#peter hecking

[taintandviolent]

Bitchin' ; Peter Maximoff x rollerskater!reader

summary: You always wear your silver rollerskates. But, when Peter Maximoff decides to check out the roller rink's arcade, and spots you... It's fate. At least, Peter thinks so. word count: 4.2K words! w a r n i n g s: brief use of Y/N, shameless smut, smut without plot, public fingering, public handjobs, dry humping, kissing, neck kissing. a/n: requested - I lost the original ask but the anon wanted a rollerskating reader who Peter was obsessed with! Honestly, this is my very first Peter fic so if there's anything that isn't in character or canon please mind your business and pretend you do not see it.

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /

The disco ball twirled above, casting little squares of light over all the skaters like pieces of confetti. You grooved to the music while carefully maintaining your balance. The rink was buzzing with celebration; at least three birthdays amongst other parties were being held there.To you, it was merely another Saturday night. Skating had become more or less a therapeutic activity for you; it was a way to unwind after the day. The stresses floated away behind you as you circled the rink. Thankfully, it was also aerobic in nature, so you were getting your daily exercise in as you decompressed. Not to mention, it was funner than hell.

So, this wasn’t Peter’s usual hangout. But, the rink had a Centipede and a Dig Dug machine, so why not? The light from the machines blinked, reflecting off his eyes. New highscores were easily beaten when the bar was set so low. Come on! Did they even try!? 

To his right, he heard a cacophony of giggles and chattering as a cluster of young girls sped his way, their hands full of drinks. To avoid a collision, Peter was forced to turn around, making way for the girls as they passed. And as he did, two flashes of silver caught his eye. 

Those same two flashes of silver zipped around the rink, catching the neon lights from above. Peter’s dark eyes followed them as they circled and eventually, trailed up the shapely legs that they were attached to. You had a bangin’ body, that much was evident. He watched you as you skated around and around, your legs weaving in and out of each other with skill. You weren’t hugging the perimeter, scared like some of the other girls. You were confident, and in your own, bodacious skating world.

Nah, he thought. No way. But… What if fate is totally intervening, dude? What are the chances that I clock a girl with silver roller skates if it wasn’t meant to be? C’mon… 

As his thoughts raced, you veered off from the throngs of skaters, heading towards the wall near the tables. Chalking it up to destiny, Peter couldn’t argue with himself any further. It was now or never. The moment to strike, the moment to make his move…was right now. 

Your skates hit the wall with a thunk-thunk. Your drink was right where you left it, and still cold enough to sweat. As you sipped, you spotted a guy on a mission, making his way in your direction, maneuvering through people as they passed him. Silver hair? Silver… everything, really. Interesting coincidence. You turned around, unsure, but nobody else was seemingly aware of him. So, you weren’t mistaken, he was headed straight for you. 

Once he got to you, he said two words. Two words.

“Bitchin’ skates.” 

That same dorky smile that he wore as he made his way over to you was still plastered on his face as he stood in front of you now. The same one that, contrary to his probable assumption, you weren’t turned off by. Quite the opposite; you thought it was adorable, endearing even. 

“Uhh…” You brought the plastic straw to your lips, buying yourself time. You sucked in a mouthful of soda, raising your eyebrows at him and he raised his back, grinning inwardly. Something about you had clearly caught his attention; he wasn’t leaving. Unfortunately for him, you were ten kinds of anxious and fourteen kinds of nervous when it came to talking to guys. You leaned over the wall, looking at his feet; a pair of silver shoes. You gulped down more soda, and pulled the straw from your lips.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, babe. Just cause I’m not skatin’ doesn’t mean I’m uncool.” 

You sniggered, rocking back and forth on your skates. You set the soda down on the same table you retrieved it from and gave him your undivided attention. Even though you hadn’t really thanked him for the compliment, it didn’t matter, he wasn’t deterred. “So uh…” He leaned in, angling his face towards yours. Your gaze flitted to his lips for a nano-second, before you darted back up to his eyes. “My name’s Peter.” 

He’d clearly expected you to tell him your name, but you remained silent, clamming up at the very heavy flirtation that he was laying on you. Had you really just forgotten your own name? Clearing his throat, Peter inched closer still, now practically leaning over the wall that separated the rink from the dining area. 

“You come here often, nameless cutie?” Okay… that was cheesy. Too fast for you to notice, he rolled his eyes, silently chastising himself. Much to his delight though, you didn’t skate off, laughing hysterically, shucking him off like some idiot on the school yard. You stuck around and gave him a cutesy, coy little nod that went straight between his legs. 

“Yeah… I do. Every Saturday night. Um… My name’s Y/N.” 

“Guess I need to start comin’ around on Saturday nights…” 

“Why’s that?” You questioned, pumping the straw in and out of the lid, the plastic creaking with the action. You knew the answer. You were willingly lining him up for a compliment that you’d let land real nicely. “Hm?” 

