like surprise! i've written a song about you, but it needs your touch! break out that guitar! what do yuo mean they both wrote songs aimed at each other at least once but brian wrote so many for freddie he can't remember which one he was working on at the time. WHAT DO YOU MENA

#queen band #THAT'S SO. THAT'S SO #that's the sweetest fucking thing holy shit they really were besties huh #that's genuinely sooo. cause like i don't think freddie ever wrote songs for any of his other friends! #his lovers sure but as far as i know brian's the only one who got a song dedicated to him #(i mean. he says that he's not sure whether it's actually about him or not but like. why would freddie lie about that?) #'god bless my soul here he comes now / the man with the most how does he do it? / sure he's got style he's so heavy / he's a trip' #'he can do anything anything / cause he's my soul brother' #that's so genuine and sweet and encouraging!!! no flowery metaphors #no poetry or cryptic lyrics #just freddie mercury going I LOVE YOU!! I LOVE YOU!!! YOU'RE MY BEST FRIEND!! YOU'RE SOOO COOL!!! SEE HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU??? #for three and a half minutes. it makes me SICK #btw if you tag this as ship it is on SIGHT ok thanks xoxo #and the way most of the queen songs he references were written by brian. godddd #he just wrote that for no reason at all‼️‼️ fucked UP!!!!

[chaoticmessofmymind]

#dont ask me why i want data on this at 11:30 pm #this is just how my brain is #i hate it here too #poll #txt #txt post #tumblr polls #freddie mercury #memes #but also research #this is for science #need answers #ill probably forget i made this post later #and promptly delete it #idk

[baladric]

listen why had i memorized the entirety of hawaii: part 2 before i’d ever listened to a single fucking queen album? what the fuck have my priorities been???

#fuck miracle musical?? why did i listen to them???? #me: wow i'll never find anything else that does this kind of weird silly genre fusion :'( #freddie mercury's ghost: ??????????? #my musical education is in progress #imagine my astonishment that the popular bands of the 70s/80s Weren't a phenomenon of mass hysteria #but that they do #in fact #FUCK #i'm going fucking feral over here #my parents fucking LIED to me

[obsessivelollipoplalala]

It's funny because I just dig up the things Freddie said about sex in 1987, because yes, he himself talked about it, and in a much more nuanced way.

Freddie: I've stopped going out and to be honest I've almost become a nun. Really, yeah. It's amazing, I've learned it the very hard way. I thought sex was a very important thing to me, and I lived for it and everything. Now I've just realised how amazing... I've just gone completely the other way. See, I'm one of those people, I can go black to white, I don't like intermediary measures. It's quite easy to completely give up, I could completely give up alcohol at the drop of a hat. It's frightened me to death and I just stopped having sex. I just like titillation now. It's more fun.

David: You must have had lots of affairs during your life.

Freddie: Yes, well, it's been quoted and all, yes I've stopped all that.

David: You stopped?

Freddie: Yeah, it's a bore.

David: Do you think sex is overrated?

Freddie: No, I don't think sex is a bore, just what I was doing is a bore. You know you have phases. It's like, people go through phases and I have a very good relationship. Before of course I was very greedy. To me sex was fun. There was a lot of... I was extremely promiscous, but I've stopped all that because practicality came in, I know you weren't talking about that. I'm an old bird now, my dear. And I mean, you can't say you want a life of solace and then go on fucking half the world. And it's amazing... I don't miss it. I really don't. To me, it was sort of, it was like a... Everything was open to me, so in term of music and to me sex was an integral ingredient of what I was doing. It was a very major factor of everything I did. But I'd never thought "well, sex and nothing else". It was all these things and I was just living by them all. I was living them to the full. So I mean, okay, there was excess on every direction, fine.

(Also what he said about linking sex and rock & roll is very reminiscing of things Brian said years later)

(You read my mind, I thought of Brian by the end of this quote, too.)

I think people might see Freddie talking about not having sex anymore and finding what he was doing boring, while also saying he had a very good relationship, as separating sex and love, but that would be missing the obvious context that he was talking about casual sex on the road and on the club scene, not sex with a long-term partner, which is pretty different. Maybe Phoebe saw Freddie’s attitude about sex in his era of “excess” and applied it to how he must’ve felt about sex in actual relationships, too, but that would be a mistake imo

#Freddie Mercury #I also find it kind of amusing #that Brian very defensively said Freddie wasn’t promiscuous #and here’s Freddie ‘yep I was very promiscuous’ lmao #i know why Brian has said that #I just think it’s a little funny #replies #Anonymous

[hippiecockatoo]

Bonnie's actual earring is blue in the cutout, but it's just interesting why here it appears red. Also fun fact, in the 80s (which is the era of the Glamrock style), one earring worn by men was a sign to others that they were gay :)

Another fun fact if you don't already know, Glamrock Freddy is heavily inspired by Freddie Mercury (lead singer of Queen) who is still known as one of the biggest gay icons!

These two found by @devilgirl7 ! ❤️

Found a screenshot of a bowling pin and ball (and a child's shoe for some reason) in Freddy's green room. Can't help but notice the ball is blue... 🤔

Glittering-Bat2106 over on Reddit mentioned that both Freddy and Chica have bowling balls in their green rooms (just them) which makes sense since they're part of the original 4 and we're probably the closest with Bonnie- but it's also important to note that the bowling balls they have are their own signature colors and are in the open more easily visible. The blue bowling ball is a completely different ball and is specifically hidden with a pin in a darker corner of the room.

#glamrock fronnie #fronnie #fnaf security breach #fnaf #five nights at freddy's security breach #five nights at freddy's #security breach #fnaf sb #glamrock freddy #glamrock bonnie #ruin dlc #fnaf ruin #fnaf ruin dlc #security breach ruin #ruin dlc spoilers #ruin spoilers #fnaf ruin spoilers #✨️homosexual✨️

[cuprohastes]

The chant.

The Varshan Invaders had this thing: Unity.

They dropped Anjax, which was mostly just thirty farms raising the local safe-to-eat animals nicknamed Argnu.

The farmers had all read the briefing packets: If it's the Xss, the Dormavir, the Jince... run. Run n' hide. They'll eat you, literally eat you and that won't do you any good.

The Twon-hai, Gir and Tsush, they're slavers, they'll give up if you stand up to them. Expect up to 68% losses. Still better than what they'll do to you.

The Vershan, the On-dotir, the uHown or the Kelth... Jsut surrender, don't annoy them the Terran Colonial force wills how up and sort it, and there's a chance you can jsut persuade them to be chill and mark you down as Not For Conquering.

So anyway. The Varshan. They'll only take over if they think that the population are disUnified. It's their holy mission to reduce entropy via unity or something. They're pretty chill about it - Nobody gets sacrificed to the dark god, or put in the Castigation Pit - but it's a huge pain in the ass when you really need to be shipping Argnu Beef and not e.g. nonconsensually being inducted into an alien religion.

So they dragged everyone into one area and did their Unity Chant to show that they all were unified.

Then they sent thier guy out and planted a flag.

The next part is they grab some rando and tell them to "Show their Unity". This works well usually because you pick anyone form even a fairly smoothly integrated society and put them on the spot, they'll panic.

Which was why Jacinta Omura, 45, admin, completely bewildered, was dragged out in front of everyone she knew.

So she looks at the aliens who are all looking smug having done thier weird Haka, looks back at the crowd of farmers, and shippers and what-not... And it's her time to shine.

She strieks a pose, head down, one arm up, wide stance.

Everyone in the front row behind her are like OK Jace has flipped her burger here.

But then she starts to sing... Well chant. Not well, not nearly loud enough...

"Buddy, you're a boy," she says, voice breaking. She swallows and adds "make a big noise... Playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday."

Now her voice is getting a little more confident.

About this time the crowd behind her has started to pick up on what she's doing, and there's a ripple of people starting to back her up: The rows behind them catching on.

"You got mud on your face, you're a big disgrace - Kicking your can all over the place, singin'..."

She lifts both arms like she's conducting, and behind her there's the entire colony: clap-clap stomp, Clap-clap stomp, shaking the ground, singing, as one:

"We will, we will rock you! We will, we will rock you"

Well the Vershan were kind of impressed, because hey that ticks the box, and also, style points there. So they loaded up on Argnu meat at a good price so show no hard feelings and went off on their holy crusade to annoy everyone.

And that's how Freddie Mercury saved Anjax.

#humans are weird #humans being weird little guys #Freddie Mercury #Humans are space orcs #Humans are space australians

[undercoverpena]

this year's love.

simon ghost riley x f!reader

wc: 5.5k warnings: angst. fluff. smut. feelings. usual jo things. summary: And then you begin calling him Riley. It’s more flirtatious—more meaningful. Simon is when you’re soft, thanking him, when others are close and can hear you. Riley is when you’re leaning over the bar, staring into his soul and smirking so deviously it takes a lot to not kiss it off your lips. an: from the drabble where ghost 'dates' a non-militant he meets in a pub. this is dedicated to @yeyinde for reminding me why British pubs are adorable, and also to @guyfieriii because she hates my angst, but loves my fluff, and makes me want to write better.

simon ghost riley masterlist

He suspects he should stay away. 

As soon as he began to crave the sight of you. Ignoring the fact he’s heard This Year's Love by David Gray three times already—and he has only been here an hour. The condensation beads from his glass pools on the picked-at-bar mat, drenching his fingers and wrist. 

Not that he cares. 

Ghost—

Simon knows it’s all part of the charm. 

It has been since the day he turned eighteen and his boss at the butchers took him for his first pint. 

The place hasn’t changed since. Everything from the same ten to twelve songs which crackle through the worn and tired speakers. The smokey air, and discoloured, yellowing wallpaper. 

Things don’t get replaced either, the chipped glass ashtrays are the same as the ones he remembers. The same chipped mahogany tables with the ill-matching chairs and stools that are wobbly.

The scent in the place is familiar, a mix between festering ale and Mr Sheen, working men and cheap perfume, fust and smoke—both from the crackling winter fire and cigarettes—even if one hasn’t been smoked inside of it for years. 

The place, to outsiders, would look like any stone-walled pub on the corner of two streets they’ll never remember. Then they’ll step in, their eyes glancing over the peeling wallpaper, moth-eaten curtains (that never close) and the once-white nets in the windows, before questioning what they’ve walked into. That’s before they’ve noticed the white ball on the pool table is in fact another black ball and that the dart board triple 20 has been chipped out after Bald-Andy lost his rag. 

The pub has been a real gem to those who know what real diamonds are for as long as Simon can remember. None of the regulars care that the bar stools have burns from cigarettes being stubbed out, they don’t care that the musty smell doesn’t vanish even with Febreze and sheer will. It’s expected, just like how the bar is always sticky and the energy always feels right. 

Here, he can relax. 

When he’s home, he feels purposeless. A man with a map but no direction. But, he can unfurl his shoulders from his ears, even let his hood slide to the back of his neck. 

Because in this place, strangers aren’t welcome. It’s a local pub, for local folk. Those who wander in, thinking the pub on the corner of quaint and quintessential will provide them with a typical British evening, normally leaving before Freddie Mercury has reached the bridge of whatever song is on rotation. 

But, Simon isn’t just here for the bourbon or the ale, he’s not here because the wooden fire licks every wall of the place. He’s not here because it feels more like home than his actual home. 

