#it really tells that you’ve listened to first-hand experiences of grief to prepare for this fic

[redrobin-detective]

*crawls through you bedroom window* actually sorry I’m not done talking about the tragic, complicated clusterfuck which is Ben and Rook’s friendship/partnership. Because of how it was set up and their own personalities at the time, it was doomed to fail. I mentioned previously how neither got to know/understand the other and I retract that because it’s not entirely true. They did get to bond in a way that you almost have to when you’re in life or death situations together but they never talked about it and so each went on thinking they weren’t important to the other.

The whole nature of their partnership reeks of impermanence. Max obviously knew ahead of time that Gwen and Kevin were leaving for college and had time to prepare. Ben being on his own, reckless and stupid, was not an option. I wonder how many candidates they went through before they got to Rook. They chose someone who excelled at Plumber training, who knew the rules Ben never bothered to learn backwards and forwards. Someone who would balance out Ben and keep him reigned in. Someone who was obviously destined for higher management so why not give him the best field training possible? Rook, if not Ben, was certainly aware that it was a temporary thing. Ben was 16 going on 17, soon he wouldn’t need a partner anymore; this was the last attempt at training wheels. I imagine the partnership dissolved not long after Omniverse ends, when Rook becomes Magister and probably has new training and responsibilities. Ben, almost an adult by human standards and hopefully positively molded by Rook’s influence, is deemed ready to be on his own. 

So imagine you’re Rook, you’re a newly graduated Plumber who was ready to take on the universe. You’re informed you’re heading to Earth and you will be working one on one with your idol, the Ben 10, the one who inspired you to leave your traditional, isolated homeworld. You meet your hero and while he’s got the watch and the quips, he’s also a child in a culture you don’t understand. You’re disappointed that your hero isn’t as perfect as rumor and propaganda told you. You’re angry and frustrated and you don’t bother to hide it, Ben almost seems to retaliate by being more obnoxious. The more time you spend with Ben, you realize there’s a method to his madness. He wins more battles than he loses, what Rook at first took to be Ben’s flaws turn out to also be his strengths. Seeing Ben in action snarling and laughing in the face of certain destruction, he realizes that Ben is, at the same time, a stupid, idiot kid who barely has an idea of what he’s doing but also twice the hero Rook thought he was. Suddenly Ben 10 isn’t just a poster in his room or a radio show to listen to in the dark, he is a real person and that makes him even more worthy of admiration.

And Rook does admire him, quietly. Ben keeps up his walls and Rook lets him because who is he to try and really befriend Ben 10? Rook is just one of billions of Plumbers in the universe, Ben is the universe’s savior. I bet before Rook ever stepped foot on Earth it was drilled into him that Ben Tennyson was to be protected at all costs, that Rook’s life was nothing compared to Ben’s. Rook already comes from a very restrained and private culture, he won’t initiate anything beyond what is needed for to the mission and to save his partner. It is enough for him to be able to work alongside his hero (even if said hero is thoughtless and ridiculous and has no sense of self preservation and he drives Rook insane but by gum does he respect the hell out of Ben when he isn’t contemplating murdering him). When the time ultimately comes for Rook to depart, he will be sad but not mention it. Because he imagines he is only a blip on Ben’s radar, a temporary partner before Ben goes onto bigger and better things. He never tells Ben that his loyalty wasn’t to the Plumbers, to Ben 10 but to the scrawny, sleep deprived kid who always remembered Rook’s favorite smoothie flavor. 

Now imagine you’re Ben. You’ve saved the universe at the cost of your privacy, chance for a normal life, general sense of safety and sanity. You’re quickly losing track of what part is you and what part is the myth about you. Two of your three major support systems abandon you without notice. Over the years of AF/UAF, Gwen and Kevin saw all your brokenness, fears, vulnerabilities, watched you go from dumb kid to hero. You didn’t have to tell them these things, they saw them happen and just knew. And now they’re gone and you only have your grandpa who you love but is also sorta of your boss now. He tells you you’re being assigned a new partner, someone chosen without your consent, someone you’re expected to trust your life and secrets with. Fine, this Rook fellow will do. He can watch your back but he’s not having any pieces of your broken heart. 

You fight, both bad guys and each other. The two of you have such opposite styles that you clash. He may have training and discipline but you have experience and incredible power. You fumble and bicker and somewhere through it all find an understanding. Suddenly the rumble of his voice is familiar as Kevin’s once was, his logical approaches and teasing barbs slot in where Gwen’s used to be. It’s not bad, you tell yourself. You know this isn’t forever, that it’s not real, but it’s not bad. Because you know first and foremost that Rook is a Plumber and you are not. You also know he is a fan and you are acutely aware how short you fall from the perfect hero ideal. Ben laughs, clinging harder to the arrogant hero façade and pretends Rook’s disappointment doesn’t crush him. If someone who’s forced to work with him doesn’t like Ben, then how can he be the beloved savior everyone tells him he is even though he doesn’t quite know how he got there? He’s just a kid doing his best and soon buries himself in his perceived role.

Time passes, Ben and Rook have been through so much. Against your will, he’s seen some of your broken parts. He sees past your cracks, sees your guilt and grief and bone deep fear. But he doesn’t seem upset, even more disappointed by the failure hero. He is kind, friendly, understanding. Not enough that Ben feels comfortable to open up but he relaxes, just a bit. Rook isn’t just a forced upon partner, he’s now a friend. But he knows Rook is only here because he was ordered, he feels Rook’s annoyance with him and believes his kindness is only out of duty. It’s fine, he’s used to everyone around him bleeding him dry of everything he has and then some. Just another part of being a hero. He’s not Kevin or Gwen but he is Rook and he is grown on you because Ben is always an open soul, one who wants to receive some love he gives so freely. You finally feel steady, like you can stop pretending so much and try and find some peace and happiness in your dangerous, chaotic life.

Suddenly so fast, you’ve saved the universe once more and Rook is moving on. It’s like Gwen and Kevin leaving all over again. Rook himself seems excited to move up the ranks, to get more tassles on his uniform. He is a soldier at heart, you are not even if you play the part of one. You are a child only you’re not anymore, while you were busy saving everyone again and again your childhood was stolen from you. Now on the edge of adulthood, you’re told it’s time to take responsibility. You want to scream you’ve been doing that since you were 10 years old, that someone else can do  it for a change. You want to beg Rook to stay, to drag Gwen and Kevin home, to hide your loved ones away with you and not have to confront the big, bad universe alone. Instead, you do what you always do. You swallow all your fears, your wishes and hopes and shake his hand goodbye and wish him well. You don’t tell him you’ll miss him, neither does he. 

Rook and Ben part as the strangers they never stopped being even if both of them aches at the loss of the close proximity, of the friendship. Both are very much aware that the relationship was weak, transient, that it might have been something more if they gave it more attention. However, too many things were between them and both of them genuinely believed the other didn’t care as much. The rest of their lives they remain friendly, distant but polite. It’s not much different from when they fought side by side even if they wish it different.

#ben 10 #rook blonko #ben tennyson #this got long #also very emotional #I feel exhausted writing this #digging through those emotions #wow I want to cry for both of them but especially Ben #holy shit this kid really doesnt have anyone he can really rely on #someone who won't leave him or doesn't constantly demand things from him #the basis of all his relationship is doling bits of himself away #until its just him and the many masks he keeps up to convince everyone that its okay #when hes just screaming on the inside #god I bet when Rook leaves he just has a long overdue mental breakdown #you can't live with that level fo stress and pressure without snapping #losing rook who was barely a friend bc Ben refused to let himself get attached only he did and it hurts #but not as much as believing that rook saw him as another assignment a stepping stone to higher ranks #a hero he once idolized and reluctantly learned to put up with #bc Rook himself is too private and awkward to admit that he admired ben more after working him than he ever did as a kid #that seeing someone so small and so mortal doing what he does is just incredible #god the miscommunication physically hurts me #Im already lying down but like... I need to lie down

[infernalrevenge]

Alright, playing off of the overprotective Heisenberg. What if Reader doesn't come back and when he does go looking they are injured badly?

Damn bro you're really going for hurt, huh? I love it HAHAHAHA let's go!!!! I'm making this a drabble, I think it would be better suited for this.

(TW violence in one paragraph, because I might have gotten a little carried away with how Karl saves Reader.)

----------

Heisenberg looked up at the digital clock above his work station, turning off his equipment and tools for a moment. The rain outside had just stopped, and you weren't back yet -- there were no familiar footsteps, no calling out for him to get work done and over with... nothing but the clanking noises and thrum of machinery.

You wouldn't be out for this long, not without telling him. Something was wrong.

He immediately ventured out into the forest behind his factory, calling for his lycans to send them out as a search party. Covered more ground that way, in case you got too far. Not that he thought you would up and leave him, no. He could think of worst things.

He strained to listen for anyone calling out for help, trying to ignore the pounding in his ears as worst case scenarios crept into his head. If all he could hear were the growls of those damn lycans, the leaves rustling in the wind, and the snap of a twig underneath his feet -- where did you fit in? Surely, you would've called out by now if you needed help. Surely... you wouldn't be...

No, now was not the time -- you were still out there. You had to be...

Almost lifeless, your torso trapped in the jaws of some damn Varcolac. That was how he found you, and he swore his blood had frozen over when he saw the life start to dim in your eyes. He might have imagined how you reached out for him just as he finally got his legs to move, smashing into the beast's side with his hammer and forcing them to drop you onto the muddy forest floor.

The rage boiling in his body burst out of him in that hard swing, grief and frustration driving him to make the animal pay for your suffering. It killed you. It fucking killed you! This thing was not going to escape alive.

If you ever asked, he couldn't tell you how much he enjoyed beating the wolf back and away from you while his lycans bit and chewed off chunks of muscle and flesh, hard pressed to find any that wasn't already smattered in blood. The crack of its bones brought a disgusting fit of satisfaction in him, and every pained growl and whimper from the pathetic thing only spurred him on even more.

He raised his weapon over his head, poised for another punishing blow, until...

"Karl..."

Somehow, your soft voice cut through the emotional whirlwind. "Y/N?"

He wasted no time in getting back to you, sheating his weapon back and kneeling down, completely in disbelief. He always knew you were a fighter -- damn well knew that you wouldn't back down on life this easily.

As the lycans behind him finished the job, he picked you up as gently as he could, words of comfort and assurance uttered with every pained gasp and whimper from your lips. If you were more aware, you might have caught Karl with tears streaking down his face.

Everything passed like a blur, slow like it was creeping up on you -- and yet when you were finally conscious it felt too fast. You could've sworn a second ago that a snarling Varcolac had cornered you on the way back to Heisenberg's. You barely heard how you screamed as a reflex over the overload of dread and panic that filled you all at once. To say it was a lot was an understatement.

But then, here you were -- exactly where you wanted to be. Well, things looked a little different. Your bedside table was occupied with bottles you never kept there, along with bandages and tape you don't remember ever using.

Your gaze shifted to the slumped figure sitting next to your bed, a hand laid over yours. It took more effort than you realized to tighten your hold over his hand, but even that was enough to jolt him awake.

Karl wasn't wearing his glasses. You could've sworn his eyes were shiny when he turned to look at you, seemingly in disbelief. He had been by your side for days, changing your bandages and calling a doctor in every so often to check up on you. He hardly gave a damn that some village commoner was allowed in his factory -- he wasn't going to take a chance when it came to you. Not again. You had to stay alive, you had to wake up eventually. He was prepared to wait weeks for you, months, years, however long it took.

He just needed you back.

Things were quiet between you for a while, Karl still in shock as he helped you sit up and offered you a glass of water for your dry throat. He was the first one to speak up.

"You've been out for a few days, in case you were wondering. It's Friday today."

You remembered going out into the village on Tuesday. You stayed quiet, trying to process all this new information, especially now that you were actually in the right headspace to.

You weren't really sure what to say, if you should say anything at all. He seemed to be at a loss too, you can't even begin to imagine what he must be feeling. Anger? Relief? An overwhelming mix of both?

"I'm... glad you're okay." But at least he managed to say something.

Were you supposed to say sorry, that you weren't more careful (you probably should have been)? Tell him you're glad to see him too (you were)? You knew you wanted to say something though...

"Is this the part where you say 'I told you so'?" you finally said, voice still hoarse, an edge of sarcasm in your soft tone.

Part of you would rather deflect from the trauma you just went through -- you basically just came out of a fucking coma. You ought to take things one step at a time. Right now, you really were just glad to be with Karl again.

Speaking of Karl... he seemed to be at a loss for words. His lover just woke up from what could have been a life-threatening experience -- no, it was a life-threatening experience -- and that's the first thing you say? He started blinking in confusion, mouth hung open, and you were tempted to reach out and close it for him and make some comment about catching flies. Instead, he started...

Chuckling.

"Oh yeah, absolutely, I told you to be fucking careful!" he replied, smug as ever. There's the Karl you knew.

You shoved at his arm weakly, "No, this is the part where you're supposed to say 'All that matters is that you're back and you're safe," you retorted with a small smile, making a poor impression of his voice and accent.

He huffed, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes. There's the Y/N he knew. Tears started rolling down his cheeks, barely even noticing it as he looked over you with such fondness and joy. You were alive, and here, and he wasn't sure what god out there made that happen but goddamn, it would have made a believer out of him if he knew.

"You need to rest up, alright, sugar?" He laid a gentle hand on your forehead, pushing your hair back and out of your eyes.

You gave a small nod and puckered your lips comically -- a silent plea for a kiss. The man only rolled his eyes and gave you a peck on the lips. "You won't leave, right?"

"No. Never."

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg #lord heisenberg x reader #lord heisenberg #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re8 #anon #inbox #drabble requests #i know the original prompt was f!reader but it wasnt specified here #so i figured i could use gn!reader here for this idea #wow it's like these two dont know how to deal with trauma and feelings #a match made in heaven #emotional whiplash galore

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Sakamaki Prologue

← RETURN TO GENERAL PROLOGUE

ー The scene starts in the classroom

Yui: ...I’m going home by car today.

Female student C: I see. Well, we might be getting some bad weather, so that is probably a wise choice.

Yui: Eh? Really?

Female student C: Yeah. They said so on the weather forecast. I’ll be heading home then. Bye bye!

Yui: See you tomorrow! Bye bye!

ー The scene shifts to the outside of Ryoutei Academy

Yui: ( Speaking of which, Ayato-kun didn’t attend classes today. )

( We both went to school together, so I wonder if he was skipping class somewhere? )

( He should know he’ll be in big trouble if Reiji-san finds out though... )

Driver: ーー My apologies for the wait.

Yui: Thank you very much.

ー She gets inside the car

*Thud*

Yui: I’m the first one here. That’s neーー

Ayato: Yo, Chichinashi!

Yui: Ayato-kun! I haven’t seen you around all day, where have you been?

Ayato: Aah? That’s none of your business, is it?

Yui: That’s true but...

Laito: ーー If you’re curious about Ayato-kun’s whereabouts, I spotted him over at the infirmary...Sleeping soundly with a cute expression on his face. Nfu~

Ayato: Wha...!? Cute!? Stop spoutin’ disgustin’ crap!

Laito: Eeh~? I’m complimenting you, so you should just honestly thank me.

Yui: And where did you hang out instead of attending class, Laito-kun?

Laito: Bitch-chan, you want to know my secrets? If you insist, I suppose I could tell you...

Every・single・one, okay~? (1)

Yui: No, I’ll pass.

Laito: Geez! I wish you wouldn’t turn down my offer so quickly?

Kanato: What made you think she would be curious about your secrets? I wouldn’t want to hear about those even if I was forced to.

Yui: Kanato-kun!

Laito: Kanato-kun, how cruel! You don’t have to be so mean, do you?

Kanato: Being forced to listen to something you don’t want to hear is pure torture after all...

That being said, Laito. The space next to her. That’s my seat so could you make some room?

You move away a little further too, Ayato.

Ayato: In your dreams! (2) The seat next to Chichinashi is obviously mine!

Kanato: Haah?

Shuu: ...Noisy as always. I could hear you guys’ voices all the way from outside the car...

Yui: Shuu-san...!

Laito: Oh geez~ You’re acting as if you’re the only outsider.

Shuu: I’m not picky about which seat I take after all.

I understand why you’d want to sit close to her, but making too much of a fuss proves that you’re all still kids.

Ayato: Aah!? Who are ya callin’ a kid!?

Reiji: ...Good grief. You lot are at it again?

Laito: Nfu~ Nice observation, Reiji. I can’t believe you’d guess we’re quarreling.

Reiji: This happens every day after all. How ridiculous. Do you not think it is about time you fight over a different topic for once?

Furthermore...Shuu. Could you not hog the seats all for yourself? You are in the way.

Shuu: There’s plenty to pick from right? Just take one of the other ones.

Reiji: If I sit on the opposite side, I will have no choice but to pain my eyes with the sight of you, no? Come on, make way.

Shuu: Haah, annoying...

Reiji: I am not being ‘annoying’. As the first heir to this family...

Subaru: Can’t you guys pipe the fuck down?...Geez...

*Thud*

Yui: Welcome back, Subaru-kun.

Subaru: Y-Yeah...

Oi, you shitheads. Move out of the way. I’m sittin’ next to her.

Kanato: Hah? You want to sit next to her as well?

Subaru: I never...! It’s not like I want to sit next to her...

I just like the way that seat feels.

Laito: Nfu~ Dare I say that’s a rather cringy excuse? Kukuku~

Subaru: Aah!?

Yui: ( Somehow seeing the guys are still the same as always makes me feel relieved. )

ー The car starts driving

Yui: ( Quite a lot has happened since I came to this house, but I’ve sort of gotten used to it over time... )

( I might just be imagining things, but I feel like the guys have become a lot kinder compared to when I first met them as well. )

( I guess feelings really do change... )

Reiji: ーー Speaking of which, did you all hear?

Ayato: What?

Reiji: Apparently there will be two transfer students coming from the campus in Great Britain.

Yui: Yes, now that you mention it, our teacher said something about that.

Subaru: Props to those guys for goin’ through the extra trouble.

Laito: Do you know something about them?

Reiji: No, not really.

Laito: Then why would you bring that up?

Reiji: It’s simple idle talk. The silence was getting on my nerves.

*CRASH*

Yui: ...!

Kanato: That was the thunder.

Ayato: It started pourin’ as well. What a dragー

Yui: ...The sky is pitch black as well...

Shuu: I mean, it’s night-time after all, so obviously it’d be? What are you saying?

Yui: That’s true but the moon was out earlier so...

Ah, speaking of which, the lunar eclipse will be happening soon, right?

Subaru: The eclipse?

Yui: Yeah.

Reiji: Exactly. I actually wanted to give you all a warning regarding said topic.

Laito: Eh~? What is it~?

Reiji: As you should be well aware, we are not unaffected by the lunar eclipse.

Yui: Eh? Is that so?

Reiji: Well, I doubt there will be any large changes.

We might say or do some things which are out of the ordinary...As well as grow somewhat unstable.

Yui: I see...

Ayato: Oh? Are you worried, Chichinashi?

Yui: Just a little.

Shuu: ーー During last time’s lunar eclipse, the Old Man was so fussy about it, I thought I was gonna go crazy.

Laito: ...Ahー ...I just remembered. We were still living in the Demon World back then, weren’t we?

Kanato: The night is much longer over there, so it was the worst...

Ayato: I remembered. He locked us up inside the castle, didn’t he?

I wonder why that old fart was so wary of it?

Kanato: I picked up some things about that. Apparently...There is a possibility some evildoers could come and attack us...

Yui: Evildoers...?

Ayato: Yeah! You know! He means the bad guys!

Laito: Do you want us to applaud you for that answer? (3)

Reiji: Either way, please be even more cautious than usual, understood? 

Unlike the one in the Demon World, the eclipse will be over in just a few hours this time. I am sure you can at least endure it for that long?

Yui: ( Out of the ordinary...Will everything be okay? I’ve gotten a little worried. )

Laito: Nfufu...

Subaru: The fuck you chucklin’ for, Laito...? It gives me the creeps.

Laito: I figured out what’s on Bitch-chan’s mind~

Yui: Eh...?

Laito: You were wondering just now...What exactly he meant with ‘saying or doing things out of the ordinary’, no?

Yui: ...!

Laito: I figured it out by looking at your expression. You really are such a lewd girl~

Yui: Wha...!? Why does it translate to that!?

Laito: You want to experiment, don’t you? Doing all sorts of things...While we’re being toyed around with by the moon...~

I mean, it would be different from usual, right? I totally relate to you wanting to switch things up every once in a while, nfu~ 

Reiji: ...Laito. I think you’ve said enough. You are corrupting my ears.

Yui: ( The lunar eclipse, huh...? I hope it passes without anything happening. )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the living room

Yui: It’s this late already...? I suppose I should hit the hay soon.

Reiji: Oh dear? Going to bed already?

Yui: Yes. It is starting to become a little light outside as well.

Reiji: How about a cup of tea before bed? I got my hands on this new brand of herbal tea.

I would not mind treating you to some?

Yui: Ah, I’ll gladly have some!

Reiji: Very well. Then please wait a few.

ー Reiji walks away as Ayato enters the living room

Ayato: Oh, who do we have here! Not goin’ to bed yet?

Yui: Reiji-san offered me some tea, so I’ll get some rest after I’ve finished my drink.

Ayato: Che...What’s so good ‘bout that crap which tastes of grass?

Yui: Grass...? No way, it’s delicious. 

Ayato: That’s what it tastes like to me. I’m a carnivore (4) rather than a herbivore after all! ...This stuff’s more my ‘cup of tea’. 

ー Ayato moves closer and pins her down

*Thud*

Yui: W-Wait, Ayato-kun! What are you...!? 

Ayato: Lemme suck you. I’m thirsty for blood right now...

*Rustle rustle*

Yui: ( ...At this rate, he’ll take my blood...! )

R-Right! Ayato-kun, did you know?

*Rustle*

Ayato: Aah!? 

Yui: ーー S-Speaking of carnivores, I heard this rumor about a wolf being spotted in the city...

Ayato: A wolf!?

Yui: Y-Yeah. Apparently tons of people witnessed it, so the rumors are spreading like wildfire...

Ayato: Che. What bullshit are you spoutin’? You actually believe there was a wolf!?

Yui: But you know, at school...I alsoーー

Laito: Spotted~ (5)

Yui: L-Laito-kun!

