#when johanne closes her eyes and thinks of home it's of people

[altrxisme]

//

#; speak writer #welp both hcs were totally not inspired by a drautos piece where he overlooks the sea and home comes to mind #when johanne closes her eyes and thinks of home it's of people #when jackson closes his eyes and thinks of home it's of sylleblossoms and his family #ahaaa i'm getting sad now #i miss my home country so much #but idk what i'd be like if i didn't move here in the states #ah fuck

[violets-in-her-arms-writes]

Find the Word {2}

Thank you @thewriteflame for tagging me!! You can (and should) check out her post (here) 💜

My words were Joke, Jump, Brown, Bug, Book

I'm really excited because this time I was actually able to answer with only extracts from La Fledgling! Yay!

(as usual, you can find my answers under the cut 😊)

JOKE

Really. Did they really think that humans, weak and mortal, were the most dangerous, the most threatening enemy, the shadow that crept under the door and through the cracked windows? Did Anthony fucking Rodin really think that Lou checked every exit and never turned her back on the door because of the humans? Don't make me laugh. If she jumped at the lightest door slam, if she always looked over her shoulder, if she was afraid at nightfall even though darkness should have become her refuge after her transformation, it was certainly not because of people like me. No, the problem was the other bloodsucking monsters that walked the streets like they owned them and attacked innocent women and followed them home to murder their entire families. Humans. Ah, that's a good joke. "Johanne," Lou whispered, who could probably sense my anger rising.

JUMP

My gesture must have drawn her gaze to my neck because I saw her eyes on my necklace. Fuck, my necklace! My heart began to beat faster as my hands crumpled the black fabric of my dress. I hoped it would hold up, I hoped she wouldn't see anything out of the ordinary in my work, I hoped she wouldn't notice the enchantments Ana had woven into it, I hoped she wouldn't smell the potions we had used to bind it together. I hoped, I hoped, I hoped. (I was so, so close to start praying again.) She reached for my throat, but stopped before touching me, saving me from slapping her wrist as I would have done with one of mine. "Sorry." The vampire apologized as if she fully expected me to jump at her and smash her face in. Honestly, who bends ninety degrees to apologize, right? "It's nothing," I said, brushing off her apology with a wave of my hand. "I'm just not used to being touched like that." "'Precious,'" she murmured.

BROWN

"She's hiding something from you." "Of course she's hiding something from me," I replied without looking up from the book I had been pretending to read since Ana had stormed into the room. "This is Lou we're talking about. She's always trying to hide things from us and it never lasts very long. Besides, I keep things from her too, remember." Most of the experiments Ana and I were attempting were always on the edge of legality and we both felt it was safer to keep her out of our extracurricular activities. Oh, and there was also my occasional drug use. Well, I say "my" as if I were the only one guilty and our best friend was just watching my self-destructive tendencies, but Ana was as guilty as I was. And she had just as many secrets. Some of which I didn't know. And some I didn't even intend to find out. What I did know was enough to give me anxiety and I would rather protect what little sleep I had left, merci bien. I had no doubt that whatever she was hiding would turn the last of my brown hair white, the hair that had resisted the bullshit of the girls and Lou put me through. "But she's hiding something bad from you," Anaelle said, snapping her fingers in front of my nose when she saw me staring into space. "I can almost feel it."

BUG

"Louise," I yelped. The use of her full name compelled her to turn around and face me. Her brown eyebrows were furrowed in concern and her pale pink mouth parted, probably to ask me what was wrong, but I beat her to the punch: "Lou, there's a bug on my leg!" Now that's why I always wore pants! Because at least I couldn't feel the bugs climbing on me. The very idea of feeling their forked legs clinging to my leg hair made me want to throw up.

BOOK

"Did you know that the coven connection was permanent?" I spat out very quickly, as if by getting the words out faster, I could get rid of their weight and what they represented. Ana looked at me, speechless, before blinking a few times, like this would help her hear something other than what I had just said. "What?" "The coven bond. It's irreversible. Definitive. Forever." "Are you kidding me?" "Yeah, of course I am. It's just like me, to joke around about something like this." "It can't be irreversible!" she protested. She clapped her hands together and a dusty old book fell from the ceiling into her outstretched palms. She opened it to the correct page and began to read, her slender finger following the faded ink as she carefully articulated aloud: "The coven bond, binding by blood and spirit, two vampires or group of vampires, keeps the bloodlust in check - also known as sangula practica - and is essential to the formation of strong, self-effacing vampires." "I still don't know what a "solid, self-effacing" vampire is," I warned her before she could ask the question.

Tagging : anyone who wants to give it a try, really ! Have fun 💜

Words : difference; desire; dress; dare; deep

#écriture #wip: la fledgling #tag games

[prairiesongserial]

19.10

Friday stood over her unconscious body, watching Lady’s chest rise and fall in the uneasy rhythm of a wounded animal, and thought about killing her. Friday only had her dart gun, but Lady’s revolver was right there in its holster. Probably still warm from the last time Lady had fired it.

Friday stood for a long time.

She made up her mind and climbed into the truck bed, crouching low to keep herself from becoming a target. She released the pistol from its holster, surprised to find an ordinary gun instead of a pearl-handled toy.

She climbed down from the truck with the pistol jammed into the back of her pants. She was buzzing with anxiety that she’d chosen wrong, that there would be consequences for letting Lady live, consequences somehow worse than the ones they were living right now. But Val would approve, at least.

Friday made her way through the smoke. There were fewer people around, fewer gunshots. She hoped that meant that Enis’s plan was working, that most of their people had slipped away in the confusion and were licking their wounds miles from here.

An explosion a way off interrupted that train of thought.

Her ears ringing, Friday pulled Lady’s pistol back out before walking toward the sound. The gunfire became steady again, almost musical, as it marked a slow beat.

Don’t get your hopes up, she told herself. She noticed she wasn’t being particularly careful anymore. She didn’t bother to crouch for cover and listen for boots on gravel before slinking across an open space.

She knew she had reached the site of the last explosion by how relatively clear the air was. A pillar of black smoke rose off the charred skeleton of a motorbike, but the haze had cleared out with the force of the blast. The smell of blood competed with the gasoline fumes, but there was no one there, not even a body groaning on the ground.

Friday shuddered. The continuous beat of gunshot after gunshot seemed to mark her footsteps as she walked up the road toward a circus trailer that had been tipped on its side.

Friday quickly puzzled out what she was seeing. A couple of crates had been hauled out of the trailer and stacked into makeshift stairs. A foot dangled off the edge, just above eye level. Friday winced as a gun went off so close her ears rang.

She climbed up the crates, half sure it was Val up there, half sure she only wanted it to be him. He lay on his stomach, rifle propped up on one shoulder, firing one shot after another.

Friday climbed up next to him, more sure now that it really was Val, though she kept one foot on the crate, ready to climb back down. He was holding himself as tense as a guitar string, making parts of him that should have been as familiar as her own arms and legs and back foreign, like they belonged to a different man entirely.

"Thank God," he said, sparing Friday the briefest glance before shooting a Hemisphere member in the shoulder, loading a new cartridge, and shooting the same man again in the knee.

Friday gasped into the sleeve of her shirt as she watched the man go down. Val readied the rifle again and took out someone Friday hadn't even seen slinking around the edges, moving from truck to truck like she had been.

"I'm covering Cody. And someone else is with him, I couldn't see who." Val fired another shot. Friday winced as it found home in a Hemisphere agent's chest. Val didn't pause before lining up another. "It wasn't John. I don't know where John is. Johannes…" Friday couldn't see his face from her angle, but his next shot was a little slower than the last. "You should go too. I'm going to look for him. I think he's really hurt."

Friday hesitated. It was impossible to focus on what Val was saying when she'd just watched him kill somebody.

"Why do you think that? What happened?"

Val missed his target for the first time since Friday had come up to watch. The Hemisphere agent returned fire, forcing Val to slide down off the trailer. Friday had a couple inches on him, standing on her crate, and gained a couple more as Val slumped back against the trailer, eyes losing focus.

"Val?" she asked. She reached out and touched his arm just as a barrage of bullets struck the other side of the trailer. She jumped out of her skin, but Val didn't react at all.

Instead, he pulled her in close, making her lose her balance. She only had one foot on anything solid, the other dangling down as Val clutched her, the scalding hot metal of his rifle making a line down her back.

"I think he might be dead," Val said quietly. "You should go. I'll cover you until you get clear."

Fridays stomach dropped.

"What about you?" she asked into his shoulder.

"I'll cover you," he said again. He made sure she had her feet back under her before turning away to get back on top of the trailer. To shoot people. For her, to give her the chance to get away, but actually for himself, because something had gone very wrong with him.

Friday jammed Lady’s pistol into the back of her pants again and quietly unslung her own rifle. She bit her lip so she wouldn't cry yet, not until they were free of this disaster. And they were getting out.

She got Val in the leg before he'd gotten himself all the way back on top of the trailer, and he wilted back toward her, forcing her to drop the dart gun if she wanted to catch him.

"I'm sorry, baby," she muttered, straining to hold him. He was too heavy for her. She took a long time maneuvering her way down from the stacked crates without letting him fall.

"Friday," came a voice from behind her.

It was familiar - John. He had inserted himself under one of Val's arms before Friday had time to feel relieved.

"Right choice," he said.

Friday nodded, and bit her lip a little harder.

19.9 || 19.11

#story

[prettylittlelyres]

Ladies Don't Write Music - 7th November - update

I'm writing this on 8th November, because yesterday was a really hard day (one of the most persistent bad backs of my life, and I know I'm likely to have a lot more) and I barely had the energy to write my target, let alone blog about it.

Luckily, I managed to find the minutes awake to get there, but then I had to go straight to sleep. My eyes were closing as I wrote the last sentences. 1,749 words, though!

The other night, I wrote until I was so tired that I completely forgot to put my keyboard on my bedside table, and then woke myself up at about 2am, turning over and knocking the keyboard to the ground. Not my finest life decision, but not the worst thing that's happened to my keyboard, either. (I did accidentally wrench a key off it on a train across the country once, and couldn't fix it until I was home. Somehow I managed to keep all the parts safe, and find a tutorial for mending it.)

In the end, last night, I wrote 1,749 words (my slowest day so far this month), but brought my NaNoWriMo total up to 14,161 (and my manuscript total up to 49,070 - so nearly novel length!).

What I'm actually proudest of, though, is that I thought to check my chapter plan, and noticed that I've actually been writing Chapter 10 since Sunday afternoon, not still working on Chapter 9, as I thought. The gargantuan section (where I planned to focus only on the plot, and then all the subplots came to the fore at once) is finally done! I'd been working on it since 9th October, and it took until 5th November! It's ultimately only 18,100 words long (I'll be cutting it into four or five chapters, I think), not the over 22k I was worrying about when I started writing yesterday.

Time for a celebratory excerpt, before a sprint to start my day before work.

A very young woman - sixteen or so - hurried across the ballroom towards Johann, and immediately swatted his chest with the back of her hand. “What were you thinking?” she snapped, “That wasn’t the way to make people stop talking--” She semed to notice me for the first time, and stopped talking suddenly. “Hello,” she said, “You must be the infamous Fräulein Schmidt.” I grimaced. “I’d rather not be known by that name, if that’s all the same to you.” She looked me up and down, and nodded. “Fräulein Schmidt, then,” she said, “They say a little notoriety can be good for the desirability. I’m not quite sure that applies in this situation, or you would surely have a flock of gentlemen asking for your hand this very minute.” “Louisa!” Johann scolded her, “This isn’t something to joke about! Fräulein Schmidt has been badly wronged, and I’ve had no small part in that. Look, she and I have been asked to leave the party. I’m really sorry, but you know Mama and Papa have said we must come home together. We have to leave, and you have to come with us.” Louisa groaned, crestfallen. “Are you joking?” she exclaimed, “For goodness’ sake!” She nodded at me, and then jerked her head in Johann’s direction. “Do you have a brother? she asked me. I nodded. “Hans.” “Well, whatever you do, don’t let him become famous. Having a brother who is as sought after as Johann is, is not the asset you might think. When every young lady wants his attention, things go wrong quickly.” “Louisa…” Johann said, “Fräulein Schmidt’s brother… is called Hans.” Louisa frowned. And then she looked at me. “Wait. Hans Schmidt. The composer?” “And Katharina is a famous composer in her own right,” Johann added, “She knows a little more about fame than you might think. And she’s probably met her fair share of notorious people. Haven’t you, Fräulein Schmidt?” I tucked my chin down, and looked up at the ceiling.”I have some idea, yes,” I mumbled.

If you read previous drafts of "Violins and Violets", you might remember Louisa as an adult with several children of her own. Here, we see her before all that, and I'm excited to say that she's going to feature in "Ladies Don't Write Music," and we're already seeing a side of Johann that might make him quite attractive (in a platonic sense) to Katharina... might he be the answer to her problems?