He’s here because there’s one thing that has changed, and it’s you. 

You with a rosy, sweet laugh that usually accompanies a smile which makes his heart gallop. It calms whatever storm rages inside of him when you look at him—when you bore your pretty, fucking eyes into him before you lean over, hand on the beer pump as you call him Simon. 

Simon. 

His name has never sounded more serene than when it falls from your lips. The way you say it makes it seem less than ordinary, almost unique. Humour sways in your eyes, a glint he knows there’s more too—and wants nothing more than to explore. 

You’re a vibrant surprise in the middle of my mundane, and it took him all of five minutes to discern you’re both difficult and charming all rolled into one. 

And then you begin calling him Riley. 

It’s more flirtatious—more meaningful. 

Simon is when you’re soft, thanking him, when others are close and can hear you. Riley is when you’re leaning over the bar, staring into his soul and smirking so deviously it takes a lot to not kiss it off your lips.

Women haven’t tended to last here—except Tracy. Tracy, who like the urinal cakes, has been here since Simon’s first pint. Her lines had deepened in her skin over time, but her hair has remained that putrid blonde she tries to claim is natural. 

You, on the other hand, are far younger—kind, soft, unless someone gets lairy and then there’s a ferociousness to you that’s packed into something so small. He suspects you know what the men at the bar look at when your eyes aren’t looking, and it’s not the way you command the small space stuffed with offerings and glasses. 

He’d paid no mind initially. Tried not to, anyway. He’d decided it would be for the best. Then you’d bite back at Dave that you may be too young to remember a song,  but you could still get down on her knees without them creaking. 

He had smirked at that. 

Deciding his new seat at the bar, on the rickety bar stool was his new favourite seat. 

To this day, you always smell floral, but the accompanying scent with it changes. Sometimes you’re sultry, sometimes you’re just sweet. Each time he is able to return ‘home’ he’s never sure which one he’ll get—but it burns a place in his nose all the same. 

Hard to shift, difficult to smother, not that he wishes to do either. 

Their first exchanges were simple. Contractual. Another? Yes. Your usual? Yes. Then you had placed a deck of cards in front of him, a teasing smile on your face in the quietness of a Wednesday evening. 

Keep me company. 

It was difficult for him to grasp how soft your eyes were, how it made his mind blank and his heart both hammer and stutter all at once. 

Now, it’s normal. 

He’s used to it, fucking welcomes the way they land on him. He thinks about them on the plane ride home, how Alan—the chef who’ll serve anything off-menu for a packet of fags—makes a mean all-day breakfast sandwich. But mostly, it’s you. 

“You back for long, Riley?” 

“No.”

“Never are.” 

“You sound disappointed, sweetheart.” 

You always smile the same when he calls you that. Always half-roll your eyes before shaking your head, as though flirting with you is oh so wrong. 

Especially when you start it first. 

“What would you do if I was?” 

That’s new. 

His fingers pick up a crisp, watching you lean on the pump in front of you. The star earrings hanging from your ears, catch the bar spotlights, making it seem as though you’re literally glowing. 

But then, you are—to him at least. 

Someone calls for you, pint raised in hand—saving him from answering. You wink, and mumble you’ll be right back, the words lingering in the space you once stood. 

You’re too good for him. 

Too normal. Too unscarred and untouched. He suspects a bad thing has never happened to you. You’ve not plunged a knife into someone’s throat, not shot a moving target with a precision that most try to replicate on their controllers and headsets. 

For that reason, and that reason alone, he knows he should stay on this side of the bar. Even when it takes all of his self-restraint to do so. 

It’s hard though. 

More so when you give him that look—that one which makes his cock twitch and his thoughts turn feral. 

Because the nice girl from the pub may have a sweet, soft voice, but fuck he knows you’re anything but. 

You’re all red lips and righteousness, a siren and enchantress who chooses floral perfume to try and disguise the way your eyes undress him. 

Not that he complains. 

He’s done the same. 

Fucked his own fist to the thought of the noises you’d make and how you’d feel enveloped around his cock. 

Tonight he’d likely do the same. 

Winter is in full effect when he next returns. 

Snow was thick on the streets, the roads a horrid mix of ice, slush and asphalt. 

You’re behind the bar, Bald-Andy and his wife in the corner near the fire, and the crackling, gruff voice of Oasis is playing. You look up, lips smirking, eyes glistening. 

“The usual?” 

He considers it. Sweet, caramel and vanilla notes hit his tongue in memory. But he shakes his head, pulling out a stool, and sitting opposite you as your perfume greets him. 

“Surprise me, sweetheart.” 

You stand fully, hair falling around your face, making his heart lurch and his stomach burn. 

“Living dangerously, I see,” you say, turning your back to him as you pull at spirit bottles.

If only you knew. 

He suspects something sweet when you place the glass in front of him. The sound of it meeting the worn wood so loud, not that the other two patrons look over. As though it’s just the two of you. No one else. His eyes lift, hooking themselves into yours—unwilling to let you tear them from him as he tries to bury the aches of war and fighting. 

It’s caramel coloured, darker at the bottom of the glass than the top. Ice. So much ice. 

“Go on, try it, Simon.” 

And he does. 

It’s sweet, and zingy. It’s mellow but spicy, and he tastes the hints of ginger and rum as the cold hits his teeth. 

“What y’made me?” 

“You like it?” 

Yes. 

The tip of your tongue swiping across your bottom lip, watching you lean smugly. “Dark and stormy… the epitome of you.”

A groan leaving his lips, your laugh tasting of sunshine and happier days. 

A long moment stretches between the two of you, one that makes the air thrum and him having to shift his jeans. A continuous voice in his head, telling him no, telling him to put a stop to this now. 

He drinks it. He even orders it again. 

Time ticks fast—too fast. He wants it to slow. Ever since their first flirtation, if you’ve finished when he’s there—he walks you to your car. 

You drive something small, your entire backseat is always covered in coats, shoes and books. Something normal, and so typically you. 

He does the same tonight, hands in his jacket pockets, periodically scanning the area as you lock the big wooden doors of the pub. You shake them, ensuring you have, pocketing the keys before turning to nudge him. 

Simple. Soft. Each gesture in the short walk is always seemingly effortless. You don’t worry he’ll take offence, that he’ll shatter or snap. 

Not that he would. 

His arm lifting, letting your small hand slide around it for stability as the snow falls thick and fast. It paints the streets in a blanket that crunches under their boots. And there’s something about the snow landing in your hair, on the tip of your nose, even on your lower lip. 

He wants to brush it from your mouth, and trace the bow of your upper lip with his thumb. 

Because it’s all a contradiction. Snow makes you look innocent, something close to a character from a movie or a Disney film. And, you’re not any of those things. 

You’re snarky, huffed whispers and quick retorts when drunkards try to hit on you; you’re witty, funny and boldly brilliant.

So much so, he’s never sure why you work there. He knows you’re studying, knows you’re trying to better yourself. You’ve told him as much over a Pepsi Max in your hand and something stronger in his. 

He knows it’s odd to keep staring at you. Your eyes staring up, making your eyes seem wider and bigger than they actually are—pretty sure the flurries of snow, stars and moon are shining in them. But it’s his treat—his reward. The thing he thinks about when he’s knee-deep in mud or covered in blood, sweat and bruises. 

Your feet stop at your car, unlocking it—the beep and flash of your headlights casting light across the car park. 

“You back for long?” 

“No.”

Smiling, you lean against the rear window. “Never are.” 

It’s a pattern, a habit. An exchange that has become the norm for the two of you as much as hello and goodbye. 

Then, you sigh.

Something you rarely do, not to him—not with him. His brows knitting, tightening, heart thundering in his throat as you drag your eyes up his chest, and neck and land on his face. 

“Do you know how perfect it would be, if you grew a pair and kissed me in the snow, Riley?” 

Your hand slides into the handle, opening it as your smirk turns into a grin. One which is brighter than your headlights, the moon—hell, the fucking sun. 

“Guess I’ll have to wait for a shooting star, instead.” 

And, you laugh, leaning your back against the car—expression blended with vulnerability and searing heat that should melt the settling ice on your face. 

“Y’seem like the sorta woman to make me work for it.” 

“Oh yes, because eighteen months of will-they-won’t-they hasn’t been tedious enough.” 

He grabs your elbow, roughly pulling but finds you fall into him with far too much ease. The snow continues to fall, leaving soft cold kisses on his face, but he doesn’t feel cold. 

How could he? You’re staring up at him with the searing heat of the sun. 

“Y’want me to kiss you, Sweetheart?” 

“More than I want to go home and sleep, Riley.” 

His hand cups your cheek, warm meeting cold as he pulls your lips to his. Cold, soft lips slide against his, and he tastes the orange from your cordial swirling with his bourbon-covered tongue. Your car groans when he presses you against it, your hand clutching him with the same desperation as he’s flush with your body. 

Your cheeks are warm against his hands, eyelashes fluttering open as the two of you break apart. 

“You… you want to come back to mine?”

Yes. Fuck yes. 

But—

“Next time.” 

“Yeah?” 

His fingers brush down your cheek, and he nods. 

He got your number. 

For convenience. You tell him he didn’t need to come in and drink one of your piss-poor beer pulls just to get in your knickers. 

So he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t text when he first lands. He gives himself a day—a moment to shed the Ghost and become Simon. When you do you don’t reply with anything witty, just straight-laced—just like he likes it. 

A time. An address. 

He expects you to size him up at your front door, even bracing for a changed mind. You don’t do either. You let the door open, standing two steps inwards dressed in something lace and rippable. 

Fuckin’ fuck. 

It’s the only thought he has before he slams your door behind him, striding towards you and practically throwing you over his shoulder. 

You don’t taste like what he expects—it’s better. 

His tongue flattens against you, two fingers inside your warm cunt as you whimper. You reluctantly still clutching to the promise you’d made earlier. The one where you informed him it’ll take more than a few fingers and a skilled tongue to make you scream. 

So he sucks. Bites. Nips. 

He finds that squishy part, stroking it as your thighs twitch by his ears. 

It’s then he grants himself the chance to look at you, finding your lipstick spread in a way which seems deliberately chaotic—even if he knows it isn’t. Your lashes wet, eyes clamped shut as you try and try not to give in. 

So fuckin’ stubborn. 

Your hands, all smooth and soft, clutching your breasts, the pink of a nipple poking out between your index and thumb as your chest rises and falls as you fight calling out his name. 

He likes that you have convictions—it gives him something to break. 

His tongue swirling, knowing already what he needs to do to undo you. 

And then—

Simon—fuc-k, Simon.

It’s better than classical, better than whatever is number one on the fuckin’ charts. The sound of you coming hard, and fast, trying to bury it in a whisper than the scream you actually want to release. All of it is a better sound than his knife plunging into some unsuspecting op—because he will make you scream. 

He laps up every ounce you give him, your pleading whimpers and nails in his hair making him groan against your cunt until you almost snap his neck—or try to. 

“Take them off. Now.”

He doesn’t like orders.

He fucking detests them. He gives them. Normally loud and booming. But your voice, all sweet and high-pitched, trying to give stern eyes when your lashes are coated in tears he’s caused…

Your eyes widen when he stands naked. And he knows he’s big. 