“Well…” He shifted his weight, leaning his elbow on the railing. “Clearly all the babes come through on Saturday nights. Case in point.” He gestured to you with a nod of his head. 

“Thanks,” you muttered to the floor. Some people scooted around you, bracing themselves on the wall. New skater, obviously. Peter paid them no attention; his gaze was iron-locked on you. 

“For the compliment on your skates or that absolutely bogus pick-up line I just tried?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a blush crawling up your neck. “Both… actually. Silver has always been my favourite colour.”

Now Peter was the one blushing. “Was that a… compliment? Or uh…” 

“Could be.” 

“Could be?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What do I gotta’ do to make it one?” 

You considered this. Really, he didn’t have to do anything more than what he’d already done. He was silvery and ultra-cute, and the way his lips curved up into a smile every time he looked at you had your knees turning to Jell-o. Plus, he was wearing a RUSH shirt. RUSH was cool. 

“Skate with me.” 

Say less, he thought. Before you had a chance to process it, Peter raced over to the rental counter, coming to a halt just before the swinging door. The girl behind it was too involved in a fashion magazine to attend to him - and if he was polite enough to wait, the speed at which she was gonna’ move would’ve been excruciating. Peter snatched a pair of skates in his size, tucked his shoes in one of the empty cubby holes and took off back towards you. You had just barely finished blinking by the time he was sitting at your table, arms folded on the railing.

When you opened your eyes, he was sitting instead of standing. You furrowed your brows and peeked over the wall. He was laced up, ready to go.

“How did you…” 

You knew. Even though he hadn’t disclosed it and you hadn’t really seen him move, you knew. You’d heard about mutants, but the thought never captivated you enough to look too deeply into it. To you, they were just regular people – well, not regular people – but people all the same. People with lives, people with feelings. 

But this guy… this guy was really cool.

“Well, come o–” 

Again, before you’d even finished blinking, he was in front of you, cheesing. “You were saying?”

You weren’t sure how else to acknowledge his power, so you’d do it honestly. You nodded once and said: “Bitchin’.” 

“Bitchin’,” he affirmed. “Bitchin’.” 

You dipped forward, reaching for his fingers. His large hand was warm and inviting, and immediately enveloped yours. For a moment, the two of you didn’t move. The second he laced his fingers in between yours, your arm went numb, buzzing with electricity. You weren’t sure whether or not that was a part of his mutantness, or just… your own body responding to this very cute guy touching you. Probably the latter, but you weren’t about to sever the connection to discuss it. 

Peter looked flushed, but masked it with a charming smile and a quirked silver eyebrow.

“Oh, we’re holdin’ hands now?” 

“Well, yeah,” you started, dismissing it as though it was the most normal thing in the world. You beamed, flashing him a smile before pulling him into the flow of skaters. It was hard to imagine that you, with your utterly awkward sense of self, had suddenly taken the lead and were now in control of the situation. “You know how to skate?” 

“Uh… sorta.”

“Well, here.” You spun around, now skating backwards. You held out your free hand, wiggling your fingers towards his. Peter did a double-take – was he really going to be holding both your hands? No questions asked? His already-fast heart thudded in his chest. This was too easy. Fate, man. It’s fate. 

“Come on, don’t be shy. You had enough confidence to come up to me earlier… don’t back out now.” 

“Wha-?! I’m so not!” He looked offended. You couldn’t help but laugh at that, and grabbed his hand at the wrist, pulling him closer to your body. You then noticed that his knees were locked in true beginner form. He looked stiff and slightly unsure. 

“Relax, baby…” You cooed, coaxing him through the motions. “Just move with the groove…”

Slowly, Peter’s dilated eyes crawled up from his skates to yours, and up your divine lookin’ legs. They made their way up your torso before finally coming to a stop on your face. Inside, his heart was hammering against his ribs. Had you just called him baby? Baby? Hoh’ boy… 

Peter composed himself from the impromptu melting you’d caused, he straightened up, relaxing his knees to push into the skates. As the two of you had abruptly picked up speed, you glanced behind you to make sure you weren’t going to run into anyone. Thankfully, he seemed to be navigating pretty masterfully. Peter had his bearings. In fact, thanks to his quick reflexes, he’d gotten his bearings approximately seventeen seconds ago, but you didn’t need to know that. That might’ve prevented the absolutely stellar physical contact he was experiencing now. 

“Yeaaaaaahaaah, Peter! Just like that.” You cheered him on, happy to see that he was loosening up and moving in a much more natural way. For Peter, your smooth voice was doing wonders… but in the wrong way. Or the right way. No. Right way for the wrong situation. Okay, so what? Your syrupy, praising voice was going straight to his crotch. 

“Hey, can we uh… Can we go faster?” He asked. You nodded, preparing yourself to take the lead, but before you could make the necessary changes in speed, Peter spun you around, snaking his arms around you from behind, hands resting gingerly on your abdomen, just above your hips. It was a risky move, he knew it, but it just felt so right to do… and after a few seconds, waiting on bated breath, no protests fell from your lips.You weren’t about to shoo him off, not with the way his grip was sending shivers up and down your spine.  