#writeblr #blog #violins and violets #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2023 #nanowrimo update #violins and violets series #katharina schmidt #johann schneider #louisa schneider #excerpt #excerpts #historical fiction #18th century #violins and violets book 1

[uselessboss]

Bridge (1/1)

“Hey Wolf Boy it has been a long time!”

“Indeed it has”

“We were all surprised when you accepted our invitation to hang out together!”

It had also been a surprise to him. To suddenly receive a message from his high school classmates inviting him for a meet up when in the past he had been not the most approachable and sociable person around? It was very unexpected.

But it came at the right time.

Recently Miller was too busy to be able to hang out with him so this invitation might be what he needed to help him take his mind off that.

“I thought it could be a nice change of pace"

Everyone's eyes widened in surprise.

An understandable reaction all things considered. He wasn't sociable at all in the past- Quite awkward and stiff in his interactions. He had a perpetual look of discomfort as if he would rather be anywhere but in company of other human beings.

“So, what was everyone up to after we graduated?”

Everyone snapped out of their shock, excited to share their stories- Talking about University, places they traveled to, new friends, dating and even working their first job. There are setbacks and some obstacles in the way, of course, but everyone was, and still is, trying their best.

“…You could say it might be a waste to drop out so close to the end but I decided it really wasn't for me" one of them laughed it off.

“I hope you find what you are looking for next time. Something that it might make your hard work feel rewarding this time" He encouraged.

Another round of stunned silence

“Wolf… You changed"

“Huh?”

“You seem more relaxed" one of them pointed. “More composed, serene and mature.”

“Is that so?”

“You seem… How should we put this? Before you were so shy and closed off that it felt like you wanted to keep people away and disliked our company, but now your aura seems different, it's very gentle and warm"

“I guess I did grown up a little" he admits with a fond smile.

Thanks to Miller.

“Did anything happen to spurn this change? We have yet to hear your share of stories" Everyone scooched closer, eyes filled with anticipation and curiosity.

“I guess something did happen" he chuckles. “I met someone. Someone really special. It's hard to put in words how much she did for me and talk about everything we went through together but… All I can say is that I became a better person thanks to her. She was the one to really teach me the real meaning of kindness and compassion”

“Congratulations Wolf!” Everyone cheered, clapping their hands with enthusiasm.

Huh?

“For what???” He asks, baffled and very much confused.

“For being in a relationship?”

“We are not dating"

“Really?” This time it was their turn to act confused “But your voice sounds so soft and adoring whenever you talk about this person, your eyes practically lighten up!”

“That… There's no way I would feel that way about her”

“I'm back"

“Welcome back Miller" He greets.

“Did anything happen during my absence?”

"Nothing that we couldn't deal by ourselves, we also finished wrapping up any remaining procedures in the case you were dealing with"

"Thank you Hunter. Both you and Andrews. I don't know what I would do without you two helping me"

"Of course, Count on us anytime you need"

"Where's Andrews now?"

"He already went home"

"Oh. I see."

Miller seemed troubled.

"Did anything happen while you were gone? You look kind off" he asked, concerned.

"I was thinking about the last words Johannes has left to me"

'Johannes disregarded your orders, saying that he didn't want to "waste himself" for your sake anymore'

'He said that you order us to stay back just so you could steal the glory for yourself to erase your crimes and that you do all sorts of foul things to hide it'

"That… Those weren't his true words" He tenses up. "Even if he said all that he didn't mean any of it. I said that because…!"

He was the worst.

He was already a pathetic person. Always finding excuses, always trying to justify his shitty actions, trying to convince others and even himself about his self-righteous decisions. What a garbage human being.

And yet he managed to achieve a new low that day.

He didn't even bother making excuses. He didn't even do it under a distorted sense of justice. It was sheer pettiness and spite that motivated him.

All because she didn't acknowledge him. All because he was too insignificant next to the one she truly cared for.

HE.WAS.SCUM.

"I'm free tomorrow"

"Huh?" He snapped out of his thoughts, eyes widening in surprise as he lifts the head he didn't even notice he had lowered.

"It has been a long time since we last hang out together right?" Miller smiled, warm and comforting. "There's something I want to buy so could you keep me company?"

"T-That's…"

"Please?"

"I… Alright" he agrees with some reluctance.

He couldn't just say no to Miller.

Besides, there was something in her eyes…

"Thank you. See you tomorrow then."

He felt restless as he stared at his cellphone's screen.

Usually this would the time when he video called Miller to chat and spend a bit more time with her but right now he felt hesitant to even send her a message wishing "Good night".

'I said that because…'

There was no way Miller didn't know how that sentence ended. Even if he didn't say it outright it was obvious.

What other reason someone would have to tell you something that they KNEW it was a lie? And a malicious one at that. There could be nothing but cruel intentions there.

He felt his cellphone vibrate in his hand.

'Good Night Hunter. I look forward to hang out with you again'

How could she still be so kind to him? How could she smile genuinely at him after finding out this monstruous side of his? To always forgive and understand him no matter what?

Should he just accept that?

No. He shouldn't.

It has always been in the back of his mind. This feeling of shame and guilt. The nagging thought that he didn't deserve any of this happiness, a stain that keeps surfacing and marring everything in its wake.

He didn't want to leave it unaddressed, but he also didn't know what to do. There was no point in asking for forgiveness because he knew that Miller would grant it, besides it was also not what he was looking for.

What he wants is… To take responsibility for his actions. To own up to his mistakes.

“I have to talk with Miller about it. Even if I still don't have an answer. She deserves that much."

“Good Morning Miller"

He took pride in being a very tidy and organized person. The kind that doesn't tolerate leaving litter around, that always kept his space clean and neat- Someone that enjoyed when things where orderly and pristine.

Yet, and for some odd reason, he found out that he liked "messy" when it came to Miller.

It wasn't to say that she was being sloppy. More so that she was focusing more on her own comfort than concerning herself to prep for anything.

Miller was a hard worker.

Day after day she oversaw everyone under her care, watching out for their needs, for their well being, working incesantly to protect and help civillians and subordinates alike. Day after day she fought in the frontlines, by their side, throwing herself in the middle of danger to cover for everyone, never shirking away from answering any plea for help.

Perhaps that was the reason to why he enjoyed seeing her like this.

It was a rare opportunity to see Miller being this relaxed, content and carefree. It was a soothing sight that never failed to make him smile and bring out this warm feeling of fond affection.

“Did you have your breakfast already Hunter?”

“No. Not yet”

“I didn't either” Miller smiled. “So let's stop somewhere to grab a bite before we go shopping"

"I know a good place around here if you are up to it. It's where the meeting with my old school classmates took place"

"That would be lovely" her face lightens up. "While we are at it why don't you tell me more about how it went? Sounds like you had a great time"

As they sat and he shared the stories of his friends (and he was quite surprised to find out they considered him a friend despite how he was in the past), he couldn't help but think, as Miller listened to everything with great interest and investment, about the topic of "love" again.

If he could give a concrete shape and form to such an abstract and vague feeling then Miller would come to his mind.

Miller didn't get to be invited for anything, always being excluded by her peers for most of her life and only being able to watch everyone having fun from afar without being able to participate in the fun.

It wouldn't be strange if one would turn bitter and envious from the experience and yet she didn't ressent him for having this opportunity. She was happy for him when he told her about the invitation and even now her eyes twinkled with pride and joy at hearing him talk about finding out that they actually thought of him as a friend.

This capacity of being happy for others, this immense care and desire to think and wish for their well-being- That's what he views "love" to be like.

"You told them all of that about me?" Miller chuckled. "Now I'm feeling a bit embarrassed."

"It's the truth. You really taught me the meaning of kindness and compassion"

"What else you guys talked about?"

"That…" He faltered.

This was it. Now it was the moment to bring "that" up.

"I guess the topic of how much I cared for you came up" He twiddled his thumbs.

"And what did you say?"

"… Not enough" he flinched. "I… Miller, there's something I wanted to talk to you for a while"

"Yes?"

"About what you talked yesterday. Johannes' words"

He took a long breath to steel his nerves.

He's not running away.

"I knew he didn't mean any of those things he told me. The reason I lied and acted like he did was… Out of pettiness. I tried to hurt you out of entitlement and spite for not acknowledging me."

He feels sick.

"…For not siding with me"

He regrets it to this day.

"I'm also a liar"

He looks at her in surprise.

"From the start I knew that it was a lie" Miller's expression is unreadable. "Johannes wasn't the kind of man to follow orders he doesn't agree with or without good reasoning behind it. All those times he complied with my requests were because he was willing to believe in me. Even if I didn't have a plausible argument to give to him, he choose to trust me"

He had been nothing but loyal to her, but when push came to shove she didn't reciprocate that trust.

"I acted like I didn't know his reasons but I knew fully well why everything fell apart. I was just too much of a coward to acknowledge and admit to it. My cruelty and callousness."

"You… Being cruel?" Hunter blinked, incredulous.

"… I still can't tell you the full truth about what happened back during the incident that disgraced my life but… Let's just say that I was betrayed by the people I swore to help and protect. They tortured me, used me, forced me to commit all those atrocities and after they were done I was left to die. Like discarded trash."

Ressentment, bitterness and anger.

It had been the first time in her life that she felt like that. Detesting someone or something this much.

…And she felt guilty for it.

"Despite what was done to me I felt guilt about my own anger. Because I knew what they went through, because I knew how much pain they also suffered"

But she also didn't want to forgive them.

"To get rid of my guilt I told myself that no one has the right to allow selfishness dictate your actions, circumstances be damned. I was putting myself in a pedestal, making myself be "above that", as if I was incapable of commiting the same mistakes- All for the sake of looking in comtempt at those who hurt me"

She smiled bitterly at Hunter.

"How arrogant and conceited right?"

And it didn't end there.

"It's true that I didn't want to let go of Johannes at first, but that feeling quickly took backseat to my own worry over having selfish desires in the first place." Weak. She has been so weak. "I thought that if I allowed myself to act selfish then I would be conceding a point to those who hurt me and I didn't want to do that"

The biggest irony of all was that she ended up being far more cruel and selfish by taking this path.

"I wasn't trying to drive Johannes away because I was thinking of him. I did that… To protect my own hatred"

And then It was too late when she came to regret her decision.

Hunter didn't know what to say.

"I felt like I had deceived Johannes" Miller remembers how painful those days were. "I thought, for my a while, that my own feelings were a fraud"

But there was no way they were fake. Not when the moments she shared with him had been nothing but filled with happiness.

"…When I finally looked past my pain and grief, when I remembered at all the moments we shared together, the only thing that came to my mind was how much gratitude I had towards him. Those feelings I held for Johannes… They were real"

Miller's face was serene when she said that.

"And perhaps that's what's important"

"What is important?"

"...Shall we go Hunter?"

"Huh? Ah, of course" he immediately gets up. "By the way, what are you buying Miller?"

"You will see" Miller smiles mysteriously.

"…A bridge model set?" He blinks.

"There's quite different ways to build it" Miller nods. "Can you help me with it?"

"Sure?" He nods as he takes a seat on the other side of the table.

They were currently at Miller's home.

He got used to it now but he remembers how flustered he was the first time he came to hang out at her place.

Miller never got a chance to hang out with a group of friends in her past so she to wanted to watch a movie with them(him and Andrews) at her house to experience it for the first time.

It had been the first time he saw Miller in her "messy to cozy" looks.

Andrews had a field day teasing him about the way he kept staring at her get up.

Again, he just liked seeing Miller be happy and relaxed. Nothing strange about it.

"…Done" He pushes the final piece in place.

He wasn't good at this kind of stuff but at least it resembled a bridge?

"Good" Miller nodded. "Now destroy it"

"Pardon?"

"Destroy it"

He stared at Miller.

It… Didn't seem as if she was dissatisfied with anything or mad.

"I… Ok" he obeyed, flinching as he thrashed their hard work, some of the scattered pieces even ending up on the floor. "Ah…! S-Sorry"

Miller didn't say anything in response. She simply picked the fallen pieces on her side, expression unreadable as she started building the bridge again.

He started to fidget.

Should he be doing something? Saying something?

He looked at the pieces fallen on his side.

He carefully picked them out of the floor and looked at Miller, who didn't even lift her eyes from her work nor made any movement to pick them from his grasp.

He stared at the pieces again.

Wordlessly, he began his work again.

"..."

They finished building it.

It looked more like a bridge now.

He didn't know if she was mad at him or not for his lack of skills, so just in case, he made sure to put a bit more effort in making something better, looking at the guides inside the box the set came from for reference.

"Destroy it"

"A-Again?"

"Yes"

He obeyed with some reluctance, trying to at least be more careful to not drop the pieces on the floor this time, with some of them ending up at Miller's side of the table.