He’s very fucking aware of it. He’s seen plenty of evidence to support the fact in the wild, surprised eyes of those who he’s dropped his trousers for. 

You now being one of them. 

But fuck, he fits in you perfectly. So much so, he wants to mould your insides to match him, to ruin you for every other person who thinks they stand a chance with you.

Because they don’t. 

But then neither does he. 

Not that he’ll squander a moment to fuck with heaven—to hear the cadence shift when he hooks your leg over his hip as he drives his cock into you all the way to the hilt. 

He coaxes another out of you, your tight cunt like a vice around him as your manicured nails leave scratches on his back. His tongue swipes across your jaw, before haphazardly capturing your mouth. 

You taste like mint polos and sex—a taste he is already sure he’ll crave. 

And he wonders to himself if you know how fucking perfect you are. If you have any idea of how stunning you truly are. 

Especially like this. Your body shimmering with sweat, each thrust making your breasts bounce as your fingers tease his hair at the nape of his neck. 

And then he wonders about something else. 

Something far from coating your walls in his come.

Would you fit in his life? 

Would you fit as well in it, as he does inside your cunt?

And then you’re clenching, hips lazily trying to meet his as you whimper, moan—

And then you scream. 

Not Riley.

But Simon.

Mission accomplished. 

It has become a habit. 

You have become a habit. 

He lands. He waits a day. He fucks you until you are raw, sore and breathless. His lips are on yours, hands still on your hips as he hears how hoarse your voice is. 

“You back for long?”

“No.”

But this no is different.

It’s tinged with half a teaspoon of regret and sadness. 

You hide your face when he answers now. Sometimes by slinging your arm to shield him from your eyes or by turning from him. It’s like you know he likes them. Likes being able to see each infliction of emotion in them—shimmering, dancing, storming across in front of him. 

Somehow, you’ve fit into his life too well—cutting yourself a hole, forcing your way in, and making it seem as though you were always there. 

Simon lets you be, too. 

You have one of his t-shirts, baggy, black and covered in your perfume. He finds he has one of your hair ties around his wrist, not even realising until he slides on a pair of gloves. Flicking it against his wrist as he thinks of you, something he only allows himself to do briefly.

Things have changed. Shifted. 

But the Earth hasn’t fallen off its axis and he’s not fucked up a mission. So he counts his blessings. He doesn’t know if he believes good things can happen to him, but he could be persuaded that he can have nice things. A belief he even starts to accept. A reality he begins to wish for, rather than keep at arm's length. 

You’ve left the pub. You hadn’t been working every night for a while. Your studies had ended—receiving a photo of a cap and gown without your face when he was in the middle of a desert. 

Now you’re working a better job, one you deserve more—it’s creative, more you. You make the world brighter, and better while he’s getting dirty and riding the world of darkness. You text him once, the day you got paid, that you bought him something nice.

Something he ripped with his teeth when he landed—much to your annoyance. 

You’re no longer the girl in the pub. You’re perfectly applied make-up he fucks off your face. You’re high heels and pencil skirts—and sometimes fitted trousers that hug your arse so beautifully, he’s almost a bit jealous. You’re the pink sky at night, laughter that warms his chest, and a smile he thinks about as he falls asleep. 

“What would my alias be?” 

Your hand slides over a plate to him. Cheese on toast. Nothing big, nothing major, but he stares at it all the same. Because you’ve made him something. 

You’ve been doing it for a while, and each time is as perplexing as the last. His brain is unable to figure out how, why and what he’s done to deserve it. Even if it’s toast, a sandwich, or a fucking meal. 

Because it’s something outside of sex. It’s outside of holding the back of your head as he fucks your throat; outside of him pinning you against the dark alleyway of the pub he first saw you in, making you both cold and warm all at once. 

Even if he knows—constantly turns it over and over in his mind—that this isn’t just sex. He’s not entirely sure what this is. Except…nice?

You take a bite of your own, the crunch filling the air, crumbs littering your top—his top. “My call sign.” 

Simon isn’t sure why he told you about what he did. You were in his arms, warm, smelling of sex, flowers and something sharp. And, it fell out of him. Still drunk off your cunt, lost in the tenderness of your fingers on his chest, playing it a pattern with your nails. 

Not everything. Fuck, he couldn’t tell you everything—wouldn’t. But you know enough. 

Enough for him to know you’re not running, that you still want him knocking on your door whenever he lands—whether it's morning, noon or night. 

Now, you’re making him food. Legs long, his black t-shirt skimming your thighs—all his. Looking ever so inviting, making it hard not to push you up on the counter and give your neighbours something to talk about.

“Egg.”

You snort, sharp and light. “Egg?! You’re fuckin’ rude, Riley. Egg? No, that’s shit, give me a better one.” 

“But, true. You’d shatter, you’re more yolk than shell, you.”

“C’mon, be serious.” 

He gives you a look, finding the one you’re giving him sultry, teasing—demanding. 

“Snow.” 

You stare for several seconds before you hum, crunching the corner of your food with your teeth. “Lemme guess because I’m oh-so-delicate?”

No—

It’s because you’re fucking perfect. 

Because you’re his favourite season and favourite moment.

On some deeper level, he suspects it’s because you’re pure. That you’re unruined. Untainted. Your body has no scars—except the one from chicken pox and one on your hand from a glass bottle shattering. But, that’s it. He’s kissed every inch of you to know, to be 100% sure. 

You’re Snow because each time he sees it, he thinks of you. Those red lips, all that fucking audacity and the way you kissed him, tasting as warm as bourbon and as sweet as sugar. 

“Yeh, ‘cause you’re all pure and innocent, Sweetheart.”

You laugh, richly. Head thrown back, perfect thin neck exposed to the air—to him. 

And he wants to kiss you. 

He wants to taste your laugh and smile, let his hands run around the back of your thighs and feel you against every inch of him. 

That’s when your eyes land on him again—all full of questions and spice. Your tongue drags across your plush bottom lip, wiping up the grease from the cheese as he swallows. 

His throat suddenly dry. 

Because the girl he met in the pub—the one standing before him—is standing in his t-shirt. Looking every bit delicious, good enough to eat and never come up for air. 

And he thinks—

Realises, he actually, might—probably—miss you when he goes back to Price. 

It’s stretched on for months. A year. 

He lands, uses the key you gave him and stamps the snow from his boots, half smiling to himself as he does. Whenever he gets here, he doesn’t wait, he finds his way to whatever room you’re in.

Sometimes he doesn’t get far, your body colliding with his. All curves in his hands and arms around his neck, and he’s not sure what the fuck this is, but he likes it. 

Loves it. 

It’s something like a song about falling in love and a peaceful Sunday morning; it’s those moments you see in movies that make your eyes swell with tears as he stares at you, wondering how on earth you’re so goddamn amazing. 

It’s familiar, and yet he has no idea what is happening next or why. 

Mostly, though, Simon knows it’s something because he said your name to Johnny. 

Not because he was dying, not because he was hurt. But in the middle of a normal conversation, one exchanged on some dark rooftop, stars twinkling, and eyes fixated on a building down a scope. 

Normally, he wouldn’t have answered. Would have ignored him. 

If y’could be anywhere, right now, Lt. Where’d y’pick?

He didn’t need to think. 

He didn’t say home. Because home wasn’t his place, the pub or even the fuckin’ city he’s always ever known. It’s wherever you are. It’s where your heart beats and your bed is placed; it’s where your annoying, shitty music taste is blaring and that sleepy smile is when he wakes up next to you. 

So, Simon said your name. 

Simple. Easy. 

Except it wasn’t simple or fucking easy. It was messy, and complicated. Because Johnny tilted his head, in that obnoxious way he does, demanding more information than he is ever prepared to ever share. 

‘Fuck off, Johnny, before I punt y’off the rooftop and tell Price you’d been a cunt.’

Because you are locked away when he’s here. You are chained inside his chest, the deepest fucking secret—one no one will ever fucking take no matter how much they dig, how much they push him too. 

You are his.

Something only he gets to enjoy—gets to see, hear and taste. 

He’s done all of that for the last hour. Getting some sick satisfaction from edging you until you’re pleading with him, begging him with every breath you have to let you come as you wriggle and wiggle, urging him to lift your legs—just like he likes it, how you like it, and make you see fucking stars.

Now, you’re barefoot. 

A different t-shirt of his hiding the welts he’s left, the growing bruises from the way he’d needed to hold you in place. Watching, observing—admiring—the oddness to your steps as you flick on the kettle. He’s always close—looming in the sun’s shadows across the kitchen he knows better than his own. 

He has to be. Wants to be.

You’ve not just carved a place in your life, but in his chest—his heart. You’ve seeped into his skin, into his soul, merging and bringing to life something he thought had wilted and died. He doesn’t care that he’s vulnerable, that he’s not jagged edges and sharp stares. 

“You wanna go out with me? Tonight?” 

You pause, tea bag in hand, looking over your shoulder at him as if he’d asked you to slaughter a pig, a child, a whole bloody family. 

The moment is tender, almost fragile. 

It trembles under the weight of his question and the silence of your thoughts. 

Then it stills—

“You don’t… you don’t have to do that…” 

“What?” 

Dashing the tea bag into the cup, you turn. Hips leaning against the counter, sigh falling from your swollen, pink lips as your arms fold. The air scented with that familiar smell your home always has—jasmine and pineapple, the sun kissing your toes and legs as your face shows thunder and rain. 

The air shifts, changing. It’s speckled in ice with a cold breeze punctuated by you suddenly not able to meet his eyes. 

“Date me. Change… this. I know that you… I know you don’t have time for that.” 

Except he doesn’t hear that, he hears me. 

He suspects you don’t say it to hurt him. 

But it does. 

It wounds—

It fucking burns. It’s on par with a bullet or a rusty knife, twisting and twisting until it’s hitting nerves and making muscles quake. 

It worsens when the kettle clicks, ready—waiting. It blows steam under your cupboards, billowing out around the edges before it rushes to the ceiling. Twisting, turning, desperate to escape the uncomfortable space between the two of you. 

But, he just wants to pull you close—impossibly close. He wants to cradle and fucking hug you, even if he never hugs anyone. Simon wants to tell you that he hasn’t been doing this with anyone else. That it’s been over a year of this, and even he knows it’s something. 

Admittedly, yeah, he didn’t think he’d have fucking time for someone, and then you came in and blew that all to shit. But, on some level inside of him, he knows they aren’t the words he should be saying. So silence fills the space instead. 

Doubling. Tripling. Expanding like foam and smoothing over crevices as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

And he knows he should just ask again. 

Softer. Maybe with a bit more emotion. Counting in his head. One. Two, fucking Three. 

Your body turning, holding out a mug you got him—big, black with tiny ghosts on it. Because you’d pestered and pestered to know what he was called. What his alias is when he shoots people. The mug made you grin when you handed it to him last time—tired of him taking your favourite. The one with a quote from a television show you keep promising to show him. Sarcastic. Almost makes his teeth show when he smiles. He almost does the same when he takes the mug, and you turn away from him. 

Now when he takes it, your eyes drop to the floor. To the space between the two of you.

The one which feels vast, and far larger than the bar ever felt.  

