#the way he reads her in the it's a date scene...you can see him figure it out and he goes from happy and carefree to weight of the world

[wistfulwatcher]

hotch + growing somber as he realizes emily is leaving

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 3 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments on the couch

warnings (TW): mdni, contains mature/suggestive content, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use

tags: mature/suggestive content (in act iii), fluff, early relationship described, pining, affection

notes: please note that there is heavily implied/suggestive/mature content in act iii of this posting (after the second break)- if you do not wish to interact with this type of content i swear to you you can completely skip it if you like, i attempt to not tie TOO much significance to the written scene- and if you would prefer that the postings stray away from this kind of content i will attempt to better balance it in the future! i am in no shape or form a very “smutty” writer (mainly bc i have never written it), so i hope the scene isnt like… terrible ya know lol (also i don’t consider it much for “smut”- i am def using said word very loosly). annnnyyywayyys hope you enjoy and as always my dms are open for suggestions in the future and general conversation and encouragement! enjoy!

also to note! I believe the story is best read in order- i put certain dependences on certain words and bring descriptions back to really solidify the importance of certain scenes/interactions ! but completely up to you, lol

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked the up to date masterlist for this series- thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!

word count: 4.5k

| masterlist | part iv |

She had caught him sleeping on the couch in the early heat of June. 

They had a late night on the couch, discussing Ford’s margin notes and rewatching The Price is Wrong. Stan had a certain affinity for price matching, and she was more than a little stunned to learn of it the first couple of months they resided in the shack together. 

She just didn’t expect this 30-year-old man to know the price of most common household appliances. 

After his divulgence last month, in which he had confided a little bit of his background in sales, she began to piece together that although Stan considered himself a conman in every way but words, she considered it pure brilliance. 

So she quickly got used to late-night T.V. shows, as they discussed next steps back and forth, with Stan interrupting conversations to yell out extremely accurate prices at the small box T.V. in front of the couch. It had grown on her, actually, and had turned rather… endearing. 

If not also incredibly hilarious, as he was so passionate about his own accuracy he usually forgot his volume, and sometimes took to ranting at her. 

“Hun! Hun! This is a load of malarkey I tell ya! That vacuum price is way too high! It don’t even come with added nozzle attachments!” 

She would laugh, and he would revel in making her do so. 

They had concluded the night in a similar fashion, and she had stumbled up to her bedroom. The first one on the right from the stairs. But he had lingered in the living room, muttering about tidying up some soda cans and taking the trash out quickly. 

She had shrugged it off, giving her goodnight, and made her way up the stairs. She had fallen asleep so quickly, she hadn’t heard the usual meandering steps of Stan as he made for his own room across the hall from her. 

She almost never woke up before him, another thing that surprised her. She figured he was the type to doze in and out in the early morning, but he seemed to be quick to rise and even quicker to make a pot of coffee, usually stumbling down the stairs thirty minutes before she could manage to roll out of bed. 

So she thought it odd to look down the stairs and not see the usual kitchen light on, and the usual grumble of the shitty coffee machine either. 

She found him snoring on his back, the throw blanket she had brought with her half on half off him. It had grown a little muggy in the shack, due to the distinct lack of central air, but Stan’s solution seemed to be very simple. 

Just wear less clothes. 

Something that wouldn’t disturb her in the slightest, if it were not for, well… Stan. 

She was a scientist, a usual logical thinker, and only slightly prude (due to her upbringing), but she was no idiot, and she knew the man she was cohabitating with was attractive. 

I mean, he was also funny- made her laugh more times than she could count. He was oddly sincere for his age and even more oddly protective. He was flippantly affectionate and even more flippantly kind to her. 

And he was also shirtless. 

Something she takes note of instantly, instinctually. Whipping her head to make for the kitchen, and trying to forget the curve of his broad shoulders and the slight swell of his stomach. The smattering of dark hair on his chest all the way down to the crisp edge of the boxers she had folded two days ago. 

Coffee, coffee coffee! 

She didn’t make as good of a cup as he did, she had never had to before. Something he scoffed at, but quickly took to doing himself. He made it every morning, now. Always up before her, with her mug waiting for her by her worn kitchen chair. 

She turned to the stove instead, moving pans and turning on the burner. She’d make breakfast for them instead of her shitty burnt coffee special. Pulling eggs and bacon out of the small fridge she went to work. 

The smell woke him up, and she noted his groggy fumbling to redress himself. Glancing out the archway from kitchen to living room she watched him pass to the stairs, still shirtless. He takes the stairs two at a time, back up to his room to retrieve new clothes she presumed. 

He returns in minutes, in typical fashion it took him not too long to get ready in the morning. 

He walks in, still stretching, with hair muddled from sleep. A pair of work jeans that had seen a lot of love in the past month, and a shirt that was quickly growing too tight around his arms and shoulders. She decided to ignore that sliver of stomach that peaked out when he raised his arms a little too high, otherwise, the bacon would burn. 

He made his way to the coffee machine, beginning the usual morning routine as it spurred to life. Moving to the sink he began washing their shared mugs. 

Breakfast was always a little quiet like they both couldn’t be bothered to open their mouths beyond sating their appetite. They still moved the same, instinctually and without words. Falling into their unassigned assigned seats, Stan moving to grab her feet and drag them across his lap, while she moved the salt and pepper between them both. She always reached across to his plate, grabbing his toast to butter first and then moving to her own. 

She had decided to interrupt their usual silence this morning, looking across to Stan as he fumbled with the morning paper. He always went straight to the comics in the morning, hoping to pick up on a joke to read to her that day, hoping to make her laugh first before anything else in the morning. 

But she had thrown a wrench in his usual plan (that she still hadn’t picked up on yet). 

“Why were you on the couch?” She asked, biting around her toast. 

“It’s cooler down here hun.” 

“I know heat rises Stan, but the sun rises on my side of the house in the morning. It ain’t that hot upstairs yet. Is there something wrong with your bed?” 

When first rearranging rooms he had resolved to take Stanford's old one. He didn’t want her to have to live in the shell his brother had left behind. His more intimate nick-nacks and sticky notes had been scattered around what is now Stan’s room. Along with his random mismatched socks and sweater vests, and his cologne. And he didn’t want to think about having her live around the last remnants of Stanford, because she got this weird look in her eyes already when she retraced his brother's writings and he couldn’t stand it. He had lived with Stanford for eighteen years, and sometimes entering the room was at least therapeutic. 

Except Stanford always had a weird affinity for sleeping on the ground. 

It’s the main reason Stanley even had the top bunk during their preteen years to begin with, because Stanford would find himself stiff on the floor most mornings. His brother had a tendency to doze away on any hard surface he could rest his head on, starting at his desk most nights, moving to his bed, but usually rolling off it in favor of the floor. Stanford was… not one for restful sleep. And his hard ass mattress showed it. 

“Ya.” Stan muttered behind the newspaper. “‘Ford trying to fuck my back up from another dimension.” 

“You can have my bed?” She offered up her own mattress, one she had splurged on with her own money. He still remembers her playing Goldilocks that day at the flash mattress sale she had circled in the classifieds the week before. 

He shook his head at the memory, them both laying side by side on each bed as she had discussed odds and ends. She had argued that she needed approximately 5 minutes on each mattress to sink into each, and that she couldn’t be intrinsically thinking about her comfort when doing so. So she had him lay beside her and talk to her, as she flipped from her back to her side testing out her comfort and considered the gravelness of his voice. Until she had landed on the right bed, the tenth one, declaring it her perfect match as she looked over at him beside her. 

“Nah, I can’t take your perfect match, hun, your one true love.” He joked, folding up the newspaper with the comics up, setting it aside in favor of looking at her. “Besides my bed is fine for now. I just… sometimes I like being close to the door.” 

She hummed. “I can rearrange the living room today? Do you want to move your bed downstairs?” She hadn’t even questioned it, still searching for something to sate his comfort. 

He laughed at this, he would never let her rearrange things without him and she knew it. He had hovered something harsh those first three months, moving around most things for her as she pointed from object to object. 

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I just, I ain’t used to sleeping in a room without a straight way out of it yet.” He admits, munching on his bacon, shrugging like he was discussing the weather. “So sometimes I just, sleep on the couch. No big deal.” 

She sits back in her seat, shock marring her face. He had spent so long hopping from place to place she had forgotten he hadn’t had a place to call home in a decade- besides his car. Something that may have four walls, but had no heart. 

Hotels, to cars, to floors of shelters, he had slept in questionable places for far too long, and in some cases Stanford’s room sometimes felt like a new prison, or at least reminded him of a certain Colombian one. Except this one contained taunting memories and a stupid amount of sweaters. 

It hurt more, to open his door to find hers closed, for some reason. He didn’t like the thought of her trapped either, nestled in a part of the house he couldn’t get to. But he didn’t know how to voice this to her without sounding mad in a way. Or obsessive maybe. 

She digs her toes into the junction of his ribs, grabbing his attention. She’s smiling across from him, and standing before he can ask why. Grabbing his hand, she pulls him up the stairs to their own parallel doors, not even hesitating to walk through the door Stanford used to call his own. 

She’s muttering under her breath as he stands in the doorway, landlocked by witnessing her in this exact space for some reason. She moves to the window, opening it all the way and fumbling with the screen. She gets it off and makes to climb out the window before he can protest. 

“If you want a way out, you got it right here!” She grunts, footing her way through to the shingled roof, his protests falling on deaf ears. 

“Get the fuck back in here!” He leans out, making to grab her. “Ain’t no way this shack's roof is any good!” 

She prances around, slightly mocking him by moving away from his waving arm. “Stan! It’s fine!” She laughs, the sun shining on her figure. Suddenly serious she stops, hands on her hips. “Seriously, if you need a way out, keep the window open, okay?” 

She crawls back through the window a moment later, using Stan’s hand as a weight as she balances back on the wooden floor. 

Still serious, she continues, “Stan if you need to keep the window open, you can keep the door open also if you feel like it.” 

She smiles like she has a brilliant idea, moving across the hall she opens her own room to display her own mess of things. “I can keep mine open also if it helps.” 

How the fuck had she read his mind? He was continually dumbfounded by her unquantifiable amounts of patience she had for him. Like it was a reserve she tapped into, to specifically deal with all his dumb bullshit. He would let it pile in the back of his head, but she’d reach back in and shake him awake, present him with a solution, and he forgets himself in his need to question “why?”. 

He had taken too long to respond, and she stands in the hall, hands wringing her too large t-shirt and looking surprisingly bashful. “Is this okay?” She asks, is this what you need? Vying for his approval as she continues. “Because really I don’t mind you sleeping on the couch, I really don’t, you can keep doing it if you like! Really! I just… I just…” 

Unspoken between them, he already knew. She meant well, she meant the best actually. She wanted him to be comfortable, here, with her. Wanted him to stop moving from place to place in the house because no where felt right because it all felt like a trap. Wanted him to know the four walls they shared could never be a prison, and that she didn’t want him to hop around anymore searching and clawing his way out of it. To not have to Goldilocks around the house, because across the hall from her had to be just right. 

And it was. Because she had read his mind as usual, and he was almost tired of being absolutely astounded by it. 

He nodded, smiling across from her, his confirmation in the squeeze he gave her hand as he reached for her again, and in the ruffling of her hair he gave her as he slipped from the house later. Making his way outside to his work, somehow lighter than usual.

They ended up on the couch most weekends, or at least most Saturday nights. 

She had insisted, against his better nature, that it was not appropriate to drink yourself into a stupor on a weekday. So he had gotten used to the shared moments on the weekend, routinely looking forward to shitty VHS movies and even shittier boxed wine and beer. 

She laughed at fucking everything when she was drunk. He almost wondered if she had ever been high, or if she even needed to be. He might as well be a stand up comedian most weekends, because if he thought he had a great audience Monday through Friday, well he had an even more endearing one on the weekends. 

It was a hot July night, and she had scoffed at his light beer that resided in the back of the fridge. Tisking at him as she danced around the kitchen, pouring sweet red wine into mugs (their only cups), and shooing him back to the couch. Only wine in the summer, only wine when it was this hot.

And it was hot, and humid, unsurprising for Oregon really. So hot in fact, that she had decided pjs were appropriate attire for the night, luckily for him. So he shed his jeans in favor of loose boxers and a well worn shirt. Unluckily for him, she had decided upon much the same wardrobe, which was odd for her and only uncomfortable for sober him. 

But he wasn’t sober anymore, and he had to admit she was rather enchanting hunched over on the couch, laughing at his shitty jokes with one of his old band t-shirts on, shorts that she made no indication of even owning, bagging up around the tops of her thighs. 

He had been intoxicated on numerous amounts of things, nothing, of course, too hard or addictive per say, but it’d be the first time he was this drunk on wine. 

And it was… different. 

He had scoffed at the movie she chose originally tonight. She always chose the second movie, and he chose the first. They had a habit of in depth discussing during films, especially when more intoxicated. 

But he had never been so incredibly invested in a romantic comedy in his entire life, he blamed his company and the alcohol. 

“I can’t believe that he thinks he stands a chance with the likes of her! She’s sacrificed so much! Her jobs on the line here and he won’t even consider marrying her for a green card!” He yelled, just about jumping at the screen. This man in the movie was ridiculous, demanding things from his assistant and throwing her away the next. 

She ran back into the room, mugs full with their next round. She had become the bartender tonight, waiting on him and grabbing snacks when he’d ask in exchange for rubbing her aching shoulders. 

“What did I miss!” She rushed back, handing him his mug and taking her seat back in front of him on the floor, her throw blanket being used as a cushion. 

He takes a sip, setting the mug aside her own on the floor and moving back to place his hands on her tense shoulders. 

“She’s being kicked out of the country right in front of her boss and he ain’t gonna do anything about it! She basically does everything for this man, why doesn’t he see he needs her?” 

She groans below him, her head rocking back as she takes her own drink. “Are we gonna discuss the intricates of them having a relationship though? I love marriage of convenience, don’t get me wrong, but that’s her boss! Isn’t there a weird power dynamic here?” 

“Oh ya!” He agrees, nodding along as his fingers began to dig into her muscles. “We gotta talk about that because if this gets creepy we gotta pick out a different one. He’s already pissing me off!” 

She looks up at him, eyes glowing with an idea. Enchanted, she moves away from him, crawling to the cabinet beside the T.V., and he really swears that he tries to look away. But he also reasons that it’ll be a while before he gets the chance to see her in shorts again. And fuck. 

She turns back, a new VHS in hand. “This!” She exclaims. “Now this is my favorite rom-com!” 

A shitty picture is well worn on the front of the movie sleeve, a VHS he doesn’t recognize from the donation bin sitting in her hands. She must have brought it with her, and she must have had it for a while. 

She crawls forward, movie in hand and a bright, flushed smile on her face. 

“Please, please, please Stanley! This one!” She all but yelled as she leaned up into him. His legs had already been parted to accommodate her sitting in front of him, but now were warm with her torso between them, as she crawled into his lap, movie still in hand and smile still on her face. She leaned up onto his chest, a fake pout on her lips as she looked up at him. 

He forgot himself for a minute, excusing her silently for calling him Stanley in her drunken plee. His hand finding her waist as he answered. 

“Okay, okay!” He snorted. “Better be a better love interest because this guy sucks.” 

He missed her as soon as she left, but his heart still felt something sick when she yelled victoriously on the ground, hand raised in celebration, movie clutched to her chest. Rolling from her current position to the VHS player and popping out the current horrendous movie. All the while she giggled, and he followed in much the same manner. Laughing while running his hand through his hair, trying to soothe himself to forget her warmth. 