Miller picked those pieces and carefully placed them on his side, starting the whole process anew.

He took that as a cue to start building his own share.

They kept going like this.

They build the bridge together.

Miller asks to destroy it.

Every single time.

He doesn't know what's going inside Miller's mind right now.

If he had to guess then she was probably trying to make a point, hinting at something important for him to figure out.

Of what, he didn't have a clue.

The only thing he could say is how it filled him with dread.

He didn't understand it himself, but each time he was asked to destroy their hard work it hurt. Not out of frustration for the time or effort put on it. It was the act of undoing it. It… Deeply unsettled him.

It was as if something important wasn’t being allowed to take roots.

“… Can I ask something Hunter?” Miller spoke, breaking their silence.

“Y-Yes?” he stuttered.

“What has been tormenting you all this time about your lie… Was it because you were afraid of your capacity to hurt me?” he flinches. “Are you afraid of doing that again?”

Maybe that was the reason behind why he found so hard to accept her forgiveness.

He couldn't forget that day. He couldn't forget how he felt, the kind of thoughts that went through his head as he did that and how little incentive he needed to go through it.

What would be the point of accepting her kindness like that when he didn't give her any reassurance that it won't happen again? That he would treat her right? He feels as if like he had been wasting her forgiveness all this time.

“You will probably commit another mistake in the future" Miller's voice cuts his thoughts. “But it will be fine"

“How could that be fine?!”

“If there's something I learned is that it's impossible to never commit mistakes Hunter.” Miller clicked the last piece of the bridge in place. “So what's truly important here is what can be done after"

“But not all actions can be easily excused like that, even if you try your best!"

“Nor should they. It doesn't matter if you are forgiven or not. What matters is your desire to treat them right."

"…"

"If… If you asked me, at least from my part, what would I have done if Johannes had asked for my forgiveness then… My answer would be to forgive and give him a second chance."

"But why?" He couldn't help but ask.

How could you trust someone that betrayed you?

"Because he gave me enough reasons to believe him. Johannes has… Time and time again proven himself to me, supporting and giving me strength when no one else would". Her words were filled with a conviction impossible to argue against. "A single mistake won't undo all of that".

When she said it like that it sort of made sense. He knew their history together, the length they went for each other's sake. It was painfully clear how much they had meant for each other.

But then, what would explain his case?

"That day" wasn't the first time he had hurt her. Miller might be able to see good in him, but he didn't forget his own actions. He didn't forget how he pushed her away several times nor the brief flash of hurt that appeared on her face everytime he did so.

"Hunter, I think you have the wrong idea about me."

"Huh?"

"Do you remember the stories I told you about my previous partners before Andrews?"

He nods.

"I tried my hardest to reach them but… Bonds cannot be forged out of an onesided effort. To meet in the middle is necessary for both parties to build a path to do so, a "bridge" if you may".

She taps the bridge set.

"Do you know why I kept asking you to destroy the bridge we built together?"

"I… Don't"

"Because it represents your rejection. For every time you tried to push me away".

He flinched.

So his early impression of "not allowing something to take roots" was right after all.

The allusion was accurate.

Miller would build a bridge to reach him and he would thwart her attempts.

He…

He hears a chuckle.

It was Miller.

"Hunter, didn't you notice anything while you were destroying and building it anew?"

He shakes his head.

"Each time you did so the bridge ended up being less and less destroyed" Miller smilled at him. "Your conviction to destroy OUR bridge was wanning".

Miller looked outright smug now.

"Do you recall how hostile you were towards me at the beginning? You looked at me as if I was the lowest scum on the face of the Earth"

"Urgh… I was such an insufferable asshole" he groans.

"And this very person is also the same one who apologized to me today and that can look so kindly at me". She places a hand on the side of his face.

He leans against her touch as if by instinct. He places his hand on top of hers, as if it was only natural to seek her touch and kindness.

He chuckles.

His past self would indeed be shocked at this development.

To think he would come to adore and think so fondly of someone he once loathed… It was only possible because it was her.

"… And this leads to another point: With the holes getting smaller it also became easier to fix them". Miller now tapped his side of the bridge." Everytime you apologized, everytime you came to check of me, everytime you took care of me… What you destroyed you rebuilt anew- Stronger, better and sturdier. Your efforts reached me you know? That's why I grew to trust you".

He looked at the bridge again with new eyes.

He was so busy worrying over whether it was good or not, freeting over his mistakes, that he failed to notice the improvements he made as well, how solid the bridge they built together became.

"I must confess I came very close to giving up one time. "That day", when you pulled my arm and looked at me with such distrustful eyes… I thought that I read you wrong. That you still saw me as nothing but as a criminal. I thought that maybe it was impossible for us to get along after all".

He looks at her in surprise.

"See? I told you, I am not as forgiving as you think" Miller chuckles again before her gaze softens. "So thank you. Thank you for reaching me and not letting things end like that"

As long as you show that you want to make this work I will keep giving you a chance. As many times as you need.

And he wanted that. To make "this" work.

No. Not only that.

He finally knows how he wants to address his past misgivings.

"Miller, I… Feel like I have been giving you nothing but wrong answers all this time".

And like Miller said, he will probably keep making more blunders in the future.

But it would be fine, because…

"Do you think I was embezzling our funds?"

"No. You never cut corners when it's about keeping our gear in top shape and I know for a fact that sometimes you even pay from your own pocket if we need to cover the costs".

"I don't know how you figured that out but… Anyway, what do you think of me solving cold cases? Do you think I was fabricating evidence?"

"No. I saw you at work. People treat you as a cheater for solving all these cases but they never talk about your failures- About your frustration and dismay at the lack of evidence to convict someone you KNOW is the culprit nor all the hard work you had put on it."

They also don't talk about how incredibly humble she was.

"They also don't talk about all the people you have helped. The gratitude and relief they get for finally getting closure. How you never once sought glory from it. You did it simply because you thought you could help, because you could make a difference."

"Whoa! Wait. Pause for a second. Let me recover for a bit because I'm getting flustered here"

"Oh? Now that's rare. For me to get a chance to fluster you." He grins, cheekily. "I wonder how people would react if they knew that the "Queen of Crows" can be kind cute when she's being bashful."

"I don't think anyone else but YOU would use the word "cute" to describe me Hunter."

"Andrews would."

"You two are terribly biased."

They laughed together.

His heart felt light as a feather.

Not only because he was finally able to address the thoughts that have been plaguing him, but also because Miller seemed to become more comfortable at voicing her own troubles as well.

It was like another piece was added to their bridge. Another step to meet in the middle.

"Last question Hunter" Miller's eyes were sparkling at this point, brimming with affection, tenderness and gratitude. "Do you believe in me? Do you believe in my innocence?"

"Yes. I do" His voice went soft, equally brimming with untold emotions. There were so much and not enough things he wanted to say to her. To this wonderful person who became so dear to him. "The truth is Miller that the more I got to know you the more I started to admire you. I wanted to grow closer and spend more time with you even then but I was too immature and stubborn to admit it. I consider you my role model, someone I look up to and who changed me to become a better person."

"...You are truly the kindest and most caring soul I ever met. I count myself fortunate to get to know you as well" Miller laughed. "I also have a confession to make to you Hunter"

"Yes?"

"I think the same of you. I admire and look up to you as well"

"In what way?"

"Your conviction to do the right thing no matter what." Miller explains. "I never saw myself as strong and lived under constant fear of people finding that out but… Ever since I met you I think I started to grow a bit braver."

Brave enough to face her fears and take a step forward.

"Then I hope I can help you fly as high as you can"

"Huh?"

"If you ever feel discouraged then I want you to know that I will be there to support you. If you ever need reassurance then let my conviction and belief be your strength."

Just like you did for me.

"…Thank you Hunter, truly thank you. This means a lot to me." She envelopes him in a hug.

He embraces her back.

As he closes his eyes and soaks in her warmth he thinks that he really doesn't know about love.

But maybe that's ok.

As long as he can stay by her side.

#my useless invincible boss #crowa miller(useless boss) #wolf hunter(useless boss)

[crystallizedkingdoms]

it’s Johann Appreciation Week! man, I remember last year’s like it was yesterday. I’m glad to be participating again :) because the @johann-appreciation-week has been so lovely enough to allow us to make our own prompts and ideas, the prompts I have given myself are…

…Mitski songs! because I am an insufferable bastard who’s going to her concert tomorrow so I’m making that everyone’s problem for this entire week! yahoo!

today’s song: Everyone (Laurel Hell, 2022)

word count: 1,463

“Don’t.”

Johann tensed up. That wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. “What do you mean ‘don’t’? I didn’t spend my time practicing for nothing,” he said, closing the front door just a tiny bit.

“That place can be dangerous at these times, Jo. I wouldn’t want you playing there right now,” Mom warned.

Johann swung his violin case side to side, annoyed by the sudden lecture his mother would spiel into. “You said I could do it. It’s literally only a few blocks away.”

“I didn’t think you were serious, baby. You know I don’t enjoy you going unsupervised… Now, watch yourself, Johann. Don’t think I can’t see you rolling your eyes,” she said, her attention mostly occupied by the dinner she was preparing. “Have a seat, Johann. I’m almost finished.”

The scents were enticing, but even more alluring was the desire to play in front of the little corner his mother had often taken him to see other bards who played in public. It tugged on his heart, to chase after the dream he so desperately needed in his life since he was in his teens now.

“Did you hear me? Close the door and sit down,” Mom called out again.

Johann remained where he was. “Mom? I’m going out. Today’s not too busy, which might not bring a lot of attention, but I’ll be safe. You know where to find me, I won’t go anywhere else between the distance from here to there.” The script he recited was one he practiced for days before this, listing off all the things he knew his mom would fret over. She had to let him go, right?

His mom did not reply. Johann wished he could hear her thoughts, see if she would let him go or not. He hated the stretch of time in silence, silently waiting at the door, the darkness of nightfall having quickly approached.

Another few minutes passed in silence. Grueling silence. It was only broken when his mother asked, “Johann? Are you still there?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Hah! I expected you to have run off at this point,” she admitted. Johann’s mother walked out into the living space, staring down at Johann with crossed arms. A brown bag hung within one of her hands, to that he smiled.

“So does this mean you’re letting me go?” he asked.

Johann’s mother sighed and handed the bag over to him. The bottom felt hot in his free hand, but it smelt nice. “I wish you wouldn’t go—” Johann immediately wilted, “but I can’t pretend like you aren’t going to go anyway.”

Even though Johann did get her permission… It still felt wrong. He felt disappointed. “Why don’t you want me to go?” he asked, despite knowing the answer.

“You know I enjoy your passion for music. I don’t mean to come off as dismissive of this career you want to take, you know that. But you also know it’s not as simple as playing out in the streets and dazzling people with your talent. It’s not just playing all day and getting people to fall into your lap with coins.

“It’s a taxing job! One that I really don’t believe you’re ready for yet, Johann. Being out on the street for a time just… isn’t something a young man like you should worry about. I also think you can manage so much better. So, get this night out of the way, come back home, and we can discuss some things then, okay?” his mom said.

Johann hated the explanation more than he thought he would.

He pulled his violin case closer to himself with a bitter glare towards the door. Forgetting to hold himself back, he yelled, “Why can’t you just let me do it? I never said this was something I was gonna pursue forever! It’s just something I want to try, and that’s important to me! Why can’t that be enough? Why do I have to prove that everything I do is up to your standards?”

That got his mother to be quiet. It’s a silence even more sickening than the one before and it ate at Johann’s insides until he felt no appetite for the food in his hand.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Not an apology, not a more rude assertion of his emotions, nothing. He just stood there at the front door of their small Neverwinter house, feeling barren inside… except for that deep tug to run out and play his violin, and feel that surge of creation flow through him as with any other time he did it.

“You may go, Johann,” his mother finally said. Johann couldn’t discern the emotion in her voice. It was no wonder where he got that deadpan habit from; his mother had practically perfected it.

“Mom, I—”

“I’m giving you a chance. Take it, Johann,” she asserted, her voice firm as she pointed down the street.

Taking the chance, Johann took a deep breath and let his music take him.

———

“Don’t.”

How sick of that word Johann has become.

“You said it would be hard to find a well paying job,” Johann says. “I found one. Now you don’t want me to go?”

“Because you won’t even tell me what the job is. Where you’re going to be working. Why won’t you tell me where this place is?” Barbara asks.

Johann shrugs. He wishes he had a better answer for her, but… what could he say? When he couldn’t even mutter any description of the job he had been offered without his words trickling off into crackling static to anyone other than those inoculated, Johann couldn’t answer if he wanted to.

It surprised him to realize he didn’t want to.

“Please, Johann,” Barbara sighs and rubs her temple. It’s a pain being so vague with his mother, but Johann couldn’t answer.

“I’ll visit you. I have that guaranteed, mom, I’ll visit as soon as I can.”