All Simon wonders is why there’s a pit opening inside of him—why it is filling him with a feeling he wants to cut out of himself. It’s not light or nice, it’s dark and twisty. 

Because he’s the same person who goes on stupid solo missions where the percentage of survival is low, and still fucking comes back to base with whatever was asked of him. He’s Ghost—a man who many fear. Who is often coated in more of other people’s blood than he is dirt. 

And yet this—

You.

Terrify the living fuck out of him. Not that he’s showing that. He knows he’s stood with a stiff back, and a face devoid of any emotions. 

“You said it when we first… Just… I know your job is important. I know you can’t commit and I respect—”

“Sweetheart.”

Your eyes meet his. Teeth biting your lip, arms crossing over your chest.  

And shit, he hopes to never see this face ever again. This nervous, unsure face that he’s put there. One which complicates everything and pulls on every string inside of him. 

You are an enigma, and he’s not even sure you know it. 

You’re something he never deserves, something he never thought he’d have, get, or keep. 

Yet, here you are. 

Someone who has seen every inch of him. Knows what he does. Where he goes. You even know brief moments of his past, the parts of him that he’d rather take to the grave. 

You are important. You matter. 

He’s falling—free-falling, in fact—and has been for a while, he didn’t even acknowledge it. Pushing it down, letting it sit with all the other things he doesn’t want to deal with. 

“Do’ya wanna go out with me tonight?” 

Each word hits you, strokes you. He watches as each syllable lands, your eyes reading him. 

“You back for long, Simon?”

His lips twitch. “Little bit.”

And then you smile. All devious and cunning, lips twisting as you unfold your arms and adjust your stance. “I think I’d prefer a takeaway. Keep you to myself, while I 'ave you.” 

Standing, crossing the small space of your kitchen as he cages you in. Your hand clutching his cheek, soft, gentle, and more than he fucking deserves. 

His head lowers, lips close to your ear as you curl your body into him as he whispers, all gruff and quiet so only you—and not a fly or spirit could hear—says, “I’ve always been just yours, sweetheart.”

Simon doesn't expect a response. More a kiss. Maybe even a roll of your hips.

It's why he doesn't expect the words, "I'd hoped so", or the way they make him feel like he's walking on air.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod ghost x reader smut #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost riley #ghost riley x reader #simon ghost #cod x reader #ghost cod mwii #Simon Riley

[g-xix]

pleeeeaaaaase write more for george clarkey, absolutely obsessed with the last one

Nights Out | George Clarkey (fluff)

Say the word your wish is my command ~Freddie Mercury my bae And ofc, here's more G Clarkey content as requested... Quick picture:

Cutie. Anyways, enjoy the 1.2k wordcount George Clarkay smut!!

-----------------------

Coming home drunk that mf would be soooo loving and touchy...

You'd be in the bedroom of your apartment, flipping pages when you first hear a distant shout from someone on the street. Probably some latenight, Friday party-goers. Nothing unusual in London. But then after a few minutes, you hear some shouts which are not in fact so distant. As a matter of fact, they sounded like they were coming from the stairwell of the apartment block.

Checking the time on the little digital clock, it read 1:34am, meaning that the stranger in the stairwell was not gonna be popular with the neighbours. That's when you realised that the stranger in the stairwell might not be a stranger after all.

Bookmarking the page hastily and sliding your feet into your fluffy slippers, you stumble-ran to the front door, opening it just in time to see a sober ArthurTV at the door- a contrastingly drunk Chippo and George in either arm.

"Thought I'd make sure he didn't bust his face open while trying to make it up the stairs." Arthur explained, and you could only give him a short hug and best wishes as George stumbled into the flat, Chip shouting "Bye sexy!" As your boyfriend blew a kiss and shut the door behind you. 

He turns to you slowly, lips stretched into a dopey smile as he sees his beautiful girlfriend after such a long night.

"God, has anyone told you how gorgeous you are?" He'd gush, putting his arms around your shoulders as you smiled at his antics, pecking his lips lightly, though he chased your lips as you pulled away- getting a proper thirty second snog before he pulled away with a contented grin on his lips. 

He'd take a moment to just stand still and look around at the interior of your shared flat- and though nothing had changed within the last four hours he had been out for- he still gave a nod of approval. 

"This is cute." He'd mumble, seeing the framed picture of the two of you which Cam had caught on a night out- the two of you bundled together in a corner- yourself staring up into George's eyes, whilst he looked up at you in adoration. He'd reacted the exact same way when yyou'd first printed and framed it, though clearly in his state he couldn't recall it. He picked up the frame to examine your faces further. "You're so pretty..."

You knew his words were just drunken rambles of all his thoughts, but it was still impossible not to love what came out of his mouth- and it was fair to say it had you in a blushing mess by the time he was done. 

"I got something for you whilst I was out." George garbled, his words becoming more tired as the buzz of the night wore off and the fuzzy scent of your vanilla candles clouded his senses in the most pleasant, domestic way it always did. 

"Did you really?" You'd raise a brow, not believing for a single second he would've stopped the night out for a moment to grab something for you. Even if you had asked him to get a pint of milk at some point. 

Fidgeting around in his cargo bottoms, he'd search through his pockets with a face of immense concentration, before his face lit up- hand withdrawing a crumpled and withering little flower, head weakly stood as George wielded it with a proud smile. 

"A daisy?" You'd question with a raised brow, wondering why he'd decided to pluck the small flower on his night out. 

"Yeah, cuz it's like you... The yellow bit's like the sun..."

"Which is like me?"

"Yeah because you're so... Bright."

You often wondered what the hell he meant and whether you should be flattered or offended with his drunk comments. He said it with such a loving sparkle in his eyes it only felt right to assume he was trying to be sentimental as he pushed it into your hand to see for yourself. 

Sighing with a smile and dropping the flower down onto the table, he'd wrap you in another hug from behind, resting his head ontop of yours and swaying you from side to side, breathing slower and squeezing your waist appreciatively. You'd only be able to hold his arms and let out a soft smile yourself, leaning into his touch despite wanting fully well to go back to sleep.

"C'mon, you, let's brush your teeth and get you a shower, Georgie..."

You'd push him into the bathroom, shutting the door despite his whining for you to sit on the bathtub and keep him company despite doing the menial task of brushing his teeth- instead finding the paracetamol in the apartment and leaving that on the bedside table on the left side (his side) of the bed. That way he could get over the headache in the morning easily. 

Returning back to the bathroom to check up and make sure he hadn't accidentally drowned himself in the shower or something stupid like that- you'd walk in to see the taps running into the bath- George drizzling some scented soaps into the stream and letting bubbles form across the surface- a few strays floating across the bathroom. 

"I thought I'd run us a bubble bath." He'd explain enthusiastically, dropping in one of those Lush bath bombs he'd bought last Christmas, yourself having to take take the bubble mixture away, as he'd already formed a mountain of froth.

But who were you to deny a bubble bath at two o'clock in the morning.

For some reason, you would have your back to the tub with his body slotted between your legs- his back leant into your body whilst he holds his hands on your thighs, gently tapping and massaging little patterns onto them beneath the water whilst he blows the bubbles away when they start getting too close to his face. 

You'd be left in charge of drizzling shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp and trying not to get shampoo in his eyes, as well as scrubbing his upper body with whatever gel was available. Meanwhile he'd hum something familiar and mumble little nothings- whatever really came to his head.

Then, feeling a lot more relaxed and clean after that, he'd insist on returning "the favour" (you didn't really know what favour he meant) by carrying you the short distance back to bed- dropping you onto your side before jumping on top of you, making you groan as the bed bounced beneath the two of you, George letting out little giggles as he rolled over and onto his side, you clutching your stomach from the impact but still finding it within yourself to laugh at his stupid antics.

Pulling the duvet up and switching the lights off, his arm would find itself around your waist, hand resting against your stomach as you nestled back and into his body, finding comfort in his warmth whilst he placed a sweet kiss behind your ear. He'd tangle your legs together, at some point in the night even nestling his head in the crook of your neck, so that you could gently run your hands through his hair when you woke up, just savouring the feeling of your boyfriend and those lazy, love-filled mornings you could share together.

--------------------

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

To see more, here's my MASTERLIST

And here's my WATTPAD, with 50+ more oneshots to read

#youtube #youtuber #chaos crew #arthurtv #theburntchiph #arthur frederick #george clarkey #george clarkey x reader #george clarkey x you #fluff #george clarkey fluff #sidemen

[yourlocalshrimp318]

My mom is now part of the ineffable fandom.

We finished season 1 and, wahoo, she really liked it. She is very sad that Azi and Crowley didn’t kiss, but the end was cute. She said that.

When Crowley’s car catched fire, she was a little bit down because the car was so pretty, but also quite impressed by its performance. Also the Queen music was absolute peak, because mom is a huuuge Queen fan.

M. said (quite often) that Shadwell is a very disgusting man. He looks like he smells bad. I understand her tbh.

She looked at me in utter confusion when I loudly said „Wahoo“ when Crowley introduced the m25.

When we first saw death, her comment was: „omg is it Freddie Mercury? That’d be so funny!“ uhhh no mom. Not really.

„Please Adam, calm the fuck down. You are not that important!“ she said, really annoyed by Adam. No one should be such an ass to their friends.

Anathema is now certified very beautiful by my mother. She is right.

She noticed that the one soldier dude read „American Gods“ by Neil Gaiman and thought it was funny.

Newt is very funny and M. was very keen to find out why is car is called „Dick Turpin“

„Now why do these guys look so toasted?“ she asked, being utterly terrified by the weird looks of the horsemen. „And why is death so ugly?“ I don’t know mother. Maybe because he is Death??

During the last episode she didn’t say much. Sadly.

But Satan is a certified drama queen. By my mother.

She laughed as Michael entered: „haha he looks like David Bowie!“

„Gabriel is a dick, Aziraphale didn’t do anything??“

„Why can’t they just state their feelings?“

And lastly: „Blodie here such a British person!“ nuh-uh mom. Not exactly. But I do get you.

She was very relieved when she saw that the bookshop was there again. Absolutely relatable.

M. had good time, she is excited for season 2. She hopes for a happy ending. I am a little bit scared.

„Cute story. Looking forward to the rest“

Good night/day people!

#aziraphale #crowley #good omens #ineffable fandom #my mom is now ineffably a fan #michael sheen #david tennant #yippiieee #freddie mercury

[aziraphales-library]

hi!! first off, thank you for all you do! the organization of this account is quite literally my saving grace!! i was curious if there were any fics relating to Queen? like a favorite headcanon is that crowley sat with freddie mercury and talking endlessly about aziraphale and that’s how “good old fashioned lover boy” came about! have you heard of anything like this??

We have a #queen tag with several posts full of fics like this. Please check that out.

Here are some more fics that explore Crowley and Freddie Mercury's friendship.

Crowley and Freddie by rubylaurus [rated T, 3900 words]

A glimpse into Crowley’s friendship with one of his favorite humans, a dissection of Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy, and slight dip into the existentialism faced by immortal beings on a mortal earth.

Till the end of time, my Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy by nagitoscockfullofhope [rated G, 1300 words]

Freddie and Crowley are friends. One rant leads to the making of the song Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy.

“Maybe. I mean he asked me to dine at the Ritz with him tonight, we’ve done it a couple times in the past but not a lot recently. He also asked me to go on a picnic with him some time!” Crowley smiled fondly, thinking about Aziraphale now.

