#i just think people hand-wringing over all the 'hate' steven gets are forgetting that he's living a life 90% of his audience can't afford | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

youre-in-the-jungle-baby · 6 years

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I always get anxious that I'll forget to go anon when sending asks so this came to mind: au where axl/slash send to the other cute daily anons and all sorts of confessions they don't have the courage to say irl. That goes on for a pretty long time until one day they forget to press the anon button and their identity is revealed, cue the panic and avoiding the other at all costs

this is so cute

Slash’s blog is 40% guitars, 40% snakes, and 20% weird porn. Axl’s blog is mainly used for him to voice strong opinions and or start fights with random people on the internet with the occasional post about bands he likes, or bands he hates and feels the need to complain about.

Axl lives in an apartment with Izzy. Duff, Steven, and Slash share one also, in the same complex. These room arrangements are frequent to change if someone is fighting and needs a room to stay in, but they seem to end up spending a lot of time in the same place anyways, so Steven complains it would be easier and cheaper to just all live together.

If Slash posts a video him playing guitar or something like that, his inbox is flooded with anon messages, sometimes singed with a little flower emoji. It makes him smile every time because whoever this knows their stuff when it comes to music and makes sure to compliment him on all the right things.

Axl is good at covering his tracks, because he promptly bitches about Slash answering all of them, joking he probably sent them to himself.

Slash sends Axl little cute anon messages all the time, telling him he looks gorgeous, or that he agrees with a post that Axl made. If Axl is having a bad day and you can tell by what he says online, Slash drops encouraging/sweet things to him, even once going as far as to send a poem/scrap of lyric he wrote.

They don’t seem to notice that things are pretty personal that get sent to them, and Axl is so wrapped up in making Slash get a little smile and a blush from halfway across the room when he sends him something like, ‘you’re so fucking pretty, I hope you have a great day, as always.’

Things go on like this for what seems like forever, and it’s a boost in both of their self-esteem to see things pop up, even if they have no idea who it’s from.

That is until the day that Slash gets absolutely wasted with Duff. They just got back from some bar and Slash flops down with his phone and proceeds to send something stupidly sappy like, ‘you’re the most amazing person I know. I wish I could kiss you so bad sometimes.’ and hits send without turning anon on.

He knows he’s fucked up, but he still stumbles down the hall and barges into Axl and Izzy’s place, spotting Steven on the couch. But, being wasted and huge amounts of anxiety tend to make him a bit slow.

He can’t find Axl, and his laptop is locked, his phone is gone too. Slash is freaking out, knowing that Axl will connect all the other messages to him too.

It would be the end up their friendship, and would probably end up tearing everyone else apart too in Slash’s mind.

Meanwhile, Axl had been over at a friends house and he happens to check his blog. Of course, he sees what Slash sent him and freezes. Have all of those things been from Slash? How the fuck is he supposed to answer this? Is it a joke?

He spends the night there, texts Izzy that he’ll be back tomorrow and proceeds to stew over it for hours. Slash on the other hand is on the verge of tears when Duff finds him.

Duff has no idea what’s going on, but he drags Slash back to their apartment and makes him sit on the couch before he comes back with a cup of coffee (with some vodka of course).

Slash won’t tell him what happened, and Duff ends up letting him try to work through whatever the fuck it is on the couch, saying to come to get him if he needs to.

The next few days are a living hell, and Axl and Slash spend them making sure to not be in the same room as each other. Duff draws conclusions pretty damn fast, but he doesn’t know the details, he just figures Slash must have spilled to Axl in some shape or form. Stevie tries his best to get Slash to talk too, but no luck on any front.

Izzy tries to wring the information out of Axl who has been walking around with a blank look and forgetting to eat, let alone blog. He gets nothing, just a vague comment and a snappy comeback.

Axl locks himself in his room, and Slash goes out more and more and comes back even later than normal. It is a getting a little strained for Duff and Izzy too, they both feel the need to take care of Axl and Slash respectively which means not seeing much of each other and not going out to do stuff together.