“Ready?”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure what you were agreeing to. He continued moving his feet, skating them back and forth. With a quick motion that pressed his chest into your back, Peter took off, narrowly avoiding some dude in neon dolphin shorts. He pushed you, navigating both your bodies around the rink at record breaking speeds, speeds so fast that nobody else even registered you two moving. Around you, people were still moving, but slowly. So slowly. You were nothing but fluffs of air as you passed them. It was terrifying; you’d never moved that fast on roller skates in your life. 

After a few laps, you gripped his veiny forearms pressing them tight against your hips. “Okay! Okay!” 

Peter tipped his toes, letting the stops drag against the polished linoleum floors. You two slowed down abruptly until you were back in sync with the rest of the rink’s patrons. Your hair was wind-blown, tousled locks fluttering back into place. 

“You okay?”

“Oh my god,” you breathed. “That was…” 

“Wicked?” 

“Y-yeah.” You swallowed, wetting your throat. You had some other choice words, but you weren’t about to crush his spirit. His toned chest was rising and falling into your back, and for a second, you leaned your head backwards onto his shoulder. You caught yourself in that embarrassing moment of weakness and jerked your head forward again. “S-sor–”

As quickly as you two had stopped, Peter pivoted you on your skates, and crushed his lips against yours, pressing into them tightly. His lips were warm and melted into yours, but the shock of the kiss had you frozen. After a few painstaking seconds, he pulled away, a look of terror plastered on his face. His eyes searched yours, desperately. 

“Shoot… Did I totally misread that?” 

You licked the remnants of him off your lips, humming in satisfaction. “No… no you didn’t.” 

Peter bounced on his heels, nodded, and glanced at your lips again, wanting so desperately to be back against them, but he’d play it cool, and wait for you to make the next move. 

“Peter, I um… think you’re really cute. But next time… can you give me a warning when we’re gonna’ go hyperspeed?” 

“Next time?” He chuckled low, rubbing the back of his neck. He liked the implications that there’d be a next time. “Y-yeah, sure, babe.”

Silence fell between you two, and while neither of you spoke, a lot was being said. The way he gazed into your eyes, the way that you gazed back… that was the thing about chemistry. It found its way in, no matter how quiet you were. Your heart fluttered in your chest, your stomach muscles tightening instinctively as you looked at him. Peter’s strong hand flexed on yours, gripping your fingers and yanking them towards him. The stops on your skates bumped into his, knocking him backwards slightly. 

“Peter...” you started, nervously chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

“Yeah?” Bless him. The eager, almost desperate look in his dark brown eyes told you he was ready for whatever you were gonna’ throw his way. Preferably, another heated kiss. 

You wanted to, desperately, but swallowed that fiery urge, suddenly hyper-aware of the people zipping around you. At  present, no one was tossing insults your way, but if you two lingered on the rink any longer without skating, you suspected they would. Nervously, you chewed your lip. “We should probably um - get off the rink...”

He agreed with an excited but wordless nod, and towed you in the direction of the opening. Adjusting to the feeling of carpet beneath your feet, you moved behind him, thankful for his hand.

As you passed the video games, both of you stopped in front of one of the party rooms. This one, unlike the others, was off to the side, and dark. Inside, there was nothing but a table with some chairs, and a few leftover party decorations pinned to the walls. Both you and Peter stared at the empty room.

“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” 

“I dunno. Just what exactly are you thinkin, Peter?” 

He smirked.

By the time you’d exhaled, Peter had twisted the handle, tugged you inside, and pressed your back gently against the door, shutting it. He hovered over you, face inches from yours, looking down at you with a wanton, heated gaze. With one hand flattened against the wall by your head, Peter flexed the muscles in his forearm, showing off just slightly. 

“Hey,” you said, gazing up into his dark, inky pools. 

“Hey back.”

You wasted no time in kissing him. This time though, you went at him with parted lips, exhaling over his lips. Peter moaned softly into your mouth, overcome by your scent and taste. Everything about you was unreal; from the way that you tilted your head to get close to him to the way that your fingers clawed at the front of his jeans, desperately hooking into his belt loops to pull him closer to your own hips. Coming up to you was the best decision he’d made in weeks. Maybe months. Maybe even friggin’ years. 

Peter’s tongue swirled around yours, pausing to pepper softer kisses on your plush lips every few seconds. “Mmmm-hm…” Another eager kiss. “Babe, you’re totally…”

“What, bitchin’?” You finished for him, teasing.That had been the word of the night, seemingly. 

In response, Peter kissed you again, pulling you in at the waist. He rutted his hips against you desperately, grinding his half-hard cock into your groin, hungrily seeking out friction. At the whisper of his powerful thrust, you paused, flattening both hands on his chest. 