Barbara rolls her eyes. Fun, how he got that habit from her. Seeing it used against him felt only natural.

Johann fiddles with the handle of his luggage. “I’ll send letters. Often, I promise I’ll send them often,” he offers. It wasn’t a lie, he was going to send them. Often, however… He isn’t sure what would count as “often” when he would soon be spending his days peddling out writings for some brilliant creature.

“Johann, please, all I ask of you is to stay. You won’t have to do any of that if you just stayed.”

“Mom, I need to go. I have to. This is just what I needed, and I— I can’t afford to let it slip away,” Johann insists.

To that, Barbara remains silent. With her arms crossed in front of her chest, seated on the kitchen table, Johann is struck with just how exhausted she looks.

“…Is there nothing I can say to get something out of you?”

Johann considers it. He truly almost lets the words spill out of his mouth, to let his mother hear the stifling static and realize that this is something exceedingly important. An important mission that Johann, her closed off son, could actually be a part of! Something that mattered not only to him, but the entire world.

But he doesn’t. Johann knows his mother would not see it that way. She’d see it as dangerous, an unnecessary risk. Why concern yourself with such a heavy duty when you could leave that job to those who were fit for it? he can practically hear her say. That’s not what he needs at this moment.

So instead, Johann grips the handle tighter. “No, mom,” he mumbles, “There’s nothing. I have to do this. It’s important to me. Why can’t that be enough?”

Barbara looks up at him sharply, her jaw tight and her eyes narrowed. Johann is suddenly aware of what he just said to an uncomfortable degree and nearly shrinks away from her gaze. It takes a horrifying strength to not do so. “If it’s important to you, then I cannot hold you back,” she finally says. “But I expect visits.”

“Of course.”

“And letters.”

“Yes, mom.”

She stands up from her chair and walks towards Johann. Her hand makes way to his cheek, running her thumb along his skin. “And you can tell me to my face that you’re not joining some MLM cult thing?”

That gets a laugh out of both of them. Johann rests his head on Barbara’s hand with a small smile, saying, “Yes, mom, I promise I’m not joining an MLM cult thing.”

Barbara grins back up at him, but there is a settled weariness in her face. “You promise you’ll be safe?” she asks. It’s almost a plea.

“I promise I’ll be safe.”

#johann appreciation week #taz johann #taz balance #my writing

[dear-mrs-otome]

Johann Georg Faust - 2nd Birthday (His POV) - Yet Another Terrible Summary

(Faust: "...The children will wake up.")

Here is my irreverent, only nominally-guaranteed accurate rendition of Faust’s 2nd birthday story in his POV.

(We start with a one-liner, ‘narrator voice’ Faust saying how he had learned from a very young age that the world was an absurd place.)

It’s February 28th, and at his church, MC has arrived with a bag she offers him, claiming they’re delicious treats she wanted to share. He asks if she’s there to celebrate his birthday, pointing out to her there’s no February 29th this year. She deflates, grumbling that she hadn’t expected him to see through things so quickly, and he tells her that if she does something like that out of the blue of course he’s going to wonder why.

He can’t believe she’s trying again, after he’d told her last year he didn’t want to celebrate and that the day was meaningless - it’s merely the day he was found after having been abandoned as a baby. No sentimentality to it. But he can also clearly recall the way she’d told him last year she wanted him to be happy on his birthday...and bemused by that sentiment still, he takes the proffered bag.

He says that if it’s a gift, he’ll take it because he can think of someone it’ll make happy. MC finally notices the small child hovering around when he says this, and she has a spittake moment of ILLEGITIMATE KIDDO?? Faust teases her about having a very wild imagination, causing her to sputter, and he pinches her cheeks lightly at her flailings before he hands the bag of candy off to the little boy.

The child seem incredulous at the gift, but MC assures him she’d be happy if he ate it, and she asks him his name. The boy tells her it is Hugo in a small voice. She asks Hugo if he’s from around here, but Faust answers for him - he says he is, but he’s due to circumstances he’s about to take the child to the orphanage now.

MC surprises him by asking if it’s no bother, can she come along too? He tells her it makes no matter to him - wondering to himself if she’s worried about the kiddo. She thanks him, and urges little Hugo to get ready to go, his little hand fast in hers.

They’re greeted by the orphanage matron when they arrive, who kindly welcomes Hugo to his new home. MC hands the boy off with a soft look, and Faust is all in a hurry to leave now that his duty is done...when one of the orphan children notices the priest and the lady and calls out to them.

Spotted, Faust thinks, and no sooner has the first kid called out than the rest of the kids come running over as well, all crowding around him and clamoring for them to stay and play.

Faust immediately shuts the idea down, but MC cajoles that if they have time, they should stay and play. He warns her that she will only regret the idea - when they’re interrupted by the matron asking if they wouldn’t mind actually? She’s short-handed on help and needs to step out to get some things but can’t leave the kids unattended.

She really is not taking no for an answer, and thus Faust and MC find themselves babysitting the orphanage until she returns.

Some time later, Faust is pulling an ‘I told you so’ on an exhausted MC, who’s been run ragged by the eager children. She flops to a seat, and looks up at him soberly, where he’d just picked up a child and put them to sleep. She observes that he’s good with the children, and he says he has practice - he used to take care of some a long time ago.

He spares a moment to wonder to himself how many of them grew up to lead out their lives, given how life in an orphanage long ago was far from easy. Then as he’s looking out over the children he realizes they’re short one, and says as much aloud.

MC and he go searching, and shortly they find Hugo outside near the gates, huddled and shivering in the cold winter air. Faust realizes this is more than simply being sad about his new surroundings, and it’s MC tries to herd him inside so he doesn’t catch a cold.

But little Hugo balks, and he says no, he wants to stay here - if he caught a cold and died, would he meet his mom and dad in heaven?

Faust realizes from the stunned expression on MC’s face that she’s finally understood the truth of Hugo’s situation. His parents both had died in an accident and he was forced to enter the orphanage when no one came to collect him after the funeral. Faust thinks it’s not unreasonable for Hugo to be saddened, but…

“There’s no guarantee you’ll meet someone who has passed on. It’s pointless to choose death for that,” he tells Hugo. “Unless of course someone were to be dissected after death for posterity...then their death wouldn’t be a total waste.”

MC sputters at him for saying such a thing to a child, but Faust is remorseless, still thinking it’s foolish to have any hopes or expectations for after death. As a priest, he often tells people that ‘those who pass on are ushered into the kingdom of heaven’...but he himself has never seen Heaven, or God provide any sort of salvation.

Hugo wonders aloud why his mom and dad had to die? Why did God decide such a thing?

Faust tells him that the world is an absurd place and urges him that if he has any sort of doubts, to think about how he can live in defiance of his destiny...rather than letting winter’s cold choose life or death for him. He takes his jacket off and slips it over those tiny shoulders, and watches as MC wipes away the tears that fall from Hugo’s eyes, comforting him.

He thinks...that he cannot recall what sadness is, what it feels like anymore. But he can tell how incredibly warm the hand MC slips into Hugo’s is.

After they’ve gotten the children all settled for their nap, MC replaces Faust’s jacket with a blanket on the sleeping Hugo and turns to him, holding it as she stares at him. He finally asks her, what?? And she asks what sort of children it was he’d spent time with in the past.

Faust teases her about asking something out of the blue like that, and for being so keenly interested - startling him when she unapologetically agrees that she does want to know about him, and if he tells her she’ll return his jacket.

Faust grumbles that it’s a lame deal, given that it’s not a fun story to hear...but he doesn’t get the impression that she’s asking out of idle curiosity or a whim alone, so he indulges her. He tells her that when he was a baby, he was found by an older nun and grew up in an orphanage located in an old church. He says that they were terribly poor, but he survived, and when he got older he helped take care of the other children. Many of them would die before winter’s end, or disappear after being taken in by foster parents.

Eventually, he was fostered out himself and the nun who raised him died of an illness, and the orphanage was closed. End of story.

He thinks that the abbreviated version he told her was the parts that didn’t hurt...but she still looks up at him with a sadness in her eyes when she asks what sort of woman was the nun?

Faust says that she was incredibly kind, too kind to ignore an abandoned child, and probably too compassionate for her own good.

He thinks how she was kind up until the very end, giving and giving of herself to anyone….and he recalls a time when she’d come to him.

“Thank you for taking care of everyone, Johann” she had said. “But why don’t you put the books down and go play?”

“It’s fine. Even if I make friends with them, they will all leave someday,” he had told her.

“Johann...The reason why you never cry is because you keep your sadness locked away…”

He can still see the sad smile she had worn and hear the conversation they’d had, rising to the surface of a sea of old memories. He coldly waits for those lingering remnants to pass...when his reverie is interrupted by MC telling him she’s thankful the woman found little Faust. That even if the world is an absurd place, she’s happy to be able to celebrate his birthday with him now.

Her words stun him into silence, leaving him only able to stare at her faint smile. He’d never thought of it that way - the consideration to be thankful for such a thing. Her words shed a new light on his cold memories, and sneak their way into his heart.

He teases her though, saying that she speaks of odd things and he wonders if she’s merely angling to dig through people’s pasts and root out their weaknesses. A sputtering MC vehemently denies she’d do such a thing and accuses him of being a smartass, and righteously stomps towards him to shove the jacket back at him...when she steps on a stray toy block, loses her footing, and crashes into him.

They both tumble to the ground, her atop him, and she’s staring down at him wide-eyed as she beings babbling apologies - only to have them fade into muffled sounds when he quickly reaches up and presses her face onto his chest to stifle her voice.

“You’ll wake the children,” he warns her...though he pauses a moment to linger on the soft feel of her cheek on his bare skin, where his shirt has fallen into disorder. He’s thinking, this woman is unbelievable, as he chides her for such - sighing heavily and asking if she gets a kick out of bothering him.

But he’s getting a kick out of her blushing face and her averted eyes, the sight stirring his mean streak enough that he can’t let the opportunity to give her a hard time pass. He teases her about being the one with the red face when she pushed him down...and is amused by her appalled reaction. He says she’s something else to straddle a man with a face like that, right next to a bunch of sleeping children...and he strokes his hands up the thighs that bracket his hips, enjoying the little sigh she lets out.

The moment is broken by a soft sound from one of the children tossing in their sleep, and MC leaps off him like a scalded cat. The whole situation is so incredibly absurd that Faust can’t help laughing, even if it’s met by a glare from MC as she asks him what is so funny.

He’s still chuckling as he points out her reaction, and how amusing it all was...all the while thinking, it has been a very long time since he has laughed so much. He slips back on the jacket she shoves at him, and tells her that he never gets tired of watching her - he wants to keep her close at hand, so he can observe her always.

His words have her turning her face away, but the look in her eyes before she does makes him happy. He wants to know more about her, he thinks. What manner of things would he discover, if he caught her and kept her all to himself, and figured out what made her tick? Her presence in this world, that he looks at through such cold eyes, stirs his heart.

FIN

(many thanks as always to @mikotomizuki for giving this a second set of eyes!)

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp faust #ikevamp jp #spoiler #spoilers #ikemen vampire spoilers #ikevamp spoilers #ikevamp birthday #ikevamp jp summary #AGAIN THEY CAME FOR OUR OVARIES WITH THE KIDS #I love how kids seem to adore him #he collects them wherever he goes and he's just *sigh* #kids can smell capable faust

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1  -  Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it.  To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth.  But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me.  What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them.  A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen.  What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining.  Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance.  You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me?  I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such  a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee.  Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.”  (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence.  The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way.  And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty.  To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

#the diary of doctor laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler x reader #dr laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler headcanons #thealienist #the alienist fanfic #the alienist fanfiction

[lylefontanelle]

H-hi everyone

My extremely late addition to the Dragon Raja X Genshin Impact hcs

My excuse for the lateness: I have been busy playing these games. Not the best excuse but I was originally using these crossover posts to procrastinate on actually playing the games.

Anyways I forced myself to write this because its been extremely late

Part one is here: https://lylefontanelle.tumblr.com/post/656616814360641536/so-i-been-working-on-a-dragon-raja-x-genshin

And part two: https://lylefontanelle.tumblr.com/post/656751155196608512/continuing-this-post

(I'm giving the entire gen family a friend here damn)

Friends:

Chime Gen & Kaedehara Kazuha

Idk if I'm just insane but these two are a little too similar for my liking

White hair, red eyes, use a sword, speaks poetically, come from a high status, was kicked out of their home, and is a criminal. Maybe I'm looking a little too into it

Anyways, I can see them being friends but not really being close to each other. They met outside a bar while Crux members were getting drunk. Had a nice conversation and parted ways. Honestly, that's how their friendship goes; just random meetings where they talk about everything and nothing. Both of them got stuff to hide and going through a lot of shit, therefore why they're not super close.