Ayato: ...Laito, don’t get in my way.

Laito: Oh no no. If you want to suck Bitch-chan’s blood, you have to get my permission first.

Ayato: Why do I have to get your permission for everythin’, huh!?

Laito: Ehー? Why, you ask? Well...

*Rustle*

Yui: Kyah!?

Laito: Because Bitch-chan belongs to me~ Right?

Say, Bitch-chan? Wasn’t this ‘wolf’ you saw wearing a hat?

Yui: Eh!? 

Laito: The Big Bad Wolf wearing a hat always has his vision locked on the cute Little Red Riding Hood, you know~?

Ayato: Keh. ‘Big Bad Wolf’, my ass! Anyway, Chichinashi. Did you seriously see a wolf?

Yui: Y-Yeah...Probably...

Laito: When? Where?

Yui: After classes today. On the rooftop at school...

Ayato: Aah? The rooftop? Hah, ridiculous. I bet you just mistook some shadow for a wolf.

Laito: Besides, that’s exactly where I was after classes today.

Reiji: ーー Why were you there after school?

Laito: ...! R-Reiji. Didn’t see you there.

Reiji: Yes. I sure am. Is that a problem for you?

Laito: Not really~?

Reiji: Good grief. With you guys, I never know what to expect the second I take my eyes off you.

You’re either trying to suck her blood, or skipping class...

Ayato: ...! H-How do you know I tried to bite her just now!? You weren’t around earlier, were you!?

Reiji: ーー It became clear as day to me the second I saw her disheveled clothes.

Yui: Eh...! Ah...

*Rustle rustle*

Reiji: You lot truly are beyond hopeless.

ーー Here you go, Yui. I’ve prepared your tea.

Yui: T-Thank you very much!

*Cling*

Reiji: ...Well then, regarding what you said just now...

Yui: Eh?

Reiji: Could you fill me in on the details?

Yui: You mean about the wolf?

Laito: It was just Bitch-chan’s eyes playing tricks on her, no?

Isn’t it like those people who say they can ‘sense’ ghosts after they’ve been told a place is haunted? 

Reiji: I am talking to her.

Yui: U-Uhm...

ー Yui tells him the full story

Reiji: I see.

Yui: However, I’m pretty sure I just saw a wild dog or something along those lines...

Subaru: ...What would a wild dog be doin’ up on the roof? That was a wolf.

Yui: Subaru-kun...?

Subaru: You probably don’t know, but in the Demon World, there are other demonic species who can alter their appearance into those of a snake, eagle or wolf.

We’re livin’ here too, so it wouldn’t be that far-fetched for some wolf to show up.

Yui: T-Then, a resident of the Demon World has changed into a wolf and come to this city?

Subaru: Guess so? There aren’t any wild wolves livin’ ‘round these parts, right?

Reiji: I considered that possibility for a second too, however...

Ayato: What?

Reiji: The Wolf clan living in the Demon World is extremely territorial. Well, the same could be said about the snakes too...

I simply cannot fathom they would come to the human world.

Laito: Ahー ...Now that you mention it, they really are.

I went through hell and back once after messing around with a girl on Wolf territory...

Subaru: ...Then how do you explain the wolf wanderin’ ‘round this city!?

*Thud*

Yui: S-Subaru-kun, calm down.

Reiji: Exactly. Do you really need to lose your temper over everything?

Ayato: Can’t we look at it this way? It’s probably not that concerned ‘bout us.

Vampires aren’t territorial after all.

Reiji: That might be the case for us, but I doubt the same can be said about them.

It is part of their natural instinct after all...

Laito: Nfu~ Then, basically you want to say that the wolf which has been sighted in the city is just a regular one?

Reiji: Or rather, there is one other possibility I can think of.

Yui: Another possibility...?

Reiji: In the Demon World, one more species going by the name of the ‘First Bloods’ exists.

They are said to be the ancestors of every species living in the Demon World.

Ayato: The fuck? That’s a first to me. Besides, I’ve never run into one of those over at the Demon World either.

Reiji: Of course not. They suffered defeat in a war against our Father and Demon Lord Burai, before being banished to a castle.

They are forbidden from leaving.

Laito: Then wouldn’t it be impossible for them to show up here in the first place?

Reiji: You are indeed right. But well, they possess the abilities of the wolf, eagle, snake and bat all at once. 

Therefore, it would be possible for them to transform into wolves as well. I simply wanted to bring it up as one possible explanation.

Subaru: Well, I don’t give a damn. Whether it’s a Wolf or a First Blood.

If they get in the way, I’m gonna crush them!

Reiji: Well, a wolf is hardly a threat to us, but I suppose it would be dangerous for a human such as yourself.

Please be careful, okay? If things take a turn for the worse, do avoid being eaten. Understood?

Yui: Y-Yes...

( Seems like there’s still many things about the Demon World I don’t know. )

( Also the rumored wolf in town...I wonder if he actually exists? Then what I saw might just be... )

( ...I don’t really know yet, but I should definitely be careful for now. )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the classroom

Yui: ( Today’s first period is English, huh...? I should take out my textbook and notes...My homework sheet isーー )

*Rattle*

Homeroom teacher: Oiー. Everyone, sit down. I’m going to introduce the new transfer student.

He won’t be transferring into this classroom, but I’ll at least let him introduce himself.

Shin: ...I’m Tsukinami Shin. Nice to meet y’all.

Ayato: ...That guy...

Yui: ( Ayato-kun...? )

Homeroom teacher: He only recently returned to the country after living in Great Britain, so he’ll be taking class in a special classroom for quite some time.

That being said, you’re all students of the same academy, so treat him well, okay?

Homeroom teacher: Ahー Also...If possible, I’d like for someone to show him around the campus.

Shin: Sensei, may I?

Homeroom teacher: Yes, what is it?

Shin: I would like to ask the young lady over there to give me a tour of the school.

Yui: Eh? M-Me?

Shin: Exactly. Can I count on you?

Yui: ...I don’t mind but...

Shin: We’ll see each other during the break then?

ー He leaves the classroom

Yui: ( ...Why me? )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the hallway at school

Ayato: Oi, Chichinashi.

Yui: Ayato-kun? And Kanato-kun as well? ...What’s wrong?

Kanato: No, I simply had...somewhat of a weird hunch...

Yui: A weird hunch...?

( Could they be talking about Shin-kun? )

Ayato: You’re gonna show that dude ‘round the place now?

Yui: Yeah, that’s the plan.

Kanato: Do you truly believe you have the right to decide that?

Yui: ( I-I should have figured they’d be upset about that. )

B-But he asked me out of the blue...and the teacher also told us to be nice to him...

Ayato: ...I know that, but still.

Listen up. Be careful of that dude. ...I can’t really put it into words, but he’s givin’ me bad vibes.

Yui: Eh?

Kanato: ...I shall warn you as well. Although I believe it would be best for me to tag along.

For some reason, I feel like I want to keep my distance from him...

Yui: You too, Kanato-kun...?

( I wonder why the two of them are so wary? )

Ayato: Well, we’re ‘round as long as you stay on campus, so it should be fine.

Don’t let your guard down, ‘kay? Understood?

Yui: Y-Yeah.

Kanato: Ah...He has arrived. Well then...

ー Ayato and Kanato leave

Yui: ( ...I wonder what he meant with ‘bad vibes’? )

Shin: Hey, thanks for earlier.

Yui: Yeah. Well then, let me show you around right away...

Shin: I don’t need to see the campus. Instead, why don’t we drop by the rooftop?

Yui: Eh? The roof...? I don’t mind but...Why...?

Shin: ...I figured you might want to witness the lunar eclipse.

Yui: Aah, now that you mention it...

Shin: Also, the inside of this school really reeks (6) for some reason...

Yui: Eh?

Shin: Nothing. Let’s hurry up and go.

Yui: Yeah...

ー The two of them walk away

Shuu: ...

ー The scene shifts to the rooftop

Shin: Aah, the eclipse has begun.

Yui: You’re right...!

( The moon’s colored a bright crimson...slowly becoming chipped, amazing! )

Shin: Is this your first time witnessing one?

Yui: Yeah. It’s a first for me...How beautiful, don’t you think?

Shin: Beautiful, huh?

ー Somebody walks up to them

???: ...Shin.

Shin: Hey, Nii-san.

Yui: Eh?

Shin: Let me introduce him. This is my Nii-san, his name’s...

Carla: I’m Tsukinami Carla.

Yui: N-Nice to meet you...! My name’s Komori Yui.

( I see. Now that you mention it, when the teacher said two transfer students...He must have been talking about Shin-kun and his older brother. )

Carla: ...

Yui: ( ...That being said, he is somewhat of an intimidating individual... )

Shin: Neither of us are used to living here, so we’ll be counting on your help, okay?

Yui: Yeah...If you’re fine with me...

Carla: Shin.

Shin: Yes, Nii-san?

Carla: Take a look.

Shin: Eh?

Yui: ...Ah...!

Shuu: ...

Yui: Shuu-san?

What’s the matter? Are you perhaps here to watch the Lunar Eclipse as we...

Shuu: Haah? Does it look like that to you?

Yui: ...Right.

ー Shuu walks up to Yui

Shuu: ーー Let’s go.

Yui: Eh? M-Me?

Shuu: Yeah. Hurry up.

Yui: B-But...

Carla: I don’t mind. Go if you must.

Shin: Nii-san, are you sure?

Carla: Yes.

Yui: T-Then...See you later. Please tell me if you need anything. Now if you’d excuse me.

ー Yui leaves with Shuu

Shin: Nii-san, do you think we’ll be able to use her?

Carla: No chance.

Shin: Eh? For real? Geez. I was kind to her for nothing then...

If she won’t be of any use to us, why don’t we take her down alongside this school which stinks of Vampires...

Burning everything to the ground...Kukuku. What do you say?

Carla: While it would be impossible in her current state, if we cleanse her, she might just...

Shin: Cleansing, huh? What a drag. For one, I doubt I’ll be able to stand the stench of those Vampires.

But, if we have no other choice, guess it can’t be helped.

Carla: Get everything in order by the end of tonight. Understood?

Shin: Roger. Well, I could probably win against those Vampires while they’re weakened by the lunar eclipse using just one arm.

Carla: Do not let down your guard. That man from just now...He seemed to have caught on somewhat.

Shin: I know.

ー The scene shifts to the hallway

Yui: Wait, Shuu-san!

Shuu: ...Did those guys from earlier tell you anything?

Yui: Eh? No...nothing...

Shuu: I see.

Yui: ...What’s gotten into all of you? I feel as if you’ve been very wary of those two this whole time...

Shuu: You saw it too, right? The lunar eclipse has started.

Because of that, our intuition is off compared to usual. Reiji mentioned it yesterday as well, remember?

We may act or say things out of ordinary...And at the same time, our five senses don’t quite work as well.

Yui: ( Right...That’s why everyone is even more on guard than usual. )

I understand. I’ll be careful.

( I wonder if everything will be okay...While they’re under the eclipse’s effects? )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to inside the limousine

Yui: ( Phew, I’m glad the day passed without anything happening in the end. )

ー Ayato boards the vehicle

Ayato: Hm? It’s just you today?

Yui: Yup. Where’s everyone else?

Ayato: How should I know? Since they’re not here, I guess they’re not going home by car today?

Yui: ...

Ayato: What are you making that face for?

Yui: No. I’m just a little worried, considering the lunar eclipse has begun as well.

Ayato: Keh. I’m the only one you should be concerned about.

Driver: ーー May I start the vehicle?

Ayato: I don’t mind.

ー The car starts driving

Yui: Will everything be okay...?

Ayato: Are you that worried? You piss me off. You’re just a Chichinashi too!

Yui: I mean, you were all acting kind of off today as well...

Ayato: Che. They’re no kids, I’m sure it’ll be fiーー

ー The car suddenly comes to a halt

Yui: Kyaaah...!!

Ayato: Woah...!?

Driver: A-Ayato-sama...!!

Ayato: ...The fuck was that...!?

Driver: W...Wolves are...!!

Ayato: Aah!?

*HOOOOOOOOWL*

Yui: ...!

Ayato: Oi, Chichinashi...! Move closer!

*Rustle*

Yui: Ayato-kun, what on earth is...?

Ayato: I don’t know...

Either way, don’t leave my side...!!

Yui: Y-Yeah...

*HOOOOOOOOOWL*

Yui: ...!

Ayato: Rest assured...Chichinashi, you belong to me. No way in hell I’m handin’ you over to some wolf!

Yui: Ayato-kun...!!

ー One of the wolves breaks through the window

*SHATTER*

Ayato: Che!!

ー Ayato is attacked by the wolf while protecting Yui

Yui: Ayato-kun!!!!

Ayato: Fuck...That hurt! The fuck’s your problem!!? 

ー The wolf continues its assault

Ayato: Guh...Chichinashi, don’t you dare move from underneath me...!!

Yui: B-But...!

Ayato: Shut up...Guah...!!

*RIIIIIIP*

Ayato: ...Guh...Uu...!!

Yui: ( Oh no, at this rate, Ayato-kun will...!! )

???: Tsk...Where did you all come from...!? Fuck off...!

*THUD*

ー Subaru enters the car

Subaru: What are you doin’!?

*THUD*

ー The wolf backs off

Yui: ...Subaru-kun...!

Subaru: Che...Things are this bad even tho Ayato was ‘round? ...Take that!!

*THUD*

Ayato: Che...

Yui: Ayato-kun...! Things will be okay now...! Hang in there!

Subaru: Oi. Which one of you bastards is next, huh!!?

*Whistle*

*HOOOOOOWL*

Subaru: ...!? Makin’ a run for it...!? Wait...!!

Yui: Subaru-kun...! Wait! Please...Don’t go...!!

Subaru: Che...Fuck...

Yui: Ayato-kun is...!

Ayato: Ugh...

Subaru: He’s out cold...Did he protect you?

Yui: Yeah...!

Subaru: Che...He’s got bite wounds all over...Fuck...They were Wolves from the Demon World after all.

Oi, you. Lend me a hand for a sec. Support this shoulder...

Yui: Okay...!

*Rustle*

Subaru: There we go. I’ll handle the rest. Let’s go. We gotta head back home asap.

Yui: ...Is Ayato-kun okay?

Subaru: Dunno. I’m not a doctor. We gotta show him to Reiji first.

ーー Oi, driver! Che...Our Familiar was beaten as well...

*Whistle*

Yui: What are we gonna do?

Subaru: I called over my Familiar for now. We can leave things be here. Let’s go!

Yui: Okay...!

( Why were we suddenly attacked...? )

( Also, those Wolves from earlier...Where did they...? )

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: Ayato-kun, stay strong...!

Reiji: ...His wounds are rather severe. We will have to make a visit to the Demon World to receive help from a clinic.

Kanato: Is it that bad?

Reiji: If he had been a human, this number of wounds would have resulted in an instant death. 

Yui: ...!

Laito: Ayato-kun tried to play the hero all by himself...

Reiji: We were fortunate Subaru rushed to the scene at once, if he had been even a second delayed...

His throat might have been ripped up to shreds.

Subaru: ...The fuck did those wolves want...? Is the Wolf clan trying to declare war on us!?

Shuu: ...How did you feel about the situation? You’re the only one who actually went head to head with them.

Subaru: I don’t know...I just felt like they were kinda different from the Wolves I would often spot ‘round in the Demon World...

Reiji: If I recall correctly, our Father and the King of the Wolf clan have always been been on good terms.

I find it hard to believe that they - who are so loyal to their own leader - would come and assault us.

Subaru: Then what are they!?

Shuu: First Bloods...

Laito: ...Aren’t those guys locked up in a castle at the Demon World?

Shuu: They should be. However, there’s a possibility they have managed to find an opening to leave the castle.

Reiji: Either way, let us return to the Demon World at once, Shuu.

Shuu: Yeah. Let’s go back. We need to report this to the Old Man too.

Laito: Good grief. We have to return to the Demon World during the eclipse again, huh...?

Kanato: ...We have no other choice...

Yui: Uhm, I...

Shuu: You will stay behind here.

Yui: Eh!? But...

Shuu: The Wolves attacked Ayato. Which means you aren’t their target.

Reiji: That sounds like a good idea. Furthermore, the eclipse is ongoing over at the Demon World as well.

We do not know what may happen. You are a human as well.

Yui: ( Good point...If a human such as myself goes to the Demon World, I’ll only end up slowing them down. )

( I’m worried about Ayato-kun and the others but... )

You’ll be able to come back once the lunar eclipse has ended here, right?

Laito: I’d love to, but I’m not sure?

Reiji: Depending on the wolves’ identity, we might have to end up staying at the Demon World for a while.

Yui: But, there’s an eclipse going on over at the Demon World as well, right? Isn’t it dangerous since you don’t know what may happen...?

Subaru: That’s true but the castle’s bein’ protected by our shitty father’s magic, so don’t worry.

Yui: ...

Subaru: Oh come on, don’t look so anxious. I’m hesitant to leave you all by yourself as well...

Shuu: Haah...It’s a pain but we have no other choice. Oi, let’s get going guys.

ー They start walking away

Shuu: I’m leaving the house in your care.

Yui: Yes...

Laito: It saddens me to have to leave your side...But we can’t leave Ayato-kun like this either.

Kanato: I’ll let you have my pudding, so please wait here like you’ve been told to, okay?

Reiji: Well then...Subaru, please carry Ayato.

Subaru: Haah!? Me again!? Don’t be shittin’ me!!

Yui: ( You guys... )

( Please don’t let anything happen... )

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: Haah...

( Everyone left for the Demon World so I’m all by myself...Somehow the manor feels even more spacious than usual... )

*Rumble*

Yui: ...!!

( I’m a little lonely. Actually, now that I think of it, since I’m alone here now... )

( I could just run away, right? It’s not like anyone’s keeping an eye on me... )

( But...It’s not like I have anywhere to go still...Besides, is there still even a point in running still...? )

I wonder since when I’ve gotten this used to my life here...? 

( At first, I was so terribly scared. It still hurts to have my blood sucked even now...But. )

( Through getting to know everyone, it’s only still a little but...I... )

*HOOOOOWL*

Yui: !!!

( Oh no, the wolves again...? They didn’t target me last time though... )

( Don’t tell me, they think everyone’s still here...? )

...Uu...

ー The scene shifts to the underground waterway

Yui: Haah...haah...!

( In this case, I should try going to the Demon World, even if I end up being a burden. )

( Who knows what will happen to me if I remain here... )

( I’m sure...He will for sure save me... )

[ Choose Shuu ] [ Choose Reiji ] [ Choose Ayato ]

[ Choose Kanato ] [ Choose Laito ] [ Choose Subaru ]

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) He literally just says ‘my secrets’ and pauses between each syllable of secret (ひ・め・ご・と). However, in English ‘se・crets’ doesn’t have the same effect since it’s only 2 syllables, so I changed it a little. He already mentions ‘secret’ in the previous sentence, so it doesn’t change much about the meaning of this interaction.

(2) やーなこった or ‘yaanakotta’ is a very childish and playful way to say ‘no’ or ‘don’t want to’ in Japanese. 

(3) Literally Laito asks if that is the answer they get after he puts on airs while proudly proclaiming his words. Laito often makes these low key sarcastic or snarky comments at Ayato, so I wanted the English translation to have that same feel to it. 

(4) The term 肉食 or ‘nikushoku’ may mean ‘carnivore’, in recent youth culture, it is also used as a synonym for man or woman who are very assertive when it comes to relationship and sex. Meanwhile 草食 or ‘soushoku’ is used for the exact opposite, referring to those who are hesitant to interact with the opposite sex. I don’t know if Rejet intended for it to have this hidden meaning, but I found it an interesting theory nevertheless!

(5) When Laito says ‘見ちゃった’ or ‘micchatta’ here, it can be taken two ways. Either he refers to him walking in on Ayato trying to suck Bitch-chan’s blood, or he actually finished Yui’s sentence, referring that she saw a wolf at school. 

(6) While におう or ‘niou’ could mean ‘to smell’ in general, when it is written as 臭う, it refers to a bad smell. 

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #shuu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #laito sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #dark fate #diabolik lovers translation #dfsakamakiprologue

[blinder-secrets]

Count For Me

tommy x anxious reader, 2164 words

a/n: i’m not gonna say the reader is having a panic attack specifically, more that they’re experiencing a lot of anxiety, so take that with a pinch of salt pls. i’m not suggesting this is how all anxiety feels or that it can be alleviated like this every time, im just basing it on my own experiences so enjoy!

You’re sat in the kitchen, or rather, the stairwell to the kitchens. You had every intention of making it there, of sitting at the large oak table in the fore-room, and having tea. Bread. Of letting Frances relax and serving yourself. But, instead, you’re on the last step down, legs bouncing on the balls of your feet.

It can only be described as fretting, incessant worry; your mind is agonising over things already done, over what’s to come next. It isn’t guns, or business, or family arguments that’s got you. It’s something invisible. Unknown, but biting away regardless. It’s sitting on the step and thinking about everything, and nothing — it’s losing yourself entirely, feeling the hand tighten around your throat, the dread, the weight of it in your chest. You sit and you feel afraid. After all you’ve seen in the world, all you’ve been through with Tommy. It’s your own head that works itself against you now, your own commentary that rots your mind in the quiet moments. Fuck. If you said it aloud they’d laugh you out the room. If you told Pol she’d say you were sick, that you needed air and spirits, and none of this Shelby wreckage to pull you down.

‘In the kitchen, Sir.’

Oh, Christ, Tommy’s home. You hear him, direct and toward where you're hiding. From his footsteps, it seems like he’s coming from the opposite wing, so he’ll make it into the kitchen before you ever did.

He calls your name through the hallway. It bounces off the cool tiles.

‘I’m here, Tommy,’ you say back in a false tone; you dread him finding you more than the rest of it.  

You’ve got maybe a minute to collect yourself, but from the way your feet are sinking through the stone of the floor beneath you, that’s not going to happen. He arrives in the kitchen, says your name again. He can’t see you from where he is.

‘On the stairs,’ you tell him.

Once he’s in front of you, your energy spikes. It’s easier to ignore the feeling when you’re with him. He tucks it away for you, somewhat, just a bit. ‘What is it?’ he asks, shaking his head slightly, his lips parted. A cigarette leaks smoke from between his fingers. He’s taken his coat off, but the jacket’s still there. Still dressed like he could leave again at any moment.