“Wait, lemme take off my skates,” you started. “I don’t want to fall…”

“If you do, I’ll catch ya’. Promise.” 

The confident lilt in his voice was enough to make you trust him, or maybe it was the way that he completely wiped your stream of consciousness by brushing the bridge of his nose against the nape of your neck, peppering tiny kisses along the feverish flesh. 

Peter bucked his hips against you again, forcing himself against your fingertips, pressing them into the denim. You took his enthusiastic dry humping as a green light, and unbuttoned his pants. You followed with the zipper, and you heard Peter mutter something under his breath. Whatever it was, it sounded massively excited. 

“What was that?” You asked, coyly.

You wrestled with his jeans, fingers exploring deeper, slipping through a bush of silver and  ventured further down, stopping only to take hold of his cock at the base. It was hot to the touch, and now, rock hard. Really…. You thought, smirking to yourself. His interest in you wasn’t superficial, this dude really wanted you. You gripped a little harder, watching intently as the muscles in his jaw feathered and clenched. 

“I said uh, um… it was… Hoh’, babe…” You started stroking and Peter’s head lolled back between his shoulders, a broken moan hitching in his throat. “Hoh’ my god…” 

You kept stroking him, your thumb massaging the veiny underside of his swollen cock. Every pass of your fingers brought another breathy whimper from deep within his throat, and your core tightened further. He was putty in your hands, desperate, whining and begging for more. 

“Just like that, babe…” He bucked his hips rhythmically and brought his other hand to the door, bracing himself. 

“Want me to go faster?” 

He looked at you, quirking a brow as if to say, “Really?”

So you did. It took all of three seconds for Peter to start quivering above you, almost vibrating. Peter dropped one hand, his thick fingers dragging across the ruched elastic of your shorts, pads fluidly slipping over the satin fabric. 

“Can I…” He paused, clearing his throat. “Can I touch her?” 

You loved that he called her her. Cute. You exhaled a moan through your nose and bit down on the corner of your lip. Meeting his gaze again, you nodded excitedly. Peter’s hand pressed against your stomach and dove downwards, slipping over the front of your shorts. At first, he stroked her from the outside, feeling the warmth that radiated from between your folds. But he moved fast, in all ways, and soon, he craved a different sensation. Quickly finding the waistband of your shorts again, he dipped inside to find the hem of your underwear, pausing only to run his finger along it, before slipping past it.

“Ohhhh…” He groaned, feeling the blistering heat of your cunt, and the beginnings of the pre-cum that had made its way up to your folds. “Oh, okay. Silver really is your favourite color.” 

You laughed into his neck, walking your feet out slightly to spread your cunt for him. His fingers grazed your clit, circling it delicately a few times before he moved to your slit, manipulating the wetness that greeted him and coated his fingers. Peter inserted his middle finger, pumping it in and out carefully a few times. You moaned through closed lips, a weak attempt at muffling the sounds, should anyone hear.

“Wanna’ see something cool?” 

You, breathless and starting to sweat, nodded. 

“Fffuck, you’re so wet… uh, sorry - okay. Prepare to be wowed.” He hoped. At least, he was fairly certain that you’d never experienced what he was about to do. 

Half a second passed. Then Peter’s finger slid in and out of you so fast it almost felt mechanical, drilling into you at inhuman speeds. Your jaw dropped, pupils dilating. He wasn’t joking – but maybe selling himself short. You were a little more than wowed.

Abruptly, you pressed your ass against the door, pulling his slippery fingers from you. “St-stop, I’m gonna’ c-cum if you keep doing that.” Shocked at your honesty, you felt your face flush. 

“Oh?” He slipped another finger in, murmuring happily at the way your slick walls clenched around them. Peter brought his thumb forward so that with every pump of his fingers, the pad of his thumb bumped into your puffy, tender clit. You couldn’t help but whine then, the dual-stimulation overwhelming your senses. 

He continued, winding the coil in your tummy tighter and tighter. You moved into him just a little bit closer, plunging him in just a little bit deeper and wrapped your free arm around his broad shoulders, desperate to bring your bodies tighter together. Although his hand enveloped your pussy, you could feel the repeated grind of your own hand as you jacked him off. 

Peter continued, mercilessly, delighted that he had you coming undone in front of him. Sweat streamed down your neck, winding its way down into your cleavage – which, by the way, he was absolutely devastated he couldn’t see. His gaze was locked on your tits then, watching as they rose and fell with each laboured breath you took. Suddenly, your hand went slack around his dick. You focused on nothing in particular as white hot flashes darted across your vision. Peter groaned into your neck as you came around his fingers, warm, wet… 

Your knees buckled, the wheels of your skates rolling forward. Just as he promised, Peter caught you strongly with his free arm, and pinned you against the door with a soft thud. You gasped, gripping him hard, pleasuring him with a new found fervour. You stroked his cock with long, deliberate strokes, paying special attention to his reddened head. Pre-cum, lots of it, leaked from the slit, and you eagerly spread it until his whole cock was slippery. Peter squirmed against your body, his fingers still slipping in and out of you at high-speed. 