She crawled back to him (fuck) settling back into his knees from her position on the ground. The title screen flashed, but he was much too busy watching it illuminate her face. Heart sick again when she leaned her head all the way back, hair across his knees and thighs, she smiles up at him, a thank you on her lips. Clutching his mug in her hands, bringing it to her lips for a sip before passing it up to him too. 

And when he carried her to bed that night he wondered when the tight sickness would leave him. He never closed either of their doors. 

It didn’t happen like this, that night. 

Not from what he could remember anyway, but he felt too groggy to care about accuracy and too intoxicated by the image of her to care much for what was right. 

Her hands had continued up his thighs from her place knelt in front of him, his back hot against the living room couch. She had climbed up on top of him, creeping up to sit on his knees and thighs like she had been there before. Her smile turned sweet into something twisted as she leaned in close to his face, the closest she had ever gotten to it. Whispering something between the heat between the two of them, something lost on him, as he tried to lean closer, tried to bridge the gap between their chests, aching to feel her against the very front of him. 

He knew it was different because she had never worn this in front of him before, at least willingly. He had caught her in the middle of the night, stumbling from her open bedroom door to the bathroom down the hall, panties striped and endearing on her ass. He had seen them in the washer, had seen her fold them and tuck them away. And she was in them, sitting on his fucking lap. 

His hands made for her, reaching behind her and dragging her close, his fingers edging the back of the band of her striped panties. 

She gasps like she does when she’s happy for him, always jumping from her position on the couch cheering along with him when he gets a stupid fucking The Price is Wrong answer right. 

And it’s how he imagined it, fuck, how he was currently dreaming of her noises. In bits and pieces he could remember, his brain scrambling to paint an image of her wanting him.  

Her hands edge along the back of his head, running through his long hair, and tracing to the front along his jaw. Mouth open, her fingers glide along the bottom of his lip, teasing. 

She whispers again, closer now. Her chest heaving against his own, her ass waits precariously positioned above right where he dreamt of her being. Right along the space he places her feet every morning, right where he thought she may kill him.

He catches it this time, between them. Her voice wavering like it had that day in the car when she had apologized for calling him him. He thought of begging for it, allowing her to say his name, but she had read his mind like she always fucking managed to do. 

“Please, Stanley.” 

He had surged forward like his own tidal wave, meeting her in the hot space between them. But he could only imagine a kiss with her, dream of it here. 

He imagined it slow, and building. Imagined her hesitation and the pout of her lip between his fucking teeth, imagined her moan when he eventually came back for more. 

Her hands pulled at his fucking hair, the only time she had placed them there to harm, and he groaned as she pulled him forward, meeting again in the middle of the heat they shared there on the couch. She moaned, her hips rushing to his own, making a new heat between them. 

The friction between them was the same as the kiss, slow and building. Grinding herself in the curve of his lap, right where they both needed each other. Every pass slightly faster, every groan from her more imagined, more unreal. 

The pressure felt real though, and her fingers in his hair felt even more so. His head thrown back on the couch, he looked down his nose at her, a groan leaving his throat as she makes a home in his shoulder, as her hips cause waves against his fucking lap. 

Her breath is hot on his neck, something real, and her echoing noises move up his shoulder to his ear and it makes him hotter than he could imagine. Her groans come to a precipice, getting higher in octave and volume and she thinks to fucking bite him there, right on his shoulder. 

The image she makes shakes him, his hands remembering where they are on her ass and hips, as he makes to work them harder, to somehow bring her closer and harder to the crook of his boxers. Her teeth nestle into him, and it makes him groan more, her hot breath and aching moans reverb off his skin back to him. 

It sends him reeling forward, his own head rushing off the back of the couch, groaning in heat, moving in blind passion. His head rests against the top of her own, his big hands digging into the fat of her behind, finger creeping in through the top of her panties. 

“Fuck.” He groans between them. “Fuck, honey.” His hips canting up, her moans echoing again, her teeth unlaching, like she can’t ground herself to him anymore, because all the movement is him now. He’s fucking using her, the pressure hot, and she peels back to look at him, a heat in her eyes he can’t have imagined. He must have seen it before, marring her face. He had, he swears, seen her with this heat in her eyes before.

He was using her. 

It stops just as abruptly as it began, and he wakes to his discomfort. His room is cool despite the morning sun, the curtains by his windows billowing out with September wind. His door wide open, and his hand curled around something that no longer needed relief. 

His other hand, clutching his hair in a fist. The back of his head tender from the pressure, and his fingers heavy from sleep. 

He got up quicker than usual, his heart still pounding oddly in his chest as he attempted to catch a breath he didn’t remember losing. On his way out of his room, dresssed for the day, he peaks into her parallel room, her door wide open like it was every day now. 

He groans low, she’s wearing the fucking stripes. 

He tries not to think about it the rest of the day, tries not to be disgusted with himself, but his chest aches something odd and his stride is somehow uneven for the rest of the day. His heart carries something sickly when he sees her that day, and she pretends it doesn’t hurt he’s oddly quiet that day, or that he doesn’t read her the morning comics like usual. 

She thinks it has something to do with how flushed he is, when she catches his staring that evening, as they sit beside each other on the couch, T.V. echoing in the background.

[ghostlyfleur]

𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

eddie munson x shy!oc

contents: anxiety, curse words, friends to lovers. lovesick!eddie, inexperienced!reader, self-consciousness, first kiss, sharing clothes. eddie’s jacket is oversized on reader. can be read as x reader, but a bit oc too? carnival date.

word count: ~1.5k

eddie munson is in love.

she is entirely inexperienced in anything romantic or sexual; no first kiss, never even got close to it. extremely shy and anxious, has a seemingly innocent aura, is a bit out of sorts, ditzy, with a sort of luna lovegood vibe. doesn’t argue with people, always tears up if confronted about anything, doesn’t have beef with anyone and is a lot more rational than emotional even though she tears up so easily. also doesn’t hold grudges or care what people think of her…

the thing is, she has been introverted her whole life, a very anxious person, and so doesn’t understand that eddie munson likes her because she needs to be told how people feel about her very explicitly otherwise her mind will convince her they hate her. anxiety is like that. and she’s the kind of person that has a hard time realizing that people can perceive their existence and have feelings for them, no matter what type of feelings, so even though eddie is not at all shy about flirting with her and giving her all of the attention in the world in his over-the-top, overdramatic way, he also knows that if anything other than the friendship he’s thankfully managed to build with her is going to happen, romantic-wise, that she has to be the one to initiate it— but she’s oblivious!

on the other hand though, she doesn’t even bother hiding her infatuation with eddie — it’s a lot more than infatuation by now. she’s always looking at him with stars in her eyes and laughs at his jokes and smiles that big, square, goofy smile whenever they lock eyes and constantly praises him because he deserves to feel as special as he is, right? and she goes into detailed talks about lord of the rings with him, likes many of the same bands he does or simply lets him play his favorites for her, and she truly loves to watch hellfire play dungeons & dragons.

her eds even made her a special edition pink hellfire shirt. ‘cause he’s a simp.

one day, as she’s out with chrissy and heather outside a diner, talking and laughing and catching up, eddie is close by somewhere with friends. his van is parked nearby.

it starts getting chilly, and eddie’s girl starts shivering, so she quickly excused herself away from the girls, “gimme a second!” and reaches through the open window of eddie’s van, making a mental note to grill him about it later — “‘cause it isn’t safe, eds!” — to grab his leather jacket thinking of how he has told her over and over that she can borrow it, that “what’s mine is yours, sweets. i don’t mind sharing if it’s with you”, so she figures it’s okay, right? and goes back to the girls who are fucking smirking like they see something she doesn’t.

it’s about fifteen minutes later, and eddie is walking towards the trio, simply because he misses his girl and wants a hug, when he sees it.

she’s wearing his jacket. his jacket.

in typical eddie fashion, he makes a scene— gasping dramatically, he clutches his chest over his heart and falls to his knees, because fuck what anyone around thinks. his precious girl is wearing his fucking jacket! and she looks like a fucking angel.

“eds, what are you doin’?”

“do you know how heavenly you look in my jacket? i just had to get on my knees to worship you.”

the boy shuffles closer to his sweet girl on his knees still while he talks and she’s flustered, okay? she’s shy and her face is on fire and she’s covering her cheeks and giggling. and because it’s eddie, her eddie, she’s not running away to have a panic attack. ‘cause it’s eddie and he’s being sweet, so she can’t focus on anyone else long enough to feel crippling anxiety or embarrassment. doesn’t even care that chrissy is cooing and heather is smirking.

“that jacket is yours now, you own it. you pretty much own me by now.” eddie says, on his knees, in front of her

“it’s okay that i took it right?” she makes sure even after his display of joy, ‘cause anxiety isn’t rational “you said i—”

her eddie knows her, though. he stands up, gets real fucking close to her, so close they’re almost touching, with this look of absolute adoration and “i’d give ya everything i have if i could, pretty.”

fast forward a few days later. chrissy kept yapping on and on to the oblivious girl about how “in love” eddie is, but it’s as though her brain won’t let her even entertain the idea.

that’s until she’s having a semi-regular quote unquote friend-date with eddie, something they’ve done quite a few times before, and this time they go to the fair. they’re doing everything couples might do, eddie is very aware of this, and he’s over the moon to just be enjoying quality time with his pretty girl until she spots a photobooth, “oh, eds! we have to!” and eddie’s desperately counting coins to pay. the pictures go a little something like this:

after coming up blank with pose ideas, they just look at each other and laugh, but at the sound of his free and bright laugh, she just stares at her boy like he’s a dream come true— first pic is taken, looking at eddie like he hung the moon while he’s mid-laugh.

eddie notices her staring and goes from loud laughs to breathless ones, a smile on his lips, and whispers a soft “what?”— second picture is taken as the girl quickly presses her lips to his, her very first kiss, and it’s caught on camera.

the third picture depicts eddie’s sweet girl nervously rambling “i was going to ask for permission first, i promise!” while eddie has a glassy, dreamy look on his face, slack jawed, looking at her lips.

and at the fourth snap? eddie presses forward to shut her up with another impossibly soft and tender kiss, both of their eyes are closed and his hand is holding her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek.

after they part from the second kiss, eddie acknowledges that it was her first kiss, a shy “was that okay?” to which his sweetheart just smiles really big and nods excitedly over and over with a breathless giggle. that was the perfect first and second kiss and she couldn’t ask for more.

they hold hands the rest of the night.

[pen-and-umbra]

The second episode of the Remake, FF7 Rebirth, has proven to be a terrific experience thus far. SE obviously made a few big decisions here and there.

It is seemingly implied now that Jenova wasn't "brain-dead", and it is hinted that Sephiroth was addled during his breakdown.

It all begins with a strategically placed cut, when Sephiroth touches the door bearing the name Jenova and instructs "Cloud" to close the valve. The scene is merely functional for new fans, yet leaves a vacant space that Crisis Core players will quickly fill in with the inferred arrival of Genesis. Smart move that, leaving the interpretation to the player. Whether Genesis exists inside the Remake's continuity or not, the moment reads differently to each fan. Quite frankly, I was half-expecting “Cloud” to come across a banora apple, rolling on the floor, but I suppose that would be telling.

What's remarkable is that they give Sephiroth almost identical symptoms to those that Cloud has in the remake. Glitches and odd headaches superimpose themselves nicely over the original Crisis Core scene. And, as much as I loathe Tyler Hoechlin's acting in the game, he lends a tangible sense of rage to Sephiroth's disparaging remarks about Hojo and his experiments. You can hear the hatred, a touch of pity, and disgust directed at Hojo's work and the creatures he tortured. In Crisis Core, he refers to the test subjects as “abominations” with the same touch of bitterness.

Back to the point: glitches, pupil dilations, and headaches are visual cues for Jenovaroth's influence or proximity, as shown in the first part of the Remake. However, at this point, Sephiroth is still sane — cracking, but still himself — so the only agent who can exert influence on him is, well, Jenova.

Now, a widely established fan hypothesis maintained that Jenova was brain-dead or comatose. Bodily functions sustained, but brain activity plateaued. Rebirth, however, strangely suggests otherwise.

When "Cloud" returns to Sephiroth in the manor's basement for the second time, Sephiroth recites an excerpt from a journal purportedly written by Professor Gast: 

“The specimen, found in a strata dating back two thousand years, smiled with what could only be described as 'ethereal grace'… Though the truth eluded me at first, I later determined that she was an Ancient - or a 'steward of the planet', as they are referred to in legend”. 

Remembering the battles with Jenova Dreamweaver and Jenova Emergent, the creature is far from "graceful" or "ethereal". There is nothing graceful about her figure in the tube either, and she is not smiling. The game goes out of its way to lampshade the glaring contradiction by showing the flashes of Jenova’s fanged skull and grotesque body as Sephiroth quotes the passage. So how could Gast perceive her as such?.. The answer is most likely found in Jenova Dreamweaver's description given in Ultimania: the entity has the ability to induce hallucinations in individuals who come into proximity with it, which is further corroborated by Jenova Emergent description.

An ancient lifeform that Shinra Company has kept under strict confidentiality. Those who come into contact can have their conscience interfered as well as see illusions. Professor Hojo has dedicated half of his life to researching Jenova, and within the Shinra Company building's top floors lies a secret research center called the "Dome," where Jenova's cells are injected into lifeforms or machinery to conduct experiments. (Ultimania)

Gast even writes that “the truth eluded him at first”, but LATER he determines the specimen belonged to the race of Ancients, as if that answer was suggested. The implication is chilling: Jenova may have purposefully misled Gast in order to present itself as an Ancient. As Sephiroth later explains in the FF7Rb, Jenova is capable of seeing deep into one's soul and impersonating individuals you fear, love, or hate.

If ShinRA and Gast were determined to unravel the mysteries of Ancients and their Promised Land, it would make sense for Jenova to "scan" Gast and determine the best course of action: disguise itself as an Ancient in order to escape captivity in geological strata jail.

The scene in which Sephiroth reads Gast's notes is possibly the final time he is more or less himself, before Jenova's image intermingles with his for a brief moment. Again, I appreciate Tyler's voice acting in this particular section and the real rage he brought to it. Admittedly, I was concerned that with next-gen visuals, they would take a more gruesome approach, displaying Sephiroth conducting the Nibelheim carnage with sadistic pleasure, but they took a different route. Slow, zombie-like movements, and a glassy expression.

He speared the militiamen as casually as if he were spearing bugs, which is far more frightening from a narrative point. What jumped out was how they emphasized the possessed-like behavior: from snarling and flailing the book like a suffering person to an empty countenance and automaton-like strides, as if he was being beckoned. Which is what "Mother is waiting" implies.

The final segment of the Nibelheim flashback is likely the most essential as well. According to previous developer claims, Sephiroth's will took precedence over Jenova's, and he was in control — whether Jenova was brain-dead or simply of lesser willpower.  However, the Rebirth appears to suggest something different right off the bat. First, "Cloud" shouts, "I believed in you… No… Not you — whoever the hell you are!", highlighting the significant personality change and the resulting lack of recognition. But then "Cloud" sees Jenova's image superimposed over that of Sephiroth in a rapid, glitch-like succession.

In other words, he sees Jenova inhabiting Sephiroth's body as a vehicle to once again escape the confinements. Whatever that means, whether it suggests that Jenova is in control from the start, or whether Sephiroth is literally the greatest functional agglomeration of her cells, and therefore literally “becomes” Jenova. 