‘Nothing.’ You smile. ‘Are you back now?’

‘For now,’ he answers. He steps forward, places the back of his hand against your forehead. ‘Are you sick?’

‘No. Just wanted to sit somewhere.’

He doesn’t believe you, he knows you too well. You still your knees but they’re bouncing again before you can offer an explanation.

‘Tell me,’ he insists, clueless.

Where do you start? What could you possibly say that would make sense. I was going to make lunch, Tommy, but then I sat down here and I couldn’t get up again. ‘Nothing,’ you repeat, pausing to force a swallow. ‘I don’t know, really.’

He takes a drag. On the exhale, he offers the smoke to you, silent but willing to help. You shake your head; it’s not your habit, it doesn’t calm you like it does with him.

‘Has something happened?’ he asks. He’s patient, waiting for you to give him a way in, prepared to go slow when you need it.

‘No, nothing’s happened.’ Nothing you knew of. You were doing fine, going about the day like normal, and then suddenly you weren’t. It had already swamped you before you realised it was coming. ‘It’s just my head,’ you say, forcing the words over a breath that hadn’t quite made it. ‘I think it’s out to get me, Tom.’

He sighs. His lips pour smoke onto the tiles as he looks down. Another stress for him: you sat on his shoulders like the rest of it did, weighed him down without meaning to. You feel yourself rock forward, your head pulling into your chest, like there’s string attached from your chin to your heart and now it’s constricting. ‘Sorry,’ you pant, though you may have said it in your head. It could’ve been a thought amongst the sea and you wouldn’t have known. Sorry for the stress, Tommy, sorry for it all.

‘Hey,’ he says, repeating it firmly after a pause. ‘Hey. Look at me.’ His hand goes to your face, fingers leading your chin upwards until your gaze is on him. ‘Whatever it is, it’s just noise, alright? Just shit in the trough.’

Your lids drop a fraction. ‘Tommy…’

‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘You’re here, with me, right, in the kitchen. Don’t let it pull you under.’

You don’t want to. You’re scanning him, looking for something to ground you, the gold of his cufflink, the button of his waistcoat. Nothing sticks. You’re trying to focus but it’s splitting your attention again. Filling your head with the noise, the pull, the drag. ‘I think I’m going mad,’ you say. Your head’s so tight you can’t make sense of it.

His brows draw together. You focus on the crease in the skin between them. ‘What is it?’ he asks. ‘Eh? What’s worrying you so much?’

‘I don’t know,’ you answer honestly. It sounds like a plea but it’s all you can give him.  

You feel like a horse on the track; everything’s past you, behind you, loud in the stands and betting against you. There’s a worry to your left but it’s overtaken by the one on your right. So much at once, too often and too fast to know which is the biggest problem, which is the one causing the damage. If you could pluck something out, you would. If you could tell him, it’d be the first thing you did. There isn’t an answer to his question that doesn’t just make it worse — the more you try to put a name to it, or explain, the harder it gets to breathe. You can feel your heartbeat in your wrists.

Swearing, you drop your head again like it’s a lead weight, letting his fingertips drag up your cheek with the motion. ‘I can’t tell,’ you say weakly. ‘Feels like I’m drowning.’ 

The ring you’re wearing sits loose on your index finger; you spin it around the knuckle nervously, forcing a shallow breath each time the ruby completes a loop. If you look at him again you might cry. He didn’t ask for this, he didn’t know what to do with you anymore than you knew yourself.

Clearing his throat once, Tommy puts the cigarette between his lips and bends to grab you with both hands. He takes you by the elbows, thumbs tight on your arms, and pulls you to your feet before you have room to complain. You try to avoid his gaze, but his head ducks and chases your eyes until you give in.

‘Listen,’ he starts. He takes the cigarette out, blows the smoke away before he talks. ‘I won’t let you, alright? No-one’s drowning here.’ He looks certain, dedicated, his eyes dig through yours and back into the noise. ‘There’s nothing going on in there that we can’t sort. Okay?’

You want to believe him, so you nod. The next breath you take swells your chest into his.

‘Come here,’ he says briskly, pulling you after him as he walks you deeper into the kitchen. ‘When we were in France—stand there.’ You’re put by the table. He goes to the nearest drawer, pilfering through the silverware as he continues, ‘When we were in France, they told us we had to count.’

‘Count?’

‘To still our hands.’ He turns, pushing the drawer shut with his hip, and files through the forks he’s now holding. ‘Bullets, cards. Saw John counting his teeth once.’

You blink like it’ll help you listen. Everything he’s saying is going in, but bouncing back again. It rattles in your ear canal like coins down a well.

‘Here,’ he says, offering them to you. ‘Count them.’

You hesitate. Then he grabs your wrist, sets your palm straight, and pours the cutlery into it.

‘Go on.’

Mumbling an agreement, you turn to the table and put the first fork onto the wood. One. Two. You hope he doesn’t notice the slight shake along your fingers, the clumsiness as you pass forks from one hand to the other.

‘Do it out loud,’ he guides, as he stands beside you. He exhales, dragging it out and pushing the smoke over your shoulder; you’d forgotten he even had one lit.

‘Three,’ you say. ‘Four.’  

All those cigarettes. Lips barely his unless there’s one between them. They’ll get him one day, you think. The cough will get worse and then it’ll be you, on your own in this big house, you looking after Charlie, you with the ache and the grief and the silence.

‘Stop thinking,’ he chides. ‘Count.’

‘Five, six, seven.’ You sigh. The forks clatter on top of one another. ‘Eight, nine. This is stupid, Tommy. Ten.’ You turn to him, expectant of something else, something more helpful.

He just raises his eyebrows, gesturing for you to pick them up again. ‘Now do it over.’

‘Again?’

He nods. The cigarette is extinguished, flicked to the floor and crushed between his sole and the tile. ‘You do it again, and again,’ he lists, ‘until it feels like you can breathe.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

It takes four rounds of it before your chest loosens; four tens, over and over, forks placed down and picked up again as you count. He stands in silence the whole time, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the table. How he doesn’t tire of it, you don’t know. He clears his throat occasionally but doesn’t say anything until you break the rhythm.

‘I think it’s worked,’ you mumble, taking care as you set the last fork down. ‘I feel better.’

It’s not all gone, but you feel calmer. Stiller. Your hands aren’t as jittery and the room feels big again, cold and empty and utilitarian.

He sighs, heavily, thankfully. The noise loud and partnered with a rough tone. ‘Alright,’ he says. He clicks into motion, pulling his hands free and turning to you so that he can bracket them around your face. His fingers are rough, warm, grounding. The rings stamp your cheeks, cold like ice. ‘What did I say, eh? Nothing we couldn’t sort.’

You smile limply and put a hand to his wrist. ‘Thank-you, Tommy.’

You hadn’t expected him to break through it, to make you pause. Breathe. It’s usually the other way around, you calming him. You sifting through the muck. It had never crossed your mind that it would work in reverse.

‘Next time,’ he says quietly, ‘you tell me.’ His chin dips a fraction, blue eyes laced with intent. ‘You tell me as soon as it get’s too much, alright?’

‘Okay,’ you promise, nodding between his palms. ‘Sorry.’

His lip tweaks slightly. ‘What have you got to be sorry for?’ he asks. Then he tilts up to kiss your forehead and, pulling back, utters ‘my silly girl’ under his breath.

You can’t smile. The question almost loses you again. You have plenty to be sorry for, you think, handfuls of apologies shoved into each corner of your brain. ‘Let’s do something,’ you say quickly, chasing the scatter away. ‘Distract me, please.’

He kisses you, lips firm and sure against yours in an agreement, a promise. ‘I have something to show you,’ he says afterwards. His grip on your face drops and he takes a hand instead, fingers curling around your palm. ‘The new horse is here.’

‘It is?’ You cling to him, put your free hand around his bicep and pull tight to his side like the closeness will help. He looks at you like he understands. ‘Well, show me then,’ you push, almost able to smile into it. ‘She was pretty from what I remember.’

‘Very pretty,’ he agrees. ‘Come on.’

You follow him through the house and across the drive. He doesn’t stop talking the whole way, which is unlike him, but he knows any silence will just cause you to slip again, to overthink until you’re tumbling. You answer his questions, dumb as they are, like he doesn’t already know the answers. You tell him what you had for breakfast, what you read in the paper. He asks, and he drawls, and he comments on the bloom of the roses as you pass them. He keeps going and going, until you’re so wrapped up in him, and the house, and the world outside, that everything else falls quiet. Peaceful. He fills your head with his own voice and you thank him for it. You thank him, and you hold on like it’s the only thing keeping you above the water.

‘You alright?’ he asks, checking once you’ve reached the stables.

‘Yes, Tom.’ You smile, meaning it. ‘I’m with you, remember?’

#tommy x reader #tommy shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #this was only short and feels HORRRRRRRRFICALLYYYY exposing in terms of my experience with my horrible brain so #enjoy but avert your eyes and forget i exist thankyou! #mostly sharing because i know we all want to imagine tommy shelby looking after us :( <3

[bau-baby]

i’m here.

word count: 996

warnings: reader gets shot, grief

A/N: So Tumblr decided to act up and posted this too early at first, which in turn got rid of the ask. But, it asked for a Hotch x Reader where the reader gets shot and it’s all cute and sentimental. Enjoy!

Nothing the team told you about being shot would prepare you for when it actually happened.

You weren’t thinking and you just wanted to bring the unsub in alive. So, you not only went into the location unarmed and without backup, but no Kevlar on either. You could hear Aaron’s voice barking through your comm system for you to stand down and wait. 

You, in your haze of wanting to save the victims, didn’t listen, much to everyone’s dismay.

It all happened so fast. You were trying to talk the unsub down when the sound of a gunshot pierced the air. Your left side suddenly felt like a burning fire, and you touch the origin of the feeling. Blood then coats your hand and your falling. 

You land hard on your back just as your team and SWAT barrel through the door, immediately seeing the aftermath of your stupidity. Aaron’s by your side and you try to tell him to go after the unsub but to no avail. You can’t seem to speak, the fire surging through your body. 

“Medic! Where’s the medic? Federal agent down!” The words fly out through Aaron’s comm system, desperation knitting his brows. Your eyelids start to feel heavy, and you start to close them.

“No. No. Stay with me, dammit. Can’t lose you,” Aaron taps the side of your face, forcing you to keep your eyes open. You just can’t though, and your exhaustion catches you, eyes finally closing.

There is so much you don’t see. You don’t see Aaron bawling over what he believes to be your almost dead body. You don’t see Derek losing it as he thinks another one of his friends is going to die on the table. You don’t see Spencer wringing his hands, or JJ staring off in the distance. You don’t see Emily picking her nails as she paces.

You don’t see Aaron cry as he holds your limp hand in the ambulance. You don’t feel him kiss your knuckles, or pat your leg. You don’t see the distraught faces of your team as they sit in the waiting room, willing you to make it out alive.

After a few agonizing hours and minimal updates from staff, a doctor finally comes out and calls your name. Your entire team surrounds the doctor.

“She lost a lot of blood, and she was touch and go for a while, but we stabilized her. She’s asking for you all.” A collective sigh of relief is emitted from the group, and they follow the doctor to your room. 

You gain a small smile as all your friends, your family, get piled into your hospital room. Your still a little drowsy, but your just glad to be alive.

“You really scared us back there, kid,” Derek says. He tries to be lighthearted, but there’s a certain heaviness to his words. 

“You guys really thought you could get rid of me that easily? Not a chance,” You try to have your tone remain light, but the varying looks of worry remain on everyone’s faces.

After a while, everyone begins to file out, allowing you to rest. All except for Aaron. He is cemented to the chair next to you, a vice grip to your hand. You wait him out, knowing there’s something going on in his head.

“I thought I lost you,” You almost didn’t hear it, the cacophony of beeps from the many machines sounding over Aaron’s faint tone.

“Oh, Aaron, I’m right here-” You squeeze his hand, “-and I’m not going anywhere,” You promise him, feeling out of place with his vulnerability.

“I was on the phone with Jack while you were in surgery. He kept asking me when I was coming home and if you were coming to visit,” His laugh is doused in sadness. Your heart pulls, and you rub your thumb back and forth over Aaron’s hand.

“God, I love that kid. Such a sweetheart,” You say, a smile showing years of memories.

“Trust me, he loves you too, sometimes I think he likes you more than he likes me,” He says, a similar smile copied onto his face.

“Oh, don’t start talking like that, Hotchner. That boy adores you. You’re his hero. He talks about you like you’re his own, personal real-life superhero. Don’t sell yourself short,” You see one tear fall down his cheek, and you use the hand Aaron had ahold of to tenderly wipe it away.

“I almost let you get killed-”

“Aaron, I made my own decision. I was stupid and careless, but this time, this time wasn’t your fault. I’m alive, and I’m here,” You try to talk him out of his corner of blame and doubt.

He backs down, allowing your answer to finally sink in. He grabs your hand again, still needing tangible proof that you’re here, you’re here and breathing. He kisses the back of your hand, holding it to his cheek. He allows his eyes to close, a wash of relief coming over him.

You watch the display, and you soften at the sight. “I love you,” Your eyes widen at your own admission, wondering if maybe he didn’t hear it and maybe you’re off the hook. 

You know you’re out of luck when his eyes open, his hold on the hand he has against your cheek loosening. You think you’ve thoroughly screwed up at that point, ready for the impending rejection.

“Took you long enough,”

Hold on.

What?!

You sputter, confusion taking over every part of your face. What’s he even talking about?

“I love you too,” That stops every thought in your head, and you look at him again, your expression softening. 

Aaron slowly leans in, as do you. You share a kiss full of compassion and need. You want to commit this feeling to memory, the way it spreads through your body like a searing fire.

Nothing like a near-death experience as a catalyst into something you only dreamed of happening.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x reader fluff #this was so cute #thank you anon

[dreamties]

Slashers W/ a Punk S/O

T/W- q*eer is used a few times- in a positive, self affirming kind of way. But I can add other trigger warnings if needed. :)

A/n- Literally no one asked for this, but I wanted to make more HCs like the soft pastel one...so I just went wild and made them. 

I included a little bit of punk culture into this as well, because it’s not just about the fashion, but since there’s such a vast variety within punk culture I mostly stuck with my experiences in the community, and some bits and pieces from documentaries(mostly live footage from “The Decline of Western Civilization”).

Characters: Billy/Stu, The Lost Boys, Norman Bates, Michael Myers

Will make one(s) for Brahms, Amanda, Helen or Daniel if asked

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

so early 90s, the Riot Grrrl movement emerges

bands like Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, Heavens to Betsy or Sleater-Kinney

it’s a very female-powered oriented movement, but I notice that a lot of minorities tend to be drawn to this music and community (LGBT folks, people of color, etc).

both boys, and yourself, being outside of the norm and all (polyamorous relationship, gay/bi) are sort of drawn to it!

and sure there’s a lot of really great queercore/homocore bands, and there’s probably a good LGBT+ punk scene out there somewhere, but in a little town like Woodsboro? Hell no. Sticking with this fem punk movement, while again mostly a space for women in music- it’s the most accepted the three of you have felt outside of you’re relationship. 

you’ve always been pretty into the music, stuff like Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, or the short-lived Germs- but it wasn’t until you stumbled upon Riot Grrrl that you really got into it. 

the music, making zines about local-ish political issues(probably not so much Woodsboro stuff, more Cali in general and neighboring towns) and a few ones with queer themes and hand-drawn illustrations of your partners, and DIYing all your clothes

since you’re so experienced with DIYing your clothes and sewing on patches, you’ve helped repair the Ghostface costumes on numerous occasions. they kind of adore this(Stu is the only one that will- and does, frequently- admit that)

Let’s face it, the three of you do everything together- but you especially enjoy when Stu tags along for thrift dates. 

he’s the more fashionable one, and he makes the whole experience more enjoyable- cracking jokes and just being his all-around goofy self.

Woodsboro is a very little town, so they don’t have much...but they do have a few small stores- usually you’ll make a whole day/date out of it though. driving to the next town or so over, since they have more stores and a better selection, and spending hours looking for cheap, old t-shirts, belts, clothes with funky patterns. heading out for pizza after.

Billy’s more likely to get into the music and everything with you(he’s kinda,, angsty, no offense to him)- will definitely go to shows with you.

just- imagine Billy in ripped jeans. and he’d have like one or two patches sewn on to it- one of them is your all time favorite band, and the other is a band that he found on his own time, and actually really enjoyed.

Stu is dragged along with you guys, you can’t just leave him at home- he’s gonna feel left out and sad. :(

He’s mostly there to keep y’all company- he really likes the energy of the shows though!

the two of them are such a chaotic duo though, so much so that you have definitely been kicked out or banned from a few venues. all for varying reasons. good grief these men can not be tamed.

The Lost Boys

as we all know, these vampires are total punks. so they’re gonna appreciate having a s/o who’s also into that whole scene.

How you meet:

you’re a baby punk, and it’s your first show ever, and you look so nervous. you’re dressed up in pretty plain clothes, a single homemade patch for your favorite band barely hanging to your jacket side(you were mid-way sewing it, when you realized you were gonna be late if you didn’t leave asap).

it’s a few local bands, ones you’d never really heard of really. you look anxious. but when they start playing? you look so unapologetically yourself, you’re so in the moment dancing- it’s completely mesmerizing to the boys. the music isn’t even that good, but you seem to be having the time of your life.

they greet you after the show, and you’re a tiny bit flustered- cause gosh, heck, they saw you. dancing. so embarrassing. 

David is the one that introduces himself and the group, and initiates conversation. Dwayne’s a pretty quiet guy, so he just listens to what you have to say. 

Marko’s pretty excited about you, and initiates in some small conversation, he may have complimented your little patch(Marko- patch jacket KING, complimenting your jacket?? more likely than you’d think) 

and oh, oh- Paul is out there being a total chatty-cathy, and is absolutely bombarding you with questions. like, okay, Paul is pretty talkative, but the other vamps are a little worried that he’s scared you off. and you had seemed so cool :(

you end up pretty engaged in your convo with Paul though, even if all the attention is overwhelming. He ends up snagging a date for the five of you the following week.

once you start hanging out/dating:

y’all just hit it off so well those first few days. they all love how sweet & shy you are- but also how much of a badass punk babe you are.

Marko helps make your patch jacket(collecting ones for bands you enjoy, how to make your own, sewing them on, etc). you probably could have done it w/out his help, but my gosh- you weren’t going to pass up this opportunity. Marko gets really soft around you sometimes, since he doesn’t really do this activity with anyone else, it’s saved for you. 🥺🥺

Dwayne likes listening to you talking about the local scene(outside of the shows you go to- mostly about stuff he can’t attend, protests and meetings during the daylight.)

all of them(especially David) are very protective of you. I mean, generally. but also when you go to shows. they let you do whatever the heck you’re gonna do, but the mere second that someone even thinks about starting shit w/ you?? well, y’know. those vampire instincts kick in.

the four of them obviously share a lot of similar tastes in music- but they all have different favorite bands, & fave parts of the community. which, they can’t even fully participate in,, but it’s okay.

they, individually, introduce their favorite bands to you. and they get it in their head that oh, they said they liked it. they must like it as much as I do. and awkwardly coming out to the four of them, as they argue about your favorite band, “Well, actually- this *insert band they’ve never heard of or barely listen to* is my favorite.” and their just kinda like, oh, okay. please tell us more about them. 

so it’s sorta like,, you’ve been learning all this cool knowledge from them, now you get to share cool knowledge with them.

idk. I think it’s cute. 💕

Norman Bates

so first off- let’s just pretend Psycho was in at least the 70s/80s for a moment. because realistically- the punk subculture didn’t really exist back then.

baby boy is absolutely fascinated by the way you dress (mother is less thrilled though)

imagine your jacket is getting a bit weathered, and needs some repairs- so he helps you to sew edges closed, and make sure the patches aren’t on too loose, etc

he enjoys hearing your stories of all the past shows you’ve gone to. you always get so excited about them, and he finds that so endearing. But he pretty much leaves the actual punk scene to you because of these stories.

he was already worried from the stories, and made sure you were well prepared for any trouble every time you left for a show.

but one time, you were able to get him to join you. never again though. he was so nervous!

the music was too loud! and he could hardly understand what they were saying- it was so confusing!

you stayed with him most of the night, standing near the back, holding his hand. he’d gently bob his head to the music occasionally. 

but you accidentally found yourself swept into the crowd, but you looked so blissed-out in the moment, that he figured it would be okay for you to dance* over there for a little bit...right?  

*Norman is still unsure if you’d even call that dancing.

Thankfully, nothing bad happened in the mosh pit.

you gotta give him lots of attention and reassurance afterwards though- you almost scared Norman half to death D:

He’s happy enough helping you out and listening to you though- and that’s okay for you, too. you still love each other lots, even if this particular interest doesn’t overlap.

Michael Myers

he thinks you’re outfits are pretty interesting. 

he’s a little worried at first, when you start experimenting with putting things like safety pins in your ears. cause like- that’s not supposed to be in your ear, Y/n, what the fuck

if you make zines at all, Michael really enjoys watching you make the illustrations for them(not that he’ll admit to it though), and helps to find newspaper and magazine clippings to incorporate into the spreads.

you always show michael the final booklet before distributing it

he doesn’t talk a lot, so he doesn’t ask questions- but he often does the little head tilt once you give it to him. since he’s not very privy to current events, and a lot of your zines are political, you spend a lot of time explaining them in depth.

he has no use for any of this knowledge, but he listens on, intently.

Important note:

dear god do not bring this man to concerts and local shows with you.

it is a nightmare, to say the least

Michael is sort of,, emotionless sometimes, doesn’t really care for people at all, and if he does? definitely not in the same way most people do. 

so imagine combining that part of michael, the fact that he’s also a giant stabby man, with super loud, energetic- almost aggressive- sounding music and a bunch of strangers that aren’t respecting any personal boundaries. 

you need to keep him at the back of the venue- lest your local scene may go missing.

#billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy x reader x stu #slasher x s/o #slasher imagines #slasher x reader #the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #michael myers x reader #scream #poly!ghostface x reader #halloween 1978 #halloween #psycho #norman bates x reader #the lost boys david #the lost boys david x reader #the lost boys dwayne x reader #the lost boys paul x reader #the lost boys marko x reader #marko x reader #david x reader #dwayne x reader #paul x reader #slasher movies #slashers #slasher #slasher headcanons #headcanons

[jawritter]

Pieces Of Me

Summary: It can be so hard to let go, no matter how much you think you’ve prepared yourself. 