“I’m gonna’... I’m gonna’....” 

“Oh, so you cum fast too?” 

Your teasing was all it took for Peter to lose it. Every muscle in his body clenched, his eyes rolled back as his dick spurted sticky, white ropes over your hand and into the fibres of his jeans. You loosened your grip, letting the natural throb of his cock bump into your stomach, leaking against your skin.  

Knock. Knock. 

In a nanosecond, Peter had both of your appearances returned to normal as though a mutual jerk-off session hadn’t just happened. But ohhhhhh, it had. It definitely had. Even though the boner had totally faded, his cock still felt like it was throbbing. He laced his fingers with yours, and threw open the door, pretending to search for the light switch.

“Hey, this room is off-limits…” The girl said, looking slightly annoyed. Peter recognized her; the same one from the rental booth. Guess she finally had to make her rounds. 

“We were just – “ you stammered, trying to find a feasible excuse. 

“Checking out the room for a party.” Peter interjected. “Is food provided?” 

The girl seemed taken aback by such a simple question. “Uh… y-yeah. We do pizza or hot dogs.” 

“Sick, thanks.” 

With that, Peter yanked you from the room, skating back towards the arcade machines. You looked out towards the rink; it had slowed down substantially, and likely, would close soon. Time had flown while you were in there with him. 

Once you two had stopped, you turned to him, running a single finger down the front of his shirt. It was still damp and warm with his sweat. A small smile curled its way onto your pink lips. 

“You got a pen?” 

Thwip. Thwip. He was back, fingers wrapped around a blue pen, which he held out to you proudly. With a satisfied smile, you took his hand, flipped it over, and wrote your number on the inside of his palm, near the meat of his thumb.

“Call me?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Not maybe. He was for sure gonna’ call you. He’d call you the second he got home – well, no. Maybe not because he’d get home way before you. But. He shook his head slightly, dislodging the distraction.

If Peter had his way, he’d bust his next nut inside of you.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @babygorewhore / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @slvt4jamesmarch / @poltoreveur / @feefymo / @evpeters87 / @lacucarachapisser

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[aroaceleovaldez]

i think the thing i'm most disappointed about with riordanverse fandom now versus like 2014 is not only has the fandom not gotten any less racist or queerphobic or ableist (in fact in some regards its gotten worse!) but now it's just boring too. like there's no fandom infrastructure anymore - the community these days is almost entirely source material-driven - and you deviate from canon even slightly people get weird about it. whatever happened to the post-HoO fanon boom. the fandom needs to get weirder again. and self-sufficient. and less offensive.

[sleepdeprivedvigilante]

I am in desperate need of a Spiderman/Batman crossover fic (Based on Dark matter by mysterycyclone) but instead of Tim and Duke being his main friends or dick and Jaso finding him on the Secidn chapter, I need one where he goes to gotham academy with damian, maybe Jon and maps or who knows, I mean Damian is 14-15 in comics rn? (depending) and Peter could be 15-16, while Duke is 2 or 3 years older than them both, so maybe they're in gotham prep and stuff.

Like:

Damian, got told to interact with his peers, seeing Peter as the most competent inteligent-wise: Your academic achievements are not as dumb as the rest of our peers.

Peter slightly freaked out but curious: Thanks I guess?

Damian: *nods* I'm glad to FIDN someoene smart here.

After a while of being friends and relaxing more, this trio of idiots

Peter: Working on this is goign to make me go insane- *bangs head against notebook, Witha concussion, and sleep deprived*

Duke: Man need any help? Maybe if you got some rest by the manor-

Damian: You woudlnt have such a headache if you Didn't bang your head agaidnt the wall parker. But go on, it's a least slightly amusing.

Peter:*slightly joking* Hey man fuck you-

[cazzyf1]

Peter Collins interviewed by Lynne Reid Banks in 1957

[williamschenk-banks]

Chainshipping Prompt #2:

Adam’s ghost full on haunts the shit out of John until John agrees to leave Lawrence alone.

But wait, there’s more.

Adam was never dead, he just made a deal with Hoffman to smuggle him out of the bathroom to fuck with John. Dead guy in the bathroom is actually some no name asshole who got Hoffman’s coffee order wrong. (He’ not being petty, honest). He and Hoffman work together to con John.

Pro for Hoffman, Larry is out of the picture now, and he doesn’t have to worry about competition for John’s legacy. Con: he has to fucking work with Adam. Why is this guy so insufferable. (If he starts to be reminded of Angelina because of Adam’s terrible taste in music that’s no one’s business but his own. Also he’s kinda lowkey pissed that Amanda tried to kill this guy. Like WTF Mandy, Adam was never going to be John’s favorite anyway).

Adam meanwhile see’s no con’s only pro’s.

