#god i literally have a list of ideas

[cream-and-tea]

i love love looooove doing whatever tf i want with structure in lay me down BEYOND belief. have just decided that chapter eleven is basically a romcom montage except it’s set in the evil apocalypse library and also there’s no romance and it also uhhhhhhh makes me want to cry ❤️

[cemeterym]

today's lesson is teach your kids to use public transport so they do not end up like me bc holy shit

[peakyfag]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅

ㅤㅤ𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐀𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

I truly have nothing else to do, and these two have been living in my head rent-free for the past few days. warnings: period-typical homophobia, a little bit of religious trauma and internalized homophobia.

ㅤ— The two met during adolescence. The first time they had seen each other was during a rendezvous between Thomas and Jeremiah; Finn was all but shy of twelve, and Isaiah was sixteen, bordering on seventeen. By that point, Finn would not unglue from Isaiah.

— For a long time, Isaiah could not bring himself to view the youngest of the Shelby's as more than a little brother; both due to the age difference between the twain of them, simple five complete years, and due to Finn's personality in itself: he was a sweet boy, indeed. Gentle, naive and soft-spoken.

— And so, he had made a duty out of protecting Finn. It was as though he was a fourth older sibling to Finn, whose vision could not be further from Isaiah's own. No, it truly could not be further, no doubt.

— At first, it was nothing more than a little, innocent crush of youth. A crush of which Finn cultivated ever since he saw the preacher's son—and one he long fought and fought to forget and to keep at bay. Really, at such a tender age, he was a good, catholic boy, raised on the very end-of-the-world that was Birmingham, at the time (even if it was mere 100 miles away from London).

— It would have been easier, he thought, should he have been in London. That was the portrait of whom, at the ripe age of thirteen, he had came to be: a paltry youngster, a boyish scant of Birmingham, always protected by his family and his brothers, the fucking Peaky Blinders—as they called themselves, seemingly taking all delight on it, and as others called them as well. When the sun shone, he rolled his eyes at such nonsense; yet, as dawn fell by the sky, he craved to be one of them.

— At last, he was a Shelby by birth. The only thing he carried of his family was the surname, but not their blood. He should have honoured the name which he was given. Indeed, he should have—at last, however, time did not wait for the honour of one, for it had a duty of its own, and such was to pass. Finn, despite himself and whatever reveries his juvenile and chimerical mind created, grew. He grew not into a sword, nor into a blade, but in a callow boy—against all odds he bet.

— Time was the hound of the mightiest jaw, and for that, it possessed metallic hands. As the claws of the clock got to him, he tried with all the might in himself to be involved with whoever was the poor girl that would have him, and hand to him a press of lips or two; a thorn of affection and a rose of wanting. Even then, there had been something wrong. Whatever was that thing, it wandered, walked by his entrails as does a spider. There was a certain element, a certain discomfort which overcame him as delicate, feminine hands (agreeable to all, but to him) enveloped his neck, in the manners of chains.

— Then, the excuses would come to him: the hour was bad, he said, none time did he had. By most, the girls could barely last a week—with luck, they could last for one and a half!—and he, in the circumstances of his birth, learned to saunter only through the shadows. Never would his steps reacb luminescence. But Birmingham perceived his ways, and, once more, he walked by obscurity, as though he was an aloof mouse. Still, he always remained by the side of Isaiah.

— With observant eyes, Isaiah watched as nature sowed Finn. The more he was sowed, the more Isaiah’s eyes dawned upon him, delineating every detail and feature they could soak in. At eighteen, Finn had been transformed into a certainly alluring little thing: he was a beauty, a man of pale skin, with and inviting and longish neck, reddish and well-contourned lips. And his eyelashes; they lingered through all, as did his eyes themselves, and were as long and flattering as the incarnation of grace.

— At nineteen, only one year later, he was a youth much mismatched to that of the rest of his own kin: with a slender silhouette and a frame sculpted and chiselled by the art of all thar was exquisite and flimsy, he had longish legs and fine hands. There was a hidden adroitness in the bounds of his body, a contained charm which contaminated everything he could do. Most said he was quite alike to his late mother, when the woman was the same age as him.

— He had not met Mrs.Shelby, but if she was as alike to Finn as said the bad tongues, then she was a woman of great beauty, indeed. Dwelling on these thoughts almost gave him the desire to have met her before God took her. And in the fullness of time, when the age of twenty came to him, Finn turned into a true and heartful, lovely youth; so beautiful. In all honesty, really. The mere way in which his lips enveloped the cigarette did more than enough to force Isaiah to look the other way.

— By great irony of creation, it seemed that Finn had been transformed into a grandiose portrait of his kismet; the rest of his life waltzed in him. Observing and observing, a particular notion about the youngster came to him, one of which he had never lingered upon: Finn was never quite there. Not quite here and not quite there, as though he was a zephyr, a phantom-like creature, always sauntering in the eyes of all but never truly appearing in light, only obscurity. He was as hidden as the agrestic. This notion, it seemed, solely served for them to be further close.

— But as aware of Finn as he turned to be, he took no act. He had met the boy when he was all but a child, a scarce little lad, and had watched as every moment of the world dawned upon him. He had been certain that he was nothing more than a fourth brother to Finn, as if three were not yet enough—Finn nurtured a meagre fraternal affection for him, no other could do. As it was, he had been by his side since he was a wight of twelve. The naviety and gentleness of that age seemed to have been lost in him, however.

— There had been a particular night, though: in a dark alleyway away from the Garrison, when the hour was gloomy and when the shades of evening had already stabilished rule through the city's aurora. There had always been an individual easiness between him and the other, where words were not made necessary, for the sky spoke for them. Between both, silence was as euphonic as the melody of a church's chore and, for all, it was easier to be with Finn when all was quiet.