“Dinning at the Ritz? That sounds pretty romantic."

December 30th, 1976 by FandomFighter [rated M, 1400 words]

The story behind the song 'Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy.'

On The Road by MagnetoTheMagnificent [NR, 791 words]

Why the Bentley only plays Queen, and why it makes Crowley cry

I do hope you enjoy these.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #queen #freddie mercury #mod ab

[sourwolf-sterek32]

Idiotic Hero

Summary: Nikki Sixx chooses a random fan from the crowd to come on stage and it happens to be you. But what happens when a person with a knife pushes through security and runs straight towards you both?

Pairings: Nikki Sixx x Reader, Mötley Crüe & Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings- language, blood, serious injury, mentions of past drug & alcohol abuse

Part 1

Part 2

You awoke to the pungent smell of hospital disinfectant. Slowly you opened your eyes, squinting in attempt to sharpen the blurred images before you.

Pain.

That was the first thing you really registered when you started to wake up. Sharp pain coming from your lower abdomen.

There was a faint beeping in the background, and it wasn't hard to figure out that you were in a hospital. But why? How long have you been here?

You closed your eyes trying to remember what happened before it suddenly hit you.

The concert. The knife. Nikki Sixx. Holy shit.

Your eyes snapped open as you looked down to find yourself lying in a hospital bed. Your Mötley Crüe shirt and black jeans now replaced with a faded hospital gown.

The ceiling above you was illuminated with a white, fluorescent light that had no right to be as bright as it was. The rest of the room was empty. You were literally in your own private hospital room and there was no way you could afford this.

The pain in your stomach was starting to get worse as you looked around to find an IV drop in your arm. You reached down gently brushing your hand over your lower abdomen feeling a thick bandage wrapped around your mid-section hidden by the gown.

Suddenly, the door across the room opened and you had to do a double take when Nikki Sixx stepped inside.

Nikki closed the door quietly behind himself not wanting to wake you. He took a sip of the shitty hospital coffee cup in his hand before he turned and then quite literally dropped the coffee when he saw you staring right back at him.

The brown takeaway cup fell to the ground. The plastic lid popping off on impact spilling the dark liquid over the floor. The bassist didn't seem to notice nor care as he limped across the room towards you.

Am I dead? You wondered as you stared at the rockstar by your bedside who you grew up idolizing. You were definitely dead. Was this heaven? Should you start looking around for Freddie Mercury and Bon Scott?

Nikki chuckled softly, "you're not dead, sweetheart."

Oh, you had said all of that aloud.

"Where-where am I?" You asked, your voice coming out rougher than you've ever heard it.

"Hospital. Your heart stopped twice in the ambulance on the way here. You're lucky to be alive." Nikki answered.

You nodded slowly trying to process that because, shit. That was bad.

If you were being honest, you were surprised that you were actually alive and breathing. Your memories after getting stabbed were fuzzy, but you remembered how much blood there had been.

There was so much blood. Nikki's hands were covered with it. Vince's scarf was soaked within seconds. How were you alive?

You must have zoned out for a few minutes because there was now a nurse standing at the foot of your bed writing something down on the clipboard in her hand.

"So, is she going to be okay?" Nikki asked eyeing the nurse almost worriedly.

"She will be. The knife missed any vital organs, but she did lose a lot of blood. She will be weak for a while and in a significant amount of pain, but the stitches are holding nicely. She should be able to be discharged tomorrow morning." The nurse answered before she looked over at you. "Do you have any questions, dear?"

You shook your head, and she gave you a gentle smile before walking out the room leaving you and Nikki alone. The bassist stared at you for a moment before he limped over to the chair by your bedside and sat down with a wince.

He was injured. Nikki was hurt because of you.

"I'm sorry." Your voice was barely above a whisper and if it was any softer, Nikki would have missed it. "I'm so sorry for pushing you off the stage. That's all my fault."

You chewed at your lower lip, eyes welling up with tears as you stared down at his bandaged ankle. That was your fault. Nikki Sixx was injured because of you.

"This wasn't your fault." Nikki hurriedly reassured seeming unsure how to deal with your sudden emotions. "You saved my life, Y/N. If it wasn't for you, I would have been stabbed and probably wouldn’t be here right now."

"I still hurt you though."

"A sprained ankle is nothing. If you had hurt my bass hand, we would be having a very different conversation." He joked causing you to crack a small smile.

You wiped the tears from your eyes and tried to sit up on the bed which turned out to be a bad idea because even the slight movement sent sharp pain shooting through your midsection. You let out a pained hiss as you dropped your head back down on the pillow and rested your hand over your stomach.

"Easy. Just take it easy. Is there anyone I can call for you? Friends? Family?" He asked already pulling his phone out, but you shook your head and his brows furrowed, "I can call someone for you. Let them know what's happened or-"

"I have no one." You whispered.

Nikkis confusion turned to almost sadness as he stared at you before simply nodding as he tucked his phone back into the front pocket of his jeans. It was clear the bassist wanted to ask more questions but didn't get the chance before the door suddenly opened and a familiar rockstar walked inside.

Vince Neil.

The singer sidestepped around the spilt coffee on the floor before making his way towards the two of you.

"Hey, you're awake. How are you feeling, kid?" Vince asked surprised that you were now conscious.

"Uh, okay." You answered hesitantly trying to process the fact that both Nikki Sixx and Vince Neil were in your hospital room.

"Any luck with the manager?" Nikki asked looking over at his bandmate.

Vince shook his head, "he called back and said they were still trying to figure out how that guy got inside the stadium with a knife. He's been arrested though, and the police are looking into it."

You were curious to know how long the man would get behind bars for stabbing someone but didn't get a chance to ask before the door to your room opened once again.

"Fucking hell, that's a tripping hazard." Tommy's voice suddenly said as you looked past Vince to find Tommy Lee tiptoeing around the coffee on the floor like it was a biohazard. "What happened, Sixx? Did you spill- oh, shit, you're awake!"

Tommy's face lit up when he realised your eyes were open, and he jogged the remaining distance until he was standing beside Vince.

"See, I told you that she would be okay!" Tommy exclaimed pointing at you with a bright smile. "She's a tough chick."

Nikki sighed from his seat beside your bed, "can you guys give me a minute with her?"

Vince nodded patting Tommys shoulder and leading the drummer back towards the door, "John has the car downstairs. We'll be waiting. We're glad you're okay, Y/N."

"Thanks, Vince." You smiled softly watching the two of them walk out the room before you glanced back at Nikki whose green eyes were already looking at you.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" He asked gently. "I... I'm not comfortable with leaving you here alone."

"I'm fine on my own." You answered sadly but honestly. "I'm used to it. You don't need to worry."

Your words didn't seem to comfort the bassist though. He stared at you as a million different emotions washed over his face, but they were gone before you could decipher any of them.

You looked away from him not knowing what else to say as you glanced around the room and suddenly came to a very horrible realisation and that fear must have shown on your face because Nikki sat up on alert.

"What's wrong?"

"What time is it? I was meant to check out of my hotel at nine and my flight was due to board at midday." I said looking over at him in sudden panic.

"Yeah, that ain't happening. Sorry." Nikki answered.

Fuck.

"I-I can't afford this. A private room? An ambulance ride? These stitches..." You began to say motioning towards the stitches hidden beneath your gown. "I could barely afford concert tickets for this trip. Now I need to buy a new plane ticket and-"

"Don't worry about it." Nikki said cutting you off.

"That's easy coming from someone with lots of money." You snapped but instantly regretted it. "Sorry."

He smiled softly, "I remember what it was like not having money. Hell, we used to live off $20 a week back when we started the band."

"I know. I read the book... well I've read all of your books. Tommy and Vince's too. I hope that's not creepy."

Nikki chuckled, "it's not."

You nodded biting your lip as you glanced around the private hospital room anxiously. You could only just afford the plane tickets and hotel room for this trip. You couldn't pay for hospital fees or a new plane ticket.

This concert was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Mötley Crüe was your favourite band, and you didn't know if they'd ever tour again, so you pooled all your money and savings together to pay for it. You had the budget down to the last dollar and it would've been fine, but you did not see this incident coming.

"I've already paid for your hospital bills. I'll organise for someone to collect your luggage from whatever hotel you were staying at." Nikki began to say like he could somehow read your mind.

You shook your head before his words actually registered in your brain. "Wait, you paid my hospital bill?"

"Yeah, and while you were busy freaking out just now, I've texted my manager to book you into the hotel we're staying at. You don't need to worry about money while you're here. I promise."

"Why-why would you do that?"

"It's the least I could do for what happened. You saved my life, Y/N."

"I just did what anyone would have done."

He shook his head, "not many people would've done that."

You opened your mouth to argue but knew a losing fight when you saw one, so you simply closed your mouth again and nodded in response.

"I'll let you get some rest. Someone will be by tomorrow morning when you get discharged, okay?" He explained gingerly getting to his feet before he began walking towards the door.

"Nikki?" You called out.

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, "yeah?"

"Thank you."

"I should be thanking you." He smiled. "Get some rest, sweetheart."

Not long after Nikki left, a couple Police Officers showed up needing to take your statement about the events that took place during the concert. It didn't take long to tell your side of the story and they reassured you that the man would be behind bars for a long time. That was a silent relief, not that you were worried for your own safety but for Nikki's. That crazy man had been aiming for Nikki. Why he wanted to hurt the bassist was a question that kept you up at night, but it didn’t matter anymore. Nikki was safe and the man couldn’t hurt anyone else.

-

When you woke up the following morning it wasn’t to the sound of machines beeping, it was to the sound of a guitar.

You blinked your eyes open in confusion to find John 5 sitting beside your bed with an acoustic guitar in his lap. He was strumming away on the guitar softly while a familiar looking woman sat in the other chair beside him scrolling on her phone.

A small smile spread across your face at the sight of John 5 and his wife, Rita, before you heard something move across the room and you quickly turned your head and your eyes widened when you saw Brittany Furlan Lee looking out the window of your room.

You sat there silently for a few minutes looking between the three of them as your head swarmed with a million questions. The biggest question you had was why were they all here? Why would they care about you?

You were no one. You were a nobody to them. Just a strange girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place at the right time... depends how you looked at it. But still, you were nobody, so why would they all be here?

"You might not realise it, but more people care about you than you think, Y/N." John 5's voice suddenly said.

You quickly turned towards him to find the guitarist looking at you with a gentle smile.

"But... why?" You asked in utter confusion. "I'm no one."

John chuckled softly and leant his guitar up against the wall before turning in his seat to face you.

"You saved Nikki. Which means you saved Mötley Crüe. You aren't no one."

"He's right." Rita spoke up, putting her phone down as she leant forward and smiled kindly at you. "My name is-."

"Rita Lowery. I know who you are." You replied causing the woman’s smile to brighten.

"How are you feeling, babe?"

You glanced to the side to find Brittany no longer looking out the window as she walked over to your bedside looking down to where your hand was pressed against your stomach with a concerned look in her eye.

"Like I've been stabbed." You answered bluntly without thinking but before you could say anything else Brittany started to laugh.

"Probably should have guessed that, huh?" She replied with a smile. "I'm Tommy's wife by the way. Brittany-"

"Furlan Lee, I know. You're awesome."