If Jenova's original body was severely damaged — either as a result of eons of incarceration or Hojo's tinkering — it stands to reason that, if she wished to carry out her plan, she would need a new body, one capable of moving at the very least. Perhaps Sephiroth, an able-bodied skilled Mako-infused fighter of considerable might, served as a better "vessel" than her original damaged one. 

But the crux of the matter lies elsewhere. The possibility of Jenova being conscious and influencing Gast is very terrifying. With the potential to affect others in close vicinity, she may have influenced the minds of the whole science team behind the Jenova Project, particularly those who had long-term contact with her tissue — Gast and Hojo. It could turn out that the whole idea to revive an “Ancient” was planted by Jenova in order to grow itself a powerful host. In fact, if it could "peer into one's soul," i.e. read minds and memories, it might have easily identified a pressure point to indoctrinate people who could forward her objective. It's one thing to inject tissue samples into an adult body; it's quite another to devise a plan to inject cells into a developing human fetus. Who knows. Perhaps Hojo is such an obsessed Jenova nutcase in large part because he fell under its spell; feelings of inadequacy and being overshadowed by his colleague may have offered a crack in his defenses.

One that Jenova easily took advantage of. After all, as Dirge of Cerberus implies, Hojo ended up implanting himself with alien organic material.

Again, Jenova's power to extract information from an individual when in proximity supports a bleak reading of the events leading up to Nibelheim's ransacking. A person who kept on carrying a photograph of his supposedly late mother and badgered others about his background, as suggested by Ever Crisis episodes, was literally wearing his weakness on a sleeve.

Perhaps the 30-something years of the Jenova Project were supposed to bring Sephiroth there.

Perhaps the chain of events had been nudged in that direction, starting from the very discovery of a derelict non-human lifeform. Nudged by an intelligence both cunning and incomprehensible. And that makes Jenova a much, much scarier presence in the remake than it was ever suggested in OG.

[larueluvr]

Hands off

Clarisse La Rue x Fem! daughter of demeter!reader

Warnings: Sexual harassment, some gross boy, unwanted touch, swearing, some fluff near the end, petnames, established relationship between Clarisse and read- implied to have been dating for a while, I think thats all but let me know if I missed anything :)

Apologies in advance to anybody named Jackson 🙏🏼

It's pretty short cause this is my first time writing in Tumblr

You and Clarisse had a perfect contrast of personalities. You were know as the counselor of the Demeter cabin: kind, collected, and gentle. Clarisse, on the other hand, was regarded by several campers as temperamental and mean. She'd never been like that with you, though. Sure you'd seen that side of her in some situations, but it'd never been directed at you. To her, you were an angel. A queen. And she'd rather every person in that camp think of her as some aggressive bully before she'd ever let anyone treat you otherwise.

You and Clarisse had met up for the camp bonfire not long ago: maybe 30 minutes or so before she'd been asked by a younger camper of Ares cabin for some help, begrudgingly leaving the space beside you empty and promising to be back quick.

After a few minutes by yourself, you heard footsteps trailing up behind you. The person stepped over the log you were sat on and you turned your head to see a boy you weren't sure you'd met before sitting a bit too close for your comfort. He was tall, decently bigger than you, with muscles and long-ish wavy brown hair which you honestly doubted had been washed in a few days.

"Jackson. Cabin 12" he introduced himself. Dionysus. You figured that explained the smirk of false confidence he wore as he rested a hand on your knee. "Im-" "I know who you are" he cuts you off. Your face contorted into a strange mix of a frown and grimace. "You're y/n. I've had my eye on you." His smile as he says this seemed as though it were meant to charm you, though that paired with what he said only gave you an uneasy feeling as you lifted his hand off your knee and promptly dropped it.

"Actually I was gonna say I'm seeing someone" you reply shortly. He chuckles, less humor to it though as it seems more mocking than anything, moving his hand back to your knee with more force to it this time, and his other taking your hand in his. "And I'm sure that 'someone' couldn't possibly make you feel as good as I can."

"She actually-" him cutting you off was starting to seriously piss you off, as well as this frankly disgusting hand placement. "She? Oh you're way too pretty to be gay, princess. Maybe you just need the right guy. Y'know, if you gave me a chance I could be that for you." You made another attempt to pull your hand from his and remove his other off your knee, ultimately failing due to the force he used.

"Don't call me that. And get the hell off me" you say harshly, pushing against his arm as his hand travels the tiniest bit up from your knee. "Just let me prove it to you" he says with sickly flirty tone.

Before you could respond, you saw a familiar figure speed past you and to the boy sat beside you. His touch was removed in an instant as he was lifted from his seat and held by his shirt as your girlfriend stood angrily Infront of him, everyone's gaze falling upon the scene unfolding. "Get your hands off of her before you fucking lose them" she says loudly, shoving him onto the ground and watching with a sadistic smirk as she watches him scamper off weakly, having lost every ounce of that confident facade he'd worn just moment ago.

Looking away, she saw the eyes on you both and she knew the affect it'd have on you. "What!?" She shouts, resulting in each and every person returning to (or at least pretending to) do what they had been doing.

The second she turned back to you she saw that look on your face that she knew all to well. She walked over and placed a hand on your back as she lead you away and back to your cabin where it could just be you two since everyone was out at the bonfire or wandering camp.

The second that door shut your arms were wrapped around her, head in the crook of her neck, yet you stayed silent. "You're okay. I got you," she assures as her arms wrap around your waist. She may not have been the best at comforting people but she'd picked some stuff up from you not only watching you with the younger campers in your cabin, but from you comforting her. In a way, you'd softened her. Unsurprisingly, you were the only one who got to see that side of her. You sigh, and she combs her fingers through your hair the way you always did for her.

"Thank you," you whisper softly. "It's my job," she says playfully "as your awesome, amazing, totally hot girlfriend that could, and does, treat you about a million times better than that asshole ever could." You move your head from her shoulder and look up at her with a soft smile as her hands rest on your waist and yours on her shoulders.

"You're an idiot." "think I remember you calling me your idiot, mama." she teases as she lifts your hand and presses a delicate kiss to the back of it.

[little-diable]

Something Special - Dean Winchester (smut)

After watching SPN with @writethelifeyouwant this weekend, I needed to write a fic about Dean's "sex has always felt really good" monologue. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader tells Dean that she doesn't get the hype around sex, Dean is set on showing her that it's something truly special

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), friends to lovers, just pure smut basically

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (about 2k words)

header and plot idea by @deathofpeaceofmind

No longer was (y/n) used to the calm beat of her heart, not urged on by the adrenaline thumping through her veins because she was chased by someone, or rather something. No longer was (y/n) used to sitting back with a smile tugging on her lips, allowed to take a few deep breaths without following either Dean or Sam to wherever they were called to. But tonight – for the first time in weeks – (y/n) found herself sitting next to Dean, head placed on his shoulder, hand holding onto a cold bottle of beer. The sounds of the movie the two were watching filled her room, but neither Dean or (y/n) found themselves concentrating on the plot, sharing jokes, thoughts, and questions as the minutes kept blurring by.

“You know,” (y/n) took another sip of her beer, eyes focused on the scene flickering on. The two main characters were about to tumble onto the mattress of their now shared bed, momentarily leaving (y/n) wondering how it must feel to be touched like this by Dean. “I never got the whole excitement about sex. I mean, yes, I guess it can feel good, but it’s nothing special.”

“What?” Dean’s raspy chuckles bubbled out of him, hand reaching for the remote to pause the movie. “Nothing special? It’s the most special thing out there, sweetheart.”

(Y/n) couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling, drowning another sip before she placed the bottle down, fully turning towards Dean. His forest green eyes studied her as if he was trying to figure out if she was possessed, no longer able to guide herself. “Then please, enlighten me. What’s so special about it?”

“Fuck, the guys you’ve been with before must have sucked in bed, huh?” No longer were Dean’s eyes filled with the almost childish glee (y/n) found herself admiring whenever he didn’t notice her staring, no, by now they were filled with something rather serious, something that forced the hairs on her arms to rise. (Y/n) shuffled around, breaking eye contact for a second before she let go of a deep sigh.

“I don’t know, I mean, I never got close to an orgasm with them.” Dean’s warm hand found her chin, forcing (y/n) to look at him. For a few moments neither one of them dared to speak up, trying to communicate without sharing any words, listening to the silent whispers of their hearts like blind wanderers forced to rely on the whispers of the breeze, guiding them along uneasy paths. 

“Will you let me? You deserve to experience how good it can actually feel.” It was just a whisper, a sound so quiet (y/n) wasn’t sure if she heard him correctly, and yet her curiosity got the best of her. Slowly she nodded her head, gasping in surprise as Dean’s plush lips found hers, kissing her without another warning. She was pulled into his lap, finding comfort close to his racing heart, to his strong thighs, and the hands that wandered up her spine to explore unfamiliar territory. 

Dean tugged her shirt over her head, dilated pupils flickering down to her chest, to the skin he kissed moments later. Every now and then their eyes met, just for a few seconds, and yet the seconds felt more sincere than any moments (y/n) had once shared with the men she had dated. But there had always been something special about Dean Winchester, the man that owned her heart without even knowing so.

“You see, sex has always felt really, really good. But, sometimes, it just makes you feel bad, you know?” Dean’s lips found their way back up to her throat while his hands worked on her bra, letting the fabric fall to the ground, taken from her before she could even try to cover herself up. “You’re drunk. You shack up. Then, it’s the whole morning thing. You know, “hey, that was fun.” And then, “adios,” you know? Always the “adios.” But, you know, when you get down to it, what’s the big deal, right?” The green colour of his eyes seemed to grow even greener as he sucked on her hardening nipples, set on leaving marks that would remind (y/n) of this very moment for days to come. 

“Dean,” she mewled his name, begging him to move down further. Another gasp ripped through her as Dean ground her core against his bulge, letting her feel how hard he was, just for her. Her clit was pulsing, secretly wondering if she’d be able to cum just like that, just from searching his closeness with most of their clothes still on. “More, please.”

“I mean, sure, there’s the touching and the feeling all of each other. My hands everywhere, tracing every inch of her body. The two of us moving together, pressing and pulling… Grinding. Then you hit that sweet spot, and everything just builds and builds and builds. I want you to feel that, all of it.” He chuckled at the desperate gaze swimming in her pupils, letting go of a soft “So impatient”. 

Dean clicked his tongue, flipping them around so that he could tower over her, hands tugging his own shirt over his head. Fuck, this wasn’t the first time (y/n) got to admire a shirtless Dean, and yet she had never dared to admire him for long, just a few seconds where he found himself distracted by something. But now Dean wasn’t distracted, no, he was awfully focused on (y/n), on the woman that would choke on his name in a few minutes. “I think I want you to cum on my tongue first, and then on my cock.”

“Oh fuck, do something, please.” His chuckles reverberated through the bedroom as he helped her out of her jeans, panties following shortly after. She was completely bare, naked for his eyes only, a sight so beautiful Dean found himself frozen. Both their hearts were racing, calling out to one another, very well knowing that this wasn’t just a quick hookup, not something they’d ever be able to forget. 

(Y/n)’s eyes followed Dean’s every move, watching him kiss his way down to her heat, eyes flickering up to meet hers as he brushed his tongue along her folds, moaning at her taste. She could already tell that this wouldn’t end like it had with the guys she had been with before, Dean would be able to make her cum in no time, pushing her over the edge before her mind could catch up with her body. 

Dean’s skilled fingers took care of her pulsing bundle of nerves, smirking against her skin as he dipped his tongue into her tightness. Her moans kept clawing through her, hands grasping her sheets in a desperate try to ground herself, unable to keep on breathing. Her body grew tense as she felt her orgasm creeping closer, forcing her to breathe faster, scared that she’d pass out from the tension now clinging to her. 

This very sensation had something so unfamiliar to it, (y/n) couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever get to experience this again, already addicted to the feeling of Dean’s tongue taking care of her every need. Her moans urged him on to add more pressure to his movements, tongue fucking her faster, in sync with the movements of his fingers. 

“Oh god, Dean, I’m so close, please don’t stop.” Her sobs left his heart roaring in pride, tugging on his muscles as he watched her come undone. (Y/n)’s eyes fluttered close, teeth buried in her lower lip as she let the sensation wash through her, allowing her vocal cords to produce the sweetest sounds Dean has ever heard before. He found himself marvelling at her, wishing that he’d be able to grasp his phone, to take a picture of the pleasure drunken expression tugging on her features. 

Dean had always known that he was in love with her, and yet he had never dared to act on his feelings, preferring to secretly harbour a crush that was stronger than any emotion he was used to by now, instead of ending up with a broken heart and a broken friendship. But in this very moment, Dean found himself growing more confident, finally understanding that she was tied to him in the same way he was tied to her. 

“Dean,” a deep sigh left her as he pulled away, smirking down on (y/n) before he kissed her. “Fuck me, please.” 

“Such a good girl, I knew you’d love this, you deserve to be touched by someone who actually wants you to enjoy this.” Dean rose from the bed to tug his trousers down his legs, allowing (y/n) to take in the sight of his clothed cock, of the way his cock was pressed against the fabric of his dark boxers. Fuck, she had dreamt about this very moment for way too many times, wondering how he’d fuck her, how he’d push her closer and closer to the edge with his cock buried deep inside of her. 

Dean rolled a condom down his cock before he aligned himself with her heat, fingers interlaced with hers before he slowly sank into her. Both needed a few moments to adjust, exhaling the tension tugging on their muscles, urged on by the emotions that made this very night more special than all others they got to live through before. 

(Y/n)’s trembling hand tugged Dean down to her, sharing a passionate kiss as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He moved slowly at first, building up a rhythm that shot sparks down their spines, leaving them drowning in the heat thumping through their veins. 

“Shit, you feel so good.” Dean’s praises left her heart skipping beats, racing in her chest as if she was on another hunt, guided by the adrenaline rushing through her system. But this very moment wasn’t filled with the same kind of adrenaline she was all too used to, no, it had a new touch to it, allowing her to silence her racing thoughts. 

Her walls fluttered around his cock as his hand found its way back to her sensitive clit, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, very well knowing that they’d both cum any moment now. Heavy breaths left them, mixed with moans and groans that echoed through her bedroom, a sound that would forever cling to them, reminiscent like the emotions filling their bodies. 

“There we go, can feel you clenching my cock. Let go for me, sweetheart.” Dean’s raspy words pushed her over the edge, hands finding his shoulders to claw her fingernails into his skin. He fucked her through her high, staring down on her with a proud smirk before he followed her, releasing himself into the condom. 

Dean slowly pulled out of her, tossing away the condom before he searched her closeness again. For a few minutes neither of them dared to speak up, trying to catch their breaths with closed eyes and wandering fingers that stroked one another’s warm skin. With a kiss pressed to her forehead, Dean pulled (y/n) into his chest, tightening his grip on her. 

“You’re right, this is truly the most special thing ever.” 

[sugar-grigri]

Fujimoto answers you directly in this chapter (yes)

How about reading CSM differently? Or at least cut it up differently? Because the more the chapters progress, the more a certain pattern seems to repeat itself: Part 1 sounds as if Fujimoto is unveiling CSM in its purest form, then Part 2 sounds as if CSM is responding to its own reception by its fans. 

I've already said many times that Fujimoto likes contrast in form and in writing, and this chapter, though brain-numbing, simply follows Fujimoto's own rules, only in an even more accentuated way. 

To prove my point, I recommend you reread chapter 133 "Protest", which for me speaks directly to the divisive image represented by Fujimoto and his work Chainsaw Man. 

I've already done an exhaustive analysis of it, but let's get one thing out of the way: Fujimoto answers his fans in part 2. 