— Whilst a caramel candy was the sole thing to dance around Isaiah's mouth, a cigarette, lightened by Isaiah himself, laid between Finn's lips. It was an sardonic image, yes, wrote out in even more sardonic stanzas. A definitive gleam shone through Finn's eyes when the lighter came to his mouth: a fiery glow, a haunting and golden luminescence in those hazel eyes. The flickering of the flame delineated all of the freckles in Finn's fair, lovely features. It was a derisive acerbity, that his flesh was so ivory in tone.

— He should not smoke, Isaiah remarked, and yet a venom remained in Finn's veins, even if it was as fine as a rabbit's hair. He was still a Shelby, no less—and venom was nothing if not inherited by the family's blood. And Finn, sweet, pretty Finn inherited the verses of his kin's serpent as well. He was gracious and sly, quiet and wily. Truly, he possessed the potential to be cunning. Even so, as the cigarette went out and Finn brought another one to hover between his red lips, Isaiah, in repeated motions, held out the lighter to set it aflame, but then—then, the mere look the other shot him was enough for him to abandon the object in his pockets, take Finn by the jaw and kiss him.

— The flavour of that caramel candy, which Finn had long observed by Isaiah's lips, shred its paths through his mouth, as he was certain that the taste of tobacco did by Isaiah's own. Hands, once in his jaw, wandered until one of them held his waist and the other held his hip. His own slender arms came to circle around Isaiah's neck, and his body was firmly pressed to the other's—with a tint or two of something he could not name, albeit as heavy as concrete, he saw that he ought to stand on tiptoe to equalize both heights. A glint shone by Isaiah's eyes; it was hunger that he saw in the man's pupils. And God, did he not kiss well?

— In a short and eventual period, encounters such as that turned into a trite remark for both. Way too trite, if the opinion of logic should be considered. All the rendezvous were always at dawn, where no eyes could pry and no soul would wander around, always strategically distant from any point where one could recognize the both of the two. They hid and hid as though they were rats in a a cathedral, distant from the sacred, hidden of the punishments for one's existant in itself. A man had once said, "my existence is a scandal".

— Where moonlight slips, an euology for a certain image is kept. And did the both had quite the visage to keep, Finn reckoned. Yes, they did—as sure as the sun rises day after day, and the crows keep on creaking dawn after dawn. One cannot be thought as blind, for when the eyes close, one can be merely blinking.

— Every suspicion was to be kept at bay, like a prisioner in gelid bars. If one did so much as dream that such encounters had been happening, when the only element to be seen was dawn—oh, heavens. The mere thought of it send a cold trail down his spine; he wore his fear as though it was a perfume of cruel aroma. Yes, they should be discreet—proper, even. The vision of Finn, with agitated eyes and agony in his every motion, looking to one side and then the other in disturbed attempts to find anyone in sight, turned into an usuality. An eventuality, perhaps.

— Isaiah was lying through his very teeth when he told him to calm himself, that both could not be seen; he knew that much. The other cultivated the same preoccupations as him, he was certain. His arrogance had never quite left him, no. In fact, one could say his gentleness and naviety had long been traded by that deep arrogance. Therefore, he dearly held the belief that Isaiah could not hide anything from him—so dearly he held it, so navietly. But when they were discovered (should they ever be, that is) his particular surname would not take him nor Isaiah out of the gallows.

— At night, one could say that his prayers only held one thing: that his neck broke when the rope was tightened, and that Polly was not there to witness. Cowards are sculpted by the laws of their era. For some time, a press of lips in the neck and a hand here and there sufficed for both him and Isaiah; and one may take notice that Finn could never be accustomed with anything for long. All he possessed, alongside his affections, was fear. Fear of discoverence, of whatever Thomas would do once those meetings came to his knowledge, of whatever Isaiah himself would do as the secret (for that was what it all was: a secret to be taken to the grave, where sentimentality lay the most) was told.

— Grandiose were the terrors to roam within the bounds of his bones. The sweet and tender have no enemy but time, that is certain; but in the dance of the clock, the roaring dread will either die in fire and powder or consume, as all greatness does. As it seemed, it just consumed, its teeth and claws as sharp as the verses of the Devil, devouring in motions most ardent. For all things sacred, he had tried to take no shame in whatever creature he was (for he was not human, not at all. He could never be; humans were not quite like him) and he had tried to murder his fear. Still, it took vengeance as its, and it repayed. To murder one's terrors, is to murder one's self.

— Finn was young, was he not? Younger than Isaiah, certainly.

— In a golden carriage, it came: the moment where Isaiah decided to confront Finn about it all. The distancing with no past clues to be seen, the very way Finn pretended not to know him when he was up to it, even if he kissed him so hard it could bruise when none were watching. And Finn—he had always had quite a temper, had he not? Yes, he had, and by himself, Isaiah should have realized that such was behind the motives of him avoiding confrontation. Firstly, Finn had the shame to deny that any terror could have ever crept upon him, and then, he all but kept the same speech: that both ought to keep appearances.

— Now, fuck off. It was not as if Isaiah was asking Finn to marry him. All he wanted was a simple little thing: constancy. Perhaps honesty, even.

— He could not tell he did not understand how Finn felt. He was a preacher's son, and as alike to Finn as he could be, he was raised as a catholic lamb; he appeared on every mass, he confessed every blasphemy which could ever come to dwell on his thoughts, and with prying ears, one could hear his prayers before bed. All in all, he purged every sin of his skin, and spent childhood and adolescent living in such a way.