Warnings: **SPOILERS**  Season 15 episode 20, Carry On spoilers. Read with caution! Angst, Character Death, language, heartache, panic attack, fluff, Jensen is a sweetheart. I think that’s about it.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1908

Request by: @msmarvelouswinchester! I hope you like it love!!

A/N:  This fic is completely unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine. It’s personal, and it was hard to write. There are alot of emotions in there, but I tried to be a switzerland as I could manage, because I’m still feeling it too guys! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this one! 

**MASTERLIST**   **BECOME A PATREON**

“Ready sweetheart?” Jensen asked you not even an hour before as he sat down next to you on the sectional that was spread out in the living room, pulling the blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over the pair of you as you settled into his side, letting the scent of his body wash and the warmth of his body comfort your nervous, restless heart as only he could.

“As I’ll ever be,” you responded, tucking yourself deeper into his into the warm little cocoon the two of you had created for yourselves. 

Jensen flipped the TV to the CW and grabbed his beer from next to the couch where the two of you were sitting. 

This was it, the final episode of Supernatural. “For now,” as Jensen has been saying. You knew he was having just as much trouble letting go of Dean as you were. Dean had been such a large piece of Jensen’s life for the past fifteen years, and being a part of anything for that long, no matter what it was, was going to be really hard to let go. 

In fact, the two of you had already decided to continue writing Dean’s story in hopes of a revival sooner rather than later.

He’d called you the night he wrapped for the last time crying like he’d lost his best friend. That was a part of him the world didn’t get to see. The part of him that seemed to be grieving the loss of his “best imaginary friend.” It scared you, but you wouldn’t let him spoil the final episode for you.

You’d been watching Supernatural for years, and even though you were in a relationship with Jensen, it didn’t take away from your love for Dean. In fact, you enjoyed seeing the little glimpse of Jensen here and there in Dean. The little traits that Dean had “picked up from Jensen”. He’d put so much of himself into the role that sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart. He brought Dean alive in more ways than on the screen. He made him real, relatable, a person that everyone fell in love hard with. Including you. Jensen had said so many times that “Dean is a piece of me,” and anyone who knew Jensen personally could see that without a struggle.

Dean was your best imaginary friend too. Whether Jensen realized it or not, Dean had gotten you through some pretty hard stuff in your life long before you had even met Jensen. He was woven into the fabric of your past and present. He was a part of you, just like he was Jensen and so many other people. 

You had been crying for days in secret, knowing that tonight would bring the end. You didn’t want to let it on to Jensen just how hard of a time you were having accepting this ending of an error. So you kept it hid, and prepared yourself, promising yourself that you wouldn’t cry tonight no matter what. 

Boy were you wrong. 

At first, you weren’t sure what was happening was real. At first, you were confused. Just as much as Sam was even. Then you figured it out, and man, that’s when the waterworks started. Still, you held out hope that at the last minute someone was going to step in just in time and save Dean...but then no one did. It crushed you. 

The pressure started to build in your chest, and the tears started to flow down your face like floodgates had been opened. You couldn’t accept it. No, Dean deserved more than this. After all he’d lived through, after everything he’d been put through, all the trauma, all the heartache, all the sacrifice, and they killed him like this? It didn’t seem right, it didn’t seem fair, but most of all it was devastating. 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to scream, but couldn’t, you had no real expression for the utter agony that was ripping its way through your very soul. 

Jensen quickly paused the TV and got down on his knees in front of you to cradle your face in his hands.

“Sweetheart, hey, hey look at me, baby. It’s okay, I’m here. Breath with me baby girl,” he said, taking a deep breath which you tried to mimic with so much difficulty that it physically hurt. 

“That’s it, baby, just breathe me,” he cooed in an attempt to calm you. 

Your head was racing with thoughts that seemed to only make you feel like you were spirling worse, and you were having trouble getting the image of Dean impaled to a pole in a dirty barn out of your mind even though Jensen was physically kneeling in front of you doing all he could to help you calm down. 

After a while, you got your breathing under control, but the tears seemed like they were never going to stop. Jensen got up off the floor once he was certain you weren’t going to pass out on him, and pulled you into his lap on the couch, rocking the two of you slightly as he wrapped the blanket back around you, kissing your forehead and holding you tightly to him while you tried to process what you had just witnessed. 

“Talk to me baby,” Jensen said, brushing the hair away from your face with his free hand, nuzzling into your hair to get as close as possible as he could to you. 

“Why?” was all you could seem to get out through the still free-falling tears. 

Jensen swallowed the lump that had seemed to feel as if it were closing off his own throat and placed a chased kiss to your forehead again as he tried to come up with an answer that he really didn't have. He’d had his own struggles with the ending, and this, seeing your reaction, only made his own feelings that much more prominent in that moment.

“Baby I wish I had the answer to that, but I don’t,” he said, his own thoughts were still a mess on this subject, and if truth be told, he didn’t want to let go of Dean either. 

“It’s not fair,” you tell him through choked sobs that are still wracking your grief riddled body.

“I know sweetheart, but what death in life has ever been fair? Dean died doing what he loved to do, he was saving people. He died saving those kids, and he gave his baby brother one last chance to have a real-life away from the horrors they had grown up in. He died doing what he loved. He still died a hero.”

You sat there for a moment as Jensen’s words sunk in, but you just couldn’t let it go, you couldn’t digest it. 

“Jay, they killed him by impaling him on a pole! He deserved so much better than that! Why couldn’t he get the chance at a normal life? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending? It’s not fair that Sam got a chance to experience a family, it’s not fair that Dean had to die that way. I can’t accept it. I can’t.”

Jensen placed two fingers under your chin and guided your gaze up to his, searching your gaze for a moment as you searched his before wiping away the tears that had stained your cheeks. 

“Dean’s still right here, he’s a piece of me, sweetheart, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon,” he said, dropping his voice at least a whole octave to Dean’s deep gravel for a moment, and a chill ran through your system at the sudden change in him. Jensen never ceased to amaze you when it came to his ability to do that. Just turn it on in an instance, and lose himself totally to the character he was playing at that moment. 

He brought his lips to yours in a deep and slow kiss that took your breath away before looking back at you with your Jensen firmly back in the center of the conversation, resting his forehead against yours and holding you close to him as physically possible as if he were trying to hold you together. 

“Nothing in Supernatural ever really stays gone, and Dean’s right here sweetheart,” taking your hand in his he placed it to his chest where you could feel his heartbeat just below the surface of his thin shirt. 

“He’s grown with me for fifteen years. He was my best friend, he was the guy I’d hide behind and talk to when I couldn’t find the words to face whatever it was myself. He was there on the nights I spent alone in Vancouver filming, and I didn’t have anyone to come home to. He listens and knows some of my deepest, darkest parts of me, and more importantly, if it weren’t for him I’d never have met you.”

Jensen’s hands brushed past your cheek and into your hair as if he were grounding himself against his own emotions, kissing you quickly again before he could continue. 

“Death is a part of life, and Dean died on his terms. He died saving people, hunting things, and he died just as much of a hero as he would have if he would have gone down in the biggest blaze of glory money could buy. He was happy, he was at peace, and most importantly he can rest now. The load is gone, and he can have the peace he’s deserved for so long. It’s not how we die baby, it’s how we live that matters, and Dean lived and died by his terms, not chucks, not the writers, not anyone else, and if you ever miss him just remember he’s right here.”

You took a shaky breath and buried your head in Jensen’s shoulder, breathing in his scent and his comfort that only he could ever give you as the two of you sat wrapped in each other's embrace. 

“I’m so proud of you Jensen. I’m so fucking proud of what you’ve created through Supernatural and through Dean. I know it will get easier, but right now it’s a hard pill to swallow for me. I can only imagine what it was like for you to have to do that after fifteen years of playing this character. I see so much of you in Dean. He’s such a big piece of you.”

Jensen brushed his lips over your own again before grabbing the remote and turning off the TV before standing with you in his arms as if you weighed nothing at all, and carried you towards your shared bedroom to lay you down in his arms. 

Sure, Dean was a piece of him that was larger than he even realized until he had to let him go, but you were a big part of his heart too, and tonight he knew your heart was heavy with the loss that he’d been dealing with for months alone, not able to tell anyone or warn anyone of its outcome. So tonight you’d both grieve the loss of your best imaginary friend, and tomorrow you would pick up the pen and continue writing Dean’s story, because as long as you kept it going Dean would never truly be gone, so that’s what you do. He still had work to do, after all, the world would always need Dean Winchester.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @chevyharvelle @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6​ @anaelsbrunette​ @hayleeharling​   @flamencodiva​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @bxbyizzy @dirty-pan-goblin​ @itmejado​ @supernatural3002​ @teresa-67​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @hearteyes-j2​ @miss-nerd95​ @writers-whirlwind​

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles one shot #jensen ackles comfort fic #dean winchester #jensen x reader #jensen x you #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn one shot #spn comfort fic #x reader inserts #jawritter #pieces of me

[tarysande]

Hey, I see you reblogging adhd stuff every now and when. I hope you're ok with me asking, how long have you known you have adhd? I am currently wondering if I have it and am sups unsure what to do about it.

I’m always okay with people asking about things I post!

Of course, because of the ADHD, I’m not always great at answering ;)

I’m especially willing to talk about ADHD because I know my journey to getting a diagnosis doesn’t follow the stereotypical path, and I’d be thrilled if my experience ends up helping other people out there.

My family doctor was the first person to ever mention ADHD to me. I was 36 at the time. Maybe 37. I’m 40 (wtf) now, turning 41 in a month (haha, wtf). I’ve had depression most of my life. At the time, I was deeply frustrated because my depression was well-managed, but I still couldn’t focus to save my life. When my doctor asked if I might have ADHD, I laughed and said, “With my grades*? Yeah, no.” *I was a straight-A student from elementary school through to the end of my BFA. HOWEVER, at uni I had a handful of ‘lower’ grades: a B-, a B, a B+ in classes I found A G O N I Z I N G L Y boring. I was also never a disruption in class—mostly because I entertained myself by writing novels and reading under my desk and listening to music by keeping my earphones under my long hair. The key was to answer a question in class right away, thereby diverting the teacher’s attention and leaving me to my own devices for the rest of the time.

The focus issues continued unabated. Months later, a good friend of mine who was also diagnosed with ADHD as an adult brought it up again, and this time I did a lot more research. And ... yeah, puzzle pieces started clicking together. A lot of them. 

I brought it up with my doctor, and she sent me to the one (1) psychiatrist in Vancouver who was a) covered by provincial healthcare and b) would deal with a potential ADHD diagnosis in a patient of my (advanced) age *stares into the camera like it’s the office*. He was a Real Jerk, but I did his bevy of tests and he reluctantly agreed that I matched all the criteria except that I had never done poorly in school or been a nuisance in class**. **these criteria are ridiculously outdated, often don’t apply to girls (or those who have inattentive-type or mixed-type ADHD), and should BY NO MEANS exclude anyone from an ADHD diagnosis. If, like me, you’re what they call “twice exceptional” (where being intellectually gifted can often mask the struggles associated with ADHD, autism, physical/learning disabilities), it’s EVEN EASIER to slip through the cracks. 

The psychiatrist upped my anti-depressants, which helped, but still did nothing for my focus. By the way? ADHD, especially in adults, is FREQUENTLY comorbid with other conditions like depression or anxiety. It’s almost like ... when your brain doesn’t do what you know it should do, WANT it to do, TRY TO MAKE IT DO, and you feel like a failure who’s not living up to her potential ... it makes you REALLY DEPRESSED!! Who knew?? After almost a year, I finally brought up the focus with my family doctor again, who was like, “Okay, let’s try some things, then.” Finding the right dose of ADHD meds is ... trial and error. And it’s exhausting. And sometimes you think you’ve figured it out, but you haven’t. I still haven’t landed on the BEST POSSIBLE solution for me, but I will tell you this: the difference in unmedicated-ADHD-Tara and medicated-ADHD-Tara is like night and day, even when my meds aren’t optimal. 

To give a very specific example, I’m a freelance writer and editor. My income from my first (medicated) year of running my own business full(ish) time was almost three times that of the unmedicated year before. This year, even with COVID throwing a lot of wrenches in a lot of gears, I’ve remained booked three to four months in advance, my focus is better, my self-worth is better (i.e., I charge what I know I’m worth), I’ve stood up for myself, I’ve *gasp* started planning(???). I’m not rolling around in piles of money, but I’m above the Canadian median.

I also speak to my therapist every two weeks (she’s wonderful—and she’s online, which is both cheaper and more accessible for me). I’m slowly understanding the value of meditation (if you have the Calm app I HIGHLY recommend Jeff Warren’s How to Meditate 30-day program. I’m on day 13. There’s no BS or vagueness; I love him.) I made an effort to change my diet and spend more time moving around outdoors. (Exercise is even more important for ADHD brains, it turns out.)

Now, none of this has been a magical cure-all. I’m in the middle of struggling with med dosage at the moment, which is freshly irritating. Even medicated, there are good days and bad days—which is totally normal. I just finished an editing project that nearly destroyed me because it was SO boring and I couldn’t get out of it (because I’d ADHD-procrastinated too long). Learning how to function in the neurotypical world with an atypical ADHD brain is WORK. There’s also a lot of emotion—grief, anger, frustration, joy—as you process the new information and mourn the time you spent lost, underachieving, “failing.”

One really great, really accessible resource is the YouTube channel How to ADHD. For people who want to dig into the science, I recommend Russell Barkley (HE IS SO SMART) and Ned Hallowell. There’s also a ton of information on ADDitude. Anyway, this is a lot of information, I know. There are some good self-tests on the ADDitude site. If you think you have it AND IT’S IMPACTING YOUR LIFE***, bring it up with your doctor. Know that you might run into some resistance because most ADHD meds can be (and are widely) abused, and people with actual ADHD get caught in that crossfire. Even though it’s hard because of ADHD’s effect on emotions (TOO MANY!! TOO STRONG!!), be prepared to face some scrutiny.  *** they’re always going to ask about how it’s negatively affecting your life.

#asks and answers #adhd #adhd resources #tara talks adhd #adult adhd #hope this helps!! #Anonymous

[imagitory]

I just woke up from a dream, and I don’t know what writers or artists might need to read this, but...I thought I’d write it down anyway.

A lot of my dreams feature half-baked stories. In this dream, there was a little girl with a mane of curly bright pink hair who was the hero of a bunch of children’s books called Angelina. Her thing was to always, without fail, make sure that the circus came to town. She always saved her small town from every little thing that went wrong, no matter how big it was and how small she was. Maybe the school bus that carried their next star trapeze artist broke down. Maybe it started raining everything from regular rain to comets. Maybe sky pirates appeared out of the sky and kidnapped the ringleader.  No matter what it was, though, Angelina always made sure the circus came to town.

Eventually, though, Angelina got to the point that she did so much for everybody else that she ended up going full-on super villain. Her pain and rage at the world and the lot it had dealt her became so terrifyingly strong that it gave her a dangerous kind of power.

As the dream went on, the narrator telling the story (who I voiced) kept looking for someone in her colorful cast of side characters to stand up to her and save the villain from herself. We went into several strange dimensions looking -- there was one with pirates, one with floating cars, one where everything was a show filmed by people who constantly broke the fourth wall and nobody cared -- but one by one, thanks to Angelina’s new powers or even the characters’ own disinterest in fighting her, they all disappeared. Eventually the only person left to drive the bus to Angelina’s villain lair and confront her is the narrator herself -- so she gets behind the wheel and drives there.

When the narrator (who may I point out towers over just about everyone with her size) arrives, she has to take out Angelina’s two henchpeople (two rather Hostess sweet-like confections) first by picking them up and eating them. When the narrator strides into the room, Angelina shows no fear despite her opponent’s size -- instead she reacts with mock hurt, saying she was expecting the narrator to bring her a present, if she was going to come to her “party.” She uses her all-powerful wand to try to attack the narrator, but the narrator catches the blast with such ease she’s able to stifle it and the wand’s star tip solely with her hand. Angelina is impressed that the narrator is that resilient, but is nonetheless prepared to fight. The narrator, however, is not, and she says:

“You shouldn’t fight. You should listen.”

And the narrator crosses her legs and sits down on the floor, towering over the tiny villainized Angelina. Angelina, still wicked and angry but also very confused, very slowly eases herself down, watching the narrator carefully. Once they’re both settled, the narrator starts to talk.

“I know you’re angry and hurting...but right now, you’ve really been hard on my mental health.”

Angelina frowns, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. 

“Let me tell you a story,” says the narrator. 

As she speaks, a smiling, kind-eyed woman with dark skin appears over her shoulder, smiling proudly at both the narrator and Angelina. (She looked a lot like my stepmother, actually.) 

“When I was little, you were the main character of these books I used to read with my mom. You were the first character I ever saw with hair just like mine. And you always did your best to help people, even when the whole world was against you. You inspired me, and you brought my mom and me closer together. You made me want to do my best every day and always be kind and forgiving. When I started college, I decided I was going to write my own story about you, as a gift for my mom. I knew even if it was trash, she’d love it anyway -- and maybe if it was good, I could share it with other people.”

The narrator -- who once again, I’ll remind you, spoke in my voice -- was starting to cry at this point. 

“But then...”

The woman over the narrator’s shoulder faded away to dust, the narrator burst into tears, and I was so full of emotion that I woke up.

It’s very clear, looking back on the dream, that the narrator had experienced terrible grief -- the kind that doesn’t just make you cut yourself off from everyone else, but that also makes you hate the whole world and see it as an inherently dark and cruel place. And so she tried to cope through writing those feelings out, destroying the world of her childhood in her own head through her favorite fictional character. And it’s only at the end that she realizes that no one else can stand up to the avatar of her grief but herself.��But even though the dream ended before I could finish the story, I can say with confidence what the moral is.

Don’t be afraid to tell your muses no.

Many of us artists use our craft as therapy, projecting our own experiences onto our characters and using them as an escape. But there are times when the real world really needs to come first -- that the best way to handle our problems isn’t through having our characters do what we wish we could do, but by taking time to self-reflect. 

So when you have trouble writing or drawing, don’t feel bad about walking away from your computer or sketchbook or journal or whatever for a while to take care of yourself. When you have to abandon a project because you’ve lost all inspiration, that’s okay -- you can always find another, and maybe in the future, aspects of that original project might inspire something else. If you’re using writing or drawing as therapy like I often do, don’t also forget to reach out to others and maybe get actual therapy too. 

Don’t be afraid to talk to your muses and take control of your own narrative. 

#personal #mental health #artists #writers #grief

[vanessakirbyfans]

Vanessa Kirby remembers the exact moment she realized what acting might actually be. That it occurred during a performance of a “probably terrible” all-girls’ production of “Hamlet” is beside the point.

“I was playing Gertrude, probably in my mom’s clothes—complete crap,” she says with a laugh. “I remember being in a scene and then walking out into the school. I was walking up and down the corridor before going back on for another scene, and it was the first time it ever happened where I suddenly was thinking [Gertrude’s] thoughts. I was thinking, in the present moment, her actual thoughts about what was really happening. And then it made the scene coming next so much easier, because there was a blurred moment where this idea of [a] character being outside of you or someone that you have to become disappeared in a way.

“I just realized,” she continues, “Oh, it’s inside me.” Kirby has been chasing that lucid high ever since.

You may get it for just two seconds in the entire production of a film, she concedes, and longer only if you’re lucky. But she believes that its attainment should always be the actor’s primary objective: reaching that liminal space where you no longer have to think of yourself as the character and you can instead—speaking of “Hamlet”—just be. Kirby describes getting “into that zone” where you are inside the character as much as they are inside of you.

“I always think about it as this really strange process of finding the person, because the person kind of exists in the abstract space, I guess, between you and the words on the page,” she says, “which also have come through a writer and their own experience. And so there’s this third space in the middle that you have to sort of get inside, and it takes a lot of time.”

For her new film, Kornél Mundruczó’s “Pieces of a Woman,” which earned her the Venice Film Festival’s Volpi Cup for best actress earlier this year, Kirby, by her account, had to “get inside” three separate elements. The first two, being pregnant and giving birth, are experiences shared by women the world over. But the third required her to tap into something more hushed, a sort of sad sisterhood that she thinks isn’t spoken about enough: “what it actually feels like to lose a baby just after it’s born.”

“That involved finding and spending so much time with the women who had been through that, which was a massive privilege, actually,” she says, noting their bravery. “They pretty much all said it’s so difficult, because society doesn’t want to hear about it. These women haven’t had a voice, really, in their experience of that level of grief or loss, because society doesn’t want them to talk about it.”

She cites model-entrepreneur Chrissy Teigen, who recently shared her experience of pregnancy loss online and was immediately subjected to charged responses across the spectrum, from adulation and gratitude to utter vitriol. “It just goes to show that a loss like that is really hard for people to hear about,” Kirby says. “I felt really honored to be part of this film in that way, because I think it speaks to grief universally.”

As she chats via Zoom just before Thanksgiving (though that likely doesn’t matter much to Kirby, who’s British), it’s fitting—and appropriately disarming—that the conversation begins with subject matter as heavy as infant and pregnancy loss, since the film does, too. Written by Kata Wéber, the Netflix feature (which will stream starting Jan. 7, 2021) almost immediately showcases a 25-minute labor and delivery sequence unlike any you’ve seen on film before—an intimidating prospect that was also part of the appeal for Kirby. She confesses, however, that her initial response to reading it was a more visceral “Oh, God.”  

“We see death so many times onscreen, and we don’t really see birth in this way. I also can’t remember seeing a film that dealt with losing a baby so head-on,” she says. “Doing the film has really set a kind of benchmark for me of wanting to find things that haven’t been seen or expressed onscreen before that need to be [seen in order] to generate conversation around them, to represent a side of being female that we haven’t seen. Those two things really struck me—and scared me a lot.”

In discussing her work, fear comes up quite a bit for Kirby—or rather, how to cope with it. At the age of 32, she has already had more success than many actors ever do. Most notably, she earned an Emmy nomination in 2018 for her work on “The Crown,” playing Princess Margaret on the series’ first two seasons before handing the tiara off to Helena Bonham Carter. She also starred in “Mission: Impossible – Fallout,” has secured a role in the franchise’s coming seventh and eighth installments, and boasts numerous prestigious theater credits.  