Whether it's by posing a heroine who seems incompatible with Denji, hating the figure of CSM which is nonetheless the work in which she's included, whether it's through the themes addressed by part 2, the question of dual identity, creating antagonists like Fake!CSM, setting up a church (us) around CSM 

We're in a work that speaks for itself, as chapter 137 confirms, and for this very rule, we refer to the previous chapters (an eternal restart).

Chapter 136, entitled "Normal Life", refers to a more-than-CENTRAL theme in Chainsaw Man, the nerve that irrigated the whole of Part 1 Denji's disillusionment, a bargaining chip for the former antagonist, Fujimoto takes his fans by the hand and puts them back into the game they know. 

We see what we'd all expected to see, a Denji who doesn't know how to fit into normal life, who's not cut out for 

In my previous analysis, I explained how not only is Denji incapable of having a normal life, not only because of himself but also because of Yoshida, who offers him this life, and above all because of Fujimoto, who abruptly breaks the rhythm of his own chapter with this aggression, frustrating (I'm sure on purpose) his own fans. 

What Fujimoto does is make you think you were reading in the right direction, showing you a Denji depressed by his normal life, and like a child amused by not wanting to be predictable, he breaks what would otherwise have been a logical thing to see. I mean… Who could have foreseen such a title?

Chapter 137 simply follows the same logic: Fujimoto has foreseen your frustrated reactions and knows full well that you've become attached to Denji, hoping that he'll break out of the cycle of manipulation. 

He plays you in this chapter by setting up a confident, emotionally well-adjusted Denji who pushes this stranger away, reminding her of the rules of respect and consent. 

It's not just Denji's thoughts, the way he would have liked to act, it's also the way YOU would have liked him to act. 

Now I can explain why these chapters, which break with the previous ones in their absurdity, are surely the most important in CSM. 

Many had pointed to the famous cinema reference in chapter 136, others had even noted that chapter 136 constituted chapter 39 of part 2, responding to Makima's date with Denji in part 1 in the same chapter. 

But chapter 39 of part 1 wasn't just interesting for the cinema scene, it was the one that set the rules for understanding CSM. 

In fact, it was this chapter to which chapter 93 responded, with Denji's ideology (in favor of bad movies) confronting Makima (against bad movies).

In the same way, the second chapter 39 (the 136th) also seeks to lay down rules

Chapters 136 and 137 have never been more responsive to CSM fans, stubbornly denying them what they want. 

What Fujimoto does is to return to cinema in its purest form in the second half, using the codes of the middle-aged male slasher. 

That's why the two high-school students go to Fujimoto's karaoke bar, because you're going to find yourself in its purest essence: having fun with the utmost absurdity. 

It's no longer a question of representing cinema, as in the two chapters 39, but of making cinema.

But why a slasher? Think of the mythical slashers that traumatized a generation… Yes… The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a work that has achieved cult status for having opened the door to a new trend in American horror cinema: the slasher movie. Nothing represents a slasher movie more than a chainsaw-headed hero?

Inspired by the Italian "giallos", slasher movies feature a masked killer, a gang of youngsters and the killings of the serial killer in question. Fujimoto takes up this theme in his own way: Denji doesn't kill with his iconic chainsaw, he's not masked, and it's the young couple who hold the beats and the shady men who get killed.

If we go back to the depression we all expected to see, it's actually more complicated to understand: Denji's depression at being trapped in a type of writing that's too serious for him. 

Here Denji follows the rules of the game, enjoying himself by killing all those old people, saying ironically: "not bad this normal life". 

Because this scene is perfectly normal in Fujimoto's karaoke.  

In itself, Yoshida was right. Indeed, no, Denji is not the hero of the normal film that was unfolding before them. Because they're not in normal life, it's projected onto the screen. CSM's reality is an absurd slasher. It is in this slasher, in this false normal life, that the protagonist, Denji, is.

Denji is the protagonist of another film. And maybe in this one, the world needs Chaisaw Man.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Reader is dating Jeremiah and sees him and belly kissing. She then goes to Conrad who then comforts her and possibly leads to a smut? In the end have Conrad and reader date

I started singing Better than revenge in my head when reading this XD I couldn't not write it. Also, I did not make them date as I think it would be too much too fast

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Angry tears cascaded down your cheeks, the image of Belly kissing Jeremiah relentlessly haunting your thoughts. You thought Belly was your friend, that Jeremiah was loyal — you were visibly wrong on that one. Their betrayal cut deep, a painful cliché straight out of a movie. The classic scene of the boyfriend caught kissing his girlfriend's friend played out before your eyes.

Amidst the partygoers, you waved your way down the stairs slipping ‘sorry’s and ‘excuse me’s, desperate to escape the house. You couldn’t be under the same roof as them.

You came to this party in your best dress, with the intention of asking Jeremiah to stay over for the night, but now all you wanted was to hit him where it hurt — or cut his tongue in punishment for sticking it in Belly’s mouth. 

When you reached the living room, a hand caught your arm, halting you.

‘’Are you okay?’’

Your eyes were blurry with tears, but you knew that voice. It was Conrad. 

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, probably smearing some of your mascara. ‘’Yeah, I…no. Nothing is okay,’’ you managed to utter.

‘’What happened?’’ he asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

You hesitated, the weight of the betrayal weighing heavily on your heart.

‘’Where is Jere? Do you want me to get him—’’ 

‘’No! No. I don’t want to see him,’’ you replied firmly, the thought of facing Jeremiah unbearable.

Conrad nodded, figuring that his brother was the reason for your tears. ‘’Okay. Eh…do you want me to take you home? I’ve just drunk a third of my beer. I’m good to drive.’’ 

Home sounded lonely, but you would rather be alone in your big house. The thought of bumping into Jeremiah or Belly, or worse, encountering them together, was enough to make your stomach churn with unease.

You sat in silence in his jeep as he drove, pushing away the memories you had made with Jeremiah in the same car. All the singing parties, the afternoons getting ice cream, or simply driving you home after staying for dinner at the summer house. 

Every now and then, Conrad’s eyes would leave the road and check on you. He didn’t know what to say, or how to bring you comfort, so he stayed quiet. He respected your silence and space. You’ll talk to him if you want, right?

Minutes went by, and the secret was getting too heavy to bear…so you just dropped the bomb.  

‘’I caught Jeremiah kissing Belly.’’ 

Conrad slammed the brakes, the jeep coming to an abrupt halt. ‘’What the fuck?’’ 

The sudden halt jolted you forward, and your hands instinctively gripped the dashboard to steady yourself. The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air, the silence between you and Conrad becoming palpable. His eyes widened in shock and disbelief, searching your face for any signs that you were joking. But the pain etched on your features told him otherwise.

‘’Jere...and Belly?’’ Conrad's voice was laced with disbelief, his words barely a whisper.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper as well. ‘’I was looking for Belly. Gigi told me she saw her going upstairs to the bathroom, so I went and— I caught them kissing in the hallway. I-I couldn't believe my eyes.’’ Tears welled up in your eyes again. ‘’I never saw it coming, nor would I have suspected it. Belly and I have gotten so close since the debutante lessons. We were good friends, but I guess I underestimated just who I was dealing with…’’

Anger flickered in Conrad's, momentarily overriding his shock. He was usually the one who fucked things up, but Jeremiah took the cake with that one. ‘’I’m not taking anyone’s defense, what they did was fucking shitty, but Jere is not innocent in this. It takes two people to kiss.’’

You rolled your eyes, but you understood what he meant. ‘’I know. I’m angry at Jere too.’’

God, you were so fucking angry at him. All the plans you had made for next year were falling apart. Visiting him for Thanksgiving, the ski trip during the holidays, his birthday. Everything was called off. 

‘’Does he know that you saw them?’’ 

You shook your head. 

How were you going to confront him about it? Would he come to you and tell you what happened? Will he blame it on the alcohol? That’s such a shitty excuse.

‘’This hurt so much, Con.I can't believe he would throw away our relationship like this.’’ 

Shifting in his seat, Conrad reached out, his hand gently brushing against your tear-stained cheek, wiping away a lingering tear with his thumb. ‘’My brother’s a jerk. He doesn’t know what he just lost.’’

You nodded, grateful for Conrad's support, even in the midst of his own familial ties. 

‘’Thank you for being there for me,’’ you said as his thumb continued to caress your cheek, his touch a source of comfort amidst the turmoil. 

‘’I’ll always be there for you.’’ Conrad's eyes met yours, so blue and beautiful even under a yellow street-lamp light.  

Without thinking, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, forgetting that you were still in the middle of the road. Conrad's breath hitched, taken aback by your sudden action, but he quickly reciprocated, meeting your lips in a gentle kiss. Had the situation been turned around, you would have thought that Conrad was taking advantage of your emotional vulnerability, but you wanted this. You wanted to kiss him.

Your hands went to Conrad’s hair, running your fingers through it as the hand still on your cheek moved to pull you closer to him. He went to deepen the kiss, a sweet gasp when feeling his tongue brushing yours. This should feel wrong, but it didn’t. 

Conrad broke the kiss first, needing to take a breath and a moment to collect his thoughts. As much as he wanted to keep kissing you, he couldn't. ‘’We can’t be doing this. Not after…’’ He shook his head. ‘’That would be taking advantage of you and I can’t do that.’’  You unbuckled your seatbelt and scooted closer to the middle console to pull Conrad by his plaid shirt, your fingers gripping the soft fabric. ‘’I want this. I want you,’’ you said, looking up at him.  ‘’I just want to…forget. Make me forget, Conrad.’’

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully  @aerangi  @hallecarey1

TSITP taglist: @msmarvelknight  @maritaleane @dingus0401 @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti

[bachissidehoe]

“I already have a girlfriend, so stop asking me.”

“Oh you do? Congratulations Itoshi! Who is it?”

“Who is it Rin?”

“Who’s the lucky girl Rin?”

A bother. Rin thought saying something like that would get those damn reporters off his back. Why do they care so much if he has a girlfriend or not? He doesn’t even want one. But somehow not having one is worse than having one.

It may be best just to continue with the charade. Maybe having an actual real person to be his girlfriend would make them stop asking stupid fucking questions.

“Her.” He points to someone, a pretty girl he’s seen quite a few times. He knows her as a journalist for the Blue Lock organization, but he never cared to learn her name.

Seemingly, Rin’s charade worked. The reporters left him alone after that, finally allowing him to exist in peace.

However, Rin was not prepared for the aftermath of articles being sent to him, a meeting with his coach where he was considerably reprimanded, and a barrage of texts and calls from more reporters trying to get the latest gossip on the most famous striker in the world’s new relationship with a hot older journalist.

So he finds himself in her office the next day, his head down as she too reprimands him for involving her in this in the first place.

“That being said, it would make my ex jealous.” She states, leaning back in her office chair as if she’s a principal scolding a student.

And then the charade deepened, drawing new fans to the soccer scene who were just dying to obsess over a player x journalist fantasy romance story. Suddenly Rin realized he had caused the exact opposite of what he wanted, and now he has more reporters on his ass than ever. Who would have guessed that having a relationship would be worse for him than not having a relationship?

“You have to at least look like you want to be around me. People are wondering if we got in a fight.” She crosses her arms over her chest, looking at a picture from a newly released article on the two of them. Rin stands at least 4 feet away from her, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his gaze directed toward the ground.

“I went out with you. That’s not enough?” Rin rolls his eyes.

“No! We have to also look like we’re in a relationship!” She raises her voice, but drops it again when she realizes she may have been too harsh. “Just, you know, hold my hand or something.”

The normally expressionless striker suddenly finds himself beat red with his eyes wide. “Y-yeah. I get it.”

His fake girlfriend stares him down, refusing to let the short display of emotion pass them by. “Rin, have you ever done anything with a girl at all?”

“No.” He answers honestly.

“Ah, I see.”

That’s when she realized she’ll be taking the lead on this “relationship”. She finds herself both planning and coaching Rin through their “dates” and other public appearances, doing her best to prepare him for any questions they may be asked.

Maybe she’s taking this too seriously, but now they’re too deep to suddenly back out. She just has to go with it, wait at least a few months until she can announce a “breakup”. Hopefully then, that’ll be the end of it.

“I just want to let you know, it’s looking like at some point someone will ask you to kiss me for the camera.” She says, drawing her conclusion after reading the latest scoop on the two of them.

“I’ll just say no.”

“You’d refuse to kiss the girl you’re in love with?”

Rin pauses. “Hmph.” He understands his predicament.

“I figured we could just practice here, you know, since you’ve never done it before. That way you’re prepared.” She finds her cheeks growing redder, trying not to let the bottled up feelings from the last couple weeks get to her at a time like this.

It’s the same for Rin, who looks to the floor, the ceiling, and anywhere else besides her pretty eyes. Kissing her may be all it takes for him to acknowledge that maybe this isn’t as fake as he thought.

“Yeah. I guess that’s fine.” He finally answers.

So she balls her fists together, forcing herself to be mature about a measly kiss. “Look at me.”

He looks up with his eyes, though doesn’t raise his head.

So she lifts his head with her finger, just enough to bring it at an angle where she can meet his lips. He’s much taller than her, after all.

“Okay, just, close your eyes.” She whispers, they’re close enough now where she can hear his heart thumping and every short breath that escapes his slightly parted mouth.

Rin obliges, handing control over to his fake girlfriend, leaving his hands resting at his sides. He doesn’t know exactly what to do with them.

And she kisses him, just a lingering, closed-mouth peck. Her lips are so soft and warm, much different than kissing her cheek like he’s been doing for pictures. Even though it’s short, Rin can feel her hot breaths against his face.

“That was pretty good. There’s not much to it.” She says quietly, finding herself unable to move her hand away from its position under his chin.

“Hm.” Rin responds, his gaze still focused on the floor.

“Do you need to try again?” She asks, wondering if his lack of expression is due to him just not getting it.

“No.” He answers flatly.

“Oh.” His answer confuses her. Did he not like it? “Why not?” She can’t help but ask.

“I feel like I won’t want to stop.”

Continued in Part 2.

[writingfromasgard]

The Book Burrow [Ghost]

[Masterlist] || Requests are Open || GIF by hollow-epitaph

cw: Simon using an identity to hide from his previous job?, n/a

synopsis: The dodgy bar down the street was turned into a bookstore a few months earlier in your town and its the last place to try to find the book series your friend recommended to you.

The darkly tinted windows showed your reflection as you squinted, trying to peer inside to discern whether this was truly a bookstore or a bar with a gimmick. It'd previously been a bar that was shut down so the bar seemed the more likely scenario in your mind. The odd hours on the door mirrored that of any bar in the area, perhaps opening a little earlier.

Your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip. There was a singular book series you have been trying to find for the past week and the author listed this place specifically on their website. It seemed odd that an author would promote a specific, new maybe-bar bookstore.

While you've been in bars before, they didn't give you any joy to spend time there. The smell of alcohol made your stomach churn most days. You take a deep breath, gripping the handle firmly and tugging on it.

It opens with a creak of its hinges and you smell.. coffee. It's not so strong that it assaults your nose. It wraps around your figure, drawing you further into the building. Your eyes glitter with the scene before you: a legitimate bookstore, no booze included.

Shelves, sparsely populated with books, stand under large handwritten signs marking each section. You tilt your head, realizing the labels aren’t what you'd expect.

The traditional genre labels of "fiction", "romance" or even "nonfiction" have been superseded by handwritten replacements. Each section has it a descriptive tag hanging down above it -- 'Better than Stephen King', 'Mostly Accurate Espionage', 'Horrible Backstory with Good Story', and 'Monster dating'.