He get’s to mess with Hoffman (man is unintentionally the funniest fucker alive - I mean, who thinks that the best way to flirt with the guy is to try to drown him? Not fucking Adam, that’s for sure), He get’s to fuck with Kramer (Thank you John Rogers for giving him Leverage - AKA his conning bible, even if Hoffman think’s it’s stupid as hell), and he get’s to get Larry away from that guy. If he’s stuck in a roommate comedy with Hoffman until he can actually tell his doctor he’s alive, again, Adam see’s no cons in that.

Lawrence is sure in for a shock when he wakes up in an unfamiliar apartment to Adam and Hoffman in a screaming match while FBI agent Mr. supposed-to-be-dead!Peter Strahm is listening to them with his head in his hands, every so often shaking his head. “Why did I have to fall in love with the fucked up idiot? Why did I do that to myself?” —> Or Hoffman really thought the best way to clue Lawrence into Adam’s very alive state was to drug him and bring him back to his apartment.

[mjwatson-daily]

Amazing Spider-Man (Vol. 1) #59 Writer: Stan Lee, Pencils: John Romita, Don Heck

[monzterbatz]

i had a vision ok

[thisismyideaofhumor]

Still don't understand why the Disney Fairies franchise made the decision to call all the male fairies "sparrow men." The original Peter Pan explicitly stats that fairies can be male, female, or "darling little sillies." Why differentiate between the genders? Did they think kids would be confused if there wasn't a specific term for male fairies?

[comet-ribbon]

Analyzing this very short yet sweet scene

I find it very comforting that just when they stepped in Tom's Peter's universe, the first thing they want to do is meet him and help him the best they can. And I love writers added that in, before they get to see him.

Apparently this tiny part isn't hugely talked about, but I feel like it matters for tons. They're both showing huge empathy towards another spiderman who's dealing the worst. Even better that their spider senses, which is more supernatural than any regular being, are having a mutual feeling in their gut to meet each other.

And after they found out about May's death, they are surely thinking of helping him more.

I might be new to Spiderman stuff but when rewatching this whole thing (and their movies), this tiny scene resonated stuck with me the most. ❤

[officialrapunzelfitzherbert]

hellooooo if anyone would like to preorder some cool stickers it is ur lucky day!!!

[mask stickers | pride calicos | otgw sheet | jatp sheet | full shop]

[benevolenterrancy]

trying to justify why newkirk apparently doesn't know how to wear a wedge cap in canon

[rainintheevening]

Part I – Part II ... Part VIII – Part IX

The first time Edmund sees Aslan in his brother's face, he is sitting on the hearth-rug, half-frozen, wet to the skin, desperately fighting back a spectre of doubt and fear and unreality.

There is ice melting in his hair, sliding to his shoulders, dripping down his back, there is a warm hand pressed to his cheek, strong and calloused.

Whispers, whispers in the dark, and the wind had drowned them out, the cold needles of icy rain in his face had been real, but with the window shut, and the room gone silent, they are loud again.

It's not real, none of this is real, it's all a dream, a fantasy you made up in your head, and when you wake up, back in that prison of ice, you'll know. You'll know it's all a lie.

He rarely dreams of the Witch, more often it's some echo of home in England, or nasty twisted nightmares of a cruel being with the face of someone he loves. But tonight green eyes seem to stare out of the darkness, and she is clothed in black now, and he thinks he's drowning, ice water filling up his lungs.

He knows what he needs, he knows who saved him before, who can save him again, there is a cry in his heart, and… a voice whispering his name.

A deep shiver starts in his stomach, working its way out, as he looks up, looks up into a strong, kind face, lit by fireglow catching in the blond hair, and turning it to living gold, and for just a moment, Edmund sees it. Sees the glint of Aslan in the eyes that meet his, brimming with love and concern, like those eyes and that face are a mirror, reflecting something he can't see otherwise, but it's still very very real, and he whispers the name.

“Aslan.”

Peter catches him as he falls, holds him close, and he is all warm and solid, and Ed buries his face against Peter's neck, words vibrating through Peter's chest and throat, through Edmund, and it eases the shivering, just a little.

“You're safe,” Peter says, and Edmund believes him.

“Pete,” he whispers, curling closer, ear pressed to breastbone, and his brother's heart throbs in a steady rhythm, safe, safe, safe, real, real, real.

Edmund closes his eyes.

There are quiet voices, someone talking to Peter, but Ed hasn't the energy to understand, so he lets the sound wash over him, soothing, kind.

Then Peter shifts against him. “Come now, Ed, we're both wet as if we'd drowned. Let's get some dry things on. I don't want you catching cold. Susan will bring us something hot to drink.”

Ed is all shakes and lost thoughts, and he is gladder than he can say of Peter's warm hands helping him, stripping away the clinging icy damp of his pyjamas, and wrapping him in warmer things, dry pants and tunic and a heavy dressing gown.