— And there was a certain evening when he supposed he could not live like that, and acceptance came to him. As was evident, Finn still did not possess such understanding, and Isaiah could not be the one to guide him down a path he once followed. It would be, above all else, painful, and albeit he held the want to shepherd Finn, he could not stand to hold the hand of a mirror of whom he once was.

— In eventuality, both parted their destinies. The decision was agreed, and Finn did not have the opportunity to refuse.

This one got quite angsty, and much longer than what I expected. I still have more, though.

[universalsatan]

how am i supposed to collect my gay little shows when i am sleeby and work and have to rewatch the multi-seasoned shows i literally just finished

[opens-up-4-nobody]

God. The Terror. I could watch those wretched Englishmen suffer and die over and over and over. Forever. And I will. And I do 🖤

[depresseddepot]

bra shopping makes me so incredibly bitter lmao I see someone complain about being a DDD cup and I just roll my eyes

[muppetjackrackham]

1am list of aus on my mind that i need to get out of my system eventually (aka to do list)

- professor butler au (i am actively working on this one) - ballroom dancer/dance au - pirate au - werewolf/red riding hood au - beauty and the beast au - vampire/true blood au - murder mystery au (this one is actively haunting me rn)

[syrenki]

wait what the fuck

How many of these movies have you seen that people said “you haven’t seen [blank] yet??” to me about

[swagging-back-to]

started outlining that one angsty fic ive had floating in my head for like a year now.

[evandore]

i really need to do a masterdoc for dnd like i did for ryg cause i think i know all the projects theyve done and then here comes decathect with a steel chair

[internetgiraffekid1673]

Today on the list of "good stuff that happened": I got to tell my brother about how Percy Jackson in the Son of Neptune is absolutely insane and spends basically the whole book just making the Romans go "?!"

Highlights include exploded water cannons during war games, showing up carrying a goddes and tearing apart furies with a whirlpool, mouthing off to Mars, third-wheeling/babysitting the precious young smoll inexperienced beans that are Frazel, willingly drinking Maybe Poison, and generally breaking a lot of things by Fighting Like a Greek. Continued to explain that the best part about the multiple perspectives in these books is this:

Percy: I'm a loser, lol! I have no idea what I'm doing, also everyone is cooler than me and I'd die for them! Also Annabeth is cute when she's threatening people with a knife.

Annabeth: *while planning 6 steps ahead* Percy is an idiot. Dear gods I love him so much. Such a wonderful idiot.

Literally everyone else: Percy is (one of) the most powerful demigod(s) I've ever heard of, and he gives no shits about any rules anymore. This man is scary and dangerous and I am so glad he's on my side. Annabeth is a terrifying force to behold and I can't keep up with her. I am unsure if them being so in love with each other makes it better or worse. If they ever turn evil, we are so fucked.

[thegunslingerstragedy]

one million times this!!!

just gonna add a quick little thing, we all remember the album eddie held up when he shouted “this is music!” right?

piece of mind is iron maiden’s fourth* album that was released in 1983, the year will went missing and we later find out is the current year in the upside down.

and we have the cover art with eddie lobotomized and bound in chains, trapped in his own mind if you will?? come on.

this album also features “flight of icarus”* which op mentioned above!!

the fourth* song on this album is called “die with your boots on”, including these opening lyrics: yeah, another prophet of disaster - who says this ship is lost? - another prophet of disaster - leaving you to count the cost — taunting us with visions - afflicting us with fear - predicting war for millions - in the hope that one appears (this feels very fitting with the themes we’ve seen in season 4 and stranger things as a whole, right?)

*the number four was heavily emphasized all throughout the season, from vecna’s clock chimes to the gates

also eddie did in fact die with his boots on :’) and i’m not 100% if this is where the duffers took inspiration for it but adrian smith (lead guitarist of maiden) used to wear a bullet belt like the one we see eddie in

and then we have “the trooper” which is the fifth* track with these opening lyrics: “you’ll take my life, but i’ll take yours too” the song is about a soldier dying in battle and being left there forgotten

*we’re now moving on to the fifth season aka the end so i feel like these numbers have significance??

*the fact that they titled the new book about eddie after a song from this album specifically too?? i literally screamed when i saw it because i’ve been hyperfixating on this for months now- thank you so much for making this post

Eddie Munson + potential Iron Maiden references

because I'm hyperfixiating and desperate. Also apparently not everyone was raised on 80s metal, so this might be new to some people and gatekeeping is lame. None of this is confirmed obviously and I'm probably reaching but here we go

let's start with the most obvious one: This is Iron Maiden's mascot. His name is Eddie. He's been on every single album cover, most single covers, merch, posters... He looks a little different every time, but he's always undead.

This is the cover artwork for the 1982 album The Number of the Beast. It features A huge version of Eddie, controlling the strings of a red, devil-like creature, which in turn holds the strings of a tiny version of Eddie. The Devil (Vecna, there I said it) is not shown to be aware of Big Eddie controlling him. It's all very double agent, The Spy parallel. Also if you take just the frame of Big Eddie's hand and the devil, it looks A LOT like Eddie Munson's puppetmaster tattoo. With a little fantasy and even more reaching there's also some vaguely mindflayery shape in the background of the image.

(probably irrelevant but still fun fact: This album was released on March 22nd 1982 - EXACTLY four years before Eddie Munson became the main suspect in Chrissy's death)

This one speaks for itself. We've all seen the Eddie prequel book that's gonna come out later this year with literally the same title as this 1983 song.

Interestingly, Eddie has batwings here, aka KAS THEORY CONFIRMED?

This one, holy shit. This is the artwork for the 1986 (!) album Somewhere in Time, and if the year and title weren't enough, there is so much more.