Laughter bubbles out of your throat. You approach the 'Monster Dating' section, plucking a random book to scan over the synopsis of it. It's indeed about dating in a fantasy universe where Werewolves and other things go bump in the night.

Engrossed in the first few pages, you don't notice the presence behind you until a throat clears. You jump, snapping the book closed and turning to face a man an intimidating aura to him. He's bulky, the t-shirt stretching over obvious muscles while his face is obscured by a half-mask with a skull's upper and lower jaw printed on it.

"Anything I can help you with?" His voice is full of gravel like his words claw their way out of his throat.

Clutching the book to your chest, you stammer, "I'm looking for a series by Grace Kirkly?"

"Oh." He mutters, motioning you to follow him with two fingers.

The floorboards creak under your steps as you follow him to the counter. He steps to his left, motioning to the display right beside the counter. Your eyes light up as you see the sale sign - twenty percent knocked off the first book, fifteen percent off the second book when purchased together.

You pick up the books, happy to be able to buy all three books in the series in one go. "Thank you."

The books land on the counter with a heavy thump while he rounds the counter. His eyes feel heavy on you as you timidly put the 'monster boyfriend' book on the counter as well.

"Ever read 'em?" He questions, scanning each book leisurely.

"No, a friend recommended her to me." You respond, digging your card out of your purse to hand it over.

"For the series, the first book is more setting up for the second. I enjoyed the second's descriptiveness during the sex scenes. The third shows he's growing as a writer, too." He tore off a patch of brown paper, centering your books on them. "The other book you picked up is a personal favorite of mine."

He creases the brown paper with sharp folds, making the stack of four books look like a singular box. He rolls a piece of tape on top then holds his hand out for your card. You hand it over quickly, a question balancing on the tip of your tongue.

"I thought Grace was a woman. Do you.. read a lot?" As soon as the question leaves your mouth, you feel stupid. He works in a bookstore - he can read as many books as he wants for free, most likely.

He swipes the card then lays it on the counter between you two, his gaze sharp. "Every book in my shop has been read by me. I didn't want to put anything I couldn't say was good on the shelves."

"So the signs are..?"

"It's nice to walk into a place and know exactly what you're getting." He grabs a small card, punching two holes into it before sliding it and your card toward you. "Tenth punch is a free book."

Your eyes read over the card's information - ten little skulls line edges of the card. In the middle is the shop's name - The Book Burrow and under that - Managed by Morys Neil.

Your eyes meet his again, a smile on your lips, "Thank you, Mister Neil."

"I can show you similar authors if you enjoy Grace Kirkly when you return." Morys leaned on the counter, picking up a book from under it to start reading. His combat boots land on the edge of the counter next to your books as he settles into his chair.

"I'll try to get through them as quickly as possible then." The words leave your mouth and a moment later, you realize how flirtatious it sounds.

His eyes leave the book momentarily, "Anticipation is the best part of any story. No need to rush to see me."

[webslingingslasher]

taylor swift song request lesgooo!!! end game from reputation where y/n has a really big reputation as a 'bad girl' and peter (good boy loml) ends up tutoring her, and sees she isn't all bad...

first off, i am so sorry this took so long, you may not even be on my page anymore, but this struck something in me & i couldn't stop.

second, i switched up the request a little because if you listen to the song, (in a non snooty way lmao) taylor is the one expressing she wants to be with this person but she has a bad repuation and everyone's heard about it, and it's a lot to commit to because of the talk surrounding her.

---------

Everyone had it wrong. 

You were good. And kind. And smart. And talented. And confused. And lost. And just like every other kid in the school. You were good. You stayed to yourself. You didn’t gossip. You didn’t judge. You didn’t tattle. You were good. 

So why did everyone hate you so much? 

It was your brother’s fault. His reputation preceded yours and it ruined everything for you. 

He was the one that picked fights. 

He was the one that pushed teachers to the limits. 

He’s the one that sold dope from his locker. 

He’s the one that hooked up with a girl in the teacher's lounge. 

And the third floor bathroom. 

And the girls locker room.

And underneath the bleachers.

He’s the one that made everyone think you were just alike. 

It ruined everything about high school so far. 

Jokes, rumors, lost friendships, people refusing to date you. 

It was childish and unfair. You wanted one person on your side, the one person you watched in class, the one person that was nice to you in a school of jekyll’s. And you couldn’t have him. 

“Hey, still coming later?” 

Peter Parker had a smile that could make the devil buckle. He was sugar, spice and everything nice. Long time crush, but the part where you’ve been smeared into a good for nothing whore, made nothing possible. 

“You sure you still wanna do this? I don’t mind asking Mrs. Stu-” 

Peter called your name like you were telling a joke, “it’s my honor to tutor you! Don’t blow me off.” 

You want to protect him. You like him too much. He hangs around you long enough and accusations with his name start flying around with yours. 

“If you’re so desperate,” grinning brightly, “I’ll see you later.” 

Peter was so kind to tutor you. Your teacher asked on your behalf, she said she thought you’d be a good pair and you couldn’t deny the extra help, too bad Peter had to be the one on the chopping block. He was being a good samaritan and you knew what it would cause for him, even with the alone time you’ve been craving, you’d keep him pushed away at all costs. 

You didn’t want the fallout to burn him, you’re used to the sting and he’s someone that shouldn’t feel anything but a loving touch. 

Even if it would kill you, you’d have to pretend to be disinterested in Peter Parker and watch him walk away. 

Oh, the things you do for love.

—------------

You’ve never felt so paranoid in your life. You swore everyone was looking at you, or maybe they were looking at Peter. Telling themselves it seemed fit that a nerd would be trying his shot with the school whore, because it’s not like you’d say no. 

“Hi, can I sit?” Peter pointed at the patch of grass next to you, your eyes squinted as you looked up at him, it was hard reading his expression. You were the shade but he was standing under the sun, everything was washed out and too bright. 

“Um, here?” you pointed at the same spot, taking a chance to look around, you felt eyes all over you. “Yeah, I mean, unless you want me here?” He pointed at a patch on the other side of you, “or here,” gesturing next to your feet, “you know what? You choose, I’m the guest.” 

He’s so nice. Gentle, even. You hadn’t experienced someone so kind, so golden hearted, in a minute. His kindness shouldn’t be his weakness or his downfall. With one last scope of the scene you assume he could stay for a moment, at least you could figure out where to meet later. 

You give Peter a smile and pat the first spot he pointed out, “you can sit,” answering his original question. His backpack hit the ground first, jimming himself closer to the tree behind you to rest his back on. Peter’s fingers picked pieces of grass, you assume in boredom. 

“So,” you both speak at the same time, a soft exhaling laugh at the symmetry. You wave Peter along, the sooner he gets it out the sooner he can leave, the quicker he is with you the less he’ll be attacked. 

“Wanna meet at the library?” 

And have everyone see? Have his reputation smeared like your own? There’s a reason you don’t have many people around you, you can’t believe he doesn’t see it.

“No,” he’s taken a bit back by your blunt tone. Peter hums low, “your place?” 

You scoff, “absolutely not.” 

There’s no other option then, “alright, my place it is. Wanna come with me after school? We could take the bus, unless you prefer the subway.” 

God, there’s nothing in the world you want more. It was too dangerous, if you got close enough it’d be too hard to rip it away. If you were seen leaving school with him, going to his house with him, it’d be over for him. You would give him the mark of cain. 

It hurts more than you’d like to admit, you take your turn at plucking small weeds, avoiding his face. He’s hard to say no to. 

“I can’t. But, I’ll come over tonight.” 

You hate how happy he sounded when he answered, it was so unfair. You were a good kid, your brother was the bad one, but you dealt with all the repercussions. Your heart felt so weighed down, you wanted nothing more to reach out and hold Peter’s hand. 

You wanted a boyfriend. 

You wanted a friend. 

You wanted love. 

You wanted to feel accepted and heard and validated and supported by one person. 

But you couldn’t have him. 

“Cool. Wanna give me your number?” It’d be better than talking in person, easier to keep him away from you unless absolutely necessary. You nod, finally looking at him when you hand over your phone, he’s got a giant smile and you have to look back down at a patch of weeds with a single dandelion poking from it. 

“Yours?” 

Peter’s fingers brush yours when he hands his over, a warm jolt spreads down your wrist and into your elbow. It makes you feel alive, it’s a welcomed feeling. You try to forget it immediately. 

His screen is cracked and scratchy as you type your number in, feeling him watch over your face you scan the crowd of people. You swear you see someone pointing, you shove his phone back in his hand, scrambling to stand. 

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way, I have to go.” 

He’s not allowed to care this much. It’s unfair. 

“You don’t want to have lunch with me? I have half a sandwich if you want it, I know we only have like, ten minutes left but if you want it, it’s yours.” 

‘If you want it, it’s yours.’

Does he mean it? Is there a limit to what could be yours? 

Too bad you’ll never know. 

“Thank you, but I can’t.” He almost looks disappointed, you have to stop making things up. 

“You sure? I don’t mind sharing with you.” 

You do. He can’t suffer the same consequences you do, it’s too isolating. Lonely. You were lonely. He doesn’t deserve it. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll see you later, Peter.” 

Peter takes his time unwrapping his homemade sandwich from cellophane, he takes a bite from half and moans, outstretching his hand with the other half, still wrapped up. “Here, take it to go. My aunt made it, if you try hard enough you can taste the love.” 

He’s god damn irresistible. 

You take his gift, slowly backing away, “thanks, I’ll search for it.” 

Peter’s smile hurts your eyes, “good, it isn’t hard to find.” He’s adorable, even when he’s wrong. 

It must be his superpower. 

—-------------------

Peter’s aunt was two things. 

A lot, and very kind. 

You can see where Peter gets his aggressive pleasantry from, the moment she opened the door she was eager to please you. May wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug, her voice cheery in your ear.

“Oh my goodness, it is so nice to put a face to the name.” 

Politely patting her back you swallow thickly, she’s heard all about you and your make believe history. She’s kind but you know in the back of her mind she’s hoping you’d leave her nephew alone, get what you need from him and leave. 

“Nice meeting you too, you make a killer sandwich, by the way.” 

She gasps, pushing you away by your shoulders, moving her head to catch her eyes. An unfamiliar smile crosses her face, you don’t know what it means but it feels as welcoming and radiant as Peter’s. 

“Oh, good! He shared.” 

May said it like it was planned, like she could tell you were confused she broke your attention away. “I made cookies, because everyone knows you need sugar to help you focus.” A wink, she was so gentle, it’s something about those Parker’s. 

You play along, it’s nice to be welcomed for once. Even if it’s until you’re gone, the moment she tells Peter she knows all about you and to keep his distance. 

“I think I read a story on that once, nine out of ten dentists agree, right?” 

And just for a moment you let yourself dream, floating on your imaginary high of Peter Parker when his aunt laughs at your joke, her smile slowly dimming while she looks at your face, deep in thought. A confident head nod. 

“Peter was right about you.” 

You should take it negatively, but you don’t. There’s something about her that tells you she only means well. It must mean she hasn’t heard the bad things, but once she does, she’d be eating her words. 

But damn, if you aren’t curious about what Peter said. Was he nice, did he hint at a crush, did he make his aunt believe you were someone you’re not? 

“Peter was right about what?” 

The devil himself appeared from nowhere, his body standing next to yours, so closely you can feel hints of his cotton zip up hoodie brushing your arms. You closed your eyes to breathe slowly, the sight of him with his hands flat on the kitchen counter, leaning his weight into the laminate, his hoodie strings dangling in a tempting way. 

In a way you want to pull him closer by them, curling the fabric around your fingers and tugging him until his mouth is on yours. 

You’re easy to read, you can see it on May’s face the second you open your eyes. You know in an instant she knows that you like her nephew. Even more surprisingly, she looks excited with the knowledge. 

Her eyes flicker back to her nephew, “how lovely you said our guest was, what else did you say?” 

You can see Peter freeze, “May,” it’s a warning tone. His aunt bulldozes, “wasn’t it something about how pr-” You don’t know what she says, Peter speaks over her. “May!” Jumping in your spot, caught off guard by his sudden tone and volume change, Peter moves a hand to your arm, “sorry,” it was delicate, it was him saying he was only sorry towards you, sorry for catching you off guard. 

Fighting past his numbing touch, you smile, “it’s okay, I didn’t know you could be so stern.” 

You need to see a therapist, because you swear you shared a moment. “Only when it’s something I’m passionate about.” 

He’s talking about you, he has to be. You want him to be. 

You have no idea how you’ll keep yourself from tying to him. But you’ll give it a fighting chance. 

“You know what I’m passionate about?” Peter shakes his head, it’s hard to look away from his eyes, you never knew brown eyes could be so pretty. But you do, attention directed to fresh made chocolate chip cookies. 

“Cookies.” 

Peter won’t let you off that easy, “what kind?” 

You bounce different flavors over in your head, “you’re opening pandora's box, parker. I mean, are we talking grocery store, homemade, or bakery?” 

His arms crossed over his chest, “well, now I need to know every answer.” 

You blow out a breath like you’re about to compete in the olympics, “alright, off the shelf grocery, you can’t go wrong with double stuffed oreos. But, personally, those keebler elves, with the fudge? I love em, my mom stopped buying them cause I’d eat half the pack in one sitting, so now my dad sneaks them to me. But, I mean, you can’t go wrong with those little bakery sugar cookies, you know, the ones that stick to the roof of your mouth?” 

Peter bites back a grin, you weren’t lying, you really were passionate. 

“I know what ones you’re talking about, they’re gross.” It’s the most offensive thing he could say to you. “You’re wrong, but okay.” He laughs, “opinions can’t be wrong,” you pull your head back, “they absolutely can, yours is proof.” 

You look for support from his aunt but she’s long gone, you didn’t even see her back away. 

Peter rolls his hand, amping you on, “homemade?” 

You spit the answer quickly, “butterscotch oatmeal.” He’s never heard of them, or tasted them, but if you love them, he thinks he would too. “You’ll have to bring me some to try, they sound tempting.” Agreeing with him, “you’d never go back.” 

“Bakery?” 

“That’s the tricky one, it’s a rare find, not every place has them. But it’s my all time favorite flavor of anything ever made, s’mores.” 

Peter loves it, your favorite treat was s’mores and it fit you. 

His personal mission was tracking one down and bringing it to you. 

“S’mores? Really?” 

You nod, “really, really. If you find one you’ll have to try it, unless you have another wrong opinion and don’t like s’mores.” 

“Nah, I love s’mores.” 

Peter Parker was too good of a person to bring down. You need to shut down your admiration, because his alienation would hurt the most. 

—---------------------

This wasn’t good. No, this was bad. This was really bad. 

Peter Parker just called open season on himself and it was all your fault. 

You should’ve refused for him to be your tutor, that was the mistake. The moment it was agreed upon it was over. You should’ve never gone over to his house, if you hadn't then you would’ve never told him about your favorite cookie, and he wouldn’t have gotten you one. 

It happened in third period, he approached your seat and set a small white box in front of you. Your eyes flickered from the box to him several times before you asked, “what’s this?” A gift, you knew that much, he’s given you a gift and Jeffery Stewart was watching it go down. Peter would have an hour until he was tied to you. 

“Open it,” slowly opening the cardboard your heart skips three beats, once for each cookie. You’ve never felt so seen, dare you even say loved? He listened, that’s what it was. He listened to you and he tracked them down and presented them to you, he was proud. 

Peter Parker has made everything about your current life harder. 

“Oh my god, where did you find these?” 

He shakes his head, like it doesn’t matter where he sourced them, what matters is that he did. 