Axl has spent weeks trying to compose something to tell Slash, he figures it’s all fucked up now, might as well blow it all out in the open.

So he composes what sounds dangerously close to a love letter mixed with a confession, rips it up and rewrites it dozens of times.

Izzy catches him with a half-packed back and sits his ass down to tell him he’s is not going to get to run away from whatever this is, he’s going to face it.

Slash feels just as equally distraught, and Duff is getting sick of his shit, but Slash won’t listen to him or tell him what happened.

Axl shows up at Slash’s door with a crumpled piece of paper and lets himself in, and leaves his note on Slash’s pillow before he goes back.

Izzy makes an effort to be extra nice (he even made them dinner that wasn’t frozen or straight out of a bag), but Axl goes straight to his room and locks the door.

Slash gets back and stares at the note on his pillow without opening it like it might set fire and burn the building down. He gets the balls to open it, and slowly unfolds it before reading it.

It’s more of a rambling confession, but Slash can feel his cheeks get hot and his breath catches when the bottom has the doodle of a tiny flower and a hasty scrawl of -Axl Rose beside it.

He runs to Axl’s apartment, almost knocks over the poor old lady who sometimes bakes them cookies in the hall, and slams into the door. He manages to get inside, and he skids into Axl’s door which is still locked.

He can hear Izzy yelling at him for not shutting the door, but all he cares about is getting into Axl’s room. The latch finally clicks and he steps back to see Axl with slumped shoulders in the door.

‘I meant every word I ever said,’ is the first thing Slash says and Axl blinks at him like he’s got three heads suddenly.

But soon Axl’s eyes change to pure joy, and he drags Slash in by the collar of his t-shirt and kicks the door shut behind him.

‘So did I,’ Axl tells him and Slash just beams, he’s so fucking happy.

He grabs Axl’s face and just kisses him like he’s wanted to for what feels like years in his mind.

Axl is smiling so hard that he can’t even kiss him back properly, but it doesn’t matter because Slash is blinking back tears of relief and happiness.

Outside, Duff sits down on the couch next to Izzy (after running after Slash and apologizing to their elderly neighbor). ‘You think they got it figured out?’ Duff asks softly and Izzy nods, ‘I think they did.’ and reaches over to hug Duff.

#izzy writes #modern au #slaxl #fluff #angst #guns n’ roses

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fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction · 7 years

Text

Greener On The Other Side

Vincent Heliotrope and Digital Lucian fight over anything under the sun.

Today’s fight is over eyes.

He wasn't sure how long it took him to notice, and he'd always prided himself in being observant of people. He had to be; the signs of child abuse and neglect were so small and easy to miss unless you knew what to look for and stayed alert. But this wasn't those things and Vincent had to admit after a while that he hadn't really been looking for anything.

The person in question he was trying not to notice while noticing was the digitized ghost of his and his daughter's murderer. Looking at him without wanting to wring his neck was still hard to do, so he supposed missing a lot of cues was not abnormal.

Lucian stayed with the young woman that had stolen him from Afton Robotics, bound to her in some way that Vincent couldn't figure out. He checked in often, almost obsessively so -Jonathan had pointed it out during one of the shared dreams Damien and Steven had that allowed the two spirits to mingle-. But as often as Vincent checked in, he still ended up oblivious to a lot of things about the other man. He wasn't proud of that fact, but he blamed Lucian for it all the same.

Their encounters had a routine to it that, while initially violent and hate-filled, had eventually settled into a kind of silent mutual agreement that there was no kindness to be found in each other but no blades would be drawn as long as their living hosts were not threatened.

Lucian was especially vicious in that regard. What exactly had Miss Corbett done to gain such absolute protection from a former serial killer?

With that semi-truce in place, Vincent's visits became less about trying to find reasons to banish the other ghost into nonexistence and more about trying to figure out what had changed in him. Those 'conversations' ended up arguments and lashing words far too quickly still. Vincent hated it even as he let himself get swept up in the heated emotions. Too emotional, that was always his problem, wasn't it? Broadcast his heart on his face for all the world to see.