1. Again starting with the most obvious: There is a graffito on the wall to the very right that literally says EDDIE LIVES.

2. Under the graffito we see a hand reaching up from the ground (grave?). The version of Eddie that we get here is a cyborg, and the hand on the ground looks very cyborg-esque as well. The band members are seen a little towards the left as normal humans, so it's not like everyone's just a cyborg in this world. Ergo the hand belongs to a second Eddie, which is very in line with the whole "there is another timeline with shadow selves"-theory.

3. The red clouds in the background are very vecna-y.

4. The little winged figure from the Flight of Icarus cover is seen left of the big tower in the middle.

5. The neon sign of the movie theatre to the very bottom left contains the words "Live After Death" (illegible here, but it's there!)

6. The lyrics on this album! In particular Wasted Years, featuring the lines "But now it seems I'm just a stranger to myself

And all the things I sometimes do, it isn't me but someone else"

- again, very much in line with shadow selves. And even more Stranger in a Strange Land:

"Was many years ago that I left home and came this way

I was a young man full of hopes and dreams

But now it seems to me that all is lost and nothing gained

Sometimes things ain't what they seem

No brave new world, no brave new world

No brave new world, no brave new world

Night and day I scan horizon, sea and sky

My spirit wanders endlessly

Until the day will dawn and friends from home discover why

Hear me calling, rescue me

Set me free, set me free

Lost in this place and leave no trace

Stranger in a strange land

Land of ice and snow

Trapped inside this prison

Lost and far from home

[...]

They found his body lying where it fell on that day

Preserved in time for all to see

No brave new world, no brave new world

Lost in this place, and leave no trace

What became of the man that started

All are gone and their souls departed

Left me here in this place so all alone"

Does that sound like someone left for dead in the Upside Down or is that just me?

7. idk a fuckload more in the cover probablay because it's wild.

Bonus Metallica fact: Master of Puppets was released on March 3rd 1986. Eeven if he bought the album the day it was released (he would) that would have given him under three weeks to rehearse it so much that he could give the most metal concert ever on March 27th.

Anyway that's just from the top of my head; I might add on to it if/when I think of more. PLEASE spam me with your theories I beg you.

Side note: Contrary to popular belief, if you got into metal because of Eddie: That's awesome! Welcome! Again, gatekeeping sucks; we've all had our minds blown by a Metallica song for the first time at some point, so let's be nice to the newcomers.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Is That A Promise? (Venom One-Shot)

Eddie Brock x GN!Reader / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: Telling you about Venom does not go entirely how Eddie planned.

CW: mentions of monster fucking, Eddie is oblivious and a dumbass (I think I have a type)

Venom Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

You’d known Eddie Brock a good while by this point. You’d started dating him a while back, and while he put others on edge, you’d found the way he talked to himself out loud rather charming, actually. 

At first, you weren’t sure if he was just unmedicated, or undiagnosed. But then the news broke about the symbiote, and then there was the footage. And when Eddie started coming home right after news broke of some other attack or taking out of a bad guy or criminal or whoever, you’d put two and two together. 

It was kind of hard not to. Particularly as his conversations with himself could vary from topic to topic in the span of six words or less.

 

Eddie had asked to meet up for lunch today at your favourite restaurant. He’d seemed a bit off on the phone, and given how prone you were to anxiety, your immediate thought had been that he was breaking up with you and that you’d done something to upset him or his bodily guest- who you did not officially know about, of course. 

You’d gotten there early to prepare yourself for whatever shitshow was about to follow and to your immense surprise, Eddie had shown up pretty much right after you. Eddie was always running late, so this change in pace was also mildly concerning. You were not sure how this was going to go and you did not like that one bit. 

“You’re here early, too,” Eddie had said, swallowing thickly and avoiding eye contact. You nodded, and cleared your throat, gesturing for him to sit down at the table opposite you. 

“Yeah, I wanted to make sure we had a spot,” you replied, smoothing down your shirt. Bit of a nervous habit. That and ripping at your nails, but that was beside the point. 

“Right,” Eddie replied. 

And then the two of you lapsed into silence. You spent a good five to ten minutes appearing to read over the menu as if this wasn’t a regular spot for you and you didn’t know exactly what you were going to order. In fact, you’d be surprised if the cooks weren’t already making it up for you even though a waiter hadn’t come over yet. 

“Shut up,” Eddie hissed quietly. You peered over the menu to eye him curiously, one brow arced in question. 

“I didn’t say anything, Eddie.” 

“Yeah, I know. I- uh, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. You hummed, and put the menu down to give him your attention. 

“About me shutting up?” 

“No- God, this is not going at all like I planned.” Eddie rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. 

You said nothing, waiting patiently for him to work out his wording.

 

“I really like you,” he started, and you nodded, replying with the same sentiment. “And, well, there’s something I’ve been hiding from you.”

 

“Right…” This is where you expected him to tell you he was married (doubtful but not impossible) or had cancer or something terrible. Dear God, please no. 

“Look- you’ve seen on the news, yes, the, uh- the attacks. Yeah?” 

You nod. Ah, so he was finally telling you about his friend living literally rent-free in his body. Okay, you could relax a little. 

“He’s me. Venom, he lives in my body. He’s in my head. Like, all the time. Right now.” 

Eddie looked at the table where he was picking at the tablecloth. You were silent for a second, and Eddie clearly took that to mean you were horrified or disgusted or something. You were a little nervous about it, sure, but you’d also been living with him for the last few months. If Venom was planning to take you out, he would have done so by now, surely. You figured this to mean you were safe enough. You’d also seen your fair share of monster porn, so you weren’t exactly unkeen on the idea of dating someone who sometimes had a monster body. It was kind of hot, actually. You shook the thought out of your head and tried to focus.