Work Acquaintances (temporary)

Chisei Gen & Beidou

This is honestly based on the Captain Chisei’s mission

Chisei asks if he can help out in the Crux for a day and Beidou was like “sure”

(I don't think Chisei is a bad person despite the attempt murder which is why Beidou agreed)

Ends up a billion chores for Crux and its crewmates but doesn't complain about it because he’s away from work and in the waters. But then Yasha tells him that he's needed back asap and he ends up leaving early. No hard feelings tho

He probably got roped into Beidou’s fighting contest and won easily (b4 traveler because I hate powerscaling ppl) and then left immediately afterward.

friends (but like in a family way)

Ruri Kazama & Zhongli

Zhongli just looked at Ruri and adoption papers just flew into his hands qjsjs

They would meet because of the storytellers. Probably having a chat over the stories meaning and but they would get an odd feeling about the other. Like “there's something more to this person” feeling

But regardless they still have their routine of meeting in front of the storyteller and discuss the stories.

Zhongli would begin to trust Ruri and offer to take to him to other places to learn about Liyue. And now he's buying Ruri tea blends. Zhongli would even schedule his day so that he can show Ruri a place.

Poor Ruri is now stuck with an ex-God. Jk He's happy and spends the morning drinking the tea that zhongli got for him.

Enemies (but not really)

Luminous Lu & Hu Tao

They're definitely enemies but not in an “I want to murder you” way but thought of murder the other has happened more than once.

It's started innocently with Hu Tao telling Luminous the wrong direction and turned into an all-out prank war where the Qixing and the Adeptis had to put a stop into it.

With every prank one did, the other tried to outdo them.Hu Tao gave Luminous Jueyun chilis infused popsicles and Luminous would trip wired her office so when she sits down, a bucket of ice water will fall on her. 

More and more people would be affected by these pranks that soon all of Liyue is turned into a battleground for the two. The Qixing, Millelith, Adeptis, Johann Chu and Nono had to collaborate together and get the two to stop.

Close Friends

Erii Uesugi & Ayaka Kamisato

The “Little sister in a noble clan where their older brother is the head of the clan” union.

They would have met because Chisei has a meeting with the Yashiro Commission and took Erii with him. Ayaka would be a little nervous because Erii just pop up without a warning and now she gonna have to play hostess for her. Erii is excited because she gets to go out and so is Ayaka. it's smooth sailing and the two having fun exploring Inazuma.

But once Thoma arrives, Erii will still be happy but also sad. She's a little jealous over the fact that Ayaka has a big friend group and is loved by everyone. But the feeling doesn't last long.

There are two options for how this goes.

Everything turns out good and no instance happens. Erii leaves with Chisei happy that she has a friend and Ayaka & Thoma are sad to see her go.

Or shits hits the wall. While traveling around Inazuma, the trio ends up being ambushed by treasure hoarders. Ayaka and Thoma are hurt and one of the treasure hoarders is trying to grab at Erii. A whole lot of ppl are turning into nothing tonight.

(imagining being a treasure hoarder and thinking you hit gold with two nobles w/o guards and then one of the girls starts saying death and now your homie is turned to dust right in front u)

Anyways, this obviously causes a big deal and Erii is immediately taken back home but the damage is done. No one really knows who cause it besides Ayaka. Thoma and probably Ayato. Ayaka and Thoma argued on how erii did that and if they should get her to help out with the resistance.

Whichever route happens, they'll probably never see erii again 💔.

#dragon raja #genshin impact #chime gen #kazuha #zhongli #ruri kazama #dragon raja erii #kamisato ayaka #Dragon Raja luminous #Hu tao

[trentsleatherboots]

Carach Angren, interview translation Dutch > English

Published in the magazine Rock Tribune, edition June 2020, nr. 192.

Text by Morbid Geert. Fotos: Stefan Heileman.

WILL THE REAL FRANKENSTEIN STAND UP NOW?

At the end of last year you could already read about how we kept close watch on Carach Angren. Back when they were still heavy in the production process, on Halloween Day we went over to Ardeks homebase and studio to see the first glimpse of their new work and later Rock Tribune got invited to listen to the album in Germany. Now it's almost time for 'Franckensteina Strataemontanus' to be shown to the world and that's why we wanted to take an even deeper look. Weaponed with an oil lamp and shovel we went onwards towards the graveyard to uncover the soul stirrings of Ardek. (Text: Morbid Geert)

---

Ardek, the last time I talked to you the songs were still in a very early stage and what we heard was more of a pre production. Did you tinker more afterwards to come to an end result or did you purposely keep your hands off to avoid overproduction?

"In terms of song structures and lyrics not much changed on the premature songs that you heard. What followed however was another production-finish, where especially the mix and mastering made a big change. That last stadia really lifted it all to another plane and you can really hear that."

A FRESH LOOK.

As far as I knew, Patrick Damiani was still fully onboard working on the songs at Tidal Wave Studio in Germany. How important was it for you to pull an extra producer into the process? After all, you are very much at home with that as well? Or maybe not as much as you'd like?

"Back then he worked on drumediting and played the basslines, but his role is way bigger than that. We've worked together a lot and now we're doing something for L'Âme Immortelle, where we vibe together perfectly and know exactly how to handle such a project.  When he takes on production for Carach Angren however, I notice how much better he controls it. He has so much knowledge about drum sounds, mixing,... and he's really specialised in it. It is nice to add that knowledge, it brings a lot of added value. These days a lot of bands record at home and that all makes it a lot cheaper, but a good producer brings a lot of experience and equipment, it ends up with a whole different result. Besides, we left the mix and mastering to Robert Carranza."

That last one is a pretty big name, who among others worked with Marilyn Manson. I can imagine that has a big impact on your budget, but was it worth it?

"I think so. When I listened to 'Killing Strangers' by Marilyn Manson on headphones and heard the bassline, it went so deep that it turned me upside down. Apparently Robert Carranza mixed that album.  Furthermore he does a lot of different things such as make latin music and win grammy's, but in the extreme metal scene he is totally unknown.  However, he wanted to help himself to our record and yes, the price was steep, but I managed to convince both the band and the label… even though that wasn't without some doubts, since all eyes were on me for a bit. I had a good feeling about it and shared it, with the result being having a record now that doesn't sound like the others.  He had a fresh look on our work and thus we could avoid the recognisability of the average metal producer.  There are too many records that when you hear them you know exactly who had their hands on them and in which studio they were recorded.  Contrary to what you might think, there was constant contact with him (Robert) and a lot of talking about how we wanted it to sound. In particular the clarity of the sound is massive and gives it a bit more of a cinematic effect. There was no compression applied where everything sounds constantly loud and where as a listener you'd get easily tired, but the dynamics were preserved."

DIDN'T FEEL LIKE IT ANYMORE.

To refer back to Patrick Damiani: if he does so much and even plays the basslines, do you see him as sort of a 4th band member or is that just a bit too much credit?

"That's not how we see him. He's an amazing producer and musician, who gives us his opinion and helps us out. On the other hand he is not part of the creative process and he isn't on stage with us… but it is a relationship that's been going on for 12 years and something we get a lot out of."

Now I'm saying '4th band member', but after the recordings of your new record ended, your brother and drummer Namtar left the band. Can I ask what happened and if you saw this coming, or whether it was a bolt from the blue?

“In November he recorded his drum tracks and back then everything went fine, but then there came an offer to play at '70000TONS OF METAL'. Since we always looked at the financial side of the band together, we talked about the offer and he was immediately against it.  I thought that was strange and to me it seemed better to sit around the table with three to talk about it. Then it became apparent that he'd been wrestling with it for sometime and in brief didn't feel like it anymore.  We offered him to take a break of a few months instead of just throwing away what we've worked for the last 20 years, but that wasn't a solution.  It wasn't an easy decision, but afterwards we saw it had been an issue for a long time and at that point you rather put a stop to it.  That hit us hard, but you can never force somebody to stay in a band.  To keep our motivation high we played '70000TONS OF METAL' after all with Michiel van der Plicht of God Dethroned as replacement. That pleased us all and he's willing to help us out in the future."

Michiel van der Plicht in indeed an amazing drummer. Are there any plans to keep him in the band permanently or is this an emergency solution and is there an offer still standing?

"I discussed that extensively with Seregor, but together the two of us stay the core of the band. We already have an extra guitarist live and in the studio we will definitely have those people join again, but all decisions will be made by us two in the end.  We want to avoid that other people leave a mark on the band, causing us to lose our individuality (personality). It's about so much more than just making music: the stage decor, our own stage outfits,... for us it is very clear and it's going well, so we only need help to fill in with the music in the studio and during lives."

MILKED OUT?

Let's get to the core of business. At the end of this month is the release of your 6th album, 'Franckensteina Strataemontanus'. Now lends the Frankenstein story itself perfectly for a horror metal band, but I wondered if the story isn't too milked out by other bands… unless you do it with a completely new vision. After all, that's what you did with 'This Is No Fairytale', where Hans and Gretel were transported to the now and the horror became bigger than ever. 

"When we started, I had the same feelings about the Frankenstein story, but there's a twist to it. Everything started for me as a dream, where I flew through an old house. There, I heard dissonant piano tunes and I got sucked into a room where a portrait of an old man hung on the wall. Later I made a drawing of that portrait and it got stuck in my head. When I began doing research for the album months later and even read Mary Shelley's amazing book 'Frankenstein', I found out that there is a theory that when she wrote her book she was influenced by Johann Konrad Dippel, an 18th century alchemist.  Then when I looked him up, he turned out to look like what I had seen in my dream, which personally motivated me to dig deeper. Dippel is an unknown figure for the masses and that's why it seemed fascinating to us to do something with it.  There is fiction and truth mixed in our story. By the way, Dippel lived in Frankenstein Castle near Darmstadt, where he was looking for the elixir to eternal life. He was also a theologist, but he clashed with the church and was therefore cast away. Because he also did experiments on cadavers and sought life extending resources, he would've inspired Mary Shelley for her story. What we did was make a concept around the source of her story instead of following the clichés.  That monster with screws in his head, we've seen it already before…"

Yet it doesn't seem like a concept album, because I notice that you address very diverse subjects.

"It is definitely a concept, since all stories are connected to one another, even if it's not noticeable. 'Operation Compass' is about the North-African desert war between the Brits and Italians. In official documents the Brits were ordered that if there were to be a fallback, to make all sources unusable for the enemy with 'Dippel's oil' (a nasty substance that made water undrinkable but did not poison it, so it was in battle with the Geneva protocols).  In our story it leads to a demonic outburst that went towards the soldiers. So you see, Dippel comes back throughout different moments in history. 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' is about a real figure that is still alive. He committed necrophilia, killed people and drank their blood, … but is now at large. In our story he lost his ways after reading Dippel's books, which once again links it with the core story. 'Here In German Woodland.', the opening song, is about a boy that gets lost and dies in the forest surrounding Darmstadt, but later comes back and eats his parents. In the closing song 'Like A Conscious Parasite I Roam' it all comes full circle: Dippels life elixir only works for his soul, and his body rots away, so he searches for a guest body and his spirit creeps into that little boy." 

In a few songs, some German lyrics show up. Is that besides the concept also because of the grim sound of the language or is it simply because you live so close to Germany and it has a certain impact? 

"The subject lends itself to it of course and Seregor speaks German very well, which made things easier. And yes, the sound does play a certain role. 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' sounds way better than the English translation, it immediately sets the right tone."

Some of these stories are the result of reality, but are often at least as gruesome as many fantasy stories: such is the bonus song 'Frederick's Experiments' about the sick science experiments of emperor Frederick II, a man who apparently was not inferior to the Nazi doctors?

"Yes, you can say that he set a good example! Seregor came with the idea and somewhere the story did fit within the total picture, even though we couldn't fit it into the big story. Our label Season Of Mist however asked for a bonus track and that's how we managed to include the song after all."

CROSS-POLLINATION.

What I noticed with the first sneak preview, but what has become clear now, is that Carach Angren this time worked very innovative musically.  Watch out, it is immediately clear that it is from Carach Angren, since you already have your own sound, but at the same time there are noticable things we haven't heard from you before. The title track has a considerable industrial touch and we also hear something from Laibach in it, just like 'Monster'. Is that something you've only recently been getting into or have you maybe secretly been an industrial fan for years?

"It is more recent, even though I've always been appreciative of it. By also collaborating with Till Lindemann for his project Lindemann, I also came into contact with it more and started taking it up unconsciously. Afterwards I got to experiment with it for my solo project and that's how I came up with the song 'Monster'. Seregor tested some things out for singing for that song and it just made sense.  It was very cool to experiment like that, which you should when you're making a record based on Frankenstein…"

It became a musical experiment instead of scientific experiment, but you do create a parallel, yes.