But an unmistakable angst hums beneath everything Kirby does. Making peace with that feeling continues to be the lifeblood of her career. “One of my friends said something like, ‘It’s always best to tell your fear [that] you can join me in the passenger seat. You’re not going to be driving the car, but you’re welcome to be here,’ ” she says. “It’s inevitable that you feel anxious or nervous, I think. I can’t just switch off my stage fright or my anxiety before going onstage, and the more I try and fight it, the worse it gets. I have to welcome it and be like, ‘It’s OK; you can be here. You’re not going to ruin the show.’ ”

The most useful tool Kirby has found to combat anxiety, nerves, fear—whatever word you want to use for that prohibitive lurking—is old-fashioned preparation. Knowing her lines inside and out, front to back, sideways and in proverbial heels, gives her the freedom to show up and be present.

t’s an odd sort of reconciliation to have prepped so thoroughly that you can act from a place of impulse, but one she considers crucial. “I learned that the hard way,” she says with a chuckle. “Sometimes I would approach jobs like, I’m just going to see what happens if I don’t learn my lines—just wing it on the day. Maybe it will be more spontaneous and impulsive, and it’ll be more flippant. And it wasn’t. Oh, my God, no, it wasn’t.”

While that trial and error informs her now-scrupulous prep work, Kirby gives credit where it’s due and admits she borrowed the approach in part from someone who knows just a bit about getting inside a character. Of course, if you worked with Anthony Hopkins, you’d do the same.    

“I just had a few little scenes in this brilliant thing he was doing,” Kirby says of the 2015 television film “The Dresser.” “He has a method that he’s always used where he says his lines out loud to himself a thousand times before doing any film. He’ll mark it on his script [and] tally it up, because he said you can’t be truly free unless it’s really in your body. You won’t be able to take the risk and go, ‘OK, I’m feeling the feeling of the state of mind this person’s in’ so that the lines can come out however which way they want to [because they’re] coming from that feeling, as opposed to, ‘I made a decision, I’ve learned my lines, I kind of know how I’m going to say them, and I’m going to turn up and just say them in a prepared manner.’ ”

In other words, you reach a state in which you no longer have to be conscious of your “choices,” because they will be externalized actions made by the internalized character. To actually achieve that symbiosis, Kirby explains, you have to practice an almost relentless empathy in order to “absolve all your judgments” of the person you’re playing.

“Acting’s such a funny job, isn’t it? How you think informs how you feel. And then how you feel, as a consequence, informs how you think,” she posits. “There’s a conversation between your feelings and thoughts all the time. And so it’s almost like trying to get inside someone else’s thoughts—so then you don’t have to worry about how the person is coming across or the mannerisms or whatever else, because you’ve built it from the inside, and that’s what happens naturally. The best acting experience, really, is when you’re thinking as that person without being conscious of yourself.”

The Catch-22, particularly for Kirby, is that fear, or even self-consciousness, will block the receptacles of empathy. If you as the actor at any point aim to shield yourself from the experiences of your character, you could be tossing out a crucial piece of their puzzle.

“As an actor, you don’t want to protect yourself. I think it’s almost the opposite,” she says. “I find I’m less shy, for example, when I’m playing someone, when I’m trying to understand someone else or some other part of humanity. You take more risks, and you sort of push into parts of yourself that you might not every day know existed, because you have to feel the things that they feel.”

That is one reason why Kirby creates playlists for her characters. In addition to drowning out literal noise on set between setups, delving into what a character’s taste in music might be—or why they’d listen to a given song at a given moment—opens a window into their psychology. In a pinch, the music can build an impromptu bridge between herself and the person within. It can also help ease her gently into a particularly formidable role, fear be damned.

“This idea of being daunted by something—I look for it. I go, ‘Oh, my God. I have no idea about this. I don’t know what it feels like to give birth, and I would love to learn about that,’ ” she says. “Of course, my dad is a cancer surgeon, so I grew up with him saving people’s lives. I always felt like acting is such a public thing, but it’s really not nearly as important as what a lot of people are doing in the world. But when you’re in a group of people who want to explore or understand something that perhaps we don’t yet know from our lived experiences, it does feel, sometimes, like such an honor.”

#Vanessa Kirby #Pieces of a Woman #Interview #Articles

[kirliancamera1]

Rede Vamp Brazil (https://redevampirica.com) interviews Elena Alice Fossi of Kirlian Camera (English text attached hereunder) 🔥🔥🔥

Question 1: Be very welcome to AcessoRedeVamp, it's a true honor to realize this interview with you Elena Alice! You are a great singer and more every time we see you on stage your performance transmits great emotion and this electrifies all of us! You tell a real story with your performance and this is amazing and rare these days! At the same time, we perceive an expressive revolt against an old world and its stagnant postures. How have you handled 2020?

*** EAF – First of all, I wanna thank you for your words. Being able to communicate with the people who follow us is the most important thing to me. Singing becomes ephemeral if doesn't convey a message. Also for this reason I consider that the stage is the base of a musician, so you can imagine how I miss it. In this sense, it can be said that the category we belong to is very unlucky, not only because it's forced not to work, but rather 'cause concerts are pure lifeblood for a musician's soul. In any case, both Angelo and I can't stand self-pity people, so we immediately jumped into new musical projects, putting top concentration on composition. At any rate, we couldn't be simple observers of an event on this scale, so right from the beginning we tried to dig deep, looking for, and comparing news, data, statistics, whether they came from mainstream channels or from alternative sources. In Italy, for example, the economy has been torn to pieces and furthermore, the same politicians who mourn the dead on TV... cut so many funds for health facilities for a long time, so they may be considered taking part in such a mess. This situation has created a real drama, especially for families who have lost their loved ones without even having a chance to say goodbye one last time. But, it's also true that the worldwide exploitation of this pandemic has given us, we citizens, an opportunity to wake up. No need to use words such as anarchy or rebellion to understand that the old world is showing all kinds of holes. "Divide et impera" is the motto of several governments, so we citizens must not fall into the trap of making war on each other, each nonsense comes up! This is the time to show ourselves united. And, most of all, it’s time not to turn ourselves into servile dogs of a “Power” becoming more and more antidemocratic.

Question 2: Do you feel that the marks left by the year 2020 will bring some effective changes to this "abstraction" called humanity? Will there be a "new normal" or will we just return to an average 2019 when this whole pandemic passes?

*** EAF - If I’d been told about what we have experienced for almost one year, I’d have thought it was a joke, bullshit. But unluckily this is not the case. Such an event has brought much grief and is ruining the economic system of many nations, as already said. But in addition to the injury, here it comes the insult from the absurd and chaotic dictates imposed on us. I'll give you some examples of what's happening here in Italy. “Don't go out after 10 pm”. While people keep on getting sick or even dying, here comes the policeman with a ticket 'cause you left home for a goddam moment. I have this picture on my mind, of a person in pajamas, carrying the garbage bag full of stinking mussel shells at less than one hundred meters from home in a totally deserted night. At that point a flash on him. It’s the police who writes a ticket to that dangerous criminal. And then, for everyone's sake, the Christmas mass was moved from the usual midnight to 8 pm. How the hell can you think it's not a mockery? And... the last “gag”! Before Christmas, our Minister of technological innovation made an appeal to telephone companies so that video calls were free on Christmas days... But what year does she live in? But... is she not able to understand that in Italy almost everyone has either unlimited gigas or wifi? Nothing changes if the telephone companies for a couple of days give us video calls because we already use free services such as Whatsapp, Skype, Zoom, Telegram, and so on and so forth... Ok, in a vain attempt to avoid death, they are putting us in an induced coma! Seriously, all this offends our intelligence! And, when you realize you are inside a joke, you don't like to discover you're the main character, do you?! So, to answer your question, I couldn't foresee how a post-covid society will be reshaped, but the severe weakening that now is burdening us will have some major impact, no doubt. Currently, most folks are obsessed with fear, so are unable to reflect on the consequences of unconstitutional actions such as those foolishly propagated by many States. Furthermore, the pharma companies, the giants of the online shopping industry and many other powerful satanic puppet masters who are used to appear as philanthropists are ready to get their hands on everything, well pleased with the next “big reset”. So, after the pandemic, things will change a lot! For sure, from a human point of view, the feelings will be devitalized.

Question 3: Hologram Moon is a great name! Evokes conspirations like what really is the moon and this strangeness opens a vast creative field to find answers or even new questions... please tell us a bit more about this album, his name, songs...

*** EAF - "Fake is your face" is one of the phrases that most resonate in me when I sing "Holograms", or when in “Lost Islands” the old world said “Goodbye”! It's as if you had to face a new reset, as if you discovered everything you've always believed is swept away in an instant. There's the awareness that in the face of a new and suffocating truth, when the sky collapses, only true love can resist and guide you. In this sense, the final track of the album, “Travellers’ Testament” is a real stone on my heart, as it describes a fantastic journey to a planet. The astronaut is now impatient to fulfill his dream, but he will never arrive on that planet. The landing will take place on a space station. The moon landing's been questioned over and over again and certain evidence of the fact's inconsistency eventually seems credible. But we cannot say what reality is in any scientific way, especially when we're already prepared to believe a reassuring source. This is a simple starting point to embark on our history. More than finding answers, our sacred duty is to open the door to new questions, ask doubts, not take anything for granted. “Hologram Moon” is a purely poetic vision, but also a way to question everything. The mind can atrophy very easily. Habit, for example, can be complicit in this and the so-called comfort zone can be just complicit as well. The hypnosis that we suffer every day without realizing it, also grinding so many and bad TV shows, and so on... So, let's remain thinking and dreaming! This is a message from us.

Question 4: How was the experience of working with Covenant's Eskil Simonsson on the beautiful "Sky Collapse"?

*** EAF - We had come across Covenant several times before doing this collaboration; on festival occasions, in the dressing rooms... But it was a chaotic situation, so... we gave each other a fleeting smile, a kind greeting, but nothing more. Then, when Angelo and I wrote “Sky Collapse”, we immediately thought that a deep and sincere voice like Eskil's would add something precious to the song. Even before recording the two-voice song, we met at a charity festival. We had called him as a guest just to sing this song together, which was yet unreleased. He made himself available immediately. It was a nice gift for us and when the moment came, I think that on stage you could feel my strong emotion all the way down the hall!

Question 5: Well, I think now we will have our fan moment! Let's talk about some Kirlian Camera songs that our DJs and the audience of the REDE VAMP love it? Do I speak the name and may you tell a little about the meanings, influences, or a curious story?

*** EAF ***

>>> NIGHTGLORY. It refers to the triumph of the night, perhaps as a momentary spiritual retreat. I'm talking about that precious moment that regenerates your very existence into yourself. The music of this song was born in a symphonic form, very different from how Nightglory was then arranged. This is a song and an album that has been appreciated by many people only after some time, partly because of a promotion that described the album as the most commercial in our history, which is absolutely harmful and misleading. Invisible Front and Eclipse were even more listenable, for example... Sometimes words spoil your work. It would be better to listen to music only, ignoring its promotional presentation. Fortunately, Nightglory has recovered over time till becoming one of the most requested live songs of ours.

>>> BLACK AUGUST. In this song there are various hints coming out from a dark moment in my life, I mean a period that risked devouring me. Wounds that take time to heal. Sky Collapse can be considered the final act of that period, even if the music of the two songs sounds very different, as you know. Black August blends various stylistic dimensions in a single “body of music”, so many didn't know how to label it at the time, as it effectively goes running free, out of the box. A very atypical song that has gained some actual success despite its distinction, which has also brought us closer to fans of dark metal and so-called electronica.

>>> HELLFIRE. I chose this piece to add an echo to the dark period I was talking about above, in order to exorcise all that negativity, so we went to deal with a theme showing gospel traits but containing some demonic references in the lyrics. Then I didn't know THE 8th PRESIDENT was waiting for us at the SCARLET GATE OF TOXIC DAYBREAK, with his COLD PILLS! A wordplay whoever is following us will understand!

>>> K-PAX. I wrote this piece in a night when everything seemed dreamy and I almost didn't realize where I was anymore. No, I wasn't under the influence of drugs or alcohol, but all my memories were mixing in tremendous chaos that needed to reinvent itself and turn into an immaterial fog, in a light but lost dream. Angelo literally translated the music and melodies I had written on the staff, giving both them and my voice the perfect terms to guide the journey. In fact, it's not a complete and static text, but a sequence of dreamy and painful phrases at the same time. I felt that Angelo listened to me attentively since he knew how to translate my notes so perfectly into written sentences as if he were sending me back into my music. It was magical and at K-Pax Angelo and I discovered the other life of ourselves, bringing to light so many breathtaking emotions and it was just the departure, after the suffocating mists of Still Air, an album we love, and the crepuscular decadence of Stalingrad Valkyrie.

Question 6: There is a cover of Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd from Kirlian Camera that is a true work of art. The Mad World cover performed by Spectra Paris is fascinating. Are there more covers from other bands that you would like to record?

*** EAF - Well yes, there are ideas, but we prefer to evaluate which are the best. Meanwhile, I tried to produce a version of a Johnny Cash song and I made Angelo interpret it: I really like the result. It may be used by Stalingrad Valkyrie.

Question 7: I love your lyrics! What can't Elena be missing when creating new lyrics or musical arrangements? Are there any poetry, films, books, comic books, or other influences?

*** EAF - Mostly everything happens unconsciously. You don't know how many times I realize why I wrote a certain phrase only after a song was released! But I can say that my imagination works mostly by processing images. So, the movies are very helpful in this. Similarly, Angelo and I tap into imagery that could be part of the quantum physics new era, where multiverse and multidimensionality are both playing an important role. This world appears like a really tiny thing when compared to everything else.

Question 8: Elena, I read in an older interview about a "Young Ladies Homicide Club" I found an undeniable reference to the films Noir and the figure of the characters called "Vamp" and all the charm and spectral magnetism ... but I was a little curious. .. what is this "Young Ladies Homicide Club"?

*** EAF - Let's say I imagined an unreal club created by apparently dead or so to say "disappeared" models in order to get rid of fashion people who were acting a bit too naughty! The work to clean up that world wouldn't be lacking, as, after all, it happens in all professional areas. As for myself goes, I gladly opted in a flash and without second thoughts for singing and making music, leaving everything behind, buying a couple of synths and a decent microphone, which I then enriched with various electronic devilry, kicking away possible easy money, foolish nights, cocaine, heroin, stereotyped relationships, and absurdly worshipped wines! Every so often I like to play with the ridiculous and grotesque ghosts of some fashion designers, photographers, and evil spirits, then going to recreate noir stories in which everything happens. I also drew some digital comics with a noir-glam flavor, a few years ago... It was a fun pastime, while with Kirlian Camera I'd been exploring deeper and more fundamental universes.

Question 9: Is there more news on the way for the incredible Spectra Paris and also for Stalingrad Valkyrie? May you talk a bit more about them?

*** EAF - Stalingrad Valkyrie is a project I am very fond of, in a special way. So I insisted on getting it back to life after a period of hibernation which lasted too much in my opinion. "Martyrium Europae", the most recent album, proved me right, even if it’s not a commercial project. Well, it seems our listeners have appreciated the attempt to combine different musical sources in a unique style, certainly linked to the more symphonic and dramatic Kirlian Camera pages, but also quite free to express itself on his own, trying to avoid the most standard patterns of neofolk, progressive and industrial, without on the other hand completely ignoring their now distant origins. So, in its small way, the new album turned out to be a success and I'd really like this project to keep on living with further fresh ideas. We're currently working on a new chapter that will be released on vinyl and some digitals, which contains previously unreleased songs and versions.

Question 10: Elena, our Rede Vamp is a platform about Cultural Vamp and Vampires production ... and there is a question that our interviewees never escape. Is there a character or perhaps a vampire story that you never forgot?

*** EAF - Needless to say the vampire who most impressed me over time can't be anyone other than... Angelo Bergamini!!! Not many know that Angelo was the leading actor in a short film entitled "Himre Bakai", shot in the late nineties or so, directed by Antonio Bocchi, the later owner of the dark-electronic project Lux Anodyca and author of detective books. I don't think the film is regularly available or downloadable at the moment, but I know it was also screened at the time in various festivals and reviews, also getting some good feedback! Angelo (Himre) and Antonio told me that one day the film "will see the light ”, but at the moment... he lies in the dark, by the book, of course!!!

Question 11: Elena, thank you so much for your time and generosity! You and Kirlian Camera have many fans on our events and radio shows, please leave a special message for our audience! Are there plans for a new gig in Brazil after all this pandemic?

*** EAF - While it's true that we've never been able to play in Brazil so far, I'm sure your Land is actually right for us, 'cause I can feel that's full of feeling and passion, so we'd love to perform for you very much, 'cause in spite of the fact it's so far away, I feel a deep affinity and a certain familiarity with your world. And while we wait, confident that sooner or later we'll succeed in our aim, I wanna greet all those who had the kindness to listen to me, with a quote from the American scientist and politician Benjamin Franklin: "Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety."

#elena alice fossi #elenaalicefossi #elenafossi #kirlian camera #kirliancamera #kirlian camera official #kirlian camera (official) #spectra paris #spectraparis #stalingrad valkyrie #lead singer #lead vocalist #singer #vocalist #musician #musicproducer #rebel #electronic rock #art rock #art pop #industrial music #electronic music #electronica #electro #metal #interviews #freedom of expression #dark angel #antistar #brazil

[coeurdastronaute]

Either/Or: Krypton 8

Previously on Krypton

The harrowed halls of the House of El were fluttering with activity, but unlike the normal galas and festivals that took up many invitations and hours of precise planning per the customs and rituals of their station, there was not any preparations made for the sudden Choosing of the only daughter. While people came from far and wide, migrating naturally to celebrate as the news spread, the matron of the house worked tirelessly to keep up with the crowd. 

Swept up in the entire notion of it, Kara didn’t know what to do, and so she held onto her life raft in the form of a human, Lena. She wrapped her arms around Lena’s waist. She held her hand. She looked at her from across the room, terrified of losing sight of her for just a moment. 

Vast conversations began and echoed through the rooms on the ground level. Sweeping arguments formulated the future and capabilities of the Matrix and what it all meant on a scientific, cultural, and political level. All of it was alive and loud and busy and as wonderful as she wanted to see it, Kara felt overwhelmed by what her relationship suddenly meant. She hadn’t thought about all of that before, not the implications for her world. 

Many bottles of wine were cracked, many toasts were made, many debates raged and many bodies filled in and out of the house before Kara was able to snag the single human who caused all of this grief and joy. 

Lena smiled and set down her glass as Kara grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door that led outside. It was still a warm evening despite the dark. Before she could ask anything or even see what Kara wanted, Lena felt herself tugged into Kara’s arms while simultaneously pushed against the wall, lips on her own, taking her breath away. 

Hands moved to her neck, and Kara smiled, her body radiating warmth. She felt Lena exhale against her cheek. Even in the dark, she knew there was a smile there. 

“I’m sorry for all of this. I know I am a lot of work,” Kara sighed, earnest and honest. 

“I guess we hadn’t thought it out as much as we initially thought.” 

“It would appear that we are a bit of an anomaly, and I should have taken into consideration how much my people love anomalies.”

“I’m sorry I appeared in your life and caused this mess.” 

“I’m not. It was fate.” 

“I’ll never understand how you can be so logical and yet so willing to give up to the idea that everything is decided,” Lena shook her head. She ran her thumbs along Kara’s jaw, felt the smile pull the muscles. 

Her answer came in the form of another kiss, softer than the first but no less necessary and needed. For a moment, even Lena forgot what she was asking. 

“You came from another planet and fell in love with me,” Kara reminded the girl in her arms. “Chance or fate, who cares?”

“Do we have to go back in there?” 

“I don’t think they’ll miss us.” 

“Let’s get out of here then.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

Far away from the house and the people heading home, from the empty bottles and bright lights of her ancestral home, the two bodies climbed toward the top of the old observatory where they watched meteor showers and snuck away for age-appropriate parties. 

The sky was dark purple, deep and punctured with stars shining from far away. It was a cloudless night, and surely Kara would write about all of these small aspects of it when she wrote the history of the day. A small bit of sweat lingered on her neck in the heat despite the chill that was moving in, drawn out by their hike. 

As they made their break from the house, Lena directed Kara, careful to grab some supplies despite not knowing where they were actually going. Something about following her anywhere but here was all she wanted to do. 

Placed between two towers, the two found a flat bit of land overlooking the eastern horizon where the sun would soon rise. The moons were gone and the darkest part of night was becoming overwhelming save for the rings of two distant planets. Kara unfurled a blanket and Lena put another down for them to climb beneath to keep warm. 

“Do you want to tell me about the Matrix?” Kara ventured as Lena took a sip of wine and passed it to her to try. 

“It felt like a dream. I don’t remember much, I don’t think,” she shook her head. But Kara just waited as she watched Lena look at the stars and consider the question. Sometimes it just took a few extra seconds to get to the truth. 

“It started with a voice asking me questions about myself. And then the world morphed so that I was speaking to my mother or someone who looked like my mother, which was weird and great all at once.” 

“An appropriation of what would put you at ease the quickest.” 

“Must have been a deep neural trigger that the computer was fine-tuned to look for. I’m just curious how biologically based it was. And it, or she, or whatever the Matrix is, it felt me trying to figure it out.” 

“Leave it to you to try to overpower a complex and ancient system with your brain,” Kara smiled, oddly proud. 

“I felt safe and I felt open. It must have read slight changes in body language and vocal patterns as indications of unconscious feelings, plus the sensors I wore must have--”

“But how did you feel inside?”

Lena paused her need to explain it all away and looked away from the view that captivated her every single night since her arrival. She looked at Kara, pretty brown eyes wide and earnest, her head cocked slightly, waiting, listening intently, slightly musky, warm smell radiating through the slight breeze that brought a hint of chill. 

“I felt this certainty. This certainty that I never ever experience. And there was a clarity that we would survive and my world won’t.” 

“You will figure out how to save your planet--” she began to promise. 

“I won’t. But something about us… I don’t break. You keep me together. The Matrix showed me that I can trust you to never leave, and I think it has to try to squander your darkest fears. That’s how you come out the other side and fall in love.” 

“You needed a machine to tell you that?” 

“No,” Lena shook her head and smiled. “I just never knew that I could have that.”