“You were right, they’re hard to track down, it took me three days. Surprisingly, they’re mostly seasonal.” 

You tsk, contemplating tearing one in half right now. “It’s so wrong, isn’t it? I mean, you can buy s’mores stuff all year long, so it doesn’t make sense.” Fuck it, it’s selfish, but he went above and beyond. 

Splitting a cookie, you hand half over, cheersing yours with his. You throw your head back and hum the second you bite down, they’re the best ones you’ve ever had. You weren’t sure if it was because they were that good, or because it felt like they were purchased with care. 

“Holy shit, Peter. These are unearthly.”

He’s in the same boat, he can understand why they’re your favorite now. 

Nodding excessively, “my world has changed for the better.” 

“Yeah, mine too.” It was a slip, you didn’t mean to say it. It came out without thinking, you said it sincerely, and he knows it. Peter finished the rest of his cookie and licked his thumb, “good, I’m glad to hear it.” 

This was bad. This was very bad. 

Because Peter Parker lays his hand on your desk and leans in, really closely, it makes you stop functioning all together. He needs to leave, he needs to back away, he needs to leave you alone. He doesn’t know what he's doing to himself, but you’re too selfish to stop it. 

Even with Jeffery Stewart staring you down like a dog in heat, a wicked grin spreads while he ropes over the many rumors he’s about to flood the halls with. 

“Wanna come over tonight?” 

Lost in a world of a million thoughts, all of them being about the distance from his lips to yours. Blinking back to attention you groan, “I don’t really feel like studying tonight, my brain is mush.” 

Peter nods, then moves in, just an inch closer, you feel like you’re about to die. 

“Not what I asked.” 

“I don’t-” 

“I asked if you wanted to come over, not if you wanted to study.” 

The room is spinning, everything is a blur. He’s flirting, Peter Parker is flirting with you in front of an audience. He’s fearless, it’s impressive. There’s no way he doesn’t know about your reputation, the things people say about you, the things you do. 

Suddenly, a chill creeps up your spine. What if he knows exactly what people say, what if that’s why he’s being sweet, what if that’s why he’s acting like he cares? Fuck it, you’ll call him out on his bullshit, but privately, you don’t need any extra attention. 

“Sure. Same time?” 

“Same time,” it’s set in stone when the bell rings, Peter knocks his knuckles on your desk before he walks away. It’s unfair how much you hate to see him pull away from you.

—------------------

The upside to being cynical is that when things don’t work out, like you plan, you’re not that hurt, because you called it the whole time. 

Just like Peter, you knew the second it circled back to him he’d be gone. It proved to be true when you heard mumbles by your locker, eyes flicking to you and back, quicker whispers shared. 

From what you’ve gathered, either Peter has seen your nipple piercings or he’s given you nipple piercings. Not that you had them, but that didn’t matter. What now mattered was that Peter was directly tied to you and your boobs were involved, that’s enough alone for him to get a clap on the back while you’re being shamed for even acknowledging your body autonomy. 

What a lame rumor, Jeffery Stewart could’ve gone to the moon with theories but this was the one he settled on? Usually he was a bit more creative, his last one ended up with you and the guidance counselor in the principal's office informing you that it was a safe space, and that if the school’s janitor came onto you it wasn’t your fault. 

It took three weeks for people to totally forget it, but those few weeks you’d hear claps and wolf whistles when you passed by the janitor's closet made you feel like you were on the constant verge of vomiting. 

Usually it wouldn’t bother you, but once they involved Peter’s name you felt sick. Everything you feared itching to life, and right when you heard a third possibility you couldn’t stay silent, slamming your locker door shut and giving wild eyes to the girl talking to her friend on your right. 

“Which one is it, Lindsey? Was he holding my hand while I got them done, did he see them, or did he do them? I don’t know about you, but if I heard three totally different versions of a story I’d question the authenticity of the claim.” 

It didn’t matter who was watching, you couldn’t hold it in.

You felt like you were on fire, you could see her sputter, like she didn’t expect you to call her out. You felt like the walls were closing in on you, she didn’t start the rumor but she was helping it spread and she was the closest person you could explode on. 

“C’mon, Lindsey. Which one? I want to hear your side, unless you think it went down a totally different way. What? Scared to talk?” 

Your throat’s closing, you can’t stop, you step closer, you shout at her. 

“Which one, Lindsey!” The hall was dead silent, for the first time you had no cares about who was looking. 

Her shoes squeak as she backs up, her eyes wide and blinking, a flash of terror, it makes you want to squeeze her and shake her, try to get her to understand this was what it felt like to be you.

“Fucking answer me!” Your voice cracked, she whimpered, fat tears falling. 

“None! I don’t believe any of them!” 

She doesn’t. You can see it written all over her face, she was just talking to talk, knowing you could hear every word she produced. It just made you feel sad. 

“You can hunt other women as much as you want, Lindsey. But the collusion doesn’t save you from the same hunt.” 

Lindsey nods, like she understands. But you know she doesn’t, you know she’ll keep being the same, until they turn on her, and then she’ll wonder why no one stands up for her and how anyone could believe the jargon they say about her. And on that day, you’d be nodding with the crowd. 

—-------------

If Peter told his aunt about today she had an excellent poker face. Because she was more than happy seeing you when she opened the door, hugging you close before she could even shut it.

“Hi, sweetheart! How are you doing?” Politely hugging back, you talk back in her ear. “Hi, Ms. Parker, I’m good, how are you?” A squeeze before you’re released, her hands warm on your shoulders. 

“Oh, please, just call me May. Did Peter give you the cookies?” 

You nod while biting back a grin, she might have a clue for how you feel about her nephew but you’re not announcing it either. “Good,” she’s got something in her that makes you feel like she’s more of a wingwoman than aunt. 

“Peter’s in his room, I won’t be back until late, are you sleeping over?” 

You feel off balance for a second. May’s leaving you and Peter alone, for several hours, and then suggests you’ll be spending the night. She really is a wingwoman. It makes you second guess everything Peter might have told her, it’s clear she can see your mental gymnastics when she pats your arm. 

“He said you guys are gonna hang out, maybe watch some movies. I just meant, will I be surprised if I come home to you two cuddled up somewhere.” 

Is she saying not to fuck in the common areas?

“Are you saying-” 

“Keep it in his room.” 

Mortified. She must assume the worst out of you, you’ve only met her twice and her thought was that the second you were alone you’d be fuck bunnies. To be fair, Peter is really attractive. She can tell how embarrassed she’d made you and she’s quick to jump over it. 

“No accusations and no shaming. I’d just rather be clear to both of you. Peter had a worse conversation, be glad.” 

You take that as her permission, and that she likes you. She has to, she just implied she’d be cool if you and Peter hooked up. Even if the world hated you, having her approval made you feel like you had someone to impress again. 

“Okay, I understand and accept the rules and boundaries of your home.” 

May laughs, hooking her purse over her shoulder she pats your arm again. “You’re a good kid, don’t forget that.” 

And that made you want to curl up and cry, you haven’t had unprompted support like that in years. It worked, because you’d never, not once, cross any boundary of her’s. In fact, after that? You’d die protecting hers. 

“Thanks, May. See you later.” 

A wink, “See you later, honey.” 

You took a second to breathe, and look over yourself in the mirror before approaching Peter’s door. Knocking for a second and opening it when he answered, he spun one eighty in his desk chair, a blur of blue plaid until he settled. 

Before he had a chance to speak you did, “did your aunt give us permission to have sex, or am I tripping?” 

Peter’s grin dimmed, he looked to his closet doors while his cheeks tinged pink. “I promise you, whatever she said to you, is nowhere near as bad as my talk.” 

“She mentioned that, was it all about the ins and outs of pleasuring a woman?” 

Peter’s avoiding eye contact, you came here to tell him he should keep his space but watching him shrink under your questions made you feel powerful. Each blush he gives makes you want to dig in further. 

He more or less shrugs, it’s a damn bold line, you don’t even know what you're saying until it comes out in full. 

“Tell me, Parker, could you please me?” 

Seconds tick, you can hear it on his clock, finally he looks at your face. Any trace of a blush fallen, it makes you feel choked. 

“I’m not sure, but I’d love to find out.” 

Panic. He’s not supposed to say that, he’s supposed to back down. You’re supposed to back him down.

Peter can’t go down this road and it’s your job to block his path, but you can’t stop yourself from moving out of his way. 

“I mean, since you already know about the nipple piercings…” you trail your words, expecting a sneer. Instead he laughs, a full on body laugh, it makes you smile, just the pure happiness radiating from him. 

For once a rumor is just something you can laugh about. 

“Psh, of course I knew about them. I mean, isn’t that the third time you’ve had them?” 

It was. You didn’t realize it but that was the third time the rumor was reused. You didn’t notice but he did, did he notice all the other ones too? All the ones that stated how bad you were? Did it even matter if he believed them, you didn’t think so, at least not at this point, you just didn’t want him to suffer the same fate. 

Peter pats the top of his bed, “take a seat,” your stomach lurches, the thought of being in his bed enough to ignite you in flames. His aunt said keep it in his room and he’s luring you right in, your palms feel like they’re sweating. If he heard all the rumors about you sleeping around and thought you were like that, he was about to be disappointed. 

Holding your eyes shut and squeezing fists you rush the words out, the quicker said the quicker this would be over. 

“I’m a virgin!” 

Instead, he looked utterly confused, looking around his room like he was trying to figure out where the explosion came from. Settling on a low release of words, his eyebrows furrowed in, “so am I?” 

Just to be clear, “I’m not looking to change that tonight, so if that’s why you wanted-” 

“No!” Peter almost slips on the floor he stands so quick, “that’s not at all why I wanted, I just thought…” He doesn’t know how to say it, he almost said he thought you needed a friend, but that could be offensive, or worse, he’d be friendzoning himself for you. 

“Thought what, I’d be an easy piece? Cause I know you’ve hea-” 

“I asked Mrs. Sturgis if I could tutor you!” 

You stop talking, his words looping in your brain. That doesn’t make sense, because if he did ask then that means he wanted to tutor you, that means there was a deeper meaning, that means when his aunt said he talked about you it went further than what was said at school. 

“Please,” he pleaded your name, “come sit? Just for a second.” 

You follow his command and sit on the edge of his bed, watching Peter pace as he combs his hands through his hair. He’s nervous. 

“I don’t know how to talk to you, my brain is just… you make me really nervous.” 

“Why did you ask to tutor me?” 

Peter stops moving to look at you, it was easier to answer when you asked. 

“So I could talk to you.” 

It’s a start, “why?” 

“I just wanted you to trust me. I hear what everyone says, and I don’t believe a word of it, but I didn’t want you to think I was asking for the wrong reasons, or making a joke out of you.” 

Your face scrunches, “you thought, I’d think, that you asking to tutor me, directly, would be a joke?” 

Peter shakes his head, sitting back in his chair and taking a second to answer you. 

“No, I think if I asked you out on a date you’d think it was a joke.” 

You laugh, “well, yeah… It’s not like you…” 

Except he does, and you can see it all over his face. He really, really does. With the new knowledge you don’t know how to act, suddenly aware Peter Parker sees you in a different light. He doesn’t see you as his student, he sees you as a potential mate. 

You only know fight or flight, and your flight option was crawling further up his bed, backing away until your back hit the wall, a dull thump produced. You give a barely audible, “ow,” your brain racing with thoughts, trying to catch up with his admittance. 

“You okay?” 

You’re thankful he can’t see you, the top bunk perfectly cutting your head from his viewpoint. 

“Peachy,” you can barely speak. 

“Cool, cause it seemed like you kinda freaked when I implied I wanted to ask you out.” 

You nibble on your thumbnail, “implied or asking?” 

“I’d rather ask when I can see you.” 

How is he so calm, he was the one that was just pacing the floor talking about how nervous he was. Now he’s a smooth talker.

“Is that why you asked to tutor me? So you could ask me out?” 

“Maybe, but you also need a tutor.” 

Rude. Fair, but rude. 

“So, you like me?” 

You wish you could see the smile he has, you know he has one, you can hear it in his laugh. 

“What would give you that impression?” 

You shrug, but he can’t see. “I don’t know, you’re not nervous anymore.” 

“I don’t have to be, the girl I like likes me too.” 

You gasp, you’ve said no such thing! There was absolutely nothing to base his accusation off of. You mock his words. 

“What would give you that impression?” 

Another laugh, you wish you could see that laugh. But once you emerge it’s over, it means he’s signed his life away to be with you. An act of selflessness you didn’t know was possible. 

“Look at yourself, you’re hiding cause you’re petrified to be asked out.” 

“No, I’m not. I’m protecting you, cause if you don’t ask, you won’t be ridiculed.” 

You imagine he looks offended, because he sounds it. 

“Do you think I give a shit what anyone thinks?”

“It’s isolating, Peter. I’d feel like I’d bring you down, and you don’t deserve that.” You take a breath, “you’re very kind, and I really like that.” 

“You’re kind too, and smart, and really, very, pretty. And I think once you have a boyfriend and a friend group, things won’t be so bad and everyone will forget why they teased you.” 

You hum, playing with your nails and chewing at your bottom lip, silence took over. It was a rush of a lot of emotions, you’re shocked and excited. You’re also panicked and jittery. It was everything you feared and wished for at once. 

Peter Parker is asking to be in your life, no matter the cost. 

That’s the bravest thing you’ve ever witnessed. 

Clearing your throat, “who would be my boyfriend?” 

Peter pretended to think about it, “you could have whoever you want.” 

“Anything you want, it’s yours.” An immediate flashback to the first day he sat with you, you mumbled out the words and scooted, just an inch, from the wall. 

“What was that?” 

You announce it, moving forward another inch, “anything you want, it’s yours. You said that at lunch the first day you sat with me, do you still mean it?” 

There’s just something you’ve been dying to do, something you’ve been wanting to do. And he said whatever you wanted. 

“Whatever you want, I mean it.” He sounds sincere too, you move forward a few inches. 

“Have you kissed anyone before?” 

Peter doesn’t understand the correlation but he’ll entertain it. “Yes?” 

You offer up more information, hoping he’d catch the hint. “I haven’t.” 

He doesn’t. “That’s no biggie, I think over half the school-” 

You speak over him, “but, I want to.” 

It takes Peter a second to register it, and when he does he almost collapses. 

“Oh. I see. Um, want me to come in there, or you come out here?” 

Your heart races, he’s so willing to do whatever with no qualms, you just asked and he’s delivering. You were about to have your first kiss with your number one crush, and he liked you too. 

“Wait, you’re gonna do it?” You’ve never been so excited. Or anxious. Were these the butterflies people talk about? 

“I’m sorry, did I read that wrong?” 

“No, you’re just… right now?” You think you’ll puke all over him, that’s why you’re stalling. 

You can see Peter drum his fingers over his pants, “do you wanna hold off for a second? I’ll do it whenever you want.” 

Your heart clenches, “Peter,” you groan out his name, “stop being so nice, it hurts.” Waiting a moment before continuing, “I’m gonna suck, and you won’t like me anymore.” 

God, you wish you could see the cocky grin smear, you can hear it, but you want to face him more than anything. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. He knows you can’t stay hidden forever. 

“Wanna bet?” 

Why not? If you really think about the last year and change of high school, what else would you really have to lose? 

Plus, he was really cute. 

Overwhelmed with the knowledge of knowing you were about to have your first kiss, you slowly shimmied to the edge of the bed, right where you were before you hightailed it backwards. 

Peter looks even better than you’ve pictured, his hair fluffy from where he ran his hands through it. A greeting smile rested on him, and his bright brown eyes warmed. “Well, hello there, I was afraid you got lost.” 