Lucian was his polar opposite, walls and shields slammed into place so all Vincent could ever see was cold and emptiness and just a flicker of pain that vanished too, too fast to prove was there. There were days he wanted to just grab the other man by the shoulders and shake him until the walls came down.

And then, so slowly that it took him this long to notice, Lucian had shifted in that subtle way that was characteristically manipulative but not quite the same as what Vincent knew.

If it wasn't for him musing silently on how strange and inhumanely bright -but very nice still- green Lucian's right eye looked, Vincent might have gone months more without even realizing it.

Green right eye.

Lucian had silver-grey eyes, from what Vincent remembered. (And how could he forget? He could never forget. Those eyes were burned into his memory, seared in with that maliciously bright glee as they watched him bleed out in a dark alley in 1983.)

But now... Vincent couldn't remember the last time he saw Lucian's left eye. Just the green one that matched the brightly glowing green of Circus Baby's eyes when the animatronic was active, the only physical mark left on him that linked him to her.

He started thinking back over his past visits, what he'd been doing, where he'd been sitting, looking, and where Lucian was facing him or how he'd been positioned in relation to him. And the more Vincent thought on it, the more curious he became.

Was that on purpose?

He dropped in suddenly again, hands up to show he was unarmed when Miss Corbett leveled a steely glare at him that told Vincent he was still on her shit-list for causing so much fighting in her apartment.

"Just visiting! Not doing anything!" he chirped brightly and one of her eyebrows lifted high enough he thought it would launch through her hair into space.

"Uh huh," she replied in that tone that he knew meant she'd probably be willing to figure out if she could kill a ghost if another fight broke out. "I need to go drop off another résumé and pick up some groceries." Her tone was brisk, smile wide and sharp (too sharp, like a shark ready to tear into him if he bled one drop), and she snatched up her car keys and phone. "So you two pal around, watch some TV, do NOT let him mess with my TiVO, and if I come back to a mess, I'm drop kicking you back to the Sexy Twins from here, me entiendes?"

Vincent nods because his Spanish is starting to improve from all the times he's heard Lucian scream at him in the language and he doesn't find it nearly so surprising that Meera speaks it as well, and he's seen her kicks affect animatronics so much larger than herself so that's a very real threat. He looks past her as she digs around in her purse for other essentials, looks toward the small kitchen where Lucian stood at a stove, watching a pot of something.

He's glad for looking when he did, catching sight of the man shifting on his legs to swivel in place and reorient himself to meet his gaze with a side-eyed look.

Bright green. Again, only his right eye faced him. Surely that made it harder to watch the cooking?

Then Meera was gone and Lucian turned down the heat on the pot with a huff, expression on his face that was equal parts wary and irritated.

"So many better places to go, but always here. Que te gusta pelear con mi por nada." Vincent swallowed hard, fighting down the urge to be immediately angry with the almost condescending tone. But he wore his heart on his face, cheeks heating up, and Lucian huffed again, walking out of the kitchen in that slow graceful manner that wasted no movement.

He kept his face tilted, enough that he could see where Vincent was and keep distance between them but it couldn't be comfortable. After all, he was only using one eye to gauge that distance.

"I just want to spend time with you," Vincent managed to get out through his teeth. He could feel his hair rising just a little at the mocking laugh from the other man.

"Right. Because we're such good friends." Lucian sneered out the word like the concept of it was as pathetic as Vincent's efforts to stay civil. (He was trying, he was trying so hard, but he could hear that mocking laugh over his dying self and it was so hard to not want to strangle the sound into silence.)

By the time he's squashed down the urge to deck the other man, Lucian's already made himself comfortable on the couch in front of the television, watching the show left on for him with an expression that Vincent had learned to recognize as his 'I don't want to be here but you're not going to leave me alone so let me numb myself first' face.