“It almost feels kind of weird to be confirmed, doesn’t it?” 

Lena rested her head on Kara’s shoulder and sighed against it all. She nodded but felt nothing more than an intense relief at having found what she never had the heard to believe anyone could offer her. Kara had a lionheart. She was certain of it. 

“I still have to go back,” she whispered. 

“I know.” 

“I’ll come back.” 

“I know.” 

“I thought I could stay and never return, but--”

“No,” Kara decided, kissing Lena’s forehead as she wavered, her voice cracking with the confession.”You didn’t leave thinking you’d never be back. You have unfinished business.” 

“I’ll come back to you.” 

“You will.” 

The words were sad but strong, and Lena heard it all in Kara’s voice. She wanted to explain more but wasn’t really sure what else there was. Instead, she just lifted her head and leaned closer to Kara’s lips before kissing her quickly and softly, dragging out each second, pulling the fabric of time as thin as she could.

XXXXXXXXXX

The sun warmed the sky, chasing away the dark. Despite the alcohol and party that kept them up late, the sleeping pair couldn’t hide from the bright rays once hey cracked the horizon. Lena dug her nose into Kara’s shoulder and neck, hiding from the idea of waking completely. 

“We have to wake up,” Kara rasped, her voice thick with sleep and groggy from the long night. 

“Never.” 

“Lena, we have to.”

“What are we going to do today?” 

“You have a lot of research to do, and I have a lot of things to classify and such. We have a lot to do. The world doesn’t stop spinning because two people are in love.” 

“It should.” 

Kara smiled and stretched slightly, letting out a small groan with how sore her body felt and how lovely her life was despite it all. The ground was hard, but everything was better than she could have imagined in her entire life. 

“Kara.” 

The voice was tiny and soft despite the noise of the waking world. 

“Yes?” 

“How do I tell my father about you?” 

Despite herself, Kara chuckled and shook her head, squeezing the other body toward her. 

“You simply tell him that you’ve fallen in love with a rather dashing Kryptonian and you’ve decided to stay forever because you can’t imagine a moment without her.” 

“Well, I don’t know if that will work.” 

“Why not? It’s the truth.” 

“Sometimes the truth is harder than a lie.” 

“Tell him what you would like,” Kara shook her head, smiling as she finally met Lena’s eyes for the first time that morning. “As long as you come back.” 

For the life of her, Kara couldn’t place the look that Lena gave her. She didn’t understand the green of her eyes and the clouds in her cheeks. But she saw the uptick of her lips and she felt the sigh against her chin as Lena let out the words she couldn’t say. Lena ran her fingertips along Kara’s cheek, along her jaw. She leaned forward and kissed her. 

XXXXXXXXXX

The moment the door closed, Lena took a deep breath and leaned against it, alone for the first time in over a day, and very disoriented with how swept up in happiness she could be. It was all so foreign for Lena, that she wasn’t convinced she was allowed to have it. 

The entire reason Lena left Earth was that she genuinely had no interest in falling in love or sitting in board meetings. She wanted magic and science and the entire world. She wanted to know absolutely everything there was, and so she ran away from so many things. After her mother and the fall of humanity to such base and unscientific thoughts, to the world killing itself for profit, she couldn’t handle it. The mission to Krypton was too perfect, and if she had to believe in such things, it was a bit of fate. 

It also meant that somehow she met Kara, and despite her best intentions, might have fallen in love, as impractical as that seemed. She hadn’t come here to meet someone like Kara, someone kind and good and bright and funny and patient. That wasn’t an option. 

Slowly she ran her hands over her face, pinching her eyes to stifle the thoughts that made her whole body slightly more tense. She couldn’t let herself get caught up in that. It didn’t make sense. She’d resigned herself to a quiet life. To a simple life. To a lonely life. 

“What did I do?” Lena muttered softly to herself, confused to it all. 

The answer was, of course, that she simply fell in love, and that was the worst thing she could have ever imagined. 

Two days ago, she wasn’t bound to be in love with Kara. It was all still wide open, and now she was tied, or at least according to a stupid machine, she was fated. 

And as much as Lena wanted to argue, to push herself out of how happy and perfect she was feeling, she would remember the Matrix, and how she felt when she was in it, like she was solving a problem and got to the purest, most honest, most correct answer, and that was Kara. At the end of it all, after all of the work, after overthinking it entirely, the Matrix helped her reach the answer, whether she liked it or not. 

In truth, she hoped the Matrix would help make it easier, that she would have proof of the unprovable notion of love, that finally her emotions were quantified. Instead, it just made her realize she wasn’t sure how to do it. 

But as overwhelmed as she was, and as afraid, and as sure, at the end of it all, as she took a deep breath and stood a little straighter, prepared to survive this as well, Lena knew that Kara was the answer. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“You do not look well rested, considering you left your own party.”

“I had to,” Kara offered as she took a seat at the table, grabbing herself some fruit as her mother didn’t look up from her tablet.

The breeze brushed through from the south, full of warmth and oddly stifling. Kara tilted her head slightly to catch some of it on her face. 

“It was a bit much. I think we will have to prepare better for the ceremony.” 

“I don’t think there will be a ceremony for a long time.” 

Sadly, Kara took a bite and looked out toward the gardens with the swaying trees, branches with long tendrils danced, weaving and tangling amongst themselves. 

“Why is that?” 

“Lena is going back.” 

“Not forever.” 

“No,” she nodded, inhaling weakly. “Not forever.” 

“You’re worried.” 

“I don’t trust that place. I don’t think her father is an honest man. She doesn’t think that, even though she can’t bring herself to say it. What if something happens?” 

“It’s not safe for you to go there,” Alura warned her daughter, seeing the thoughts dripping into her mind. 

“I know.” 

“She’ll come back.” 

“Yeah,” Kara nodded, forcing a smile before taking another bite. 

She was almost certain Lena would come back, she just wasn’t sure how to live while she was gone.

[imaginethisgalaxy]

playback

Kanan Jarrus x Reader Word Count: 6,136. Good grief. Prompt: An anonymous request came in for #12 on this list (“We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way.”) with Kanan an entire lifetime ago, and now I’m finally posting it. No, I have nothing to say for myself, but I am sorry ...? Warnings: NSFW. Very NSFW. There’s oral sex and penetrative sex (with a female reader -- I couldn’t figure out how not to make this sound stilted and weird without specifying, I’m sorry! I’ll keep experimenting to get to that point someday). I had this image in my head that I absolutely could not get rid of, so I ran with it.

Please note for the record that my ride-or-die Kanera loyalty battled it out with the thirst for like, a solid year until I could finish this, if not longer. The thirst eventually won. ... also I didn’t edit this because I don’t love myself enough.

You are not a spy. You have, in fact, never been a spy -- which is what makes Kanan’s request that you accompany him on an extended mission all the more perplexing. It’s a simple enough objective: go to Spira, pose as an officer and his paramour on holiday, gather as much accurate intel as possible, and encourage anyone you can to believe as much false intel as you can reasonably drop into a conversation. Playback, they had called it, one of the oldest tactics in the espionage book. You still aren’t sure you’re the right person for the job, but Kanan could not and still will not be deterred, so you’ve long since given up trying. “You’re the right type,” he’d assured you. “You pay attention to details, you look plenty unassuming when you don’t have a blaster in hand, and in the right clothes you’ll look like the kind of girl who belongs in an officer’s club. I’ll be with you the whole time. You’ll be fine.” 

What you hadn’t counted on -- what you’re still trying to deal with -- is how intense an experience it is pretending to be someone you aren’t. In particular, pretending to be the object of Kanan’s only-slightly-overblown affection is more than you bargained for. His hands are on you constantly, right at home on the small of your back or against your waist. He has developed a habit of leaning in entirely too close to speak to you, letting his lips brush against your skin, encouraging you to laugh at whatever he says to throw off any onlookers. It works; in the past week no one has so much as batted an eye at the two of you, which seems impossible but somehow isn’t. You spend your days charming officers and their companions, tucked safely into Kanan’s side and generating the proper amount of misleading gossip about the unscrupulous rebels running amok in your home system.

By the time you realize that the smiles you’re letting him have when he has you pulled into his lap at a table full of Imperials are genuine, it’s far too late to turn back and go home, or to vehemently deny the warmth that blooms in your chest whenever he pays you attention. So you let him press absent kisses to your bare shoulders while swapping fabricated stories with your newfound “friends” and pretend that nothing is wrong ... or, you try.

He is much more handsome than he has any right to be, in his fancy embroidered tunic. You know you are dressed specifically to match him in an expensive shimmersilk gown (totally devoid of a back, much to your near-constant discomfort -- the only time you feel comfortable in it is when the warmth of his hand skirts across the skin there, and then you are uncomfortable for other reasons) but you somehow feel like you clash with his apparently-effortless charm. It’s obvious to you that this isn’t what he’s normally what he’s like; you have also, after all, spent plenty of time holed up together in the suite you’ve managed to scam your way into drinking Old Janx Spirit this week. Even so, you manage to feel self-conscious about it anyway.

You know logically that you’ve had probably just a tad more Corellian wine than you really ought to have, but it would have been rude to refuse and you told yourself that you would be fine. It is not until Kanan ushers you up and guides you securely under his arm and against his side to walk you back to your shared suite that you realize exactly how intoxicated you are, leaning heavily into him. You're not that drunk -- you’re quite lucid, actually -- but if anyone asks you to run in your heels right now you’ll probably last all of four seconds before planting yourself face down on the plush hallway carpet. 

“That Vice-Admiral’s wife is trying to pickle me,” you groan quietly, and he laughs. You can feel the rumble of it in his chest against the side of your ribcage, and it’s somehow soothing.

“You’re doing better than me.” Kanan leans down a little after he presses the call button for the turbolift, so only the two of you can hear. “Last night when you wandered off with the other two to do whatever it is women need to be in packs for in the ‘fresher, the old man was trying to feed us all Whyren’s Reserve.”

“Stars,” you huff, pulling away from him a little to lean on the wall and wait. “I don’t know how you said no. I’d have done it. I felt like if I turned her down she’d get suspicious.”

“Who says I said no?” He grins down at you, and you narrow your eyes. It makes him laugh, moving to cage you against the wall with one arm and pull you into him with the other for the benefit of the other people lingering in the hall, and to discourage them from paying you too much attention. A thrill runs right up your spine when he leans in to speak next to your ear, close enough to the skin of your throat that you can feel the heat of his breath. “The Force can be helpful if you’re trying to keep your wits and someone’s trying to get rid of them.”

You forget, sometimes, that he’s a Jedi -- was a Jedi; the Jedi don’t exist the way they used to anymore. “Some of us don’t have that,” you murmur into his shoulder, swallowing hard when you feel him laugh gently against your skin before pulling back to look you in the eye.

“No, but you’ve got me. I won’t let you get in over your head.”

He has no idea that you already are in over your head. The thought threatens to suffocate you, or perhaps it’s his closeness that has you completely out of breath all of the sudden. When the turbolift announces its arrival you duck under his arm to dart inside, twisting out of his grip so quickly that he actually looks startled for the half-second you can still see his face. You brace a hand against the wall of the lift, the other pressed to the space just below where your ribcage joins in the front as if it will help you to breathe easier. 

His steps follow yours more closely than you would like, and you hear him pressing the button for your floor without a word to you. You don’t know if you want to cry or throw up or both -- you have been able to deal with his closeness for more than a week, but now it’s unbearable. Idly, you think perhaps it’s the wine. Maybe you’ve just had too much to drink, and it’s going to your head, ruining your concentration. It’s been so easy to pretend until tonight. You can hear him say your name, but it takes him another try to get a response out of you.

“I can’t,” you breathe, looking up at him and trying to get your composure back. Despite the effort, your voice shakes. “This is impossible. I can’t, I can’t.”

Kanan’s brow furrows, reaching out to try to touch your shoulder, but you angle yourself away, a hand still pressed against the wall of the lift like you think you might fall over. “What,” he tries, “what’s going on with you? What can’t you do?”

“This, Kanan, any of this. Please.”

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice quiet. Reaching out to put a hand on either one of your shoulders, he doesn’t let you squirm out of his grasp again. He’s trying to ground you, you realize, and you are equally embarrassed and relieved. “Listen to me ... whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as it seems. You’re doing fine. We wouldn’t still be here if you weren’t. Take a breath.”

You breathe as deeply as you can, feeling much too hot under the open concern in his face. You don’t know how to tell him that being himself is making things worse for you, that you feel like your skin is on fire where he’s touching you, that you -- that you love him, you think distantly, and it’s the first time you’ve really admitted that to yourself. Swallowing thickly to keep yourself from either being ill or bursting into tears, you shake your head a little to try to clear it. “I’m sorry,” you settle for saying, “I think I’ve just had too much to drink. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Kanan doesn’t look like he believes you, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Let’s just get back, and we can figure things out.” When the lift finally reaches your floor you let him usher you out and down the hall, stepping as carefully as you can in your heels while still looking natural. The moment the door to your suite is open you lift the hem of your dress and kick them off into the entry corner, deftly avoiding what you’re sure is going to be a long line of questions you aren’t prepared to answer by ducking into the refresher and locking the sliding door behind you.

Setting the water in the sink to run cold, you place your hands under the tap and wait as it slowly cools from room temperature. You only withdraw them when it’s so cold that it almost stings, shaking the excess off before pressing your cold hands to the sides of your neck. Tipping your head back, you look at the polished tiles of the ceiling and try not to let the great sigh that rushes from you sound too loud as it echoes off the hard surfaces all around you. This might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever managed to do. Bad enough that there’s a larger rebellion out there that’s floundering no thanks to your inability to commit to espionage without losing sight of your job long enough to fall in love with your partner -- you wince at the thought, leaning back against the frigid tile of the wall. It’s not as if you can very well help it, though, is it? Maybe you can -- Kanan likely can, you realize, and something settles like ice in your stomach with the realization that he can’t possibly feel the same way you do.

“This probably doesn’t help,” Kanan says, so close to the door it makes you jump, “but there isn’t really anywhere else for me to go. We’re going to have to talk about this eventually.” 

“There isn’t anything to talk about,” you reply, but you hear the wavering in your voice in the echo of the refresher and know he knows you’re lying. “It doesn’t matter.” That sounds a little bit more correct, but the soft thud of something against the door tells you it’s not working. 

Kanan sighs, and you can hear the frustration in the way it turns into your name even though the sound is muffled. “I told you I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, and I meant it, but we have to work together on this. I can’t do anything for you if you don’t talk to me.”

You know he’s right. You hate that he’s right. Fighting the burning sensation in the back of your eyes, you check yourself briefly in the mirror before you disengage the lock and let the door slide open, only slightly startled to see him so close to where it once was that you’re almost sure you could have taken his nose off. You open your mouth to try to say something, anything, but manage only a very weak beginning to a statement that goes nowhere. Trying to brush past him proves futile, as the moment you pass him on your way to the larger part of your shared suite his hand closes around your arm -- not hard, but enough to stop you. 

“Whatever’s going on, you need to spill it. You’re my partner, you have to let me do my part in this.”

“There isn’t anything to do,” you insist again, and you can see him fighting the urge to roll his eyes at you. “It’s not on you, it’s on me. I didn’t know this was going to happen; if I did I would have fought you harder on this.”

“Hey, I’m still about eight steps behind you,” Kanan half-laughs. “I still don’t know what happened.” His hand retreats from your arm just long enough to move up to your shoulder, its mate coming up to join it. You start to find somewhere, anywhere else to look but at him, but feel his palms slide up to the sides of your neck, forcing you to look him in the eye. All at once the wind is out of your figurative sails, and there is nothing you can do about it.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, fighting the trembling in your legs with everything you have. “I’m so sorry, Kanan.” “What would you even need to be sorry for? Don’t be sorry,” he chides you, but gently enough that you know he isn’t upset. “I just need you to talk to me.”

His thumb skims the line of your jaw, a gentle back-and-forth that is too soothing for you to tell him to stop. The silence that hangs between you is much too long to be normal, and when he says your name to bring your attention back to him, your breath catches in your throat. It’s now or never, and he won’t drop it.

“This whole week … we were pretending to be lovers,” you begin carefully, swallowing hard under the gentle pressure of his hands. “But I’m not pretending anymore, and I have to know if you feel the same way.” You leave the bolo-ball in his court, as if you don’t know what the answer is already. He can’t possibly feel the same way. You feel the flexing of his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck as he processes it, prepare to pull yourself away when he rebuffs you and beg him to let you call to be extracted, but the rejection you’re expecting never comes.

“You can’t really think all of that was just for show,” he says finally, something like awe in his tone. You’re so taken aback by the revelation that you’re sure your eyebrows are actually in your hairline, but he doesn’t seem particularly fazed by it if they are. “Why do you think I asked you? It’d be easy to pretend with you.”

You aren’t even breathing, lips parted as if you want to say something, but there is too much to say and somehow you don’t have the words for it. Following his gaze as it drops to your mouth, you watch it linger there for a moment before he leans carefully in, lips hovering above yours. The breath you manage to pull in shakes, and you exhale his name, barely above a whisper. 

"Do you have any idea," Kanan questions, "how much I think about this?" His voice is low, harsh, like the control required not to close the scant distance between you is equal to the effort needed to move mountains. Your hands move up to pull gently at the front of his fancy tunic, to keep him from retreating, to wordlessly beg him to do it so you don’t have to. His forehead touches yours briefly, breathing in deeply enough that you can feel his chest fill with air beneath your hands. The seconds of silence between you stretch out for too long before the tension finally becomes too much. You are the one to move first, hands sliding up to the back of his neck to keep him right where he is and closing the gap between you. He yields immediately, slow and careful but showing no signs of retreating. His hands fall far enough to grip your waist, pulling you to him with care, calloused palms wandering the line of your torso as his tongue delves gently into the space your mouth has allowed it. 

As the pads of his fingers find the warmth of your bare back something in him shifts; you feel it in the way his kiss becomes more intense, less controlled. The room spins, and you have to let your hand move to grip him right back to keep from sliding right down to the floor. Kanan presses the tips of his fingers into the soft curve of your shoulderblade beneath your skin, the hand not occupied there pressed to the small of your back to hold the line of your body tight to his. You find the closure of his tunic and pull at it without thinking, managing to get it halfway open before you realize what you’ve done. It doesn’t seem to put him off at all; in fact his hands are dipping beneath the edges of that backless gown -- far enough that you can feel the goosebumps pressing up from your flesh, nipples pebbled painfully against the soft shimmersilk of that flimsy bodice.

You feel him pull away from you and you can hear yourself yourself make a displeased little noise about it, but he keeps you at arm’s length all the same, only a little breathless. “Tell me now if you don’t want me to.” Kanan watches you intently, as if searching for any sign of regret or unsureness. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Please,” you manage, fingertips grazing the line of his collarbone beneath the open fabric of his tunic as if to keep you grounded. Your head is still swimming, and full sentences are hard, but you know he won’t do it if you don’t say it. “I’ve been thinking about this for days. I want to. I need to.” He opens his mouth, and you know he’ll ask again, so you cut him off. “Kanan, please.”

Your partner needs no further convincing.There is almost a type of reverence in the way his hands travel up, slowly slipping the straps of your dress from your shoulders, fingertips grazing the too-hot surface of your skin as he coaxes it into little more than a puddle of shimmersilk on the floor. He allows the backs of his fingers to run down the length of your arm to your hands, closing his around yours in order to pull you closer and exhibiting what you’re sure is an incredible amount of self-control in not acknowledging your bare chest, eyes on yours. You don't put up a fight in the least, allowing yourself to be pulled in, letting him cross your joined hands behind your back as he leans in to seal a kiss over your mouth so utterly searing that you finally understand what people are talking about when they say someone steals their breath. 

The ache in your chest is unbearable, the tension that coils in the very pit of your stomach is making your head swim -- you might collapse under the sheer pressure of wanting this, wanting him. As soon as his fingers extricate themselves from yours so that he can run them along the expanse of your back, your own find their way into the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing him as close as he can get, seeking friction though you know you’ll find none in this position. It’s a thought that tears a frustrated whine from your throat even as he bites gently at your bottom lip. As if he knows, he gently slides a knee between your own, allowing you to part your own thighs and grind against his. The moan that sweet pressure coaxes from you is much louder than you mean it to be, but the way his fingers dig into your skin -- and the hard length of him, heavy and warm through the fabric of his pants -- tells you he enjoys it immensely. You know, distantly, that your hands are working his tunic the rest of the way off and that he isn’t fighting you on it, but it doesn’t really hit you that your bare skin is against his until you realize how warm he is against you, that you can feel his heart beating in his chest when he’s pressed this close. 

You know that he's lifted you, but spatial awareness is long gone -- it's something of a surprise when you feel yourself all but thrown onto the bed, its decorative pillows scattered and shoved to the floor as you spread your arms to catch yourself. You start to admonish him but you don’t get a chance; the idea fizzles out and is replaced by a long string of deeply obscene thoughts as you watch him lean over onto the bed, one knee perched on its edge, hands reaching for your hips. Leaning back until you are flat against the bedspread, you watch as he leans down and presses open-mouthed kisses to the flushed skin of your midsection, working his way down to the line where your hip bones sit. He nips at the skin just above the waistband of the flimsy garment covering your sex and glances up at you for any sign of apprehension before -- finding none -- hooking his fingers under the waistband and dragging the neutrally-colored scrap down your legs. You don’t see where he throws them and when his hands return to part your thighs you can’t find it in you to care.

When he grabs onto your legs where they meet your hips, you immediately know what’s coming, but gasp anyway at the sheer force with which he yanks you closer to the edge of the bed before kneeling between your knees. The line of kisses and careful bites he makes his way up your thigh with send fire blooming across the surface of your skin, and you only have to say his name once to get him to quit teasing you. You think that you’ve never been more grateful for anything in your life until a moment later, when his tongue slides between your folds. You arch off the bed so violently he has to hold you down by the hips and you stand thoroughly corrected. “You’re not going anywhere yet,” he practically purrs, and you swear it’s almost enough to make you come undone to hear him talk that way after a week of unresolved tension.