“Oh, yeah- I knew about that,” you replied, and the way Eddie’s head snapped towards you was almost comical. 

“You what?”

 

“Yeah, I figured that out a while ago. I was just waiting for you to tell me in your own time.”

 

Eddie blinked, and a black residue appeared on the back of his hand. It swirled and gathered on his hand before reaching for you delicately. You met it, brushing your finger over it softly. The goop (for lack of a better word) seemed to shiver pleasurably and you smiled.

 

“Can I meet him later?” 

Eddie nodded, watching the interaction with disbelief. He’d thought that you’d go running and screaming through the doors or something, not be rubbing your fingers over Venom like you were fingering some Play-Doh. 

“Y-yeah, later,” he agreed. “Not here. When we get home.”

 

You grinned and the black substance retreated back into Eddie’s skin as a waiter appeared by your table. 

“What can I get for you? The regular?” 

You looked at Eddie and clicked your tongue thoughtfully. 

“The usual with a serving of chicken nuggets on the side, please.”

 

The waiter nodded, scribbled it own on his pad and wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. Eddie looked at you in question. He knew you weren’t big on nuggets. 

“They’re for Venom,” you explained, propping your head up on your palm. Eddie looked to the side as if listening to something carefully. 

“Venom says thank you-” Eddie said before cutting himself as Venom said something else in his head. “No, I’m not saying that. No. No.” 

“Say what?”

Eddie sighed defeatedly- something you think he did a lot when it came to Venom. 

“Venom said he could kiss you right now.” Eddie looked mortified as the words left his mouth. You burst into laughter. 

“Is that a threat or a promise? I hope it’s a promise,” you replied, wiggling your eyebrows at the two of them. 

Eddie swallowed thickly and blushed as Venom said something else. You’d have to see if Venom could swap hosts sometime. It would be nice to have a conversation while out and about like that. 

“Promise,” Eddie replied. 

Good.

[novelbear]

”who me? couldn’t be!” - dialogue for those in denial about their feelings

prompt list by: @novelbear

"are you crazy? they're not my type, you know that."

"i don't have time for a relationship." "that has nothing to do with anything i just said. like at all."

"they're annoying as hell, no i don't have feelings for them."

"i honestly don't even know who you could possibly be referring to."

"what if i told you i said those types of things about everyone? then what?" "i would really hope you didn't. oh god."

"i do not want to see their face, hear their voice or their name for that matter. stop talking about them."

"what gave you that idea?"

"why does everybody keep saying that?"

"it's just been a while since i've had a close friendship like this, that's all."

"no.....no."

"i wasn't blushing! it was hot out." "it is literally snowing outside as we speak are you joking."

"i don't even like them like that i don't know what you mean."

"i'd do that for anyone!"

"flirting? me? i wouldn't say i was."

"cut it out, i'm tired of hearing you guys tease me about this."

"that's not true, where did you hear that from?"

"they're just a friend. that's all."

"we've been friends since we were little, we're practically siblings! no!"

"love?! you think i'm in love?"

"i know what having a crush feels like and this is nothing close..." "have you considered that it's because this is more than just a crush?" "stop talking."

[blooming-violets]

private #5 bent over a table while somethings baking in the oven. is it too much to ask for tasm peter parker bending reader over?

[location based smut prompts]

The To-Do List

[tasm peter x fem!reader]

(reader is described as having a ponytail that is long enough for Peter to wrap around his hand and use as leverage)

His birthday cake was nestled happily inside the heated oven. 

She got up early to make it for his special day. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail to keep out of her face while she had prepped and she was still in her pajamas from this morning. She had planned to have the cake in the oven, get her shower done, and place out his presents on the table all before he woke up. 

Peter, of course, had other ideas. 

He leaned against the kitchen doorway with a lopsided grin as he sleepily took in the sight of her. She paused when she saw him there, silent as ever, and crossed her arms. 

“You are not supposed to be awake for another hour,” she chastised. 

Thirty-five looked good on him. Every year he seemed to get more and more handsome. 

His eye wrinkles grew as his smile widened. A strand of dark hair fell down his forehead and he absentmindedly brushed it away. He was shirtless with nothing but a pair of dark boxers to keep him decent. 

She admired how defined his chest was. A hinting of his six pack was peeking out from just under the surface of his lean body. 

“I smelled cake.” His voice was thick and scratchy with lingering sleep. Peter’s morning voice was one the sexiest sounds she’d ever heard. 

She smiled as she rolled her eyes. It had hardly been in the oven for more than five minutes and it was already enough to get him out of bed. 

“The kitchen is a mess. I was going to clean it all up and have your presents out and I was going to be all dressed up and looking extra cute. You ruined it all with your stupid nose.” 

Peter laughed as he strode across the room to slip his arms around her waist. She looked up to admire him and wiped at a staining of toothpaste still clinging to the side of his lips. She caught it with her thumb and shoved it back into his mouth while he licked it off. 

“You already look extra cute,” he mumbled around her thumb. 

“I’m literally wearing your old, hole filled shirt and bright pink fluffy pants. This is not how I wanted you to see me this morning. It’s your birthday. I wanted it to be special.” She tugged her thumb back with a huff. 

Peter stepped back to appreciate her outfit in the morning light. She had already been in bed by the time he crawled through their window last night.

“I like it,” he stated. “It’s hipster.” 

She let out a laugh in response, “I don’t think you know what hipster means, babe.” 

Peter shrugged, “It means you dress like a bum, right?” 