"Inside Carach Angren we like to put a lot of variety in the songs and if you can also give that a different look, then that is something you should try. We ourselves are absolutely crazy about it! Some fans will have to swallow when they hear those songs, but for them there are plenty of old school songs on it."

To come back to Lindemann: he and Peter Tägtgren got you involved since you are so good with classical orchestras and arrangements, but in the end it seems to have become two-way traffic, doesn't it? Have you learned a lot from it and developed other visions? 

"We worked together in a very awesome way and you do learn a lot from that. You grow as a componist, as musician and as producer. It made me compose more compactly and I sometimes pursue slightly less complex songs, like the two more industrial based songs. Always great to be able to take a different approach."

Both those songs have an easier buildup, but in the other songs you go back to the complexity that you left out purposefully 'Dance And Laugh Amongst The Rotten'. Is it a way to generate more contrast?

"In some ways yes, but it depends on how it works out in a song. We tried to make the title track a bit longer, but then the effect fell away and it didn't feel right anymore. But strangely enough I write a complex song like 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' easier than a less complex piece like 'Monster'.  With less arrangements it quickly becomes hard to keep it exciting(engaging), but seeing as you want to keep the concept to level, you need to have enough variation. The industrial songs sound a bit less complex, but there is a lot happening in the background and they are full of tiny details that make the difference."

MIXING COLOURS.

With the new approach you have opened some doors to maybe do more experimenting in the future. Is that actually your goal or is there nothing reasoned behind it and do such new influences pop up sooner when they seem to be able to improve the song?

"It all almost comes down to what the concept of the album requires. Back when we wrote 'Death Came Through A Phantom Ship' we added swirling waves and custom/adapted sounds to it. With the new record the 'marching' of the pulsing industrial beat seemed to work the best with our Frankenstein theme. You have to see it like a painter who is mixing colours to make a new colour to fit his vision. We don't do any different and we would love to experiment more in the future. If we see what we've already tried with singing now … in the long run we were completely out of control trying to do crazy things."

The singing is indeed a very remarkable part of 'Franckensteina Strataemontanus'. We always thought Seregor had a good black metal voice, but we were very impressed by the way he twisted his voice this time around and helped set the mood.

"We are very happy about that ourselves. He delivered an excellent job and we really pushed everything to get to that point. We actually took several weeks to make sure my home studio was in perfect condition and sometimes Seregor had to redo a certain part up to 10 times to get the result we wanted, but he did it without struggling. A lot of singers that ask so much from their vocal chords are dead on their feet after an hour, but then there is Seregor who gets through the day without complaining, even while screaming his lungs out.  While recording 'Operation Compass' we did however find out it is better to record a deep grunt in the early morning, since your voice is still a bit slow and heavier from sleep.”

MUSIC AS A BOOST.

The whole corona crisis made it so that as a band it is way more difficult to promote an album now, since all concerts got cancelled. Did that have a big impact on Carach Angren or can you make it?

"I myself am very concerned with the people who are really affected by the disease and that is why I can partially ignore the inconveniences for ourselves. Nevertheless, it has a serious effect on the music industry, although that is secondary to me. We are dealing with a pandemic, people are dying and we all have to work to keep everything under control. In addition, it is strange to release an album in a full crisis, but we decided to go for it anyway. It's a cool record and we already started the promotion, so we just keep going. For now, tours are not planned, but that does not mean that we will now stream all kinds of performances to attract attention. We are not that type of band… what is a shame is that our plans for a very cool video clip are now also being abandoned. We had to go to Germany and there are also the social distancing rules, which make such a recording impossible.  But should we really want that and turn it into drama? Of course it sucks to have to promote the release like this, but the whole world is just not what it was a few months ago."

Do you have any alternative ideas to bridge that gap? I know that you guys always have enough visual ideas and there already is a lyric video for 'Monster', but I can imagine that there is more to come.

"We are working on that yes, because last month we made one for 'Der Vampir von Nürnberg' and next month we might take another song in hand. We will keep doing those sorts of things together with some 'making of-' videos that we recorded in the studio, that way we can give the album some extra promotion.  Nothing for us to worry about so… by the way, there is something about releasing a record in times like these. The people have been stuck at home for months and have nothing to do, so if we can give them a new piece of music to listen to to get through the day, then that is awesome too. It would be disappointing for the fans if we just put our new work on the shelf because of this pandemic. Every band should do what they think is best, but we had already started our press campaign anyway and we would also be a lot less driven if we only had to arrive 'with old stuff' within six months or later."

Carach Angren already has a few beautiful video clips which are build up with a real story and don't only have something musical to offer. In addition, there are also the lyric videos, where certainly those for the complete album 'This Is No Fairytale' with comic images by Costin Chioreanu stand out from the crowd. Have you never thought of bundling everything on a DVD?

"We've honestly never thought about that, but that's actually a really great idea! I think it would be nice to bundle everything together and that way we immediately remove some (away) from youtube. That can always be a good idea for the future."

LEARNING SCHOOL.

As songwriter of Carach Angren you may have previously absorbed a lot of influences that shaped you into the musician and songwriter you are today. Can you list the five most essential records or artists that shaped you personally and what exactly were their interests?

"That is a good question that doesn't let itself be answered very easily. In the classical field and orchestras I think Tchaikovsky and Stravinski are very important. They both had a lot of influence on me as a componist. Another important inspiration to me in that respect is John Williams (modern componist famous for his film scores for Star Wars, Jaws, Jurassic Park..) They helped shape me even more when it comes to layered composing, although I don't come close to what they do. As a child I followed keyboard lessons for 8 years, I did a year of conservatory and studied a year of music and media, as well as cinematic orchestration. Those last two were online, but on a serious level and you really had to write pieces for an orchestra. I learned a lot there, but ever since then I kept learning by actually doing it myself, looking through books and analyzing musical pieces.  But if I hadn't gotten the theoretical basis I had as a child, I would've never been able to do this today. On production level I have to mention Nine Inch Nails and, something you'd might find strange, Michael Jackson! If you see how well their albums are produced, and how many layers are incorporated, it's amazingly well done! You can say about Michael Jackson's music what you want, but the way the songs are built up and how much dynamics are in there thanks to the arrangements by Quincy Jones, it is absolutely astounding.  There is no lack of bells and whistles and sometimes, for example, the snare drum comes in in four layers, something you don't hear so loudly even in extreme metal. I mainly listen to those albums as an audiophile to analyze them and see what I can get out of it as a producer. Last week I checked the solo record of Roger Waters, in which I heard effects that seemed to be situated outside the loudspeaker field. Then I want to know how that is done and whether I can integrate it with Carach Angren. That kind of thing is the reverse of the compression they use too often today and you wonder why we don't all go in that direction anymore."

---

Translated by Jeordie/Trentsfishnets.

(For the record, if this interview already exists in English, I will just see this as translating practice C:)

#carach angren #metal #death metal #black metal #european metal #carach angren interview #carach angren 2020 #corpse paint #new black metal #Dennis Droomers #Dennis Seregor Droomers #Clemens Ardek Wijers #Clemens Wijers #Seregor #Ardek #Ivo Namtar Wijers #Ivo Wijers

[altrxisme]

[ memory ; ffxv ] - drive

Jackson thought it funny that most people believed Johanne was a hard read. He supposed it was advantage he had for knowing her since they were kids, but there were certain tells she couldn't help.

They were at a gas station loading up on snacks and supplies while they were on their way to scout an Imperial base near Cleigne. It was a Crownsguard and Kingsglaive joint mission, as it was one of the bigger bases, and Jackson insisted that Johanne join him. At this point it didn't matter that either Guard and Glaive knew that they were siblings and he wished that it had happened earlier, despite his older sister's apprehension. It was understandable, but he believed that if they all stuck together she would have less of a burden to bear. She might say otherwise, but he had a feeling their dad would've at least given it some thought.

"Psst!" Johanne blinked from her thoughts getting interrupted by the younger one, her attention turned to him with a raised brow. She had been leaning against the truck they borrowed from a Hunter friend of their dad's, putting gas into it for the next leg of their drive. "You're makin' a look, Annie. Whatcha thinkin' about?" He took the spot next to her, and looked at his sister with a raised brow of his own to match hers.

"Nothing. Just going over scouting details in my head."

"—Chocoshit."

"Eat it and die, Jacks."

He couldn't help but burst into laughter at the deadpan look of her face as she said that, never failing to find it hilarious and he tried to keep it to a minimum. Bright blues spotted the quirk of the corner of her lips as she turned her head, auburn hair briefly hid it after.

"All right, all right. Seriously though— what's up?" A gloved hand reached out to poke her a few times on the shoulder. The Glaive hummed, contemplating whether to voice her thoughts or not. "Don't got ta if ya don't want ta buuuut—" At that point, Johanne let out an exasperated sigh, although there was a hint of amusement in it.

"Fine. I was thinking of how nice it would be to just drive around here if I had my bike."

"... Oooh yeah, you and dad were basically travelin' around before settlin' in Galahd, yeah?" She nodded, humming in reply. "Can't believe ya can remember that much bein' so young..." He had told her of the difficulties he's had trying to remember other moments in his own childhood. The first time he told her about it, she seemed to be familiar with the cause of it as there were a few Glaives that experienced the same thing.

"It's one of the few things I can clearly remember before Galahd." Johanne sighed, eyes up at the clear sky, letting the sun's warmth sink into her skin. "Traveled haven to haven until we hit a town willing to give him work so he could afford to buy some sort of ride." There were a few times he'd been swindled, but that didn't stop him from finding them a home. "I remember this one time father got a bike with a sidecar. He drove it down a part of the road where it stretched for miles and miles..."

Jackson watched as her face softened from the memory; the dullness in her eyes from fatigue brightened as she spoke and the tightness on her shoulders dropped. "I got bored after sitting in that sidecar for so long, like any child would be, and he told me to sit up and stick my arms out. Like how a bird would when it flew." Johanne couldn't help but laugh softly, shaking her head with a smile she tried not to do. "Granted, father sped up once I did but to feel the breeze while feeling the sun on your face while watching the clouds slowly move along?" She closed her eyes, remembering clearly how that day long ago went. "—It was magical. One of the best memories I had as a child."

Opening her eyes brought her back into the current present, and her usual expression slowly returned as she reached over to lightly flick the tip of Jackson's nose.

"Ow. Rude." He huffed and theatrically rubbed the 'injured' spot with his thumb. The Glaive rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the truck, about to round the hood to get to the driver's side.

"Is the truck all gassed up?"

"Yeah, but wait— Hold on." The Crownsguard held his hands out to stop her, walking around her when she paused in her steps, and stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. "I want ta drive. I haven't driven at all and I miss drivin'."

"... Are you insisting because you want to, or because I just told you of a memory I had as a kid and you're trying to recreate it for m— Hey!" The sniper lightly swatted the back of her head in reply.

"I'll call ya a passenger princess if ya keep tryin' ta thwart my plans here. Now, git."

He made no mention of the smile she had on her face throughout the drive with her boots propped up on the dash and the seat leaned back slightly as she let her hand dangle out the open window, her fingers reveled in the feeling of chilling wind that swept past them. It wasn't a perfect recreation of back then, but they were content with sharing this new memory together.

#; memories #v: ffxv ; dulce et decorum est #[ i just wanted some sibling feels with these two owo ] #[ but also just really inspired by my work commute ] #[ it was a nice day out c: ] #[ edit: i can't believe i didn't post this already XD ]

[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter eleven

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3560

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: none

Note: Honestly, this chapter reads a little weird to me but my friend who helps me edit said it was fine. IDK going from the 40s to 2012 is weird when trying to write.

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Masterlist

Seven months had gone by since Steve and I had been unfrozen. This new world I suddenly woke up in was exhausting. Everything had changed from the simplest thing like manners to complicated things like technology.

Days after waking up, we had been sent to a place called “The Retreat” so we could catch up on the seventy years we had missed out on. There was so much that we took to writing everything down in small notebooks, so we could remember.

I caught onto using the new technology quicker than Steve since I had worked with Howard Stark for several years. Being able to adapt to strange and new tech on the fly was a requirement when working with him.

After those few weeks there, we were both moved into two separate government apartments located in New York. I wish I could say that it got easier with time, but it didn’t. Instead of going to hang out with Steve or actually trying to make acquaintances with anyone, I just stayed in my room, locked away from everything. Coping with being in the future was the easy part, learning to live without everyone I ever knew was hard.

I hadn't known peaceful sleep in a long time. Every time I closed my eyes I am met with nightmares. The softness of the mattress had made it feel like I would fall through at any moment, back into the ice. To try and combat this I pushed my bed into the far corner of the room and made a cot directly under the frame. It felt safer to lay on the hard floor in the dark. The nightmares still came through, sometimes they were battles, sometimes they were of the plane crashing, but most of the time they were about losing Bucky. Every time I woke up in a cold sweat and never went back to bed. I just stared unblinking at the metal that made the bed frame.