Leaning in for another taste, he avoids giving the one place you want him most any attention. He deftly maneuvers around the little bundle of nerves, applying just enough pressure with his tongue to tease at it, to stimulate it indirectly, but never there. It’s already driving you up a wall, fingernails scraping at the bedspread as you grip it in an attempt to stay still for him. Your hips rock into his ministrations almost by themselves, still held under control by the force of his hands. He is intent to take his time, it seems, all long languid strokes of his tongue against the smooth slickness of your inner folds. You want to beg him to give you what you want, but all that you manage is a gasping whine that sounds only vaguely like his name. It’s enough to spur a growl against your skin before he finally -- finally -- teases your swollen clit with his tongue, swirling, pressing, lapping with deliberate strokes. The cry that tears itself from your throat is much louder than you intend but he makes no move to quiet you. Instead, he reaches to the hand you have digging into the plush fabric of the bedspread to tangle your fingers together against your hip. It is reassuring for all of a moment before you are lost again, back as taut an arc as you can manage as he suckles the little pearl at the apex of your sex, teeth grazing.

You know your fingernails must be digging painfully into the flesh of his hand, but his pace is uninterrupted, so he must not care. Eyes fluttering shut, you try to resist the urge to clamp your thighs around Kanan's head to keep him right where you want him. Maybe it's the Force, or maybe he's just done this a lot -- you try not to dwell on it -- but you feel him pull away just long enough to toss your legs over his bare shoulders, as if he’s keen to stay there for the rest of the cycle. The outright moan you treat him to is pornographic enough that you reach up to cover your own mouth, but his hand closes firmly around your wrist, startling you slightly. “Nope,” he half-groans against the juncture of your leg and hip, “none of that. I want to hear everything.” There is a sort of squeak in the affirmative from you, which he must assume is agreement because he’s pressing a kiss to the joint before ducking down, his lips and tongue returning to their place between your thighs, dedicated to tasting every part of you that they can reach -- and then some, if he can manage it. It makes your legs shake in a way that amazes you, like you need to stretch but can't move. You can feel your breath quicken under his ministrations, short deep gasps for air as his hands skirt up your sides and down again. 

“Stars, Kanan,” you huff, more to the ceiling than to him as you squirm and arch against the bed. He groans against you, signaling that his name is clearly the way to go, and your insides lurch at the idea that you can make him fall apart, too. You take a shaking breath to say it again, but he chooses that moment to run his fingers along the warm, wet folds of your pussy before pressing slowly inside, and then you do say his name, just at the head of a breath that shakes with your whole body. 

He is careful, deliberate about the slow slide of his fingers in and out of you, and when you look down between your thighs again he is watching you more intently than you've ever been watched in your life. His pace quickens when he's satisfied that you've adjusted, pressing his tongue once more to your clit with languid licks. The first time he actually sucks at the sensitive organ, your hips buck up so hard he has to hold you down with a considerable amount of effort, but the hum he treats you with sends heat right to your core. He's enjoying this -- enjoying you -- and it's almost more than you can bear to think about. Your body twists as much as it can in his hold, and before you can say anything to him about it, your orgasm catches you by surprise, ripping through you with all of the savage force of a geomagnetic storm as you cry out, swearing more vividly than you intend. It only serves to spur him on, fingers moving to work you through your release as you clench around them.

You're almost relieved when your body finally loses some of its tension, boneless and gasping for air against the bedding as Kanan draws away from you, watching the rise and fall of your chest like it's the only thing in the world. When you finally feel like your limbs aren’t lead -- how long has it even been, how long has he been waiting for you to show him you’re okay? -- you reach out to him. He moves in immediately, pressing a line of open-mouthed kisses up your stomach and chest before, finally, he allows you to pull him against you and to your lips. You can taste yourself on his tongue and, Maker help you, you might just crave it from now on. Your hand snakes between the two of you, down the lean muscle in his torso to the closure of his pants … and further, palming him through the fabric. The quiet groan of your name against your mouth is music to your ears, and you can’t stop the smile that turns the corners of your lips up. It doesn’t escape his notice.

“You’ve been holding out on me. How long have you been planning that move?” Kanan asks, amusement cutting the tightness in his voice only slightly.

“About a week,” you manage, only half a laugh as you squeeze the outline of his length gently for emphasis. He exhales hard, like he might have laughed if you hadn’t done it, grinding into your grip and dropping his head against your shoulder.

“You’re trying to kill me.” It earns him an actual laugh and some mercy as you move to unfasten his pants and push at the waist, coaxing them off his hips as much as you can without his assistance. He’s all too happy to help you along, shucking both pants and underwear in one move and dropping them somewhere out of sight. He’s on you again in seconds, pressed flush against you as his mouth slants over yours. It’s brief, and he moves quickly to your jawline, your throat, the valley between your breasts -- he bites at the flesh of one, a hand moving to knead and roll the other as his lips work their way to your nipple and suck gently, warm and wet for the brief moment before he pulls free and leaves the hardened peak to the now-chill air in the tiny space between you. “Do we need -- I mean, are you --” Oh. You hadn’t even thought about it.

Moving your hands up to the base of his skull, you tip his face to look at you. “I’m covered,” you say with a small smile. He opens his mouth for another question, but you stop him. “I trust you, Kanan.” You can actually, physically see him swallow as soon as you’ve said it, see the shift in the way he’s looking at you -- mostly like you’re about to be eaten alive in the best way, but with the same kind of affection he’s lavished on you in the sight of a dozen Imperial officers over the last week.

Something in your stomach does a somersault, and then you’re pulling him against you again, kissing him like you need it to survive. His hands work their way down between the two of you, rubbing gentle patterns into the juncture of your thighs to distribute the wetness there before hooking a hand under your leg to open you further and beginning the slow, careful press inside. There isn’t pain, not really -- just the sensation of being stretched around the girth of him -- but Kanan’s fingers trail soothingly along your thighs all the same, the constant steward of your comfort. You can feel the humid heat of his breath against your throat as he groans once he’s fully seated inside you, teeth dragging briefly against your collarbone as he waits for your go-ahead.

“Kanan,” you murmur finally, hands brushing the planes of his shoulders and roving upwards, into the roots of his hair, thumb pressed against the jumping of the pulse in his throat. “Please?”

Nearly immediately, he retreats and plunges back into you -- and again, and again with a focus that forces the air from your lungs. You’re distantly aware of your hips lifting from the plush bedding to meet his, the drag of his hips against yours almost overwhelming. You lose track of what’s happening quickly; there is the sharp pressure of his teeth against your throat, the wandering of his hands as he eventually moves his hands to your hips to hold you in place as his every thrust jostles you. 

His limbs slide against yours, sweat-slick and shaking as you wrap a leg around his hips to spur him on, to seek the friction of his hips against yours as you both race to release. It feels like every nerve ending is slowly burning under the surface, a tangled, undulating knot of sighs and open-mouthed kisses anywhere that can be reached. The cadence of his hips becomes erratic, the tension in your lower belly wound nearly as tight as it can go.

You hear your name, as if from far away, although you know his mouth is against your shoulder. It’s hard to focus, hot all over and so close to the edge, but you manage to eventually pull together the fragments of the sentence he’s trying to pull together in the haze of imminent orgasm. “I -- can I --”

Oh. “Yes,” you manage, “please, yes -- stars, Kanan --”

All at once, you feel him filling you, heat and pressure as his hips stutter against yours. You feel yourself grind against him unbidden, seeking that one last push over the edge and are rewarded with release at last, although less intense than the first. His breath catches as he presses his mouth against the meeting of your neck and shoulder, feeling you clench around him as he works the both of you through the last waves of pleasure. For a long moment, neither of you makes a move.

Kanan drops his forehead to your chest eventually, and you suddenly become aware of the hammering he must feel there before he presses an absent kiss to the space between your breasts. You take a deep breath, about to say something, before he very carefully extricates his limbs from yours, pulling out of you at last. The absence of him makes you gasp, overstimulated and frankly exhausted from both the physical exertion and the tension that immediately preceded it. Your eyes close as you try to will your heartbeat to slow, bringing an arm up to cover them more completely against the light of the room.

You’re halfway to blissfully dozing when you feel something warm between your legs and physically jump, startled right out of that reverie and sitting up on your elbows. Kanan laughs, reaching out to hold you gently in place as you finally focus in on his face, slightly alarmed. “I thought I lost you for a minute, there. It’s just me.” The hand not against your hips is holding a damp cloth, and your heart does a funny little turn at the idea that he had absolutely planned to take care of you whether you knew it or not.

“I was falling asleep,” you manage, brain still not quite caught up. 

“I noticed.” He nods slightly, as if to indicate the crux of your thighs. “I just figured you wouldn’t want to sleep like that.”  Your partner watches for any indication that you might stop him before -- exceedingly gently -- he finishes cleaning you up, the sticky remnants of release wiped away with minimal discomfort. You make no move to stop him, nor do you protest as he does away with the cloth and crawls his way back up the expanse of the bed to you.

Kanan’s arm wraps around you without preamble, and you find yourself smiling before you can catch yourself -- there is the question of what next, where are we, what are we doing, but it can wait. Turning carefully in his grip, you face him, and he dips his head to bring his mouth to yours without hesitation. It isn’t anywhere near as fierce or as lingering as when you’d finally come together, but your head swims all the same. He breaks off before you think to, allowing silence to settle over the both of you for what seems like a long time.

“You alright?”

“You’re asking me that now?” You prod at him teasingly, and he scoffs, but you’re both grinning, so he must not take it personally. “I’m alright.” A beat, and then you think better of it. “I’m great.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says casually, a hand moving up to brush against the bare curve of your side. You roll your eyes, and he pokes you much in the same manner as you had, coaxing a laugh from you. “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“Me too,” you admit, the sentiment tinged with sheepishness. “I was just …”

“I know,” Kanan murmurs. “You don’t have to be scared of me.”

“I know,” you murmur in turn, shimmying to press the line of your body against his again and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You feel him shuffle only a little awkwardly against you before the bedding begins moving, finally settling over you both as he returns his hands to your skin, dropping a kiss to your shoulder right above the line of fabric. Your eyes fall closed at the sensation, and you can’t find the motivation to open them again, stifling a yawn before repeating yourself quietly. 

“I know.”

#kanan jarrus #kanan jarrus x reader #kanan jarrus imagine #star wars rebels #caleb dume #caleb dume x reader #caleb dume imagine #star wars imagine #star wars reader insert

[nancywheelxr]

Hello, I read doors open like arms and I absolutely loved it! It was the first time I read a fanfic where Hela was not just a stereotypical villain, but her reasons were somewhat explained, which was great. Also, the Loki-Thor dynamic is amazing, really realistic (to me) and great to read. There is just one problem, though... Now I got invested in your story and I desperately need continuation, does Hela attack, maybe she joins brothers against Thanos... Pretty please?

Hey there, thank you so much! I loved writing that fic and hearing this is seriously making my whole week, anon! I do plan to write more of it, ideally fixing the whole Infinity War-Endgame mess, so maybe subscribe to that fic on AO3 to keep an eye out for updates, but while I hammer out the details of that, here is a small interlude of what happens next:

*

Odin's funeral comes and goes like the flaming arrow that lights up his boat: swiftly and with a blazing streak across the skies that remains burned into Loki's eyelids long after the after images should have faded.

The hollowness that sits hungrily on his chest follows its lead, clawing behind his ribs and demanding his attention. 

In any case, it's on his nature to be contrary, so Loki firmly ignores it and pointedly does not try to untangle the knot of emotions that weighs him down. Instead, he chooses to focus on another absence at the dinner table.

"Now," he says, staring at the murals they have not yet decided what to do with– painting over them feels wrong, but leaving them in the open feels just as upsetting. Loki has half a mind to demolish the whole thing. "This is just getting ridiculous."

"Maybe she hasn't noticed yet," Thor murmurs beside him, quieter than Loki's ever heard him. "Maybe she thinks he still lives."

“You don’t believe that,” he scoffs.

“You don’t believe that,” replies Thor, sullenly. It’s been five minutes since they’ve last encountered some nobleman or other seeking either pointless answers or having some entirely uninteresting news to report. Loki is beginning to grow suspicious; in his time on the throne, five minutes of solitude had been a rare blessing.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe in,” Loki waves him off, glancing away from these dreadful paintings. His stomach rolls unpleasantly. “This will not fix itself and neither of us has been to see her in days.”

Thor bristles. “Father has–”

The words die on his throat, halted with a crushing grief that Loki wants to be about as far away as possible. Thor’s sentimentality has a way of catching. And yet, he finds himself foolishly rooted to the floor. “I know,” he says, voice unwillingly softer, “I know, I don’t mean it accusingly. But we need to deal with Hela, sooner rather than later.”

With a weary sigh, Thor drags a hand across his face. “Something also needs to be done about these murals, I hate the sight of them,” he shakes his head as if that could dispel all the wrong that seems to have settled over their lives as of late. “No matter! This shall wait while we pay our sister a long overdue visit!”

Long overdue might be a little exaggerated, but at least Thor has seen the wisdom on his suggestion. Allowing Hela to stew on her own, to make her plans with only her half of the story, well– they all saw how that turned out for him in the past. For everyone, in fact, and–

“My king,” a servant bows demurely, looking nervously between the two of them, and Loki has seen enough of this to know the Bifrost will be carrying only one of them today. “Lord Asmund has asked for your counsel over a disagreement among the Council.”

“I– thank you,” Thor says, clearing his throat, “but I’m afraid I’m far too busy at the moment, tell the Council I’ll be with them shortly, as soon as I have returned.”

The itch to smack his brother across the head is great, but somehow, Loki finds it in himself to wait until the servant has scurred away. Too dangerous to do anything undermining to his brother’s rule so soon into his regency. “Don’t be daft,” he rolls his eyes, scowls, “you can’t afford to slight your Council this early, especially considering the current affronts you’ve made against their wishes.”

“What,” it brings him up short and Loki raises one eyebrow, unimpressed, spreads his hands as if to gesture himself.

“Do you truly think they want me here, brother?” He sighs, “they will not be happy about Hela either. In fact, it would be in your best interests to exile the two us before the whole court sees you taking in yet another monster.”

The smack across his head comes as a shocking surprise. “Have you lost your mind? Or perhaps you wish to lose that hand?!”

“I will tolerate no insults to my family,” Thor replies calmly, smugly, “much less coming from my family.”

Loki glowers, far too much happening for him to keep track. That, too, he ignores violently. Instead, he focuses on his irritation. “You’re a fool and I will remind you I warned you now when this inevitably leads to disaster.”

Thor laughs. “Of course you will, brother. Now, let’s go see our sister.”

“No,” he says, haughtily pushing him towards the hallway the servant had disappeared back into, “I will go see Hela alone while you see to your Council.”

Perhaps, had he had the chance, Thor might have protested, but as it is, by the time he realizes an illusion has been telling him that, Loki is nearly too far to hear his enraged cry, the glittering of the rainbow bridge already twinkling in the distance.

*

Helheim is still as dreadful as ever, greying and dark, and Loki hates this place more than on principle. A thousand years here, it’s a miracle Hela has clung to any shreds of sanity– it makes him wonder what did Odin think of the future; he locked her here and then what? Did the old man think he would live forever?

“Why have you come this time, little brother?” Hela’s voice is standoffish and cool, uninterested down to the vowels. Loki firmly does not listen to the faint voice in his head, so much like Frigga’s, pointing out how much alike she sounds to him right now.

They did not grow up together nor even heard stories of each other and yet, a stranger in the streets would certainly mistake them for siblings after listening for five minutes.

“That’s not the right question now, is it?” He hums, turning around to see Hela lounging in a conjured throne with Fenrir at her feet. She looks well, less pale than before, less hungry, less like a lingering ghost. More solid, more real. It should probably be more frightening than he feels it is. 

Hela snorts, rolling her eyes. “I suppose you expect me to ask next what it is, then,” she cards her fingers through grey fur, unsettlingly in good spirits, “very well, I’ll humor you this once– what should I be asking?”

He narrows his eyes in suspicion for a second before deciding to go for a milder approach. “The real question is not why am I here, but why are you?” 

Her good mood vanishes at his words. “Where else would I be?” 

“The Allfather is gone,” he points out needlessly, gestures the barren landscape around them, “you don’t have to stay here anymore.”

“Indeed,” she says, “and I daresay Odin would just love to see me leaving my prison now that he is gone to bring Asgard down. No, I don’t think so. I’m not playing into his games anymore.”

“There are more choices besides staying here or destroying an entire realm, you know.”

Her eyes flash dangerously. “If you think I’ll return to that place in chains, a prisoner where once I ruled, you are terribly wrong. A gilded cage is still a cage and at least here, I don’t have to withstand those ancient fools prattling about.”

Loki studies her for a moment, taking the chance to collect his thoughts; this is the first time he’s on this side of this speech, you see. In hindsight, perhaps he should have let Thor come along, he certainly has more experience handling this.

Oh well, it’s not like he can say she is wrong, he supposes.

“Thor would say Asgard is not a cage,” he says, “and ask you to come home immediately. He’s a bit upset you missed the funeral.”

“That one is a fool,” Hela waves him off, “am I to understand you are here to do the same?”

“No, I like to think I know better,” Loki shrugs, dusting off his armor to prepare himself for the travel back. Nothing more to do here today, better not to rush her. “You’re right in one matter, sister– the court truly is full of decrepit imbeciles.”

Fenrir lifts his head lazily, tail wagging once as Hela laughs, and Loki calls for Heimdall, allowing the blaze of light to sweep him back home.

*

“Where’s Hela?” Thor frowns, breaking off from where he had been talking with the Warriors Three and the distance does nothing to soften Sif’s distrustful glare. Fair enough. 

“In her prison,” he answers calmly, not bothering to stop but slowing his steps, “although she seems to have regained her full power. I think I saw some trees there this time.”

“What?” Thor makes a face, “does she know–”

“Yes, she’s aware.”

“And she wants to stay where she is?”

Loki thinks of the depressing landscape, Fenrir’s tail blowing thin dust into the air each time it hit the ground, the unnatural taste of the forever dim lights. No one wants to stay stuck in an eternal twilight, at the edge of a nightmare. “No, she does not.”

“No, she does n– you are making no sense, brother,” Thor sighs, huffs, and he looks very tired, worn like Loki has never seen him. Even in his worst days as King, Loki can’t remember looking so exhausted, old. Then again, he didn’t care half as much, didn’t want much more than keeping the peace and send those blasted stones about as far as he could trust someone to hide them.

And, well, if he’s being honest, he had never expected to reign for so long. A few months, maybe, but not years. Thor, he expects, has millenniums to look forward to.

Good thing neither of them is a seer, truly.

“Give it time,” he offers, catching sight of some harried lord of other he never bothered to learn the name, and ducks into a different hallway, parting ways to return to his room. Still, he calls behind his shoulder, “and stop avoiding your meetings!”

*

“You again,” Hela purses her lips. Today, Fenrir is off chasing rabbits; if he pays attention, Loki thinks he can hear the anguished cries and the tear of fur and flesh.

“Me again,” he agrees cheerily, taking a seat into the newly made garden. It looks a little like Frigga’s, if less gentle, less idyllic. Wilder, actually, with poison ivies strangling trees and roots upending the earth. “You will not believe what happened today.”

“Do tell, but only if it’s interesting,” she says, watching flies buzz around, a dead bird attracting the lot of them. “How fares our dear brother in the throne?”

“Surprisingly not disastrously,” Loki admits, “do you want to hear it or not?”

“Not particularly. Since I so clearly am not going to be the queen, why should I care for Asgard?” Her tone is cavalier, dismissive, but he hears the undercurrent of hurt there, the spiteful resignation– yes, she wouldn’t be Odin’s blood-thirsty monster, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, wouldn’t wreak the havoc he had expected her to, but at what cost? She’s making a garden out of her prison, but he wonders how much of herself is she losing with these illusions?

How much change until there’s nothing of yourself left?

He shakes his head. “It’s where your power comes from, is it not?”

“In a way,” she nods, “doesn’t mean I have to be embroiled into whatever court nonsense has you into such a tirade.”

Fenrir comes lumbering back, muzzle dripping with blood and tail wagging happily, more dog than feral beast. Loki turns his nose in disgust, huffs. “I feel I am the only one with sense in that place.”

“It would not come as a surprise. You seem to have some intelligence, I could not say the same for the rest of the court.”

“Thank you, sister, for the glowing endorsement,” he drawls, rolling his eyes, then– a thought. “You should come home, help me help them not to run the city to the ground.”

Hela laughs. “I thought you were going to tell me a story, little prince.”

*

“Tonight there is a feast, will you come?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” says Hela, and Fenrir darts past them, a bloodied deer in his maw, still twitching every other second. “Will you attend?”

Loki grins, settling in one of the benches with the pile of books he had brought with him today. “People will certainly see me there.”

Hela rolls her eyes but picks one of the tomes. The poor lighting is terrible for reading, nothing a few witch lights can’t fix.

*

“Thor has a room made for you,” Loki points out, “it was garish at first, of course, but I had it redecorated.”

“Tell me, then, little brother, do these quarters come with how many guards at my door?”

“No guards, no,” he shrugs, “but I expect the Council will try to riddle it with spies. They certainly tried with mine.”

Hela hums. “Of course. I’d turn them inside out and leave their entrails at the door. Or perhaps their heads in a spike?”

“I would think you’d sick Fenrir on them.”

“He deserves better than a traitor’s flesh.”

“Does that mean you are coming?”

“That means I would rather be left alone.”

*

“It’s been a fortnight, will you come home now?”

“No. Be careful with the nightshade, it’s been wilting lately.”

*

“Thor has been asking for you, he’s convinced the Council you will not be a threat to the Realm. No more than I, in any case. Will you come home?”

“I’m offended, I will not.”

*

It takes half a season for Thor to finally grow too impatient with his visits and if he’s being honest, Loki is only surprised it took him this long to corner him outside his room. “You’re off to see Hela again, aren’t you?”

“I did say I would take care of the situation, didn’t I?” He raises one eyebrow, eyeing his displeased scowl.

“Yes, yes, but,” Thor glares, sour to the bone, “you haven’t been to a Council meeting in forever! Maybe we should let her come to us when she is ready, give up on these fruitless visits.”

Loki rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. “What do you think I have been doing? You try convincing the Goddess of Death to do anything. She keeps conjuring the most hideous plants for her garden, but I believe I’m close to getting her to lose the corpse flowers.”

“Losing the–”

“You won’t want to know, they smell terrible, really, like rotting flesh. Even the blasted wolf hates it.”

