I Saw One Person Who Liked My Post. Of Course They Had A Pinned Post And Rules, DNI Of Course.

I saw one person who liked my post. Of course they had a pinned post and rules, DNI of course.

Funny, they liked my post without seeing tags with "shipcest", "McFlcest", "Marty McFly x George McFly" etc. Seriously, they can't read? I wrote to this person to get them know about it instead of block again, but I thought I will make them teach how to noticed tags under posts? Antis are sooo funny.

They even thinking? Probably not.

They can write properly? Probably not.

Meeeeeeeeeeee!

welp, we got our first anti trying to stir up shit on this blog. Anyway, who wants to ship some incest‽

What the fuck

One of my mutuals (on another blog, of course) had a DNI that consisted of nothing but one line reading something like "Proshippers are the only people I don't want interacting with me"

~ Real life racists, transphobes, homophobes, etc are fine but if you ship two fictional siblings don't even look at this blog ~

EVEN IF whatever twisted idea of proshippers they had in mind was the correct meaning of the word, why is that the only group you found worth including?

EVEN IF they were right, how is romanticizing fictional abuse worse than being a real life bigot?? I don't understand.

I swear to God... I can't deal with them anymore

you are not a disgusting person for exploring and enjoying dark themes in fiction. you do not have to defend yourself or justify the content you consume. have fun with it, get freaky and weird with it. you can do whatever you want forever

I'm not a fan of sharing my fics, because I'm suck at translating, but this is a part from the latest one fic which I need to continue soon. Enjoy, I guess?

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Evening came, and with it something else hanging in the air. Marty hid in his bedroom, thinking about the appropriate sounds of his guitar for a strong song without any words, which could have been for Jennifer if she hadn't broke up with him.

He heard footsteps, but he didn't stop creating heavy and energetic music around him, knowing that he didn't have to hold them back. Unless his dad really wanted him to do it.

This time there was nothing like that, and he didn't pay attention to George leaning against the door frame, who was staring at the slight wrinkles of a smile.

It was friday evening. George tore himself away from work and decided to leave the idea for the new book for the next day, to admire his son now, not wanting to waste any second, since they were completely alone in the house this time.

"Yes. Keep it up, Marty. Show your old man how much you love playing on your new guitar," he blurted out the words in silence, focusing on the intense blue of his son eyes, not paying attention to the old guitar placed next to the black guitar case near night stand.

Marty smiled shyly, knowing that his playing had always been his father's favorite thing. It was constant, probably more than nice. Something he couldn't really describe at the moment. He hid his blush from him.

The calm gaze was tempted by Marty's young and shapely body, and George was grateful that he didn't have to hide it. They probably had the whole night to themselves. George knew how to use it. His touch on Marty existed only before sleep, kissing his warm lips with passion. No rush and no witnesses, even if the rest of the family was in home.

He couldn't stop kissing Marty and couldn't help, but wanted show how much he love to feel him, to explore him from every pore. He missed intimacy, so he hoped that Marty would focus all the attention on him, and if not, well, he would show Marty that it's not worthy ignoring his dad. He would show him once again that he would beg to continue kissing his skin, bringing him to a final orgasm as soon as he will penetrated him with the right movements.

Marty felt everytime so weak after, so defenseless, trembling under him, stroking his dark brown hair, now dulling with age. And that was not all he saw and felt. He could not shake it off. It changed him.

Marty tried to show how amazing he could play. How much he appreciated his gift - new guitar from his dad. Dreaming of the studies around music he had mentioned to him. He knew it would work. They had been saving up for his studies for years. Not only for him, but also for Dave and Linda.

He focused on the music, ignoring his father who moved closer, who touches his knee, who finally reached his hand to his hair, fixing them. Because of this movement Marty lost his rhythm, stopping playing, feeling as if he was starting to lose feeling and disappear like before. But this time he didn't disappear.

George's touch lasted longer, meeting Marty's blue eyes with his cool green, which Marty always considered them as warm. It warmed him up.

He widened his smile without taking his eyes off his lovely dad, now leaning into his touch on his cheek, feeling the thumb that stroked the skin. He felt himself falling apart under this touch.

Marty began to hold the guitar weakly, letting it rest on his lap.

"You're a very talented boy," George said in a quiet whisper close to Marty's ear, putting these words on the teenager in the form of affectionate appreciation.

“Thanks, Dad,” he whispered, feeling comforted as he found George left hand, taking it hesitantly.

George smiled gently, squeezing his younger son's hand, allowing him to continue stroking his cheek, his thumb traveling to his lips, which slowly opened. Marty shivered, feeling a small tension, squeezing George's other hand, unable to move away from it. It was endearing and attractive. He couldn't ignore how close he was and how he looked. His dad was a handsome man, he loved everything he could see and feel about him, unable to resist his dull hair, which used to be a more intense color than it was now.

Marty still remembered George younger self, that kiss, the forbidden ground like with his mother, whom he rejected so that he couldn't allow something between them. Luckily, he managed to bring them together, even if it wasn't easy, it was worth it all.

He couldn't forget the kisses, the tenderness and other things between him and George. Before and now. Not believing that he couldn't reject it like he wanted to do so much earlier.

George began to pull him out of his shyness and small reflection. He put the guitar down, placing it on the closed case, returning to the bed and beginning to absorb every touch between them that now occurred. He approached more confidently, smiling softly and touching his lips to his right cheek.

The brunet sighed, feeling more relaxed, feeling the warm touch here and there, leaning over them, unable to chase away this feeling that had developed short months ago. Not even a few.

George moved his head slowly, bringing his lips closer to Marty's. The light kiss began to work like a drug. Marty closed his eyes, looking at George's face second before it, gently touching his lips in order to reciprocate, finding his shoulder with his free hand, and then his hair, sinking his fingers into them, pulling him closer, causing their lips to meet in a stronger kiss that became longer and more intimate as time passed. Marty moaned short and quietly, feeling the changing atmosphere, pushing the eager George into a deeper kiss, which he wanted to strengthen even deeper.

George stroked his hand, after a moment making a break between them, feeling his son's unstable breathing at the moment. They looked at each other for a moment, and Marty stroked George's hair, not wanting to end this caress. George showed with his smile that he didn't want to end it.

He wanted to ask if everything is okay, but Marty didn't seem concerned, but a bit quieter that day than in previous ones.

"You don't have to be afraid. Not with me, Marty," he soothed in a whisper.

Before Marty could decide to say anything, his father's lips silenced him again, enveloping him in their embrace. George smiled as he placed another tender kiss between them. He moved closer, prolonging the kiss even longer, wanting to take Marty into a deeper embrace, to pull him closer, to comfort him, to hold him on his lap.

In that moment it was just them and their feeling, which was completely different from others years ago.