She was one of your favourite comedians and her podcast This Is The Worst had you crying from laughter during each episode. Brittany was so chaotic and had such a beautiful energy about her. Tommy was just as energetic and hyper too. They matched each other's vibes so well. They were perfect for each other.

"I like this girl." Brittany announced glancing over at John and Rita who both chuckled.

"I'll go see if the nurse is ready with those discharge papers." John said, picking up his guitar before walking out the room leaving you alone with quite possibly two of the most gorgeous women in America.

Lita pulled out a familiar looking bag from beside her chair and your eyes widened realising that it was your duffle bag from the hotel. How the heck did they get that?

"Nikki collected this from your hotel." She explained like she knew what you were thinking. "We figured you would probably want something clean to wear instead of those scrubs or your bloodied Mötley shirt."

That was really thoughtful. You hadn't even thought about that. You hadn't really thought about a lot since waking up in the hospital other than the fact that you had been stabbed on stage in front of thousands of people.

"Thank you so much." You said sincerely as you sat up and swung your legs over the side of the bed grimacing at the pull of the stitches before you stood up but nearly fell right back down onto the bed again.

"Whoa, whoa, easy. Are you okay?" Brittany asked, grabbing your shoulder to steady you as you rested your hand over the bandage under your scrubs with a pained hiss. "Do you want to sit back down?"

You shook your head. Rita was on her feet hovering by your side like she was worried you'd fall over which, yeah, okay, that was highly likely because black dots were dancing across your vision as you blinked your eyes trying to clear them.

"I'm good. I'm good." You reassured but the two women clearly didn't believe you as they gave you a doubtful look.

Brittany and Rita assisted you changing out of the hospital scrubs despite your embarrassment of not being able to do it yourself, but the women didn't make you feel bad or ashamed for it. They simply helped you and gave you gentle encouraging words when you saw how big the stab wound actually was and how long the scar was going to be.

John drove the three of you back to the hotel across the city and the girls helped you get settled ensuring you were comfortable and exchanging phone numbers for you to contact them if you needed anything. Brittany and Tommy had the room a few doors down while John and Rita were on the floor below. They weren't sure where Nikki or Vince were but knew they had rooms in this hotel somewhere.

Mötley Crüe were set to fly out tomorrow for their next concert but apparently Nikki had postponed it a few days to allow his ankle enough time to recover. Less than a week definitely wasn't enough time for a sprained ankle to heal especially since he would be on his feet for hours on stage at a time, but Nikki was a workaholic and never missed a show.

Everyone left you alone for the rest of the day. Brittany and Rita kept texting you though making sure you were okay and taking your pain meds every few hours. John even messaged you, no doubt getting your number from his wife and offered to drop off some food. He was a vegan and wanted Subway, but said he was happy to buy anything with meat if you felt like it, but you kindly declined.

You slept like a rock that night but awoke the following morning to a muffled voice coming from outside your hotel room door.

"Her heart stopped in the fucking ambulance, man!"

That was Nikki's voice. And he was talking about you.

"I know, I know. But... fuck, T-Bone, that would've been me if she hadn't pushed me out the way. And-" Nikki stopped talking abruptly but you couldn’t hear what Tommy was saying in response.

You slowly sat up in bed and took a couple of the pain meds with a mouthful of water. Brittany had sent you a text but before you could open it, Nikki continued talking.

"How do I not feel guilty? It should have been me! She's just a kid."

Nikki felt guilty for what happened. Why would he feel guilty? He wasn't the one who stabbed you. It wasn't his fault in the slightest.

Putting your phone down, you stood up gingerly and walked over to your front door and pulled it open. The bassist was pacing up and down the long corridor of the hotel with his phone to his ear listening to whatever his best friend was saying through the line.

"I'm not a kid." You spoke up announcing your presence as you leant against the doorframe.

Nikki spun around so quickly you feared he may have given himself whiplash as he stared at you in surprise.

"Tommy, I'll call you back." Nikki said not waiting for a reply before he lowered the phone from his ear. "You shouldn't be up."

"I got sick of laying down."

Nikki shook his head, rubbing his beard along his jaw. He looked angry. It wasn't a good look on him and it made you feel uneasy.

"Are you angry with me?" You asked your voice coming out a mere whisper as you bit your lip hating how fragile you felt right now as tears burned in the back of your eyes.

The thought of Nikki Sixx possibly hating you made you want to cry. You had loved and idolised him for so long, you couldn’t bear the thought of him hating you.

Nikki turned back towards you. The anger in his features vanished instantly when he saw the tears that were no doubt showing in your eyes. You ducked your head and quickly wiped them not wanting Nikki to see but it was too late. The bassist was across the corridor and in front of you in an instant.

"No. No. I'm not angry at you." He hurriedly reassured. "It's just... you shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have put yourself in harm’s way."

"I'm okay though. The doctors said I'll be fine-"

"No. No. You could have been killed. And there would have been nothing I could do to stop it. I watched you bleed out in my arms, Y/N." His voice broke and Nikki looked away. "That guy was after me, but it was you that got hurt. You could have died!"

His voice was heavy with shame, the same way his guilt weighed down upon his shoulders.

"Better me than you." You simply replied.

Nikki looked back over at you in disbelief, "how can you say that?"

"I'm nobody. I... I have no one. I literally have nothing to live for if I'm being brutally honest-" You began to ramble before he tried to cut you off.

"Y/N-"

"And you're Nikki fucking Sixx." You continued to say ignoring him. "The whole world would be heartbroken if you died. The band would be destroyed. Your fans, your family, your kids. Me! You have so much more to live for."

Nikki sighed lowering his head, but he didn't say anything for a moment as you remained silent leaning in the doorway unsure of what to do or say next. It was all true though. You had nobody. You had nothing to lose but Nikki had everything to lose.

"I'm not going to apologise for saving your life, Nikki."

The bassist lifted his head. His guilty green eyes meeting yours.

"You're an idiot for saving me, sweetheart." He whispered shaking his head.

"Maybe. But I'd do it again." You answered and you meant it. "It's not your fault. I made my own choice and I'd do it again. Well, I might not pull the knife out next time though."

The side of Nikki's mouth twitched up in a slight smile at your words.

"That's like the number one rule of getting stabbed. You don't pull it out."

"I panicked. It's not like I've been stabbed before!" You said defensively causing Nikki to chuckle softly which you were going to call a small victory.

-

Somehow you ended up at the airport following the band out onto the tarmac towards their private jet-black plane. Nikki had somehow convinced the pilot to detour to your hometown on their way to the next gig. It was going to cost a lot in fuel which you felt guilty for, but Nikki had insisted that it wasn't a big deal.

Brittany and Rita were walking either side of you while the guys all strolled ahead towards the plane. The two women had taken you under their wing over the past few days without hesitation. They were both so kind and down to earth. They made you feel welcome in Mötley Crüe's little group despite the fact you were a stranger to them all. They were both walking slower alongside of you on purpose, not wanting you to strain yourself or tear any stitches which you silently appreciated.

Nikki stood to the side allowing his bandmates to walk up the stairs into the plane first before he held his hand out towards you. It wasn't that you couldn't climb up stairs yourself. Your body had gotten significantly stronger since departing the hospital, but you still accepted his assistance because although you weren't as weak, the stab wound was still painful.

Nikki's hand squeezed yours gently as he helped you up the stairs before you walked into their private plane, but you came to a sudden halt when you saw the interior of it. Private planes were meant to be fancy with leather reclining seats and tables, you knew that, but were still shocked by how nice it was on the inside.

As your eyes raked over the expensive plane you spotted a group of men seated further down and your jaw literally dropped when you realised who they were.

Def Leppard.

Nobody had told you that Mötley Crüe and Def Leppard shared a private plane for this tour.

The band all glanced in your direction hearing Mötley finally board the plane. They all waved in greeting before the tall man with shoulder length silver white hair stood up and began walking down the aisle towards you.

"Holy shit, you're Joe Elliot." You mumbled under your breath but clearly you had said it a bit too loudly because Nikki snickered softly from beside you, his hand still holding yours.

Joe smiled, "that I am, love. And you're the girl who got the concert cancelled before Def Leppard could even get on stage."

Guilt washed over you, "I'm so sorry-"

"No, no, I'm taking the piss. I'm joking. You saved Nikki's life." Joe hurriedly explained nodding towards the bassist while looking at you with a kind smile. "I'm glad you're okay."

"You are okay though, right? Brittany said you were in pain and-" Tommy's voice suddenly said as he appeared beside you.

You smiled at the drummer's kindness, "I'm okay."

Relief flashed across the taller man's face before Brittany patted your shoulder gently.

"She's tough this one." Brittany said smiling at you. "I have to get you on my podcast. This Is The Worst. Something tells me you have a worst concert story to share."

The guys all laughed, and you grinned.

"Honestly? I still enjoyed the concert." You admitted causing both Mötley Crüe and Def Leppard to stare at you like you were crazy. "What? I'm an 80s rock fan. That concert was like a dream come true... until the whole stabbing thing."

"Jesus." Nikki swore softly under his breath, his hand squeezing yours. "You're something else, Y/N."

Everyone took their respective seats on the plane, and it wasn't long before you were soaring through the sky. The hostesses came around with trays of food and assortment of drinks. Nikki accepted a water not even tempted by the alcohol which you were silently proud of, and you did the same since antibiotics and champagne probably wouldn't be a good mix.

It was nice sitting beside the bassist while listening to Mötley Crüe and Def Leppard talk and laugh together throughout the plane. Their banter was quite entertaining, and it was nice to know that these two bands got along and enjoyed each other's company.

Nikki had his bad ankle resting on top of the coffee table trying to keep it elevated as per doctor's orders. It was no longer bandaged but even hidden beneath a sock, it was still visibly swollen. Nikki must have seen you staring at it because he suddenly reached over and grabbed your arm.

"It's not bad." He whispered ignoring the others all talking and laughing throughout the plane and instead focused on you. "Hey, look at me."

Reluctantly you shifted your gaze from his ankle before meeting those beautiful green eyes.

"My ankle is fine. It's you I'm worried about."

You tilted your head a little in confusion, "why? I'm fine."

Nikki gave you a pointed look that said he saw straight through your lie, and you averted your gaze fiddling with a loose thread on your jeans.

Soon you would be back home, and this would be over. You'd be alone in your shitty apartment and going back to your dead-end job. Life would go back to normal, but you didn't want it to. You didn't want to leave Mötley Crüe. You didn't want this moment to end because right now, you were on a plane surrounded by men and women who genuinely cared about you and back home, there was no one. Nikki seemed to know that too as his green eyes watched you sadly.

Sooner than what you would have liked, the plane was touching down in your hometown. The Def Leppard guys all hugged you goodbye wishing you the best before you followed Nikki off the plane surprised to find Vince, Tommy, John, Brittany and Rita all following too.

The pilot was already pulling your bag out from the cargo hold before Vince grabbed it from him. The pilot warned that they'd be taking off in 20 minutes after a quick refuel before he climbed back up into the plane leaving the group of you standing on the tarmac.

"It was so lovely to meet you, Y/N." Rita said, holding her arms out before pulling you into a hug.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" John suddenly said, joining the hug as he wrapped his arms around the two of you.