Thor looks like he might want to protest or perhaps inquire further on Hela’s awful gardening plans, or, more likely, to question him again on what they’ve been discussing, but a servant interrupts them again, reminding Thor of a meeting he seems to be almost late to. Good thing, really, that Loki has arranged for the staff to keep these reminders coming. It wouldn’t do for their king to be late, it gives time for gossip and scheming to brew.

And if the distrust, the suspicion Loki might be the one plotting behind Thor’s back with Hela to– what? Destroy Asgard? Kill their brother? – well, it might sting, yes, but it’s not like he can blame him, not in light of the past decade, even the past few months. 

Still, Loki excuses himself cooly, trying not to allow unfair resentments to claw at his throat.

*

“If they are all constantly suspicious of you,” Hela says, a frown so much like Thor’s on her brow, “and it bothers you so, then why stay? You know the pathways between worlds, why not slip away from their petty grievances?”

Loki can’t help snorting; only Hela would call his crimes petty.

And yet, her question, as they often do, gives him pause. Why did he stay? He could have gone anywhere in the universe, thrown the tesseract in the nearest wormhole and run in the other direction. It wouldn’t have hidden him from the Titan, not forever, but neither will Asgard– which reminds him, he will have to warn his brother of this soon: Thanos’ madness will not spare their home, not even if Loki were a thousand miles away, if the Tesseract were a thousand miles away.

Soon isn’t today, though, so instead, he allows himself to faintly prod at the tangled knots of emotions he had been ignoring these past months. If he were someone else, someone more prone to feelings and such, he might say he stayed because pushing everything away had become too tiring on his shoulder, because he had died once, nearly twice, and when you die for somewhere, for someone, that has to count for something, because more often than not it feels like never stopped falling, but in Asgard, it’s easier to pretend there’s solid ground beneath his feet.

Because running away has only ever made things worse, so he chose to stay for once, is choosing to stay, and sometimes, he thinks it might be the same as choosing his family and that could be enough because it’s on purpose.

“Because it’s worth it,” he tells Hela at last and watches her consider his words carefully, hesitant as she absently pets Fenrir, eyes far away to the sky like she’s seeing golden and blue instead of dulling greys. When she says nothing, he adds softly, “will you come home and see it for yourself?”

This time when he calls for Heimdall and the Bifrost strikes from the sky, the Guardian is there, steady and dependable, to welcome him home along with Hela, her ridiculously large wolf, and the stupid cactus in a yellow vase she carries in her hands. 

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #thor odinson #hela odinsdottir #thor ragnarok #mcu #marvel #look an ask #loki and thor brotp #loki and hela brotp

[ripuels]

For @outreotter​ <3

(Another one that got way out of hand, also I haven’t managed to read over it mine soul is on Jupiter locked in a fridge sorry. Posting it as text under the cut because tumblr remains awful about my ask box~)

“If you're in some kind of trouble, you can tell me.” Christopher doesn't steer far from her hip as he welcomes her into the lounge room and she falls into the couch. 

“What makes you think I'm in trouble?”

The responding look is one of disbelief, he hardly has to be reminded who he's talking to. 

“Okay, okay sure. I'm avoiding someone, and your- the door wasn't locked, and I thought-” Amanda sees the incredulous synthetic stand opposite, arms folding across his chest, “oh my God, this was such a bad idea. I'm just- yeah, I'm gonna go.”

“Wait!” Samuels catches her with urgency, she freezes at the edge of the couch. “Stay, for a tea? I haven't seen you in a year, it's been odd to say the least, and concerning- the radio silence after all we've been through, and suddenly you're in my hallway, I- it would be nice, to catch up.”

She sits back down, nodding slowly. “Tea never hurt anyone. But just tea, then I gotta get back to work.” 

“Amy- Ripley,” he corrects himself as she flinches to a microscopic degree, “it's Sunday.”

She knows what he's getting at, calling her out on any reason to leave in a hurry. “Is it?” Her voice drags with a heavy sarcasm even Christopher couldn't miss. “I had no idea. Mostly because I've been working non-stop for about five weeks. Fucking staff cuts left us with half the crew and double the work, and I can't even complain because I'm one of the fortunate ones who still has a job. And-”

Samuels watches as she sinks comfortably into the couch pillows, ankle crossed over the other knee. It's funny that such a simple movement reminds him how flexible she is, especially her hips. 

“Sorry,” she groans and scrubs at her eyes, “that's exactly what I'm doing right now isn't it?” 

“It’s quite alright. I'm interested and happy to listen.” 

“It’s just, my whole crew was made up of contractors, once their time was up, they didn't want to bother renewing and The Company saw the opportunity to save some dollars.” Amanda huffs, “fuck all the rest of us I guess.” 

Samuels nods compassionately, pacing over to the kitchen to put the kettle on, leaning over his elbows on the bench. It's amazing how unique this synthetic has developed compared to all the others, since the breakup she had never struggled to speak to other Samuels units, though identical, she never saw his face in them. But him, Christopher, he could be standing amongst a hundred others and he'd be the sole blip on her radar. 

“You're obviously not easily replaced,” he means it in more ways than one, “maybe take it higher to HR, they could always steer you in the right direction. I’d be happy to help, if you needed anything from Legal-?”

Ripley smiles, pulling her hair over her shoulder and sliding her forearm behind her head. “Any excuse, you haven't changed a bit,” she laughs, definitely joking though not far wrong, “but I don't want to bug you for help. You've done enough for me after everything, and I already owe more than I could pay you back in years.”

“We had years,” Christopher says simply, fondly, an ease in his voice that Amanda can't tell is reminiscing or final. Or which one she would prefer it to be. “And they were good years. Consider your debt paid. However nonexistent it is.” 

She gently scratches her fingertips in the hair behind her ear, letting out a resigned sigh as he prepares a few mugs. 

“How long have you been back?”

“Two months.” She says with a hard stare. He doesn’t look upset or surprised by the fact that she hadn’t called around to visit, but curious. “I moved in with- with someone, in the hab units, y’know the permanent accommodation ones? By the bay. Nice view, but really quiet.” By that, she means lonely. “Figure I may as well set myself up if I’m going to be around for a while.”

“Oh, I see. Have you…” He starts, taking a moment to compose himself a little better, stripping the desperation out of his voice. “Have you found someone? Human?” He adds a little unnecessarily. 

After him? Hell no, she thinks. She had her shot at love, at life, at everything, and she blew it. What the fuck would she even do with a new lover but silently wish they were someone else? Someone in particular. 

“No, God no. I've just, been around.” She says nonchalantly, which isn't a total lie. A few dates, made a few more friends, he always said she needed more of them. 

“Anyone right now?”

Amanda doesn't mean to laugh, a little sadly, looking directly at him. “Always.” 

“Oh.” 

The synthetic doesn't seem surprised by the revelation, in fact, he doesn't look anything. 

“Dammit, Chris. Have you turned your emotional programming off again?” Amanda knows him, and knows he is smarter than to lie to her, so he stays quiet. “You're getting worryingly good at faking it. Even convinced me for a while there. Why the hell?” 

Samuels tugs his tie loose with a finger, a movement usually telling of his synthetic measure of anxiety. This time however, it looks more habitual. His face is icy, unbothered, his eyes relaxed under a numb brow. “I found it easier to function.” To cope. “How did you know?”

Ripley gets up and wanders to the other side of the bench, hands wringing at the edge of it. “Because this isn't you, Samuels. Even before you met me you were emotional, sentimental, and now you're just- just like all the others. But worse actually, because you're choosing to be.”

As if she hadn't spoken at all, he finds another subject. One he would experience an immeasurable amount of panic over had he been able to feel anything at all. “Did you ever find any more answers?” His controlled hand pours boiling water into two mugs. “To the whereabouts of Ellen?”

“No, and turns out I didn't want them anyway.” Amanda doesn't need to try to sound convincing. “It's a huge universe out there and I could look for my entire life, waste- my entire life, and not even get a net to the bottom. I'm finished. It's what she would have wanted, I think.”

“I believe you're right. It's what we all wanted for you. To find some peace.”

“Closure.” She smiles weakly and he nods. “I’m getting there. One step at a time. First things first, I still gotta settle into my new joint. Make it, I don’t know, comfortable. Like this place.” 

“You're always welcome to stay here. It is half your house too.” Christopher stops himself from saying home, something it hasn't been in over twelve months. “There is a spare room or two.”

“I couldn't intrude like that. You probably have a whole social group, a girlfriend, boyfriend, both, who knows. Feels wrong to kick your door down so suddenly,” she says, a little downhearted. The synthetic opens his mouth to assure her he absolutely doesn't, but she trudges onward. “Thanks though, Chris. I’ll keep it in mind.”

He resigns to nod, knowing first hand that corralling this woman never ended well in the past. “Offer isn't retractable, not that you won't let yourself in anyway. Clearly.”

Amanda takes her tea with a thankful smile, leaning on her elbows. The man across mirroring her. “Hey, yeah.” She rests the rim of the mug to her chin. “Why was the door unlocked?” 

“It’s silly, really.” He finally looks away, perhaps considering dishonesty. “I haven't locked it since you left, since I didn't know if you still had a key or not. I'm not sure what possesses me to do it, but I thought of this place as a safe haven of sorts, for if you ever need.” He finds himself looking into the face of a woman who knows her soul is being x-rayed. “Good thing too, came in as a handy sanctuary, from mysterious pursuers.” 

At this she rolls her eyes. “Okay, you got me. There wasn't actually anyone, I just wanted to drop in but something came over me. It was as if-” she takes a sip and shrugs, “it was just dumb.”

“As if what?” 

“As if- I was coming home I guess. I was just going to knock but before I knew it, I was standing in the hallway, and then you were there and, yeah, I panicked.” She finds herself smiling along with him. “You should turn it back on, by the way. Your feelings. It's not fair that I'm here all shaky knees and racing heart and you're just a slab of limestone.”

His face falls. “I don't think that's a very good idea.” 

“Why? What's wrong?”

Samuels straightens off the bench. “It just isn't.”

Amanda doesn't push. “Y'know, if you need someone to talk to, support, I'm here. I might not have always been but, I am now.” 

He thinks for a moment, remembering the times when his ex-lover would break down between his legs in the bath, against the wall of the hallway, when he came home to her tiny frame hunkered behind the couch, terrified, knife in her defensive hand and sweat beading on her forehead. She'd always let him be there, let him in, and he never allowed her the slightest room for guilt. 

It had been months since Samuels felt anything, since he became lost in processing grief, regret, anxiety. Why would she leave? How could she? Would she ever come back? But above all, could she ever come back? He knew Amanda would follow the trail until the end, whether it be of the line, or her life.

If he were to tune into all of that now, should the dam crumble, he doesn't think she should be around to see it. But if she leaves, it may be for good, truly, this chance as fleeting as her.

“Amanda, I- I would, but I haven't- not in a long time. I have reason to err on the side of caution, that it may not be something you want to witness.” Samuels' report is composed, even as he fidgets with the mug handle. “I have no clue what to expect, but suspect it will not be pleasant.”

“Keeping shit bottled up is only going to break you. I’m not going to push, but let me help you, if you need. Anything. No expiry date.”

Samuels rubs his hair back, disturbing the perfect form that somehow always defied not only the weather, but her playful tussling. He seems defeated by the fact that he has nothing to lose. “Could I-” he starts, placing his drink down, “Could I just trouble you for a hug?”

Amanda recoils, she doesn't know why her reaction is of surprise, not until she remembers where they stand. Square one. Or perhaps more accurately, not even on the same tile at all. “Yeah, course you can.” 

She takes the initiative to wander over and feed her hands under his arms, dragging them together tightly around his chest. Without hesitation he takes her around the shoulders. 

He hasn't changed a bit, still warmer than he should be, still wearing the same deliciously oaky cologne she brought a few Christmases ago. The one he wore because he was convinced he smelled of chemicals. Like new silicone baking trays. Amongst other things. And he still holds her as if she is vanishing before his very eyes. 

Now more than ever, she thinks. Even at her scariest, most dire moments, when his hand was the only thing holding her to the face of the Earth, he never squeezed so desperately. 

“Samuels,” she whispers, turning her face from his shoulder to nestle into the crook of his neck. His grip eases as if foreseeing the 'you're hurting me' or 'that's enough now' coming. “When was the last time you had a rest cycle?” 

“Since the morning.” 

“You sleeping every day now?” Amanda steps back hesitantly, her thumbs rubbing his forearms. 

“No,” he clarifies. “The morning I woke up and you were gone.” 

Her heart gives a punishing ache, but presented with the opportunity to make things right, she wasn’t going to screw it up again. “’Kaye. C’mon. Bed with you. Now.” 

“I'd rather be here. You're due to go to work soon and I haven’t seen you in-”

“Fuck work. You need me. You need somebody.” She wriggles up behind him shoves his waist forward. “Rest cycle for you, then if you want, I'll duck out and pick up some dinner. Maybe Italian and a bottle of wine, and if you're really lucky, or the wine is good, I'll stay the night. But only if you’re prepared to turn everything back on over dinner and we talk about this. Properly.” 

“Wait, you'll truly stay?”

She nods her head as he peers over his shoulder. “Couch or spare room. Or would you prefer I went home? Just figured, you might want the company.”

“No! No, of course I do. Please.” He's not even able to change out of his work suit before he's pushed roughly on the bed, the throw rug at the base is dragged up to his chin. Amanda at least unfastens a few buttons of his shirt and unhooks his tie. “What will you be doing while I rest? It'll take-” he seems to calculate, discomfort and disappointment falling over him, “four hours, twenty-five minutes.”

Ripley flops down the the bedside chair, pulling out her phone. “I'll just be here, for when you come to.” 

“Alright.” Christopher hums, rolling onto his side, his eyes fluttering closed. Looking as close to a dead battery as she had ever seen him, though physically at full charge. “Before I- I am out, I want you to know, I’m so happy to see you, Amanda.” 

“Happy.” She teases gently. “And how can you tell without-?”

“They’re already back online.” 

#i may or may not have fallen asleep on my keybort during this #pls tell me if there is just a huge patch in the middle of ggggggggggggg forrever #thank you

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 26: Abraxas - Part 4

While ACHTUNG BABY does what it can to defend its master from the onslaught of fists and blows, Shizuka can’t help but feel a pain not only on her body, but within herself as well. 

“I can’t do this… I’m not strong enough… I’m not like them… I never will be…”

“Well, of course not. How could you be?”

In an office surrounded by bookshelves and starfish in display cases, a large man in a dark coat inspects the contents of an aquarium on his desk. His hat is pulled low over his brow, as he diligently takes notes. Behind him is a pale young girl, with dark hair, standing against the wall, with sunglasses positioned on her head. The office sways slightly, rocking gently to and fro.

“So you agree… I’m not strong enough.” the girl asks, staring at his back.

“That’s not what I said. I meant, of course you’re not like us. You’re your own person.”

“Yeah, maybe I am... but that doesn’t mean I’m good enough. Even if I’m my own person, it’s not like I’m really… a part of you all. We’re not really family…

“I know why I’m here, Jotaro. I’m not stupid. You took me out on this trip because you felt sorry for me. But it’s OK. I don’t feel sad anymore… I don’t feel anything.”

The man says nothing, taking his notes on a clipboard.

“I clung to Daddy and Mamma for everything. Everything. They were my foundation. Every person needs something to build themselves on. But mine was built on sand. I’ll never know who my real parents were, who my own family is. All I have is Mamma to cling on to. And when she’s gone, I’ll disappear completely. I’ll just be… empty.”

There is silence in the room for a while. Then, Jotaro calls out, “Shizuka, come over and look at this.”

Shizuka does, after a moment of confusion. “What?”

“Look at this,” the man says, pointing at a rock in the aquarium, “see that, encrusted on the rock? Look there, it’s opening its shell to release its legs.”

Shizuka looks, and what she thought was some sort of stone opens up to extend an appendage similar to a feather duster. “What is that?” she asks as Jotaro rolls up his sleeve and dips his hand into the aquarium, picking up the rock the thing is attached to. He presents the rock, water dripping all over the floor.

“An acorn barnacle. Those feathery things are modified legs, left over from their larval stage. Most species of barnacle attach themselves to substrate, but many others cling to animals. These, for example, like to latch onto to humpback whales. At first glance, they resemble bivalve molluscs like clams or mussels, but in fact they’re crustaceans, closer to crabs.”

“Ohh, ok… Does it have anything to do with what we were talking about?”

“No. It just fascinates me.”

“...Ok.”

“Come outside with me for a second.”

Jotaro gets up from his seat abruptly and steps out of the lab. Shizuka follows him outside, bewildered. On the deck of the research vessel, she can see land in the distance. Gulls cry overhead. Jotaro stares straight ahead. The name painted on the side of the vessel is OCEAN MAN.

“2 years ago, the world nearly came to an end.” 

Shizuka blinks. “What?”

“A man named Enrico Pucci, a follower of an old enemy of mine, set in motion a plan which would give him the power to end the world and remake it in his image. Jolyne and I tried to stop him, and we failed. STAR PLATINUM couldn’t touch him. I couldn’t touch him.”

“... Well, it couldn’t have been that bad, considering we’re all still here.”

“Yes. We have Giorno Giovanna to thank for that.”

“Who?”

“Giorno Giovanna. The son of that old enemy of mine, the very one Pucci lived for. He appeared out of nowhere, drawn by fate to Cape Canaveral, just like we were. He saved our lives, stopped Pucci with the most terrifying ability I’ve ever seen. But with his death came something I can’t explain; things were different. The world seemed different. Maybe the nature of Pucci’s ability was that it would affect the world in spite of his death. I don’t know. But in spite of everything, I was still alive. Jolyne was still alive. We all were still alive.”

Shizuka grimaces, looking down. “But then Daddy died six months later anyway! So you got upstaged, what difference does it make!?”

“It makes a difference. I was afraid. I still am.”

“... You are…?”

“I’m afraid that the world we’re in is the wrong one. I’m afraid of Giorno Giovanna’s power, however much he seems to intend to use it for good. In that moment when Death stared me straight in the face, I truly felt powerless. I feared that I would die, unable to do anything to protect the ones I love. 

“I was afraid of losing my family. But I didn’t. I still have my daughter, and all of you.”

“But... we’re not family. I’m… not your family.”

“Yes you are. We might not share any blood, but that’s not what families are made from. Connections don’t start with the blood, but the Will. The old man chose you, made you his daughter. You dishonor his memory by denying that connection.”

“But Daddy isn’t here anymore…!”

“He lives in you. He left behind a legacy of adventure and justice, and spent his final years raising you. As long as we live with pride, he’s always with us.”

Too busy stifling tears to pull away from Jotaro’s gentle embrace, Shizuka buries her face into her nephew’s shirt. “What-- What do I even do?”

“I don’t know. You have to decide, but whatever you do, you’ll be fine. You are Joseph Joestar’s daughter.”

Shizuka sniffs, and dribbles snot into the fabric of Jotaro’s coat. Shaking his head, he says “Good grief…”

                                                            ---

“My own way of doing things?” Shizuka murmurs, staring in the mirror. “What is my way of doing things? Who am I, even?” She has returned home, standing in the bathroom of her parents’ New York apartment, where she has lived her whole life. 

Once again, she places the sunglasses over her eyes, casting a reddish veneer over her vision. She raises her hand, and concentrates. Before her eyes, the hand turns invisible. “This power… That I’ve always used to hide away… To disappear… I don’t want that! I don’t want to disappear! I want to be real!!”

She began with practicing smiles in the mirror, her face so unused to it. A spirit gripped her, a new determination she had never before known. Having mastered smiling, she began further preparations. 

Sunbathing herself beet red, experimenting with all manner of make-up, nearly bleaching the hair right off her scalp. Every misstep only fuelled her determination, to take the next step in her transformation. 

She would no longer be someone who hid, who disappeared. She would draw attention, burn herself into people’s memories. Like a star, shining light in the dark. 

She would be Shizuka Joestar.

                                                         ---

Back in the present, Phantasma swings a heavy fist at her. She jumps back, losing her footing and stumbling backwards into the ropes. Her ears are ringing and there is a whirlpool in skull. Beneath her feet, shards of shattered glass crunch. Leaning back over the ropes, Shizuka sees the broken skylight above her. The shaft of light that illuminate the dim place.

“Phantasma…” she murmurs.

The masked woman listens, her eyes till covered by the makeshift blindfold. “Hmm?”

“Do you know… about whale barnacles?”

“... Excuse me?”

“Whale barnacles. Like the barnacles that you find stuck to piers or rocks in tide pools, only these ones attach themselves to live whales, especially humpbacks. My nephew told me about them.”

“... I seem to have struck you so hard you can’t think straight. You were doing so well before, and now you’re making a fool of yourself, once again.”

Shizuka gasps, gulping air into her harried lungs before speaking again. “The thing with barnacles is, they live their whole adult lives cemented to a single object, but they are not part of it. They are wholly independent.

“In extreme cases, a lot of barnacles can provide a humpback whale with armor, protecting it from rivals or predators. But it might also cause extra drag, slowing it down. But only in extreme cases, and even then, the barnacles do not serve the whale at all. They are completely, independent beings. Phantasma… I’m sure you think you’ve already won, yes?”

Phantasma cocks her head to one side. “I don’t follow what you’re saying. You are right, of course, I look forward to your final moments. I expect them to be glorious. But what do barnacles have to do with anything?”

“It’s just the first… the first thing you need to understand.” She says, pulling herself, facing forward. Her vision is unfocused, as she stares straight past Phantasma, at the gap in the ropes where Moya fell through.

“The first? What, then, is the second?”

“The second thing is my name,” she stands, no longer leaning on the ropes. “You heard it before, but I don’t think you were paying attention, so I’ll tell you again. My name is Shizuka Joestar. That name is why you’re going to lose.”

“Oh? How so? Will your family’s lawyers litigate me to death? It’s worth a try, I suppose,” the masked woman sneers.

“It’s not about money, it’s about tradition,” Shizuka says, her smile weakly returning. “Within the Joestar family, there’s a technique that’s been passed down through the generations. A surefire move that not even Moya knows about.”

“A secret technique?” Phantasma asks, her grin becoming genuine.

“That’s right. You told me to fight until my last breath… well, if all my other options are through, then I have no choice… I hope you’re ready for this…!”

“I am ready. Show me, Shizuka Joestar!” ABRAXAS emerges, banging its chest before readying itself behind Phantasma. “Show me what your blood is worth!”

#jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #achtung attitude #shizuka joestar #jotaro kujo #ch26