#brain worms are wriggling

[vgilantee]

something something red string of fate soulmate. when johnny dies you feel the string go weak, the bond cutting off. then a sharp tug, not of the bond coming back, of johnny being revived, but of someone else keeping their word, catching the string before it falls and whithers away, tying it onto their own blackened string and watching it bloom red again. you shall not be alone, he promised johnny he would look after you

idk if this is anything

[justsmiledoe]

[sweeetestcurse]

David Dastmalchian as Bob Taylor

[meggydolaon]

thinkign about them <3

[red-nightskies]

In the void I saw all I ever wanted. Beyond reality, beyond the binary. Bathing in the blood of who I used to be

[dangerliesbeforeyou]

no but my favourite thing about the passenger (2023) is randy doing all this soul searching w/ people from his past, and then there's just this Dude (benson) lurking gayly in the background of every shot lol

[monstrousfemale]

hmmm something something ronance au inspired by casual by chappell roan something something they're young and in love and life at college is beautiful and fun but they're also dumb af and trying to figure things out something something nancy fucks up because she cant commit to something she still doesn't fully understand something something robins too insecure and heartbroken to be able to have empathy and look past her hurt something something nancys little bit too late little bit too big act of love to mitigate past mistakes falls flat something something flash forward like a decade and they haven't spoken since but run into each other in a cafe in some big city something something they gravitate towards each other like magnets and make up and start something new and better and healthy idk idk something

[poppy-metal]

therapist!art with patient reader and their relationship borderlining on unethical…………………………………………………………………………….

how are you in my head I was just thinking of therapist!art and hypersexual!r and her having a sex addiction from trauma and developing and obsession with art to the point where she doesn't want him to fuck her, she needs it. for her own healing, she needs it.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

HI AGAIN!! i was the other anon BWABHAHA pls call me 🍚 aka rice anon!!

SO LIKE i saw batty’s asks (ILY BATTY ‼️) and their ideas are so amazing AND SO ARE YOURS OMG !! the thought of the tf141 visting simon’s shop is so cute im going feral fr…

i was thinking that what if simon visited soap’s shop or smth and he saw reader there with their silly dog !! its like their having a date (me n my dog fr) !! and simon goes “damn i wish we were like that 😔”

my brain is not loading i swear i’ll pick up better ideas in the future BWHAHAH ALSO I READ UR PART 3!! I LOVE IT <33

Thank you so much rice anon! (Weeping at having named anons, you guys are the best)

Also yes, very yes. Simon visiting Soap's shop because despite how he doesn't want to admit it, Soap makes the best pastries in town. In would be easier to admit if Soap wasn't such a smug bastard about it.

So he walks up the steps to the shop and freezes, when he sees you through the glass door. You're at the counter, chatting with Soap, both of you laughing about something and Simon's stomach drops.

Why is it so easy for you to talk to Soap and he's such an idiot about it? Why can't he make you laugh like that?

Like a schoolboy he ducks around the corner of the shop, going in through the backdoor to avoid bumping into you. That way he also gets to listen to your and Soaps conversation

When you leave he finally appears and Soap (having noticed him immediately) is such smug mf about it.

Simon isn't even conscious of it, when he watches you leave with your dog and whistfully sighs: "Wish that was me."

Soap takes a double take but no, you're alone, only have your dog with you and he stares at Simon breaking out into laughter.

"The dog?! Yer fucking jealous of the dog?"

[theswedishpajas]

The man truly can’t take a genuine compliment 🙄

[sunnythebot]

I know this is gonna be an unpopular opinion but I actually liked that they made Carnage (the symbiote) a separate character to Cletus Kasady in Venom 2, because something that's always kinda bugged me about Carnage as a whole is that fact that it feels like the symbiote itself has absolutely no personality of its own. It just feels like Cletus was given eldritch superpowers since he's the one who calls the shots, and as far as I'm aware, we never see or hear anything from the symbiote itself (please correct me if I'm wrong tho). It's like Carnage isn't even its own person, its just... Cletus, but he gets to be even more murder happy than he already was.