One night after a particularly taxing dream I decided to take a walk. It was three in the morning, so I wouldn't have to deal with a lot of people. I changed out of my pajamas into some of the clothes I had been provided. The clothes of the future were tighter than in the forties. It had taken me a while to get used to the feeling of fabric clinging to my legs and upper body. The outside world was quiet except for the occasional car passing by. I kept my eyes to the ground, not really caring where I ended up. I only looked up when I was almost run over by another late-night walker. Peering from left to right, my eyes fixed on an old faded sign hanging above me. The letters were just barely readable and said in large letters ‘Boxing gym’. With another survey of the area, I realized where I was. This was the gym that Bucky used to take Steve when teaching him self-defense. I had tagged along a couple of times before I had joined the SSR, I was surprised it was still here. I smiled weakly and turned to the door. The light inside was on, it couldn’t hurt to see if they were open. The door creaked open and I slipped in quietly. The sound of someone working out came down the long brick hallway. Hesitantly I made my way to the open doors that led to the sparring room.

Stopping just past the threshold, to my surprise, I spotted Steve, who was busy punching the life out of a punching bag. I walked through the small office and around the boxing rings before I stopped again and leaned against one of the columns a few feet away from where Steve stood. I watched him for a while before he landed a hard punch on the bag and it flew off into the distance. I started clapping slowly and he turned around in shock.

“Good job, you broke the bag, but you do know you’re gonna have to pay for that right?”

“Hey kid, I haven’t seen you in a while. I came by your apartment but you didn’t answer.”

“I know Stevie, I just haven't felt up to company since we got back to New York. I hope you can forgive me.” He looked at me with sad eyes and took three long steps in my direction. His arms came out to engulf me in a hug.

“It’s okay, I understand. Promise you’ll tell me if something's wrong, okay?” I nodded into his chest and he squeezed me tighter.

“I couldn't sleep, I guess you couldn't either.”

“No, too many thoughts.” He let go of me and went to get two more punching bags. He hung them up a few feet away from one another before turning to me and asking if I wanted to join. Pretty soon we were both laughing together if it felt almost like we were back home before everything happened. That was until the same dark-skinned man from that day seven months ago showed up. I later learned he was Nick Fury, director of SHIELD.

“I’m glad to find you both here.” He stated.

“Are you here with a mission, Sir?” Steve asked.

“I am.”

“Is this to try and get us back out in the world?” I asked.

“No, I'm trying to save it.” he thrust out an open manila folder. I grabbed it slowly and brought it to where Steve and I could both look at it. The blue cube that had evaporated Johann Schmidt was in the photograph pinned to the first page. In large bold letters beside the pictures spelled out TESSERACT. We slowly walked to a nearby bench and sat down.

“That's HYDRA’s secret weapon. I thought it fell into the ocean that day,” I whispered.

“Howard fished it out of the water when they went looking for you both. He thought what we think, that this cube could be an unlimited sustainable energy source.” Fury informed us.

“Who took it from you?” Steve questioned.

“He’s called Loki, he’s not from around here. We have a lot we're gonna need to catch you both up on if you agree to help. This world has gotten stranger than you already know.”

“I doubt anything could surprise us anymore, right Stevie?”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Ten bucks says you’re both wrong.” Fury bet. We both got up from our seats and handed the file back. Steve went and grabbed another bag from the floor and I just headed straight for the door.

“There are debriefing packets at your apartments, read through them and get back to me by tomorrow afternoon. And before you leave, is there anything we should know about the tesseract?”

“You should have left it in the ocean.” Steve and I said at once before walking out of the gym. Once we were outside on the sidewalk we hugged and said our goodbyes for the moment and then went our separate ways.

The walk home felt longer than the walk to the gym, but this gave me time to think about what I wanted to do. Whether I wanted to go on this mission, or if I just wanted to lay low and live my life. By the time I walked through my front door I had almost made my decision, but I was waiting to read the file before I decided for good. With a quick look through the minimal information provided I sighed and threw the papers down onto my kitchen counter. Shaking my head I murmured to myself.

“No, I am not doing this. This cube is not worth it.” Rubbing my eyes I went back to my room and crawled under the bed, not caring that I was still in jeans and a t-shirt. I was not going to walk blindly into anything dealing with that cube again. I lost my fiance and everyone I have ever known because of that stupid blue thing, I'm not going to go anywhere near it again. I laid there quietly for a while before I eventually drifted off into a restless sleep.

The next morning I woke up with a start, almost hitting my head on the bed above me. Furious honking made its way from the street into my room. One thing I definitely missed from the past was how quiet it once was at seven a.m.

Along with the decision to not join the mission, I had also made up my mind about leaving New York. This had been a long decision in the making and the talk with Fury last night was enough to make the choice for me. I couldn't live in this city anymore. The places I used to hang out at were still here, but they had been renovated so many times that they were unrecognizable. Everywhere I turned It was like I was walking through a strange alternate reality. I saw glimpses of the past, like ghosts around every corner, it was worse when it was a place Bucky and I frequented.

When I had gotten back from the Retreat I made the mistake of going to mine and Steve’s old apartment. It had been torn down to construct a bookstore, along with several other retail shops. I broke down in the street when I saw it, waves upon waves of emotions crashed into me. All the memories I had there with Steve, mom, and Bucky had no place to live now other than in my mind. The next mistake I made was to go down the next few blocks to Bucky’s apartment he shared with his mom and sister, Rebecca. It was no longer there either, a bakery stood in its place. I turned and left before the onslaught of tears came. After that day I thought it would be best to go somewhere else, somewhere I had no memories.

I crawled out from under the bed and slowly moved to the bathroom to start getting ready for the long day to come. Once I had showered and gotten dressed I sat myself down on the living room sofa, looking wearily at the telephone on the end table. Hesitantly I picked up the receiver and dialed the number that had been in the tesseract briefing file. It rang twice before Nick Fury answered.

“Mr. Fury, I’m calling to tell you that I won’t be joining your team for whatever mission you have going on. I just want to lay low and rebuild my life and live it quietly without interruption.” I let out a long breath.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Was really hoping to have you fight with us. If you change your mind, you know where to contact me. Goodbye Agent Rogers.” He hung up quickly after that, not giving me a chance to tell him goodbye as well. The next call was going to be the hard one, I had to tell Steve my plans. I dialed his number slowly as I raised the receiver to my ear. It didn’t even have time to get through the first ring before Steve picked up.

“Hello?” He asked on the other end.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“What’s up kid. Have you called Fury about joining the mission? I called about an hour ago letting them know I’d help.” He sounded a little enthusiastic.

“That’s actually what I’m calling about. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this but I’m not going to help with the mission.”

“Oh,” he sounded surprised. “Why not? I thought you’d want to help get rid of that thing once and for all.”

“It’s not that, I want nothing more than for the tesseract to be gone for good. I just don’t think I can be a part of it, I don’t want this thing to take over my life if we can’t get rid of it. This brings me to another important thing I need to tell you. I can’t stay here in New York, so I’m moving to DC.” He was quiet for a while after I had said that, the only thing I could hear coming from his side was his breath. I grew more anxious by the minute waiting for him to say something.

“What do you mean you’re moving? Why can’t you stay here with me?”

“Don’t be selfish.” I snapped.

“I’m not being selfish, you are.” he raised his voice. I huffed through my nose, getting annoyed.

“I can’t stay here any longer. I have no idea what it is like for you, but for me, being in this city is torture. I see ghosts from the past every time I leave my house. I can’t go anywhere without seeing him, and every time I see him, I break down. I never got to say goodbye and that day plays over and over in my head. Steve, I’m being tormented with nightmares to the point where I have barely gotten five hours of sleep in the past week. I need to get out of here whether you like it or not.” Tears had started to stream down my face as I yelled into the phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have helped you, I still can help you if you let me. If you leave I can’t keep you safe, I can’t protect you like I’m supposed to.” He was using his soft “grown-up” voice he always used with me when I was younger to try and calm me down but the tears kept streaming down my cheeks at a rapid pace.

“I can protect myself, we did take the same serum,” I choked out. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to bother you with my problems, I can deal with them myself. Plus you have your own things to deal with, you don’t need to help me with mine.” My head was starting to hurt now and my cheeks and neck itched with quickly drying tears.

“Fine. The only way I will be okay with you leaving is if you promise to call me at least twice a week and you let me help you move.” I gave a strained laugh and nodded, even if he couldn't see it.

“Okay, it’s a deal. I actually already have an apartment lined up, so you can come over and help me pack everything up whenever you want to. I’m going to try and be out of New York by the end of next week.”

“I’ll be right over.” I laughed as I told him that I’d be waiting. I laid the receiver back down in its spot and stood up to go to the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror, thinking. I was glad my relationship with Steve could handle an argument, understand one another, then go right back to normal, I don’t think we would be this close if it couldn't. I blinked back a few stubborn tears and bent down to grab a rag from the sink cabinet, I dampened it in warm water then wiped the dried tears from my face. The warm water felt wonderful on my skin.

Over the next week and a half, Steve and I boxed up what few belongings I had and packed them and the furniture into a moving truck. I didn’t own a car so the moving truck would be my transportation to DC. One of the many things SHIELD had us do was take a modern driving test, which wasn’t hard, just a few more signs to remember and more gadgets in the car than there used to be, I ended up passing with flying colors.

By Friday morning we had everything ready to go. Steve would follow me on his motorcycle and I would drive the truck the whole three and a half hours to my new apartment.

We stopped several times on the way down, mainly so Steve didn’t have to sit on the bike for the whole three hours straight. We also stopped for lunch. All in all the trip took us about five hours, with traffic added. We made it to my new home just after two and we started moving my belongings in immediately.

Admittedly the apartment was way too big for just me but I liked the extra space, it was different from the tiny two-bedroom apartment I had grown up in. The first thing I made sure to unpack and put up was the bed. I still hadn't told Steve I wasn’t actually sleeping in the bed, but he didn’t need to know that. After that clothes were sorted through and put in their respective places. With our enhanced strength and stamina, we had the whole place relatively furnished in just under two hours. We stopped for dinner when everything had been brought up from the moving truck.

The day went by fast with us talking and laughing like we used to, it was a good change of pace from my usual aimlessly roaming around my apartment alone. But, all good things have to come to an end and Steve had to leave. He pulled me into a tight hug, almost crushing me, and wouldn’t let go until I pinky promised to call him several times a week. I just laughed and promised him I would. I was sad watching him walk down the hallway to the stairs.

I turned back into my apartment and closed the door, locking it behind me. I stared at the box littering the floor and decided to get to work unpacking the rest of what we hadn’t gotten earlier.

Most of my belongings I found in thrift stores and antique shops around the city. It may have been the twenty-first century now, but that wasn’t stopping me from making my home a comfortable, familiar space. If you walked in from the outside world, you would have thought you had been transported to the past with how much authentic 1940s and before things I had littered about. Some things had been saved from the apartment we lived in in the forties. I learned a few weeks before we came back from the retreat that Peggy had been the one to put everything in storage after they had failed to find Steve and me in the ice. I had gone through all of it and took out what I wanted to take with me and Steve had done the same. I was thankful Peggy had done what she did, otherwise, everything would have been lost to time.

That night as I tried to sleep, I realized it was a little easier to relax. DC was a whole lot quieter than New York, there was no honking or yelling every two seconds to keep me awake. I was left alone in almost complete silence, which for others may be worse than being bombarded with noise, but I didn’t mind. I fell asleep almost an hour after laying down for the night and had a restless sleep. I woke up many times in the night covered in sweat, but I couldn't remember the dreams, anything I could remember dissipated as soon as I opened my eyes.

I woke up again very early the next morning, the clock on my wall said it was four forty-five. It was still dark out, but I could hear birds starting to chirp. I crawled out from under the bed frame and went to put on some exercise clothes. Running always helped to clear my mind after not being able to get any sort of rest. The run itself didn’t take long, even though it was seven miles, any normal person would be exhausted but I had barely broken a sweat. I did get to see some nice places, taking a route around the zoo, to the National Cathedral, and then back around to the Dupont Circle neighborhood, where my apartment was. The sun was just starting to come up as I made my way back into my building.

Although I had just moved in the day before, I was ready to start finding some sort of job. The money SHIELD was giving me to help assimilate back into the world comfortably was appreciated, but I wanted to make my own way in life without their help. Finding a job was going to be harder than it used to be, but I did have expertise in several areas. Upon being unfrozen, along with the driving tests, SHIELD created a new resume for me. I had degrees in history pertaining to the 1940s, World War II, and several of the New Deal programs, with a specialty in the SSR. I was also given a Veteran ID, although I don’t really know how that one works because I definitely was not a part of the apparent ongoing fighting in Afghanistan. I still looked twenty-four, I doubt anyone would believe it.