Sucking the life force from your bravery, “I was told there would be kisses out here.” 

A surprised look crossed Peter before he fell back into neutral, pushing off his desk to glide over in front of you, his knees knocking yours, suddenly you feel panicky again. “There absolutely can be.” 

Peter catches your nerves and figures it’d be easier to actually get it over with, because the second he would pull away all panic would hit near bottom ground. Using what little skill he has, he rests his right hand on your thigh while his left cups your face. 

You suck in a breath, following his guide when he brings your face up to his. Peter swipes his thumb across your cheekbone and you feel everything in you be set ablaze with desire. 

You wonder if he can feel how warm your cheek is under his touch, if he does, he doesn’t comment. When you give him no disagreement he leans in, he can hear your breath hitch, it brings him a little pleasure to be the ‘cool’ one in the situation. 

When he’s closer than you would’ve ever imagined he gives you a grin, “hi.” It was a hushed whisper, you give him one back, “hi.” Your eyes flash from his gaze to his mouth, you were caught, it makes you look down at your hands. 

Your mind spirals, why hasn’t he kissed you yet, and also, what do you do with your hands? Giving it a shot you press them against Peter’s chest, but it feels like you’re pushing him off, so you move to his shoulders but it doesn’t feel quite right. 

“Want some help?” Peter caught on to your struggle, of course he did, he just notices the little things with you. He doesn’t even pull away, just bringing his hand that was on your thigh to bring your left hand around his neck. Your right hand outstretched to rest on his ribcage, when you look back he seems much closer, this time he’s looking at your mouth. 

“Do-” 

Peter cuts you off, a hushed whisper, “I’m gonna kiss you now,” you breathe in sharply, “oh, okay.” Peter can’t fight the smile, “is it?”

You don’t get a chance to answer, his mouth is on yours, and it’s heaven. You feel like you’re floating, his lips velvety smooth, the only way you know how to show your shock and appreciation is by gripping his shirt. Peter’s bottom lip favored your top lip, moving into his kisses awkwardly. He was much more experienced, but he didn’t make you feel overwhelmed, it felt like he was guiding you. 

You didn’t feel like you were doing much, but it felt like everything you imagined. It made you dream of a day where you could do this with him whenever you wanted. It felt like he was pulling away, you refused to part and followed him, holding tight to his flannel. It failed when he was able to push you away with ease. 

Peter sounded slightly winded, you were blinking with stars in your eyes, your heartbeat in your throat, and just a little shy to look at him. “Funny thing about kissing, you gotta breathe to keep doing it.” 

You're new to it, gulps of fresh air weren’t as refreshing as him. You wanted to kiss him again, but you didn’t want to put him out, and you still weren’t sure how to initiate or ask for it. 

Peter tapped on your knee, “wanna take me out for another test drive or are you happy with your purchase?” 

He wanted to do it again. 

That’s a good thing. 

“If I buy it, does that mean the test drives stop?” 

“Of course not. That just means you don’t need to ask to drive it.” 

You lean in this time, “but I have to ask now?” 

Peter speaks against your lips, “it would be the customary thing to do.” 

“Well then,” you speak softly and look at him, “would you kiss me again?” 

Your eyes close when he brushes against your mouth, a kiss is pressed to the corner of your cheek, “depends, are you planning on purchasing?” 

Boldly, you give him a chaste kiss, “everyone at school is gonna hate my new car.” 

Peter kisses your cheek, “best in show, baby. Best in show.” 

You take a deep breath, it wasn’t a bad thing to need someone. And it wouldn’t be bad to let yourself have them. 

Peter Parker heard everything everyone said but he wasn’t even listening, it felt dizzying, for the first time someone saw the real you, the good you and wanted you. He wanted nothing and everything at the same time. You liked him, maybe a bit too much, and the risk of losing him was enough to send you flying. But the chance of love, and hope and trust was even bigger. 

Someone wasn’t scared to have a big reputation with you. Peter Parker was proud to have the same big enemies as you. 

And for that reason, 

“Sold.” 

[blueberrypancakesworld]

can i request a dead x reader x euronymous fic where the reader has a solo project of her own it comes out to the public that she’s dating both dead AND euronymous?? pls and thank you

Dating the devils

warning : drinking, mentioning of smoking and drugs, smutish (making out), implied threesome

Info : Thanks for the request anon and your formal words ;) Have fun reading and everyone else too.

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breaking News: The Swedish celebrity "Dark Lilith" the solo artist and also necomer to the black metal scene was seen performing a satanic ritual in the cemetery last night, apparently trying to summon demons, two figures were seen walking into the night-" the TV was switched off and a sigh came over her lips, her eyes rimmed with dark make-up showing annoyance and yet a little amusement.

She held a bottle of beer in one hand and her guitar in the other. The dark material shone slightly in the dim light in the anteroom. Outside, she could already hear the audience waiting for her.

Thanks Satan that I'm here but the report is unnecessary shit she thought and took the last sip of her beer. She liked it when people reported on her and yet she could do without false statements.

Two unnamed people. She knew for sure that it was neither a ritual of shame nor two unknowns. Her lovers and sex on the farm were more likely to be asked. But every interviewer had either fled or refused.

It was true that she was female, a witch, Lilith, and perhaps went a little too far. But she was a part of the scene, of the time, and in that time from her beginnings to her rise she had gotten to know them.

Her two dead ones, her loved ones, it was romantic. Euronymous always gave her song lyrics and gestures in the form of kisses and instruments. Dead, on the other hand, often drew her things and wanted her to kill him.

Things that flattered her, but she also knew that if it came out that she was the biggest solo maker in such a scene, dating the two men from Mayhem would be hell. Everywhere. ,,The Christians and fans are coming for me," she muttered, plucking at the side of her guitar before throwing the bottle into a garbage can, hearing the rumble and clink before she stood up and knew it was time.

The stage was her home. Her fans were her worshippers and her voice was the magic. Looking into the crowd, she saw the many dark shapes, the make-up of the women looking up at her and the blood on them. It was perfect.

And when her eyes fell on the group, she saw the black-haired and the blonde. She winked at them and saw that they knew she meant them. Felt the beating of her heart as she started to play and the guitar joined in. It was another concert of life, it was everything.

The walls shook, the crowd went wild, her voice screamed into the microphone and everything was fucking perfect. It was a bloody night, there was alcohol involved, some drugs and Satan himself.

It was all perfect and as the dark curtain closed and she retreated she heard the voices of the group. ,,You played perfectly!" she heard Euronymous shout as he pulled her close and gave her a deep kiss.

,,Really good...almost deadly," quipped Dead and she saw the hint of a smile on his lips, a gesture she knew she didn't see often and yet she was grateful that they were happy. But the rest of the black circle also congratulated them on another successful concert.

They all grabbed a beer and a cigarette before retiring to the anteroom to have a little celebration of their own and make it all the better. Euronymous always had his hand by her side always had his lips on her body wanting more of her whether in front of the others or not.

Dead watched her, every now and then he would say and show her something and gently stroke her hand, enjoying feeling the bones underneath. They both loved her in a way that was indescribable. And at the latest when the cold night air hit her body, she was snapped back to reality.

,,The afterparty is long over, but here... it's cozy, isn't it?" she heard the voice of the band founder as he stood next to her, entangling her in a kiss and only making her mind even more clouded by alcohol and drugs.

,,Supper cozy-fuck," she mumbled and leaned into him wanting more of him wanting more of them both no matter if it was in a side alley next to the hall. It didn't matter, it was the only thing she needed to get down. ,,Warm...soft," she heard Dead murmur as he knelt in front of her and kissed his way up her legs.

His cold lips almost as cold as a corpse, his pale pale in the moonlight as he ran his knife over her skin while Euronymous used his hand to start massaging her breasts. She wore no tights, just the black top and the short leather skirt.

The warmth she gave him was the only thing the blonde needed to live. He needed her to stay here and Euronymous needed her to keep going. And she needed them both to feel fucking good.

It was a moment between them that would lead to a promising night. If all three of them didn't pause when they heard the clicking sound. ,,What the fuck?" she mumbled, coming back to the now lost to the two of them and looking into the surprised face of a reporter.

,,You're dead!" Euronymous hissed and took out his taser, which flashed through the dead end. ,,Death," Dead muttered, gripping the knife in his hand tighter before the two ran towards the reporter. As he ran screaming for his life, their laughter could be heard. It was satanically good, it was hellishly ampsant for her.

It only got better when she saw her picture on the title page the next day. ,,Fuck look at you so pretty," Euronymous said and Dead nodded in agreement. ,,An album cover...for Lilith," the blonde said and began to draw inspiration.

The picture showed her leaning against the brick wall, her eyes closed with lust, Euronymous at her side, his hand under her top as he kissed her neck.

Dead kneeling in front of her with the knife running over her skin as he kissed his way up her legs to her center. ,,A fucking good picture...I think we should have done this sooner," she muttered, picking up the newspaper before cutting out the article and nailing it to the wall with a knife. It was a fucking satanic masterpiece.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@mayhem-things , @icarus-star

[littlest-w01f]

Date night

Azriel x Reader

For @starfallweek [hosted by: @azsazz and @writingsbychlo]

Starfall Week 2024 Masterlist

Day 6: Character A was so busy planning the perfect Starfall party, they forgot to get a date. Character B has an idea

Summary: Azriel had the perfect date plan for his love on Starfall, he had made plans to spend the entire day with his newly found mate, everything would be wonderful for her, except for the fact that he had forgotten to ask her out for Starfall

Cw: Az being a slight idiot and forgetful, Nesta slapping Azriel

Azriel was proud of himself, as he wrote down the final steps of his masterplan in the same notebook he wrote down his torture methods for some folks he needed information out of, and training plans for the Valkeries, you being one of them, an Illyrian like Emerie, co-owner of the store Nesta had stumbled upon.

Azriel smiled, looking at the last page of his notebook, your name in hearts, both your names merged together to form a sort of "ship name" as you had called it while talking to your friends about the books you read. He felt like a faeling in love, especially when Nesta had found that page, teasing him for weeks endlessly, pushing you and Azriel together.

His chest had puffed in pride when he had caught Nesta vaguely mentioning the size of his wings to get a reaction out of you, Nesta had given up her private time with him to give it to you, so that he would have to fly you to the House of Winds and train you alone.

His masterplan for the date was perfect, for the morning of Starfall, he would help with the decorations, then he would sneak out to meet with you, take you "somewhere special", fly you to a little picnic near the woods, then take you to the mountains, and flying you around them after.

Then he would bring you to Velaris, take you shopping for the celebration at night, and then you two would retire to the House of Winds, cuddling for a while, hopefully, the cuddling would lead to something more.

It had been 2 months since you two started to see each other, your mating bond quite new, Nesta and Cassian had cheered on the sidelines for you, and Nesta had pulled you aside with a smirk on her face asking you if the wingspan of Illyrians was an accurate measurement of certain other parts of their body, making you blush, which took her by surprise since you were the one who talked of the smuttiest scenes in books with a straight face.

But by the weeks leading to Starfall, he had forgotten, busy making sure each decoration was perfect for you, he had gotten to know your preferred foods by Nesta, making sure those would be there for you in the party buffet, your favourite wine and champagne stocked.

He was a few hours late as his shadows put up some streamers and glowing stars to trickle down, his shadows were restless and buzzing in a way that they usually hadn't before, and Azriel for the life of him couldn't figure out why.

While he was busy he heard Nesta call his name behind him, "Hey, Azriel!"

The second he turned around his face was met with Nesta's fist, before he could ask what it was for Nesta went off, "You dumb bat! How could you?"

"What?" Azriel stumbled, confused, a little betrayed when he was sure his shadows cheered a little at him hurt.

"What are you doing here!?" Nesta was yelling in his face, "Did you forget, you asshole?"

"Forget what..." Then it hit him, cursing, his shadows sat back on his shoulders, instantly winnowing out.

He was in front of your shop, hands shaking slightly as he walked inside.

You were working, folding clothes and shelving them, while Emerie handled the customers, Emerie smiled at Azriel, "Hello, Azriel, what can I do for you?"

You turned your head the second you heard his name, his shadows already halfway to you, reaching to stroke your cheeks earning a chuckle from you, you turned fully to focus on Azriel and Emerie smiled walking to you, taking the sweater in your hand and beginning to fold.

You smiled, walking to Azriel, who looked a lot more nervous than she had seen before, "Hey, Az..."

"I'm so sorry, y/n." Azriel began, taking you by surprise, "I had this plan... for a date... And I forgot... I..."

You kiss him to shut him up, chuckling slightly as you pull back, "Relax... I have no idea what you are talking about." You smiled a little when he quieted down, you pulled him into one of the back rooms, "Now tell me, and be a little slow, ok?"

"Ok..." Azriel nodded, "Tonight is Starfall," You nodded, urging him to continue, "And I had this plan, of stupid, dumb, date ideas before we would attend Starfall together..."

"...And then I remembered that I forgot to ask you out..." Azriel finished, taking a deep breath after, he had monologued in front of you in a single breath, leaving you stunned.

"Oh... Wow." Was all you could manage, your eyes softened slightly, "You planned all that for me?"

"And I messed it up! DIdn't you hear?" Azriel stressed, feeling horrible about himself.

You smiled up at him, "Well... About that." You reached out to hold his hand, his shadows covering you both in a hint of privacy. "There is still time..."

Azriel smiled, taking a deep breath in, holding your hands tightly in his scared ones. "y/n, would you like to be my date to Starfall?"

"This year and every other, yes." You smiled, bringing him in a kiss.

He pulled away after a while, "There are still things we could do, you know."

"I'd like that... A lot"

{General taglist: @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria}

{Azriel Taglist: @fxckmiup @annamariereads16}

[scekrex]

I’ve had this idea for a while and I like your writing so I figured Id ask you! If you don’t like it, please feel free to ignore!! Can we get Lucifer’s reaction to sinner!Adam being with someone who seems to genuinely love and care for him. I always kinda saw Lilith and Eve as people who wasn’t into the idea of being with Adam in a serious manner (Lilith a lot more than Eve) which is why they turned to Lucifer.

I just find the idea of Lucifer seeing someone genuinely care for Adam more than any of Adam’s past lovers really fun. Like, would he be low-key jealous? Would he be happy for Adam (as much as he definitely would not admit it)

I also would find it funny of what Lucifer would think to Adam dating a guy. The first man, progenitor of humanity, Mr. everyone came from these nuts himself, discovering he’s bi waaaay too late into his after-life, and after he becomes a SINNER no less! I can’t help but chuckle about it

Have a nice rest of your day!! ❤️❤️

Okay so this turned into some Adam x male!reader n Lucifer being jealous over reader. Basically one-sided adamsapple. Hope you enjoy, xoxo/p

Part 2

Maybe you can call me Eve, standing here under the forbidden tree

pairing: one-sided adamsapple/Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

It was a little weird, that the devil had to admit, it was a little weird to see Adam so happy, so relaxed, so lovingly. Ever since the former angel had arrived in hell after Alastor's little demon girl friend had ended him he had been even worse than before. He had constantly insulted the residents of the hotel, whenever there had been the possibility to pick a fight with Charlie, Adam had done exactly that.

And it made Lucifer feel strange.

Adam was laying on the couch, you were laying on top of him - chest to chest - his guitar was gently placed on your back as he played for you. Has Adam ever played for anyone but himself? Lucifer certainly didn't think so. Sure, he had played concerts in heaven, but he had mainly played for himself, for his own entertainment, so that people listened to him had just been a nice bonus. But actively played for someone? No.