“Oh my god, why don’t you go back to bed and try this again in an hour when everything is all set up, okay?” 

“No,” he whined. He latched himself onto her back, snaking his arms tightly around her stomach to press her against him. “I’m up. It’s my birthday. Say happy birthday to me and tell me you love me.” 

She grinned, snuggling back against his bare chest, “Happy birthday and I love you.” 

“That sounded insincere but I will take it.” His hand slipped up under her loose shirt to cup a warm hand over her breast, lazily palming it while he nibbled at the edge of her ear. He always liked the feeling of her nipple coming to life and growing harder against his hand. He held onto her chest like one might cling to the safety of a favorite stuffed animal. 

She groaned, “Your presents were supposed to be all set out nicely on the table. Instead you’re just greeted with a kitchen disaster of my cake baking. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep for another hour? I know you’re tired from last night. You were out late.” 

Peter began to slowly waddle them back and forth towards the kitchen table, refusing to release his grip from around her waist or remove his hand from her breast, “I know of a present I can unwrap right here…” 

She gasped under her breath, “Peter. This is no time. I’ve got a list of things to do.”

She felt him laugh quietly against her ear.

“Yeah and I’ve got a list of things to do, too. A whole list. Let’s see what the first thing to do is…” he pretended like he was reading off an imaginary piece of paper as he checked it over. “Ah, yes!” 

He slipped his hands out from her shirt and placed a gentle hand between her shoulder blades to bend her over the kitchen table. With a quick swoop, he tugged down both her pants and underwear, leaving them hanging around her ankles. She let out a shocked cry.

“Unwrap presents…check!” He chuckled to himself, giving her bare ass a soft slap. “And what a beautiful present it is. Couldn’t have asked for anything better. Wow, you really know me, baby, I’m super impressed.” 

“Peter,” she whined, pushing herself back up. “Not fair. I haven’t showered. I’ve got to get ready. I’ve-”

He cut her off with a kiss. His lips crashed against her and his tongue forced its way into her mouth to stop her from trying to protest further. She could taste the mint from his toothpaste still clinging to his tongue and she moaned as he pressed his hips into hers. He was growing harder by the second. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled against her lips with a smile. “My birthday. My rules.” 

“Okay,” she said with a dreamy sigh. It wasn’t hard to convince her. Her complaints were more for show than anything else. If Peter wanted her, he had her. “I love you, Pete.” 

“If you love me so much then why don’t you take off that shirt so I can see my second present.”

She did as she was told, stripping it from her body, until she was standing naked before him. The bulge in his boxers twitched which made her smile. She loved the fact that she could make him so hard from sight alone. 

Peter’s hand reached out to brush a calloused thumb across her hardened nipple, “Beautiful.”

He lifted her up onto the table so she was sitting closer to him and he moved between her legs. They wrapped around him so she could feel the heat of him soaking through his boxers and against her pussy. His eyes traveled down to her chest, taking in the sight, and sighing happily. His head dipped down so he could capture the waiting bud between his wet lips. 

She let out a satisfied moan and ran her fingers through the back of his hair while suckled on her. His tongue bathed her breast, teeth nipping at her nipple, and soothing it over with quick kisses and light sucking motions. His mouth was magic. He didn’t even need to touch her pussy for her to already be soaking through his boxers as she ground against him. 

“Feel that?” He groaned, bucking his hips. “Feel how hard I am?” 

She whimpered.

“All for you,” he whispered, finding her lips once more to kiss her deeply. 

All for her. 

It was his birthday. She should probably be getting down on his knees for him and sucking him off or tending to him in some way but she was nothing but putty in his hands. Lost in the feeling of seduction he was casting over her. 

Peter dragged her down off the table, smirking at the wet spot she had left behind, and spun her around. He folded her back in half over the table, scraping his nails down the length of her spine and over the swell of her ass. 

“The next thing on my to-do list,” he breathed, his voice low and deep. “Is you.”

She heard him discarding his boxers and suddenly felt the wet, hot tip of cock slide up her open folds. She was more than ready for him. He never had to do much to have her begging for more. Her hips grinded against the air as if trying to draw him in closer but he only continued to tease her with the tip.

“Someone’s eager,” he commended, giving her ass another slap. 

“Peter, please,” she gasped. 

He kept up his tantalizing torture. Every time his cock bumped over her aching clit, her hips would jerk backwards, and she’d let out a quiet cry.

“Please what?” He asked with an air of innocence. 

She groaned at his teasing, “Please fuck me! I want you to fuck me.”

“Aww,” he cooed. “Does my poor baby need my cock?” 

She whined and nodded. 

“You got up so early, didn’t you?” His nails dragged along her hips, making her squirm, as she humped frantically in an attempt to get at his cock. “You got up early to make my birthday so special. You baked me a cake. It smells amazing, doesn’t it? Smell it, baby.”

Her eyes widened in frustration, “Peter! Fuck me! Please, stop it.”

He ignored her pleas, getting off of them, as his cock twitched between her thighs, “Did you slip that cake into the oven just for me?”

She was nearly sobbing from her own arousal, ready to attack him if he didn’t shut up and fuck her soon. She arched her back to better entice him, wagging her ass and rubbing it against his hips. She pushed herself up with her arms so he could get a peeking view of her tits swaying in wait for him. 

That seemed to do the trick because he had gone silent as he stared.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Happy birthday to me.” 

“I want it hard, Peter. Use me,” she whispered in an effort to finally push him over the edge. “I’m yours.”

He lined up his cock to her entrance and eased himself inside. She nearly doubled over against the table at the delicious feeling that flooded through her body. 

“Yes, yes, thank you, baby, thank you,” she cried. 