You smiled hugging them both back before pulling away just as Brittany threw her arms around your neck and hugged you tightly.

"Thank you for everything." You whispered hugging the other woman back.

Brittany chuckled softly before grabbing your shoulders and holding you in front of her. "No, thank you! And I'm serious about you guest starring on my podcast by the way. If you want to that is?"

Your eyes lit up, "I would be honoured."

Tommy strolled over throwing his arm around his wife’s shoulder as Brittany leant into his side, the two of them smiling at you.

"How does it feel to be Mötley Crüe's hero?" The drummer asked.

Mötley Crüe's hero? Yeah, right. Mötley Crüe were your hero. It wasn’t the other way around. Mötley Crüe had saved your life. You were simply returning the favour.

"Mötley Crüe were my hero first." You answered causing the smile on Tommys face to widen before he lowered his arm from Brittany and threw it around your shoulder instead as he pulled you into a side hug.

Tommy was surprisingly gentle for his big lanky frame as you wrapped your arm around him and hugged him back.

"Thank you for saving that assholes life." Vince suddenly said nodding in Nikkis direction causing the bassist to roll his eyes. "Look after yourself, kid."

You fought the urge to tell him that you weren't a kid but decided against it. You simply nodded in response slipping free from Tommys arm before Vince stepped forward and hugged you as well.

"Thank you for what you did on stage. I'm sorry for ruining your scarf." You replied hugging the singer.

Vince let out a small huff as he smiled, "scarfs can be replaced. You can't. Thanks for not dying."

The two of you pulled apart as Nikki grabbed your duffle bag from where Vince had placed it on the ground.

"I'll walk you out." The bassist suddenly said.

You opened your mouth to argue not wanting him to walk too much on his bad ankle but knew that arguing with the bassist was a waste of time. So, you simply nodded before turning back to the others.

"Thank you guys for everything." You said feeling tears beginning to rise in your eyes, but you forced them back.

There was no way you were going to cry in front of them. No way.

You gave them all a friendly wave before glancing up at the plane to find the Def Leppard guys all waving through the windows of the plane causing you to chuckle as you waved at them too before Nikki took your hand and began to lead you across the tarmac.

Nikki didn't say anything as the two of you walked towards the pickup/drop off area of the airport. His hand held yours tightly while he threw your duffle bag over his shoulder with the other. He wasn't limping as badly anymore, but his ankle was still clearly giving him pain, although he didn’t comment on it.

The bassist hollered a taxi waiting for the yellow vehicle to pull up before he placed your bag in the trunk and then turned to face you and spoke for the first time since leaving the plane.

"What's your phone number?"

Your eyes widened, "what?"

He snorted, "relax, I'm not gonna ask you out. I'm married. Although if I wasn't..." He trailed off with a gentle smile as he lifted his hand and cupped the side of your face. "You're beautiful and no one has ever done something as heroic or as stupid for me. So, thank you, Y/N."

His words had you utterly speechless as you stared at the man you had idolised since you were a kid. The same man you had on posters stuck on your bedroom wall. The same man who had saved your life and helped you at your lowest without even knowing it.

"Put your number in here." He instructed passing you his phone.

He had named your contact 'Y/N aka my idiotic hero' you smiled at the name before typing in your number and handing it back to him.

"Mötley are going to be touring again in 2025. We got a few small shows at festivals next year but 2025 will be big. I'm going to make sure we play a gig here in your hometown and I want you to come... only if you want to though. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to go after what just happened-"

"I wouldn't miss it." You answered cutting him off.

Nikki smiled, "well it's settled. I'll get you a backstage pass and everything to make up for only seeing half a concert."

The cab driver suddenly honked the horn, "you getting in or what?!"

Nikki sighed before reaching forward and wrapping his arms around your body pulling you into his chest as he hugged you. Tears started to burn in the back of your eyes once again at the realisation that this was it. But you were quick to hug him back just as tightly, the stitches on your stomach be damned.

"Thank you for saving my life. I still think you're an idiot for doing it though." Nikki said before placing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he pulled away.

You smiled, "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Nikki snorted, "please don't."

"Can't make any promises." You teased causing Nikki to laugh before you glanced at the annoyed looking taxi driver. "I should probably go. Thank you for everything, Nikki."

"Here." The bassist slipped you $200 in cash. "Pay for the taxi with this."

You looked down at the money in your hand in shock, "Nikki, this is way too much."

"Buy yourself something pretty with the change then." He winked causing you to roll your eyes before he opened the car door for you. "Get home safe, sweetheart."

You nodded forcing your tears at bay hating having to say goodbye to him. You climbed into the back of the taxi and Nikki gently closed the door behind you. He gave you a small reassuring smile and you mustered up the courage to smile back despite wanting nothing more than to cry as you waved goodbye just as the taxi began to drive off.

Once the taxi got a few hundred metres down the road and the bassist was no longer in eyeshot, the tears began to spill down your cheeks like a waterfall. This time, you didn't try to stop them as you covered your face with your hands and silently cried.

A few minutes later your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out and found a text message from a random number.

'Forgot to send this earlier. You have my number now, so please don't hesitate to call or text me. Oh and it's Nikki Sixx by the way. Thank you again for everything xx'

You let out a wet chuckle, tears still trickling down your face as you smiled at Nikki's message.

-

*6 months later*

You sat behind your desk at work eyeing the time at the bottom corner of the screen wishing it would tick by faster when suddenly your phone buzzed.

'1 New Message from: Nikki Sixx'

You smiled at the notification that had become quite common since you parted ways. Nikki was the first to message you because there was no way in hell you were going to text him first. You didn't want to annoy him and figured he probably wouldn't want to talk to you. But he had asked how you were, and you asked about his ankle. From there the messaging became frequent and ranged from simple day to day chitchat to random photos of his dog. It was nice though and dare you say it, you were friends.

It had taken a while for you to get used to that. Nikki had been your idol for so long and he was now someone you considered a friend. Hell, even the rest of the guys from Mötley Crüe had your number too and would text you from time to time.

You opened Nikki's latest message, and all it said were two words; 'Check Twitter'

Frowning in confusion you opened up the app before searching Nikki's profile to find that he just posted something two minutes ago.

You dropped your phone on your desk staring at the excel spreadsheet on the computer screen in front of you as you covered your mouth with your hands trying to contain your excitement.

Holy shit. He wrote a song about you.

-

Part 3

MASTERLIST pinned to profile

If anyone wants to be tagged just let me know

#motley crue #nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #john 5 #motley crue x reader #motley crue fanfiction #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx fanfiction #tommy lee x reader #tommy lee fanfic #pov #fanfiction #imagine

[amorchai]

hi bubba, i'm here requesting the lil stevie blurb you wrote for me a while ago; the one with the bonfire and him being all sweet ᰔ

steve cuddles you by the bonfire.

pairing(s): steve harrington x reader

words: 918

warnings/tags: all the gang being themselves, cursing.

a/n: this is a repost from my old account, the original post gained 700 notes.

the radiating warmth of not only the bonfire in front but the length of steve’s chest pressed against your back is enough to send you into a hazy slumber. if it weren’t for his constant moving as he watched everyone.

your head tucked under your boyfriend’s chin, steve’s arms gently encased your frame and had been for the past hour. the small get together at eddie’s ended with only a few of you left. nancy had drove most of the kids home, max staying as she only lived a trailer across and lucas was stuck to her side; steve opting to drive him back later.

eddie was using his hands atop his knees to make some careless noise amongst conversation with robin whilst steve watched fondly as lucas and max bicker, including him every so often with a ‘steve, tell her,’ or ‘stay outta this, steve, don’t listen to this doofus.’

steve couldn’t get involved, too wrapped up in the ambience of your sleepy nature against him. your breath fanned his neck and your hands clutched his jacket tightly, humming every so often when you stirred from threatened sleep.

“fuck you, honest to god, y/n! back me up here!” hands which previously coursed up and down your back with a sickeningly sweet graze freeze when steve glared at eddie munson from his spot. the kids from beside him follow his gaze when steve tries his best to whisper shout, “shut up, holy crap what ever happened to indoor voices with you lot, huh?”

“i know you weren’t the best in school, steve, but it’s basic common sense to know we’re outside right now.”

his glare moves to robin, ready to make another remark when your nose nudges against his jaw with another hum escaping you, stirring to lay your front against his while hands flatten against his chest which is currently alight with love. causing his throat to close and to shut up entirely.

“i’m not asleep, stevie. still here.” your hands move when steve’s chest vibrates with a chuckle, your words saying one thing but your expression saying a hell of the lot more.

your eyes are half-lidded, filled with a sleepiness, your cheeks look oh-so-soft and steve resists the urge to run the back of his finger over so gently like he’d break you. plus the light from the fire doesn’t help how he feels, not when the warm glow makes you look so much sweeter.

“y/n! queen or the beatles?” eddie’s voice interjects and steve leans down to press a long kiss to your head, lips murmuring against yours in the process, “sorry, baby.” you giggle lazily, hugging yourself closer to your boyfriend, knees bending so you essentially look like a koala clung to a tree.

“queen.”

a rapid beat fills your eardrums as eddie slaps his knees to the chorus of ‘we will rock you’ before standing up and leaning towards robin’s face, “told you! nobody beats freddie mercury, man. nobody!”. eddie looks over to you, face hidden in steve’s frame but eddie still speaks, not caring if it’s not really heard, “this is why you’re my favourite, y/n.”

“y/n’s clearly delirious, isn’t thinking straight,” robin starts.

“yeah, she’s like half asleep,” max continues.

you hardly listen to them, the fall air crisp against your back but steve’s quick to keep you warm. the scent of his woody cologne filling your nostrils and working like a charm to make you feel more woozy and tired, entirely safe in his arms.

“y/n deserves extra marshmallows,” eddie announces in retaliation while leaning down to grip the large bag they shared by the fire earlier to throw it in your direction. steve raises his arm to catch the plastic before discarding it to his side while responding, “y/n deserves some well-needed rest.”

you murmur incoherently against steve’s chest and he runs his hand over your head while whispering, “it’s okay, baby. i’ll get you home to bed.” little did steve know you were far more content at the back of eddie’s garden, lame bonfire while pressed against your boyfriend.

“just stay here?” eddie says as if it’s the simplest thing and steve feels you push against his hand, eyes open once again trying to lift yourself up as you start to disagree, “no, no, no. stevie, we can’t.”

everyone watches you ramble tiredly, steve kissing your forehead while his arms wrapped around your lower back comfortingly, “okay, baby—” but you continue as he speaks back, “we can’t stay, gotta drive lucas to basketball practice first thing tomorrow. gotta go home.”

“you’re right,” steve starts, everyone else confused while steve only smiles at you in complete adoration as you both attempt to move from your comfortable position. steve turns to max and lucas, spinning his finger as a signal to ‘wrap things up,’ “c’mon, lucas. let’s get you home, bud.”

everyone makes a move, lucas nervously leaning in to kiss max’s cheek while steve helps swing his jacket over your shoulder before tucking your tired state under his arm. “robin, need a lift?” asks steve, allowing you a few extra peaceful moments to feel the warm fire against your body.

“think i’m staying here.”