He gets pushed in the direction of his bed, and goes, still shivering and wobbly on his feet, all the surging urgency and wild need drained out of him. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulls his feet up, watches Peter change quickly into another set of Ed’s clothes, finding loose-fitting ones to accommodate his greater height and breadth in the shoulders.

“The floor,” Edmund murmurs, breaking the silence. “I'm sorry, I should get–”

But Peter is already emerging from the bath chamber, towels in hand. He throws two of them down over the worst of the puddle, grins as he comes to join Edmund on the large bed.

“It's only stone, my dear brother. No harm done.” But then his brow furrows, and he brushes the back of one hand across Ed’s forehead. “I hope. Here let me dry your hair.”

Peter pushes the blankets aside, and that's when he finds it, lifts his hand and Ed sees the firelight’s glint.

“Did you lose this?”

A small silvery lion dangles from a leather string, but the string is broken, and Ed wraps the pendant in his fist, cool metal, hard edges against his palm.

“Th-thanks.”

He wears it often during the winter, under his shirt, against his skin, a reminder of Aslan and His power, His sacrifice. It helps on the hard days.

Winter is… not as much fun as it used to be. He tries to still enjoy it, along with his siblings, and sometimes it's easy, and sometimes it's harder, and occasionally it's painfully impossible.

Behind him Peter settles on the mattress, and a warm, soft towel settles over his head. Ed closes his eyes, leans back into Peter's hands, lets the rubbing sensation relax him.

Ed doesn't have nightmares often, though that's partly because on nights when the bad memories are strong, he just doesn't sleep at all.

He thinks it'll get easier as the memories fade.

“Time heals many things, your majesty,” Tumnus said to him once, when Edmund quietly broached the subject. All things together, the faun is an easy one to speak to about the chill that still echoes in his bones sometimes. “But in Aslan’s time, not ours,” and his smile was kind, and a little sorrowful.

Peter is humming something, one of Lucy's favourite songs from Mr. Tumnus. He sounds oddly light, lighter than he ever has since Christmas.

“What happened, Ed?” Peter's voice is gentle, and he stops drying his little brother's hair, hands falling away, so that Ed catches himself awake again, sitting up straighter.

A glance over to the fire, which still burns strongly, and Ed can feel Peter's eyes on his back.

His mind is more settled now, though he is sleepy again, at last, and he keeps a long silence, thoughts not formed into words sitting heavy in his mouth, on his tongue.

“Alright,” Peter says at last. “You're falling asleep, come and lie down. And if you're asleep when Susan comes, I'll drink both hot chocolates myself.”

The teasing in his voice loosens something in Ed’s chest.

“No chance.” But he yawns as he says it, and Peter laughs.

Susan comes in then, two mugs in hand.

She says little, but Ed can't quite meet her gaze. She kisses his forehead, and leaves quietly.

“I'm sorry I've worried you,” Ed murmurs into his mug, hot enough to burn his fingers if he grips it too hard.

Peter is knotting the leather string of the pendant, and he pauses, rough, chapped knuckles resting against the back of Ed’s neck.

“Perhaps I haven't been worrying enough about you,” he says at last.

A pat on Edmund’s shoulder as he finishes, and Ed has no answer for that.

He wants to bask in the warmth, hold onto that flash he'd seen of lion eyes in Peter's face, and not think about what brought him to be standing in an open window in a torrent of winter storm. He's not really sure how to explain it anyway.

He's glad when Peter doesn't leave, doesn't even ask if Edmund wants him to stay, just takes the empty mugs and sets them on the dresser, takes the now sopping towels away, and Ed hears them thump wetly into the bath.

He lights a candle, banks up the fire, and Ed burrows lower under the covers, pulling the heavy rug on top up to his chin, as Peter comes back to the bed.

Even in the large bed, Peter still lies close enough for Edmund to feel his warmth, leaving space for Ed to decide how much contact he wants.

In the flickering candlelight, the shadows in the corners are thin and wispy, insubstantial. Ed turns on his side, turns toward Peter, and clasps one hand around his lion pendant, closes his eyes, and listens to his brother's breathing.

He comes awake again suddenly, in the dark. Quite dark, candle gone out, but Peter's back is warm against his hands, and the only sounds are their breaths, and the continued rushing and racing of the wind.

He feels it then, creeping into his thoughts, water running down, drip, drip, drip, layers of ice, built up around the edges of his mind… The wind. Is that a Lion's roar, or a wolf's howl? He can't- he can't be sure.

Peter's back is in front of him, a man’s broad shoulders now, strong and capable, and Ed unfurls one hand, presses palm to spine, warm and solid, flesh and bone.

He feels Peter take a long, slow breath.

“Ice,” he finally says, and his voice is too loud in the dark. He drops it closer to a whisper. “There's too much ice.”

And he's been trying not to touch the slicked over walls in the castle courtyard.

Peter stirs under his hand, shifting away, so he can turn onto his back, and Edmund's left hand ends up under Peter's arm, but he doesn’t mind, just lets himself slump against that bulk, pressing his forehead into the meat of Peter's shoulder.