“You really love this cock, don’t you?” He breathed. “Do you love this cock more than me?” 

“No, baby, never. I could never-”

He pulled out and rammed the full, thick length back into her with a loud slap. 

She shrieked, falling forward into a flurry of mumbled moans, “I do, I do, I do. I love it more than you. I love it more than anything.” Tears pricked in her eyes from the overwhelming sensations taking over. 

Peter chuckled to himself, “That’s my girl.”

Her ass slapped against his body with each plunging drive of his cock as he took her. Fast and hard, just like she asked. Every thrust felt like it was reverberating through her, waking up all her senses, making her feel more alive than ever before. It was sheer bliss. Anticipation already began to build. He knew exactly how hard to take her. Peter could be rough but he never went past her limits. He knew her inside and out. He knew just where to push her before retreating back to safety. The sounds of her tumbling moans and each inhale of breath was all he needed to direct his path. 

He was filling her body, stretching her, taking her, building her up to that beautiful place of divinity. Her nails clawed at the table, scratching at the wood, trying to find some kind of purchase to steady herself with. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Peter!” She cried. 

“That’s it, baby,” he panted. “I got you. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” 

He wrapped her ponytail around his hand and jerked her head upwards. She arched her back to accommodate the move as he held her against him. She could feel his ragged breaths against her cheek and listened to his erotic panting in her ear. The sound was enough to almost send her flying straight into an orgasm. 

The hand not keeping a tight hold of her ponytail wrapped around her to grab at her chest. He molded her breast between strong hands. 

She loved taking his cock. Loved it so deep. Thrusting. Hard. Stretching her. Forcing her to take him. Peter was thick. Thickest man she had ever been with. He pushed her walls to their max. His beautiful body and the sounds he made when he fucked her where like heaven to her ears. 

That familiar, sensual pressure began to grow inside of her with shallow waves lapping at the edges of her mind. Soon they would turn into giant swells. Taking her over until it was all she could feel. 

His hand slipped from her ponytail to wrap around her neck. He gave a gentle squeeze. Nothing too forceful but enough to send her flying even faster towards that tsunami of pleasure. She was so close. So ready. 

“Harder, Peter,” she sobbed. “Hard. Please. I’m-I’m…close…need it hard. Take me.” 

Peter was never to deny a request like that. He shoved her back over the table and tumbled on top of her, humping frantically with long, heavy strokes into her cunt. He could feel her walls tightening. He could feel her body changing. 

“Come on, baby,” he urged her. “Cum on my cock. Cum for me. Let me feel you.”

The universe exploded into blinding light. 

She didn’t care how loud she was. Didn’t care if the neighbors would hear. In fact, she wanted them to. She wanted them to know exactly how well Peter Parker could fuck his woman. 

Her toes curled and her legs kicked up as the sensory overload rocketed through her with golden waves of pure dopamine. 

Peter took her straight to the edge and held her there, spasming and sobbing, as he continued to fuck her through the orgasm. Even as the waves slowly receded, they still lingered in tiny aftershocks, due to his relentless pounding. He had gotten her where she needed to be and now it was his turn. 

He reangled himself into her, getting a better grip as he held onto her hips, and switched up his rhythm to slow. Peter liked to feel everything. He wanted to drag it out and feel her body wrapped around him. From fast and hard to slow and steady. His change of pace caused a low, drawn out moan to escape from her throat. 

“You like that, baby?” He panted. “You like feeling every inch of me?”

All she could do was whimper in response as her sex spasmed again around him. This was a man who knew how to lengthen an orgasm. She was completely helpless to him. Her body was his play thing. 

“Let me hear how much you love me, baby,” he whispered down in her ear as his cock buried straight to the hilt inside of her. “Let me hear you.”

She struggled to make any noise besides sobbing whimpers and broken cries. 

He moaned in response, “That’s it. Those are those sounds that I love so much. My poor baby, all ravaged on my cock. Can’t even speak.” 

He gave a small shudder and she knew he was close. She did her best to work her hips to meet his thrusts, squeezing him with her walls, sucking him in, clenching down. 

“That’s good, baby, that’s good.” He moaned, his voice slowly losing itself as he got closer to the edge. “Ooh, fuck, keep that up. ‘M gon’na cum inside ya’kay?” 

She loved it when he filled her. She loved feeling him drip down her leg as she carried him around with her. She would bathe in his semen if he wished it. It was his birthday, after all. The birthday boy could come wherever he pleased. 

His long, slow strokes worked her up as another, tiny orgasm rippled through her. That seemed to be all he needed to follow. 

Peter let out a low groan, his thrusts become more unrestrained with each passing second, and she took him. All of him. 

With the sweetest of cries, he emptied himself inside of her. She could feel him swell and pulse until she was impossibly full. That tiny orgasm grew into something much bigger, taking over her body along with him, as she felt him collapse on top of her, both shaking, as he bit at her shoulders with soft, love bites until he finally calmed down. 

He stayed like that, laid against her back and squishing her into the table, until he cock began to soften and he sadly slid back out. She tumbled back into his arms as they both fell to the spooning position against the kitchen floor. Naked, wet, and breathing heavily. 

Peter’s hand found the comfort of her breast once more. 

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Best present I could ask for. Thank you, baby. You’re too good to me.” 

She grunted in response, still finding words to fail her. Instead, she rolled over in his arms, hooking her leg through his, and leaving a trail of kisses across his face to show much she adored him.  

His eyes closed as he smiled happily at the feeling. 

Eventually she would have to get up. Eventually she would have to shower and get dressed and clean the kitchen and set up his presents and frost the cake…but for now…

For now she was happy to just lay here on the floor in his arms.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Seven Minutes

luke castellan x reader

A/N: i was so excited to write this request as soon as i saw it so i hope you enjoy!