“let’s go, bub,” steve squeezes you while kissing your cheek, his affection only making you feel more tired and light-headed, in the best way while you're guided from the warm fire and instead promised to be cuddled to sleep in the comfort of your bed, your boyfriend right by your side like always.

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#— ꒰꒰ ➵ my works ｡˚ ꒱꒱ #stranger things┊ ➶ ˚⊹ steve harrington ⊹ #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things s4 #stranger things 4

[guiltygearofficial]

Happy Pride Dear Gearsters!

As we all know, the Guilty Gear Series is wildly popular with the LGBT Community, which is why we at Arc System Works have decided to compile a few of the Guilty Gear Characters canon sexualities!

Sol (Literally Freddy Mercury, Bi.)

Ky (Married to a woman but had that incredibly gay scene with Sol in Revelator and a lot of homoerotic official art, Bi.)

May (Has a crush on Johnny but shows interest in Elphelt during Magnum Wedding, which is incapable of overwrititing sexuality, so Bi.)

Millia ( Her favorite thing is Not Fucking, so likely asexual. Was in a relationship with Zato and shows attraction to Elphelt during Magnum Wedding, so Biromantic.)

Johnny (Loves women and is very vocal about it. While some of his past may lead Gearsters to believe he is straight, like his embarassment when finding out Bridget was a guy, this is because he realized he hit on a minor, not because Bridget is male. He has a very ambigious relationship with Testament. While they have come out as Nonbinary since, said relationship existed beforehand: Likely Bi. )

Axl (He misses Megumi his girlfriend, but is also fuckbuddies with Sol, so Bi.)

Zato (Was in a relationship with millia before dying, but after being revived by the conclave, they took away his horny priviledges, so he is Asexual now. Eddie fucks and cannot be stopped.)

Chipp (has not shown attraction to any women outside of Magnum Wedding, has had some gay moments with Anji and Answer but isn’t aware of either. Bi and a dumbass.)

Testament (Not interested in anyone except for maybe Johnny, likely asexual or gay. Also Nonbinary, which, while not a sexuality, is still worth mentioning here.)

Kliff (Hasn’t gotten in up in 40 years and is too busy being dead to even consider getting with anyone. Has shown a lack of interest in women. Likely asexual.)

Dr. Baldhead/Faust (Fucks, Bi.)

Potemkin (Has never shown attraction to anyone, is immune to Magnum Wedding, Asexual.)

Justice (Doesn’t have a gender and is too angry about humanity to be attracted to anything. Asexual.)

Jam Kuradoberi (Attracted to both Ky and Elphelt, Bi.)

Venom (Venom. Gay.)

Anji Mito (Has an ambigious relationship with Baiken, has flirted directly with Chipp and told him to wear less clothes, Bi or Gay.)

Dizzy (Married to Ky, immume to Magnum wedding, thought her justification boils down to the fact that she is married and has a child, ambigious as of now.)

Robo-Ky (Very horny for women, but also opened up a bakery with Venom, so Bi.)

Bridget (Doesn’t care about these things yet, focused on playing minecraft.)

Zappa (Wants to get with women, but also had a very gay time in finland, leading him to realize that he is Bi.)

Slayer (Dandyism is inherently not straight, Bi.)

I-No (Violently Bisexual. Swings both ways, with a guitar.)

Asuka R. Kreutz (Catboy.)

Raven (Horny on main, regardless of gender. Bi.)

Sin Kiske (Doesn’t know what sex is. Sol never bothered to explain it to him.)

Elphelt (Bi but nobody wants her)

Leo Whitefang (Hasn’t shown attraction to anyone but is affected by Elphelt’s Magnum Wedding. declared himself “a dandy” when talking to Slayer. Has fucked your mom and complained about his guards being more attracted to Ky than him, A Lion is an animal of pride. Ambigious.)

Jack-O’ (Affected by Magnum Wedding and is in a relationship with Sol, Bi.)

Ramlethal (Is confused by the concept of love as of now. Immune to Magnum Wedding. Is based on Aria and the other two Valentines are bisexual, ambigious as of now.)

Baiken (Much too angry to be attracted to anyone. Lost her gender in the war. Affected by Magnum Wedding. Nonbinary and attracted to women.)

Answer (Chipp and him are a yaoi couple, so Gay.)

Kum Haehyun (Hangs out with Johnny without him ever even trying to flirt with her, forced to live as a man due to societal expectations which is why she has her mecha. Her greatest fear according to Theater of Pain is living as a man. likely a Trans Lesbian.)

Bedman (Immune to Magnum Wedding. Has never shown attraction to anyone. likely Asexual.)

Giovanna (Has shown herself to be attracted to Leo and no one else so far. Ambigious as of now.)

Nagoriyuki (A follower of dandyism, Not Straight.)

Happy Chaos (Fucked Daryl in that swivel chair. Violently Bisexual)

Daryl Darylian (See Happy Chaos.)

Goldlewis (Has never shown attraction to women. Has remarked that he could “Never say no to those eyes...” when talking about another man. Likely Gay, ambigious as of now.)

A.B.A (Keyfucker)

#guilty gear #pride month #pride #sol badguy #ky kiske #may #millia rage #zato-one #eddie #faust #potemkin #axl low #baiken #testament #justice #kliff undersn #venom #johnny #chipp zanuff #jam kuradoberi #anji mito #dizzy #robo-ky #zappa #i-no #slayer #sin kiske #raven #asuka r. kreutz #leo whitefang

[shortpplfedup]

Only Friends Character Rankings Episode 12

And that's all she wrote friends! And how she wrote it was...weird? The show definitely pulled some punches at the end there, trying to thread a needle and ending instead in a kind of wishy-washy damp squib. The couples landed up right, but in the wrong way? Guu mai chorp. But these hoes still need their final sorting. Nick led the pack going into the finale, will he end up on top at the end? Only the mains this week in my final rankings, but first...

⭐A1. FUCKIN' MIX!

Then…can I be your friend too?

I'm sorry I can't hear y'all over my screams at the MESS Minx Mix looks set to cause. That man is too pretty to be allowed in public. I WANT IT JOJO, I WANT IT NOW!

🔻🔻🔻Z∞. Boeing (8)

I just happen to want something strong tonight.

In the end, Boeing is just a lonelyboy like all the rest of them, which is fine, but he also just...disappears after the Ray/Mew Voltron vanquishes him and he gets a consolation makeout from Boston, which is not. Anyway, Mond is a good actor, also he's hot and got to kiss a bunch of boys, so winning.

Top tier show sidepieces: Yo, Plug, Summer, Freddie Mercury 2, Sand's Mom, Ray's Dad, Daddy Dan, April, Mew's Moms (barely)

These characters were mostly on the side of the angels, and I thank them for their service.

Bottom bitches: Cheum, Atom, Gap

Yeah they apologised, but fuck em.

Onto our main six!

🔺1. Boston (2)

I'm friendless.

In the end, Boston's at the top of my mains pile, because MY MANS DESERVED BETTER. Not in terms of Nick, I think that actually ended the absolute best way: Boston made his case, Nick made his decision, and they parted more or less as friends (and I loved absolutely every conversation those two had in this episode). No I mean in terms of his shitty friends, especially MEW. Cheum at least apologised, even if perfunctorily, and he apologised for sleeping with Atom (yeah, he really shouldn't have done that). He and Ray let the water wash under their particular bridge, and seem set to be cool. They never really had much in the way of beef to be fair. But Mew...actually you know what, good. Some people you don't need to be friends with, especially people who are gonna judge you and try to make you feel shitty about yourself. The narrative leaves Boston literally alone at the end though, legit the last time we see him is sitting on the curb with tears in his eyes as Nick walks away. Thanks, I hate it. I hope New York is better to Boston, and I hope he continues to learn and grow and tackle those impulse control problems.

🔻2. Nick (1)

You should go back to living a fun and sassy life that you prefer instead of trying to please a daydreaming guy like me.

YOU COULD HAVE ACCEPTED THE GODDAMN PHOTO NICKYBOY. I mean I get why not, but justice for my mans. Anyway, Nick's legit my second fave main here, as he grapples with the in-your-face realities of Boston's separation of love and sex, and decides he can't handle it. And that's good, that he loves Boston enough not to judge him, and loves himself enough not to put himself through something he knows he doesn't want. Every single choice and every conversation these two have had since Nick apologised has been nothing less than stellar, and that's because Nick took accountability and chose honesty. Well done baby boy.

🔺3. Sand (5)

You're right. When I love someone, I become a dog. But at least my owner loves me.

Pathetic to the very end, consistency thy name is Sand. He could have at least thrown his bussy into that threesome, but nooooooo, he got jealous IN TWO DIRECTIONS AT ONCE 🤣. He's fine with both boys slangin the dick his way, but calls a halt when they leave him out? Sir that's when you stand back and admire. Sand's pick-me ass ain't never gonna be my absolute fave, but his self-awareness and humiliation kink work together to be kind of endearing in a guileless sort of way, and at least he's learned to take the money if he's going to accept the ownership. It's sweet in a weird kink way. Also, his and Nick's loser friendship pushes him several points higher up the scale. There's growth and acceptance there, and he's 21 so I'll let him have it.

🔺4. Ray (7)

You still love him so I dragged him here for you. But I wanted to join just a little.

Well when he's not drunk night and day Ray's still a rich asshole, but he's a ton more fun. I love that he knows the kids at community service don't like him🤣. I spot rehab therapy working on him a bit. That threesome set up was WILD, and I personally had a good time with it, but it's probably best that it led to talking rather than fucking. Ray's got a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG way to go, but at least he treats Boston like a human being (I AM SO BITTER AND I'M NOT GETTING OVER IT). He's never gonna clock Mew's shittiness (BITTERNESS ACCELERATING) but you win some, you lose some. By the way sir, don't listen to Sand, he absolutely will be your sugar baby if you beg a little.

🔻5. Top (4)

Because I have you, everything is fine.

Top's smugness was the single most genuine thing about him, so I actually quite enjoyed watching him be a smug motherfucker this ep as he gets everything he thinks he wants. You know what I enjoyed more though? Watching his soul leave his body when Minx!Mix walked into the hostel and laser-targeted Mew. Mew putting Top through hell is legit my favourite flavour of their weird little fucked up relationship, and I'm sorry I won't get to see Mew eventually fall for Mix (you KNOW he wants to top somebody, YOU KNOW IT) and Top cry about it while he screws a bellboy in a service closet.

🔹6. Mew (6)

Are you about to say "But you're my last, Mew"? If so, I'm going to go puke in the bathroom.

OK, that line was funny, but jeez what a prig. What a sanctimonious nag. What a judgy little hypocrite. In his own conception he 'won' but Mew's the biggest loser in my heart. No he didn't have to forgive Boston, but come on, he could've kept it cute OR kept it moving full speed instead of the fake nicey nicey only to stick the knife in after. It's good that he walks away from Boston in the end, because with friends like Mew you don't need enemies. He makes Ray worse. And he and Cheum form the feedback loop from hell. Bookie sold the fuck out of this character, I have nothing but praise for him, but Mew is the living worst. I won't mention the character he reminds me most of in all of fiction, but if you're a certain age and you think about it a little, you can probably guess.

#only friends the series #bless this mess #only friends weekly character rankings #i support gay wrongs #only friends #only friends series #bl meta series