And while I've heard people explain it away as "oh they're just so in sync you can't even tell that Carnage is two different people", that explanation... honestly feels like an excuse not to flesh out a separate character. Like seriously, what is the Carnage symbiote thinking or feeling while Cletus uses it to do whatever the fuck he wants? Does it like the violence or does it hate being used to kill against its will? Is it okay going along with whatever Cletus wants or does it resent him for never allowing it any semblance of control? I can't help but feel like the lack of characterization of the symbiote itself is a massive amount of wasted potential.

You could have an arc about the symbiote growing to hate Cletus for robbing it of autonomy, and potentially even breaking free to find a host that won't hold it back.

You could have a bit of a reversal on the way Venom was introduced, where Carnage at first seems to be non-sentient, only for the story to slowly reveal that it is trapped by the whims of its host over time.

Hell, you could even do an arc similar to the movie where Carnage genuinely was born evil, but its goals ended up clashing with Cletus, causing them to turn on eachother!

And it's not just Carnage either, there's a good number of symbiotes who aren't actually given any characterization outside of being an extension of their host, and the fact that this is so fucking prevalent just... really bugs me.

[candylungs]

please post will smut im begging on my knees

Listen, one of us has got to get up. We can't both be begging in the dirt for Will smut. Rise up and take this naked depressed clown with you.

Notes: Congrats to Will for paying for bathwater before it became cool. This is barely smut. But I felt possessed writing it so here, take our cowboy clown enjoying a bath and then some brief tender non con.

Paying for leftovers was something Will seldom did. Especially not leftover water. The creek rushed frigid and fast and felt severe against his flesh. He liked that it made him cold straight to the bone. Numbed his skin enough that he could pretend that's all there was.

When he hurried to dry, pulling on clothes with his skin still half-wet, he felt like one of those carnival skeletons left askew in moldering suits. Mags hadn't liked them. She'd shrieked, almost delighted to be so alive and scared, and clung to her father's legs to be picked up and carried away. But Will had stayed. He had stared at them for a long while and tenderly shook the bare-knuckled hand when one of the performers waved it toward him. With much fuss, Mags had refused to be near him till he'd scrubbed his hands in a trough on the way home, their fathers laughing to see him so cowed.

Looking back, he had fancied them siblings of the Tulliver style. Mags was certainly so spirited. But the older Will got, the more he realized he had always been the hunchback. Destined to walk the forest, forgotten for shinier sights.

But then, what did that make you, always looking back to smile his way? And what could he make of himself, shuffling through the back of the Inn to pay to soak in a tepid tub of leftover bath water?

Will did not look at Amon beyond the smooth hand that snatched his coin, nor did he return the well wishes to have a good evening. He was pathetic. Desperate. So possessive of your being that even your leftover filth excited his passions.

He was erect and alone in the cloudy water you'd left just moments ago. Will had trailed near the wooden box that served for a bath house and had to keep adjusting his pants as he snuck close enough to hear the water splash. To hear the uneven tone of your humming.

What he would give to bathe with you. Would you let him smooth the pads of his fingers against your knuckles, he wondered. Would you let his flesh worry against them like stones. Could he hope to trail his fingers firm against the trail of bone that would lead him up, up, up to your pretty smile and kind eyes.

Isolated enough that he didn't worry about being disturbed, Will began to twist his cock, heart thrumming and face deeply flushed beneath the remaining smears of paint clinging to his cheeks and chin.

"That's perfect," he muttered as the slap of water led him to imagine your irises dissipating in the lapping of your pupils, so large, like moons, luring him closer. They would be easier to hold. The kind of eyes that were hungry and eager to swallow him whole.

Will would kiss you, pressing into your shoulders, tracing the hard circle of your bone as he licked your teeth. And maybe you would touch him too.

Your hands would find his elbows before trailing lower. "Is this okay," you would whisper against his cracked lips, because you were always considerate of him. Ever since he pulled a knife your first meeting.

The tickle of your nails against the hair of his chest and stomach almost felt real as he came, gripping his cock with both hands, whining through his release. It came too soon. He wanted to stay there with you longer. To linger in the remains of the busy day you washed away.

But he suddenly couldn't bear to be sitting naked in the middle of town anymore. Will hated to be in town even shielded in layers of dust and grease paint and the bleak night. His cravat choked him in his haste to tie it. He fumbled and missed a middle button of a once-smooth vest, no so worn that the swirling patterns were abrasive against his chapped fingers.