Walls building up to keep him out. In a way, Vincent hated those more because he'd never experienced being the reason someone would close up and mentally withdraw. People and children always opened up to him, trusted him, smiled around him.

Lucian turtled behind fake smiles, flat expressions, and sullen silence before exploding violently into screams of frustration and anger.

Vincent sat by him on the couch after a minute. Not close, more like the other end of the three seat sofa, so there was distance but not much. Enough for him to watch the other man without getting into his personal space. (Lucian was aggressive about keeping a certain amount of space around himself at all times, hyper aware of where Vincent's hands were at any moment. Vincent respected that even as he wished he could understand why.)

The show was some soap opera, not the one that Vincent had come to learn was Meera's favorite and Lucian was learning about via marathons and reruns, but another whose plot escaped Vincent's knowledge. Whether Lucian was actually watching it or just allowing his mind to grow numb and distant was another question. Vincent leaned forward, just a little, to check if the other man was paying attention.

Lucian tilted his head, just enough of a turn so his left eye remained largely out of sight.

"You're avoiding me," Vincent breathed in dawning realization. It was on purpose; angling himself so that only his green eye would be visible, making it nearly impossible for Vincent to see the silvery one. "Why? What do you gain from it?"

"You shutting up would be a nice start." Lucian grumbled, fidgeting in place under the guise of making himself more comfortable. His neck was craned in an awkward position, Vincent couldn't see any way of that being made comfortable without risking showing the other eye. "As soon as Meera comes home, you leave."

The urge to shake the other man rose again and this time Vincent didn't stop it completely, sitting up and reaching out to grab Lucian's shoulder and forcefully ignoring the baring of teeth in his direction. It was a violation of Lucian's space, and he'd apologize for it but first he had to know.

"Why are you hiding your eye from me?!"

"Que estas platicando? No me tocas, te dije que nunca me tocas-!" The steady stream of Spanish started as a growl, working its way up to full on yelling before Vincent cut it off by reaching around to grab Lucian's head and force it to face him head on.

He had squeezed his eye shut, leaving only the green one to glare at him.

Vincent hadn't expected such a childish reaction, and so didn't have the thought to stop Lucian from shoving him off and back towards his end of the sofa. But he recovered quickly, scrambling up and grabbing the man by the wrist before he could run off, yanking him back down.

"Why?!" he demanded louder. His face scrunched up as Lucian reached up blindly, shoving the heel of his palm against Vincent's cheek to try and push him off again. The blonde squirmed against him, muttering furious Spanish under his breath. "Shtup it!" Vincent's words slurred between his teeth, difficult to speak with a hand in his face. His own free hand grabbed at Lucian's shirt and pulled. His plan was to get the man up and off his lap so he'd be less uncomfortable. His reality was he ended up pulling Lucian's shirt out from where it was usually tucked into his slacks, fingertips and knuckles brushing over bare skin as he tried to get a better grip.

Lucian froze still on the spot, inhaling sharply through his teeth as if Vincent had touched a still stinging wound.

Both of them held still on the sofa, a tangle of arms awkwardly positioned and Vincent's clenched fist resting lightly over Lucian's waist, not close enough to be able to rest it, but close enough that he could sense the man's muscles hold taut to avoid contact. But at least the ruckus had forced Lucian to open both eyes, one green, one silver-grey, both wide, panicked, and trying desperately to hide it.

"Muvv hend frm fesh," Vincent slurred out slowly after another minute of getting his bearings. He wondered if he would even be understood. But no, Lucian got the gist of it, hand slowly moving from being shoved against his cheek to... curling back and lightly gripping at the collar of his shirt.

He tried hard not to think about how the movement shifted Lucian in place just enough to brush against his own hand again.

"Wrist." Lucian muttered after a bit, voice strained, and Vincent relaxed his grip. Not enough to let him go, but enough that he wasn't squeezing the feeling out of his hand.

They sat in awkward silence for a bit, listening to the protagonist on the tv burst into tears over some sappy romantic dialogue.