TW: smut, luke being a cocky little shit

word count: 1,172 words

Playing seven minutes in heaven is not an appealing idea to you. You don’t like the idea of being trapped in a closet with a guy who isn’t of your choosing and it isn’t some stupid kissing game that’s over in a second, but there is sadly no saying no to Silena Beauregard. Your friend is literally the embodiment of an Aphrodite child with her ability to persuade. For gods’ sake she actually has the word ‘beautiful’ in her name and everyone knows that someone with such a likeness to the love goddess isn’t someone that can be refused.

“There’s going to be lots of good looking people there I promise… Charlie, Clarisse… Luke.” Silena murmurs the last name.

“What?” You’re clearly pissed. She can hear it in your tone.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” She asks innocently.

“What was the last name you just said?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just listing people at camp who are objectively attractive.”

“Just objectively attractive or objectively attractive and playing seven minutes in heaven tonight?” You ask, giving her a pointed look.

“The second one.” She replies quietly.

“I’m not going if Luke is going to be there.” You tell her petulantly, stopping in your tracks like you’re going to turn around and head back to your cabin.

“So you did hear me.”

“I’m not going.” You start to walk back but she grabs your wrist.

“Yes you are!”

“I’m not. I hate him. I want him dead. I pray for his downfall on every quest he goes on.”

“All I can hear is that you spend a lot of time thinking about him.”

“Silena!”

“I’m sorry but if you think about it, all this hatred could just be pent up sexual frustration.”

“It’s not.”

“It could be!” She realizes that she isn’t anywhere close to getting through to you so she holds both your hands in hers. “Please just come. The bottle most likely won’t even land on him anyway. Just think about it as a fun night.”

“Fun night my ass.” You grumble but turn around and begin to walk back to the Aphrodite cabin. Silena giggles excitedly.

When you walk in, almost everyone of the older campers in Silena’s friend group are already there. Your eyes fall on Luke first and he gives you an annoying little smirk.

“Okay, now that everyone important is here…” Silena smiles before sitting down. Clarisse hands her an empty beer bottle. “I’ll go first.” She spins the bottle and grins when it lands on Charles. If your eyes aren’t deceiving you, you could swear Clarisse’s face drops for a millisecond.

The person next to Charles goes next, and then Clarisse goes and now, it’s your turn. You’re not really sure how it’s your turn already, but you aren’t about to argue with Silena over the spinning order. You look at Luke before you spin and he gives you another cocky smirk. You try to ignore him and spin the bottle, doing it perhaps a touch too hard because it goes in circles forever. When the bottle slows, it is clearly about to stop on some Apollo kid before it shifts a little more and lands on Luke.

What the fuck?

He looks away from a son of Boreas to you. “Up you get then, princess.” He stands.

You look at Silena with ‘help me’ eyes but she shrugs with a guilty grin. So now you’re walking over to Luke. He holds out a hand so he can lead you to the closet but you slap it away as you pass him. He turns on a dim light as you enter and shuts the door behind him.

“Look at my luck.” He says in a suave tone, holding his hands out like it was the gods’ bidding.

“Did you really bribe a wind god kid so that the bottle would land on you?”

“Perceptive.” He comments. “I was just lucky that I happened to be sitting North of you. So maybe it is the gods’ will.”

“You think it’s the gods will that we fuck in this closet?” You scoff.

“You said it, baby not me.” His right hand falls to your waist, gripping at your love handles. “But sadly, we don’t have enough time for me to fuck you properly.”

“Get your hands off me.” Your gaze is filled with a lot of passion. Whether that passion is lust or hate, he isn’t sure.

“Make me.”

When you don’t make him take his hands off you (which you most could) he takes that as a sign that you want him just as much as he wants you, so he pulls you in for a rough kiss. You hate how you kiss him back, whimpering into his mouth when you feel his hand slip up your thigh to rub you through your jeans. He slips his tongue into your mouth as he begins to make quick work of your zipper. Luke tugs your jeans down and chuckles at the sight of your lacy panties.

“Were you planning on getting screwed tonight or is this just coincidence?” 

“Shut up.” You murmur before forcing your mouth back against his.

He rubs you through your panties for a second but you both know you’re short on time so he slips them to the side, sliding his fingers through your arousal. 

“Gods, you’re so wet.” He whispers into your mouth before plunging two fingers inside of you, curling them in just the right spot. You whine softly, pissed at how good he is at touching you. He leans his head down and begins to kiss your neck. He suckles on the same spot for about a minute so he leaves a deep red mark. “Oops, left a little colour.”

“Luke!” You scold quietly and he begins to rub your clit with his thumb so you can’t think straight enough to say anything else.

“Just have to let people know who’s girl you are, princess.” He starts rubbing your clit a little harder. “Who’s girl are you?”

You’re feeling so good and you’re so close to your peak that you moan out, “Your girl.”

“That’s right. Cum on my fingers, baby.” He demands and you do right away, squeezing around his fingers as you get your release. “You better get dressed.” He says as he checks his watch. “You’ve got about 12 seconds before they open that door.”

He’s clearly amused as you struggle to get your pants back on in time but that doesn’t mean you don’t notice as he licks your cum off his fingers, moaning just a little bit.

“Times up, lovebirds.” One of the other Aphrodite girls says as she swings open the door.

You walk out as soon as she does and you don’t make eye contact with anyone as you storm out of the cabin.  

“We’re done with the game for today.” Luke says cockily as he quickly grabs both your jackets and chases you out the door for round two.

Silena grins. “I knew it.”

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