A few hours of waiting, well away from the dusty streets, calmed him enough to return. He loved to watch you sleep. Sometimes you slept so deeply he felt confident enough to lift your night gown and gaze between your legs. And then he couldn't help himself. He had to touch. He had to heat your skin against his until the blaze overwhelmed him to spill seed over your back.

Crouched at the foot of your bed, he felt this would be one of those nights. You were on your stomach, one leg hitched high, with your arms soft around your pillow. Will wanted to crawl under you and place himself in the circle of your arms. You could rot there together.

Or more novel, perhaps wake together day after day. And you would want to do that with him. Wake with him in your arms. Will shivered at that, his hands grazing up your thighs and forcing your nightgown up too.

"So warm," he quivered, "so smooth."

By the time you woke, mind and body beginning to wriggle into awareness, he'd already aimed his seed to paint your spine.

"That was wonderful," he couldn't help but say. One day he would do the same to your clavicle. To the space between your shoulders. Between your teeth. Maybe inside of you, between your thighs, the way everyone did.

He thought your head raised before he could get out the window. But Will buried the want to wait and meet your eyes. Scared that he wouldn't like the expression there.

Hope was something Will seldom did, but you still waved at him the next day and approached with a well-loved book of poems. Even when you both knew. He hoped you knew.

[sansterballpro]

“YO!”

fresh with a baseball bat will forever live rent free in my head c:

fresh belongs to loverofpiggies

[duskier]

okay wait with the clothes frittata thing you mentioned a couple posts back

I feel like Simon and price would be most likely?

especially with the dynamic I see them as having- Simon goes to price for help whenever he’s stressed or anxious or angry or just overall overwhelmed/about to snap, which brings them into their dynamic of Simon having little tasks like cockwarming Price with his mouth or being a human ashtray—something easy for him to succeed in that helps him settle and relax? Idk

ANYWAYS

Simon gets handed off to some other captain or something, someone who has no idea at all what he needs, how to handle him, what his specialties are

The mission ends up going badly, and Simon’s about to break into a thousand pieces—he can’t handle just remembering that CO glossing over and ignoring him!! He’s about to do something illegal and borderline war criminal!!

Storms into Price’s office, and he can immediately tell Simon’s on the brink of sanity. Brings him over, behind the desk, and now we’re back to your idea, clothed frontage :3

because while the two have a strong hind and relationship, and Simon has gone without a couple clothing articles, he’s too deep in his anger to be anywhere near able to get them off, and price needs to act fast to help sooth his boy and help him release all that stress :33

YOU GET ME THIS IS THE EXACT DYNAMIC THAT I LOVE WITH PRICE AND GHOST!!

Like. That caretaker dynamic but not a parental way more of a zookeeper who specializes in the dangerous tiger way.

Price thinks, I know what he needs. Only I know what he needs. He can always come to me, I'll drop everything to provide for him. He doesn't know any better, he needs me. Only me, only I.

Ghost thinks, he'll always take care of me. I have to be good for him so he can't have a reason to leave me. I owe him everything, without him I am nothing.

Ghost not being able to stand people touching his bare skin, of course Price knows that. Is more than happy to let him rut desperately against his thigh, no matter how much the fabric jostling together burns after a time. Price is proud to see his boy on the battlefield, overjoyed to be the only person Ghost comes to to really let go and whimper and whine and want.

[pfhwrittes]

i think i've realised why i'm so blocked writing wise. it's because i keep heaping pressure on myself that i must create for every single idea i have and that's just not possible.

also, i've stopped letting myself write 50-100 word drabbles and hit post like i used to when i started this blog. i've got caught up with feeling like something needs to be 500-1000 words and feeling like a failure when that doesn't happen.

i keep thinking about writing the next part or wondering how i can continue a one shot/drabble/blurb into a longer piece and that's just not how my brain works.

i love reading longer fics but most of the fics i read aren't multichapter epics. i actually enjoy short fics. so why am i trying to create 5k, 10k, 20k+ fics?

i'm killing my love of writing by trying to force it and that shit has to stop.

[derelictdumbass]

* a concept crosses your dash

omnipotent big woman with her small child time