He doesn't know how to explain further, after all there's certainly more to it than that.

The shadows in Peter and Susan's eyes since the new year, and the beginning of the food shortage. The blanket of wind slicked ice that had settled over Cair Paravel. The strange fear that lurked in his head.

The Great River hadn't frozen over fully that year, and Ed had been slipping out to sit by the waterfalls near the castle, let the roar reverberate through him, like the roar of a Lion, so much heavier and truer than that awful changeable wind.

Still, the doubts crept in, a sense of fear and unreality encroaching on the edges of everything, frozen rain building up, till his very thoughts seemed slippery and fragile. Like now.

“But it's inside too,” he says at last. “Inside me. And… and I'm always wet. And cold.”

He shivers, and Peter moves again, this time to wriggle his right arm under Edmund's head, wrap it tight across Ed’s back, pulling him in against his side.

“Is that why you keep disappearing from audiences?” Peter says at last, gentle, and Ed lays his head on his brother's chest, closes his eyes.

“Yes.”

Ah, Edmund of the silver tongue, yet words can barely form now, mouth half frozen, and it all takes effort, so much effort.

“I try,” he murmurs.

And he has been trying, trying to stay out and connected with the Narnians, to remember they are all facing a difficult season, but it's gotten harder and harder to talk with them, to connect, to be present in those conversations, and Ed has found it easy to slip away and not be missed. Or he thought he wasn't being missed.

“Is it her?” and Peter's voice is very low, the grip on Ed’s upper arm tightening slightly. “Is it memories of the Witch?”

Edmund feels the heartbeat under his cheek quicken, and suddenly smiles. Oh, his brother, his dear, protective brother.

“No, not really. I don't think, at any rate. I'm just…”

There is such a lengthy silence, they both break it.

“Tired?”

“Afraid this is a dream, somehow.”

Ed cringes at hearing it aloud, but he's said it, and the words echo in his ears, filling the darkness, and he doesn't even realise he's starting to pull away from Peter's side, until his strong arm is drawing him back in, keeping him close.

“It isn't,” Peter says, very firmly, voice a little too loud, but it makes the wind sound quieter somehow. He takes a hard breath, lets it out, goes on gentler: “I promise, Ed. You're safe, and you're not–”

“I know,” Edmund interrupts. He lets his head fall against Peter's shoulder once more, closes his eyes, alarmed at a sudden burning behind them. “I know,” he whispers. “I know that, but– That isn't always enough.”

Another long silence.

He hasn't said it right, but he doesn’t know what else to say, and a hot curl of shame settles in his stomach, and he wants to pull away again, but… he also doesn't want to. It helps to have Peter close like this, especially in the dark, especially in the cold, especially, well, now.

“What can I do?” Peter says at last. “How can we help?”

He won't cry, he won't–

“Oh, Ed.” Peter's hand pats Edmund’s arm, a little clumsy. “I don't even have a handkerchief.”

“Your shirt works well enough.” Ed tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob.

“Actually, it's your shirt.”

Edmund laughs a true laugh this time, and when he gently pulls away, Peter lets him go. He mops his face with the sheet, catches his breath.

They are lying still in the dark again, side by side now, when Edmund says, very quietly: “Just this. Just be here. Just…” …be Aslan to me, he almost says. “Let me alone sometimes, but not too much.”

Peter settles, relaxing with the instruction, the start of a plan, and Ed smiles to himself, amused.

“Agreed. Now–” Peter yawns suddenly. “Anything more you'd like to say before we sleep? We'll have to be up in a few hours, you know.”

“Just thank you,” Ed says simply, and then he yawns himself. “Perhaps we could go for a gallop in the morning? If Philip and Erah don't think the footing is too deplorable.”

“Good idea,” Peter murmurs, and then his breathing drops, and Ed counts three, four, five… His brother is asleep.

Ed does like any good little brother does, and follows suit, in his own time. It's easy with the warmth surrounding him now, he's not even listening to the wind.

In Aslan’s time.

As always, in Aslan’s time, night gives way to day, winter gives way to spring, and fears give way to love. Edmund will live this truth many times over in both his lifetimes.

That night in the dead of winter might have been the first time Edmund saw the Lion in his brother's face, but it was not to be the last.

Next

[scarlet-spider-bf]

Marvel make a Peter Parker & Ben Reilly & Kaine Parker (& Spidercide for comedic relief lol & yknow what make it Spiderverse if you MUST but pLeAsE make a) Web Comic like Wayne Family Adventures for these guys. I'm begging on my knees. The numbers are there it is known Wayne Family Adventures is insaaaanely popular (and so good at reaching underrepresented target groups) it's gotta be profitable you cannot not want this!!! And I need it I'll die for real!!

[lemotomato]

There’s just something so epic and romantic about a wide shot kiss at an airfield.

[west-coast-baby]

Under the Red Hood.

[the-poor-miranha-quotes]