"So," Vincent started, and his voice sounded too thick to his own ears, as if the air was heavy and he was pushing his words through it, "why are you hiding your eye from me?"

Lucian huffed again. Stalling tactic, why did it take so long for him to recognize it as that? (Because he didn't listen before; Vincent barely listened to him. There was no reason to, when there was just anger and hatred and frustration that he just kept coming back again and again....) He opened his fist, fingers brushing over bare skin and feeling muscle twitch under his touch. Lucian made several small noises of discomfort, squirming just a bit as his grip on Vincent's shirt collar tightened.

"Why?" he repeated, looking down sternly. Lucian had turned his head, pressing the left side of his face into Vincent's shirt to continue hiding it, faintly defiant in the set of his jaw. The expression clashed with the flushed color in his cheeks.

"You think I didn't notice?" he finally grumbled, "You don't like this eye. But you like the green one."

So his suspicion was right. He'd been purposely hiding the silver eye.

"So why hide it? Thought you didn't care what I thought, Lucian." Vincent remarked dryly, eyebrows drawing together in confusion as the man tensed further in his grip.

"Don't. That's not... I lost that name. It's not mine anymore." Lucian growled. He shifted again, finally looking up at him with both eyes and the two of them resolutely ignored the continued contact elsewhere. "Penses que no requerdo? I still have that memory, watching you die at my feet. I had both my eyes and you hated me then same as you hate me now." Vincent opened his mouth and Lucian's glare sharped. "Don't insult me by saying you don't. You can't forgive me for murdering you, same as I won't forgive him for destroying my name and ending my family line."

"Don't tell me what I can't do," Vincent growled back. "Nothin' pisses me off more than someone saying 'You can't'. That's bullshit." Lucian barked out a short laugh, harsh and bitter. "I forgi-."

"No. Shut up. You finish that and I will never trust another word you say," Lucian snapped up at him. "You don't actually mean it and you're only saying it to spite me. No me digas mentiras." He struggled now, genuinely pushing against Vincent's grip. "Let me up." Vincent let him sit up before moving closer and hugging him from behind, holding him back from bolting. "What are you doing?"

"Don't hide your eye from me, okay?" Vincent muttered, fingers brushing over Lucian's stomach and feeling him twitch under his touch. "I'm used to seeing both the green and the grey."

"You hate it."

"I'm learning not to," and that didn't feel like a fight in his own head. Thinking back on all the times he spent around Lucian, seeing the combination of bright green and silver-grey had been kind of... nice. He didn't like the grey, but the dislike was waning the more he learned about this version of Lucian. And Vincent had always been attracted to green eyes so....

His face burned as he firmly backed away from where that train of thought was going.

"Um... might be a bit late but... do you want me out of your personal space?" he asked. His thumb rubbed small, soothing circles and the muscles had calmed to some degree under his attention. Lucian held still against him, silent for long enough that he wondered if it would be his answer to get away.

"I'm already comfortable. You should have asked sooner," Lucian finally replied, and Vincent felt still more muscles under his touch relax further now that the danger had passed and there didn't seem to be screaming and fighting in the immediate future.

It felt like something had changed between them but Vincent wasn't entirely sure what and by how much. Closeness like this was something he had with Jonathan, physical touch and affection and reassurance. This moment with Lucian, on a sofa in front of a soap opera with a sappy plot... he didn't know how to describe it. He didn't try. It was just one of those things he'd be grateful for, a step forward in whatever this thing was that he had with the digital ghost of his murderer.

He half-wondered if he could one day look at the man and genuinely forgive him. Lucian had been right when he said that Vincent saying the words now would be a lie. But that didn't mean he couldn't hope to say them in the future and mean it. Maybe then -he stroked his thumb lightly over the curve of Lucian's hip bone and listened to the whisper soft shuddering breath as the digital ghost refused to take his eyes from the television- Vincent could start figuring out what the two of them could be instead.

End

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #sister location #fanfiction #vincent #dream guard #vincent heliotrope #digital lucian

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