And your curious, loving eyes were watching his every move, an adoring smile was on your lips and Lucifer's heart felt heavy at the view. The thought was small but it bloomed in him, the thought that this could have been him, that he could be the one laying on Adam's chest while the first man played for Lucifer instead of a random sinner. It wasn't fair, but Lucifer had already known that. Life - or afterlife - never played fair. Never.

“Dad?” Charlie's soft voice made him tear his eyes from the scene, her hand came up to rest on his shoulder. “Are you-” she interrupted herself as soon as she spotted you and Adam and a small sigh escaped her.

Adam played the last chord and then proudly looked down on you, a cocky smile on his lips as you placed a small kiss on his stubbled chin. One of your hands moved to ruffle through his hair and Lucifer suddenly remembered Eden, back when it had been just Adam. Just him and Adam. Those times were long gone though, and the devil knew it, he knew that what they had back then would never return, especially now that Adam had you.

He was thankful that Adam had finally found someone, that he wasn't feeling as miserable anymore and that he actually seemed to try and redeem himself. And yet Lucifer couldn't bring himself to be happy for the first man, not when the person laying on his chest was you instead of him.

The fact that Adam was dating a guy didn't make it easier to deal with though. If you were a girl it would be different for Lucifer, that way he could trick his brain into believing that Adam was straight, that he had no chance anyway. But you weren't a girl and Adam wasn't straight. The possibility had been there, the possibility had been right in his damn hands back in Eden. The bond he and Adam had back then had been special, it had been a connection Lucifer had never felt again in that way. Yet Adam had always denied being queer once his soul arrived in heaven. The image of him kissing your forehead so softly however shed new light on it, Adam didn't deny being bi anymore, he had grown comfortable with it actually. The credit for that went to Angel Dust.

Why you? Why not him? That's a thought that constantly occupied Lucifer's mind. What did you have that he hadn't? The devil didn't know.

Charlie's hand squeezed his shoulder apologetic, she knew. Of course she knew, Lucifer had told her himself after all. He had told her about Eden, back when Adam had been the sweetest creation of God's, right after ducks, that was. A thing Adam had named. Adam had named most of the things, if Lucifer was being honest with himself, it had been his job after all. But when Adam had named ducks, Lucifer had been there, he had been with Adam when the first man had spotted a duck for the first time.

Oh how bittersweet that tasted now.

You looked over, spotting the devil and his daughter as you happily waved them over, Adam simply rolled his eyes in annoyance but remained quiet.

Lucifer tensed up, Charlie however led him over to the two of you.

Oh fuck him.

[da-rulah]

Heads Will Roll - A RHRN Inspired Short

*MAJOR RITE HERE RITE NOW SPOILERS AHEAD*

Do not read on if you don’t want to be spoiled. It’s literally the biggest spoiler in the movie, and I am giving you plenty of warning. Seriously. If you read on and get spoiled, don’t come crying to me in my ask box. I am warning you.  

A/N: This is my own continuation of the ending of the movie. An alternate ending, if you will... It includes spoilers from the final scene, arguably one of the biggest spoilers, and continues from there. Yell at me in my ask box if you want, but this was fun to write...

Rating: Mature Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, panic attacks

S P O I L E R S A H E A D 

The empire is now built.  

And he’s so proud of himself. It’s been a long road, he’s worked hard; even cut down people who got in his way... But he’s here now, and despite the sudden passing of his mother, he can’t help the rising feeling of accomplishment – nay, smugness that sits in his chest.  

Of course, his mother stands beside him now as a spectre, joining his father on the spiritual plane that seemingly only he can see into. He wonders why that is sometimes, but it’s a minor detail and one he’s grateful for. At least this way, his mother hasn’t truly left his side. But he does wish his damned father would.  

“We seem to have remodelled here,” Copia remarks as they stand in the hallway of the Ministry; all those months of touring, he wasn’t aware of the changes. He likes them, more to his taste. It’s as if they were made with his ascension in the ranks in mind. He must thank Saltarian for that later. “Good, good...” 

“Well, I’m not in charge anymore,” Sister Imperator sighs dramatically, a little bitter than she can’t continue her role from beyond the grave. But it is what it is, and she’s sure her son is going to do a good job in her place. 

“No, you are not,” Copia gleefully quips, clicking his shiny new shoes together to assert his power.  

“I hope that this new guy doesn’t disappoint like you did,” his father, Papa Nihil grumbles beside him. Copia’s shoulders sag in annoyance, his eyes rolling as he turns to Nihil. 

“Really?” As if he hasn’t been the most successful Papa to date, selling more records, larger tours and spreading the unholy word further than his predecessors – but most importantly, escaping with his life... “Go necro-charge yourself,” he jabs, his polite way of telling his father to piss off and reminding him that he is in fact dead, and has no authority anymore. 

“Oh shut up!” 

“You shut up,” Copia retorts somewhat childishly, a petty little argument starting.  

“The two of you, just stop it. This is done! Just stop it...” Copia raised his hands in surrender, turning back to the doors in front of them.  

“Old habits; they die hard,” Nihil grumbles.  

“Old guys in habits die harder...” Sister comments, pressing her lips together in a tight line as her brow furrows. Copia looks back to his father guiltily, his gaze turning to the tiled floor in front of him. Yeah, didn’t he know it...  

But he couldn’t allow himself to think about that just now. If there was anything he had learned in recent months, it was to not dwell on the past. No matter how dark, no matter what he had done... And he had done some bad things.  

Images of blood-stained hands flashed through his mind, the noises of anguished screams, the silence that had followed... He couldn’t let that haunt him anymore.  

He shook his head of the thoughts, straightening his new expensive suit jacket. The jewels that hung from it rattled against his chest, and he straightened his back to give an air of importance and authority, ready for what was to come.  

“Oh look, here he comes...” Sister Imperator clasps her hands together, wringing them nervously as she hears the footsteps approaching on the other side of the door. Copia lifts his chin, waiting, trying not to show his own nervousness to see the figure approaching, a shadow on the other side of the stained glass doors. The light filters through, turning the end of the hall red which does nothing to quell the anxiety.  

As the new head of the Clergy, he would have thought somebody would have told him who was to be Papa. Frankly, he thought it would be his decision. But the choice had been made long before Sister’s death, and without her knowledge also. It had Saltarian written all over it. He liked to... mess with people.  

The hall fell silent as the shadow figure stood proudly behind the glass. A mitre already sat atop his head, which now he thought about it, was unusual. There had been no ceremony, nor reveal yet. This guy must have some balls to don the Papal robes so soon.  

The shadow reached for the door handles on their side, the knobs squeaking as they turned agonisingly slowly. Copia had to swallow the lump in his throat, reminding himself to stand tall and proud. He was Frater Imperator now. He was in charge.  

The doors swung open, and there he stood, a sickly smirk on his face.

Copia audibly whimpered, losing his balance and stumbling backwards. The panic set in quickly, his chest heaving with heavy breaths that couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs no matter how quickly they tried. He managed to regain his footing quickly at least, eyes wide and jaw dragging along the floor while his head swam.  

Beside him, his mother’s hand slapped to her mouth, somehow making a noise despite her no longer being a physical being. Even Nihil was stunned into silence, his brow furrowed with deep lines of confusion.  

Copia had never been so terrified in all his life. Somehow, he thought his demise would have been a kinder end to his own reign than this.  

The new Papa looked nowhere else but at Copia, his eyes glaring at him as if lasers would shoot from his pupils. That smirk still sat on his face; a face that was painted with crisp black and white.  

As he stepped forward, Copia resisted the urge to run. It was all he wanted to do but when it came down to it, his fight or flight response had withered into the third hidden option; freeze.  

Papa walked slowly, deliberately, his gaze never wavering. Copia couldn’t help but stare straight back but he couldn’t meet his eyes... Not after what he’d done. Even when Papa came to a halt a few feet from him. 

“Buonasera, fratello gemello...(Good evening, twin brother...)” The smugness in his voice reflected how Copia had felt moments before. But now? That had dissipated. Nothing but terror remained. “I look forward to working with you, eh?” 

Copia couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even look in his eyes...  

Instead, his stare was focussed on the garish, ugly, deep red scar that ran in a clean line around his neck...  

How could he not have seen this? So many signs he had ignored... Wilfully ignorant to all of this. Perhaps he had been living in denial, brushing any and every small clue aside so his own guilt would not get the better of him, and he could forget what he'd done.  

The scratch marks on the inside of his final resting place, the mortician who swore his foot had twitched in the morgue... It was Saltarian who insisted the movie be called ‘Rite Here, Rite Now’; his song. Even the music video served as foreshadowing, literally enacting his spirit rising from the dead...  

Copia felt like a fool. Had he not been so wilfully blind, maybe he would have seen it. Maybe he could have stopped it.  

But no, now he was staring directly at the result of the most evil deed he had ever committed; murdering his own twin brother. He could only hope he didn’t remember...  

“Terzo, what a... surprise...” Imperator stuttered beside Copia. Clearly, she had also been kept in the dark on this one...  

Terzo finally tore his gaze from Copia, instead smirking down at his mother who had too been instrumental in his untimely end.  

“Buona sera mamma, (Good evening mother,)” he greeted, sickly sweet and filled with patronisation. “You look well,” he joked. You know, because she was dead...

“S-so do you,” she smiled, her lip twitching. Terzo opened his arms to hug her, and with hesitation, she followed suit. 

“Oh, wait...I forgot,” he stopped, lowering his arms and leaning towards her with a shit eating grin on his face, “sei morto ora (you are dead now).” 

He took a step back, clearing his throat and turning back to Copia. “So, here we go again, eh?” 

“I-I suppose...” Copia choked out, still in shock.  

Copia and Terzo had always had a difficult relationship... Terzo was older by mere minutes, and when they had been born, Nihil had given his son the next title in line, only to give the second, smaller, weaker twin a name to match; Copy. Copia had always been treated as the weaker, the lesser of the two by their father. Their mother, however, had pitied Copia from the start and sided with him wherever she could. It had fuelled so much competition, so much resentment that it led to Terzo’s own end...  

To say their relationship was fraught was a severe understatement.  

“You boys... will have to learn to work together,” Sister Imperator warned, watching warily as the tension between the brothers built.  

“Oh, sí, we can work together, can’t we fratellino?” Terzo slapped his brother’s arm in fake encouragement.  

“S-sí, of course...” 

“Molto bene! (Very good!) I promise, best behaviour. Even little Cardi here will learn to work alongside me,” Terzo leaned forward, staring menacingly into Copia’s eyes with the smug smirk from before and getting into his personal space in a display of defiance. 

“Or heads will roll...” 

[colleybri]

Cassian x Bix and Rebelcaptain: Please let these ships be friends !

I ‘ship’ Cassian x Bix AND Cassian x Jyn. I see there has been some conflict in the past when the “new woman” was first brought in with the series, some that remains now, and I’m both saddened and bemused by that.

Rebelcaptain for me is a canon relationship… to a certain extent. I have no doubt that these brave heroes would have ended up together had they lived. That’s why I love it… the whole beautiful tragedy of what might have been, and the loyalty that binds people together when making a sacrifice like this. Were they actually in love, in canon? For me – no. Not yet. And that’s important for my personal enjoyment of Rogue One, especially its ending. As the novelisation stresses, Cassian dies without knowing Jyn as “There wasn’t the time”. And I simply don’t believe you can love someone without knowing them . But I enjoy the idea of exploring what would have happened had they lived. They are a perfect loyal “battle couple”, definitely my favourite fanon SW couple and great to imagine together. I see Rebelcaptain also as a way of giving them the happy ending they deserved. Oh - and the chemistry between Felicity Jones and Diego Luna on-screen is absolutely electric. In short and again: I have no doubt that they would have fallen in love had they lived and would have been perfect for each other. And they are a perfect fanon ship.

(^^ And I I think this is the exact moment in canon when they both acknowledge the loss of what might have been. It’s just heartbreakingly beautiful… )

Cassian x Bix - I don’t even think of it as a ‘ship’ per se as it is a 100% canon relationship, and one that is currently ongoing as we wait for Andor S2.. It’s fascinating to me – 17 years of friendship that has occasionally blossomed into a romantic/sexual relationship. It’s a genuinely unusual set up too. I’ve read a few takes that they are “over each other” by the time of the start of the series, to which I want to say … watch again, closely! They certainly have moved on to date different people, but it’s also very clear from their interactions (especially in the intense scene in Ep 7) that there is still a lot of extremely deep feeling between them – even if some of it is very negative. In the S1 production notes, the show’s creator Tony Gilroy says that they “are meant to be together… but it’s been impossible all these years. Now, she’s done with him … he’s burnt every last bridge .” Why? The series also provides the answer – Cassian is in many ways an absolute mess at the start of the season and Bix was quite rightly fed up with him as a boyfriend. He’s completely unreliable, likes short-lived affairs (often with married women - so no risk of commitment!), isn’t working regularly and has debts all over the place. This largely stems from his “unresolved childhood trauma”. He has a fear of “leaving people behind” and despite having a lot of love to give “ is so scared of being loved”. But he and Bix nonetheless prove to be incredibly loyal friends and their love in this platonic sense clearly runs very deep indeed. They have known each other since he was 10 so she is also something like a sister figure. Bix is still very protective of Cassian and takes personal risks for him… and he finally comes to appreciate this and pay back his metaphorical debt to her in the finale. The question now is what season 2 holds for them, if anything.

(^^ I love the way she is using her fingertips to push his hand off, as if to avoid the risk of too much touch. The gesture and look that says “Please don’t try and get close to me again because we both know how bad that is for us… but I’m such a total idiot when it comes to you that I will still very unwisely go out of my way to help you, especially when you look at me like that so please just don’t”)

Does loving their messy and complicated relationship mean that I want Cassian and Bix to ‘end up together’ ? No, and the obvious additional point is that they don’t! They are both going to be very different people at the start of S2 and over the following years of the story . Bix has been traumatised; Cassian has been radicalised. And that’s just the start. Perhaps they quickly drift apart. Perhaps some kind of betrayal is involved. Perhaps one or both of them will want to commit again to a relationship, but it’s impossible because of the demands of the rebellion (like Vel /Cinta). Perhaps Bix “ends up with” someone else (Brasso, ideally, especially if they both survive the season). Perhaps they will get back together at least for a while and enjoy a little last happiness before inevitable heartbreak. Perhaps all, some or none of these. But none of that stops me from loving and appreciating what they do have, what they have had up to now, and the intriguing dynamics of when they do interact on screen. Bix x Cassian attracts me as a fanfic ship because it’s all about exploring what is there and how it came to be, which is why I currently don’t write them beyond the present time of series 1. I’m waiting to see what happens next in Canon, as it were, because that to me is an important part of writing them. Meanwhile, I’m enjoying analysing the relationship by imagining them in the past.

So for me Bix x Cassian in no way impacts on Jyn x Cassian or vice versa, especially if you apply… real life principles rather than the ideals of fandoms: “soulmates” and OTPs. Many people – most people – will have a beautifully intense and loving relationship with more than one person at different times of their lives. I’m old – trust me on this one.

^^ Both relationships in these two scenes go way beyond romance. In the first - many years of close and loyal friendship. In the second: a bond created through brave and selfless sacrifice together. And for both: Cassian’s absolute hatred of being “someone who leaves people behind”: the quality that I love best about him. And saving each other. Literally and metaphorically.

And oh… it’s beautiful. Both moments are beautiful.

Edit: I won’t do any speculating here about the content of the sizzle-reel trailers. Except to say that there’s nothing in them that detracts from the emotional power of both ships. They can continue to happily coexist.