Anyway, I had interviews lined up for today at the Smithsonian, and hopefully, the resume that SHIELD created and my knowledge would be enough to land a job. I had already figured that I would be volunteering at the local VFW. I knew I could find people there to relate to and hopefully be able to make some friends.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila

#james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #winter solider x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

[p-artsypants]

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (8)

Here Comes the Boogeyman

FF.net | Ao3

--

Dead ends. 

Nothing but dead ends. 

She went to the courthouse. They found the blueprints for the Agreste manor, put them on the table and unfurled the paper to pour over it. The building had three stories, of which, the lobby and her office were on the bottom floor. 

No basement, nothing close to a basement. 

“Can I help you with anything specific?” Asked the woman who had retrieved the plans. Obviously, Marinette’s distress was a little more evident than she wanted as she gnawed on her bottom lip.

“So, I inherited this house,” she explained. 

“Yes, you showed me the deed.” 

“But I was friends with Adrien, the son of the previous owner. He told me to look in the basement. Other family members said there wasn’t one, and I was hoping that maybe there was, and no one knew about it.”

The attendant gave her a pitiful look. “I’m sorry, Miss Dupain-Cheng, these are the only plans we have on record. In fact, most houses in Paris don’t have a basement.”

So what was Adrien talking about? 

The woman seemed thoughtful for a moment. “Although, if Mr. Agreste wanted to, I suppose he could have commissioned the building of a basement later on. He might not have submitted the documents for it, which is illegal, but it is a possibility.” 

“There’s a chance?”

“I suppose. Have you checked all over for stairways?” 

“Not thoroughly, not yet. I haven’t moved in.” 

“Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” 

Marinette smiled at the woman, but ultimately didn’t ask anymore questions. They couldn’t offer her the kind of help she needed. She doubted anyone could. 

Children, have you ever met the Boogeyman before?

No, of course you haven't, for you're much too good I'm sure.

Don't you be afraid of him, if he should visit you.

He's a great big coward, so I'll tell you what to do.

Her next lead was the funeral director, Bill Hunkerson. He had been cagey with Marinette, but maybe his guilt would make him open up more to Ladybug. She just had to play it smart.  

She strolled into the Funeral home, suited up and ready to interrogate. Of course, she was quiet so as not to upset anyone if a service was in session. 

The receptionist spotted her immediately. “Ladybug? Is something the matter?” 

Obviously, it wasn’t common for a superhero to be spotted at a funeral home. The question was justified. 

“I need to have a word with Bill Hunkerson.” 

“Who?”

Oh no. 

“This is Armes-Hunt Funeral Home, right?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“And a Bill Hunkerson doesn’t work here? As a director?” 

“Oh! My apologies. I’m rather new here. Mr. Hunkerson resigned just as I was starting, about a month ago.”

Ladybug felt her hands growing clammy under the suit. “Are you sure? He was directing Gabriel and Adrien Agreste’s funeral a week ago.” 

The receptionist looked at her, wide-eyed. “Really? We weren’t covering that funeral. I would have remembered something that important. Was he maybe doing it freelance? Maybe he was friends with Mr. Agreste and did the funeral with outside resources.” 

“The programs had your logo on them. The staff were wearing the logo too.” 

Stunned, the receptionist looked around the room. “Just a minute, Ladybug. I’ll get my boss.” 

This conspiracy was unraveling in her hands, slowly like a ball of twine. 

Hush, hush, hush. Here comes the Bogeyman!

Don't let him come too close to you, he'll catch you if he can.

Just pretend, that you're a crocodile,

And you will find that Bogeyman will run away a mile.

The receptionist was hurrying back to her, with an older man in tow. When he arrived, he gave her a comforting smile and held out a hand. “Hello Ladybug, I’m Johann Armes. Rachel said you had some information about Bill?” 

Ladybug rehashed what she had said to the woman, revealing that their funeral home had supposedly taken care of the funeral. 

As her tale went on, Mr. Armes went from confused to shocked to angry. 

“Rachel didn’t lie,” he clarified. “Bill did resign from here about a month ago. He worked for me for twenty years, and then one day told me the work was too much for him, and quit. This is a hard business to be in, so there is a high turnover rate, so I didn’t even think about it. But with what you told me…I wonder if he was being honest.” He pursed his lips into a thin line as he took out his cell phone. “At any rate, he wrongfully took a job from us. What if something had gone wrong? Our name was all over it! Bill better have some answers for me. If not on the phone, then in court.” He furiously scrolled through the phone until he found the contact and dialed it. 

He put it on speaker as it rang. 

Once, twice, then click.

“Bill? It’s Johann. I have some questions for you.” 

There wasn’t an answer on the other line. 

“Bill? You better start talking!” 

The phone clicked again, and the call ended. 

“The prick hung up on me!” Mr. Armes shouted. 

“Where does Bill live?” Ladybug asked. “I’ll go speak to him in person. I really need the information he has.”

“I’ll give you the address.” 

Say Shoo, shoo, and stick him with a pin!

Boogeyman will very nearly jump out of his skin.

Say Buzz-Buzz, just like the wasp that stings,

Bogeyman will think you are an elephant with wings!

Only minutes later, thanks to the speed of her yo-yo, Ladybug arrived at the address provided. 

Though, the dozens of emergency vehicles outside gave her a sense of dread instead.

As she landed, she was greeted by police and ushered to the front of the house. 

A woman in a shock blanket spotted her immediately and ran to her, flinging her arms around her. “Ladybug! Thank Christ you’re here!” 

Ladybug gave her a comforting squeeze and pulled back. “Are you Bill’s wife?”

She burst into sobs. “My Bill! My wonderful Bill! Who would do this to him?!”

Ladybug pulled her into a hug and patted her shoulder. “I know, I know it hurts. Can you tell me what happened?” 

“It just came in through the window! I only saw it leaving, but it was big and black! Like a huge spider!” She was hysterical, waving her arms around and letting the blanket fall to the ground. 

“Ma’am, why don’t you sit back down?” An EMT picked up the blanket and put it on her shoulders. “We can fill in Ladybug from what you’ve said.” 

“Bill! Where’s my Bill? Have you seen him!?” She cried as she was steered over to an ambulance. 

Big and black like a huge spider…was it an akuma? No akuma has set out to murder anyone before. People had turned into ice cream, glitter, and all sorts of things, but never just straight up murdered. 

“Ladybug?” A man in a vest asked. “I’m Detective Joseph Bertony, would you come with me please?”

“Of course.” 

He led her into the Hunkerson home, where every room they passed was spotless and not a hair out of place. 

“What you are about to see is shocking, if you need any time, please speak up.”

When they arrived in the living room, a huge red bloodstain on the wall caught her attention. Below it, the man she had seen at the funeral was propped against the wall. He had a hole in his forehead, and the back of his skull was missing. 

“Oh my god…” 

“It’s…pretty horrible, I must say.” Said the detective. “A couple of people have vomited already.”

“I can understand that.” She felt weak in the legs. If she wasn’t transformed, she probably would have collapsed as well. 

“According to Mrs. Hunkerson, the assailant was a huge black creature that looked like a large spider. She saw it as it was leaving the house through the window. How exactly it killed Mr. Hunkerson is unknown.”

“Do you think it could be an akuma?” 

He gave her a look. “Isn’t that why you’re here? Don’t you and Chat Noir listen to police scanners or something?”

She shook her head. “That’s not it at all. I was coming here to speak to Mr. Hunkerson about something else.” 

“Care to share?” 

She glanced around the room, taking stock of the investigators and police standing around, and decided to beckon him into another room. 

He followed her quietly, concern written all over his face. 

“I know I’m not a detective,” she began. “My job is to deal with akumas and Hawkmoth. But I’ve been running an investigation on my own.” 

“Concerning what?” His tone was sharp. 

Ladybug bit her lip, feeling like a student with late homework standing in front of a strict teacher. She just couldn’t imagine this going well. What should she disclose? Would he tell her to stop and leave it alone? 

Detective Bertony noticed her unease immediately, and gave her a minute to collect herself. When she only grew more hesitant, he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright.” 

It was like talking to Adrien for the briefest moment. That's what this was about, after all. Justice for her Kitty. 

“It concerns the Agreste family.” 

“Gabriel and Adrien Agreste, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“I wasn’t involved in that case, but I heard about it. Murder suicide, open and shut case. Cut and dry. So what about it?” 

“I knew Adrien. He wouldn’t have done that.” 

“That's what people said about Jeffery Dahmer too. Not that there’s a comparison.” 

“Right. People have their vices and demons and Adrien isn’t exempt. But that’s not all.” 

He nodded once, indicating that he was listening. 

“Both Gabriel and Adrien’s coffins were buried empty.” 

He frowned. “Your proof?” 

“I saw it with my own eyes.” 

“They let you look?” 

“Nope. But Ladybug has her ways.” 

The detective scratched his chin in thought. “What does this have to do with Hunkerson?” 

“He was the director for the funeral. I think he knew that the coffins were empty, and that’s what got him killed.” 

“So…Hawkmoth is covering up the truth about the Agreste’s?” 

“Up until just now, I didn’t know what to think. But if Mr. Hunkerson was killed by an akuma, that’s what I’m led to believe. I was just at Armes-Hunt funeral home. According to Mr. Armes, Bill Hunkerson resigned a month ago, and yet he directed the funeral a week ago, under their name without permission. Mr. Armes called him and—“ she stopped, remembering a critical detail and pulling up her yo-yo. 

“What?” 

“Someone picked up.” She glanced at the time stamp on her search for his address. It had been 20 minutes since she left the funeral home. “When was he murdered?” 

He glanced at his watch. “Oh, about an hour and a half ago. Why?” 

“Someone answered our call 20 minutes ago. They didn’t say anything, but hung up. Did you find his phone?” 

“We can check the evidence. I didn’t see it.” 

“Would anyone have answered it?” 

“No, that would be tampering. But what does that have to do with this? Someone answered the call. If not, would you have sought him out here?”

“I probably would have come here anyways. I really wanted to hear what he had to say about their funeral.” 

“Tell you what. Since this has to do with my current case, I’m going to get more details on the Agreste murder. Is there a number I can reach you at?” 

“Here’s the number to my yo-yo, if I don’t pick up, just leave a message.” 

He put her number into his phone. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what made you start investigating this anyway?” 

“That’s a superhero secret. Sorry detective.” 

“Fair enough. But the more info you give me, the more help I can give you.” 

“I understand. I will consider it and give you as much as I can. But if an Akuma is killing people who know about the Agreste’s, I don’t want any part of my identity getting out.” 

“You have a point. Best not mention my involvement either.” 

“Off the record?” 

“For now, until we have solid evidence and the upper hand. We know nothing about Hawkmoth…unless you do?”

“Nothing. It’s been eleven years and we’ve only fought him face to face a handful of times. It doesn’t help that his akuma rate is slowing down too. At this rate, I fear he’ll retire before we catch him.” 

“I’m sure he’ll slip up soon.” He twisted up his lip. “Maybe he already did, and that’s why the Agrestes perished.”

“One more detail I can give you: Emilie Agreste, Gabriel’s wife, died about 12 years ago. Her coffin was also empty.” 

“You saw it?” 

“I…not personally, but I have a….trick that allows something to phase through solid objects. This ‘something’ reported back that the coffin was empty.” 

“And would this ‘something’ be willing to testify if we get to that point?” 

“Um…probably?” She grimaced. “I’m sorry I’m being so vague, I just…it has to do with the Miraculous, and that’s very sensitive information.” 

“Fine. I won’t pry. But thank you for telling me. I’m not sure how these deaths and Emilie’s 12 years ago could be related, but I’ll let you know if I find anything.” 

“Likewise, Detective. I better be off and see if I can spot this Akuma before it strikes again.” 

“Good luck Ladybug!” 

“I'm going to need it, I’m a little arachnophobic.” 

When the shadows of the evening creep across the sky,

And your mommy comes upstairs to sing a lullaby,

Tell her that the Bogeyman no longer frightens you,

Uncle Henry very kindly told you what to do!

Tonight would have been her patrol night anyway. Joint patrol, her and Chat. 

The third he had missed, and the second after she found out he was dead. 

The last time, she tried to call him. She was on the Agreste’s wall and she called him. He was there, staring right at her the whole time. Hadn’t he cared? Could he not see the frantic desperation on her face? 

She scanned the shadowed streets for the spider-like figure the police had described. It was still early in the night, and the streets were plenty full of happy Parisians enjoying the nightlife. 

If only they knew what lurked around the corner. If only they had seen what she had. The blood on the wall, the soulless gaze in Bill Hunkerson’s eyes. The absolute devastation of his wife. 

It was so messed up. It seemed like everyday since Adrien’s passing, Paris got a little darker. A little more sinister. 

Hush, hush, hush, here comes the Bogeyman!

Don't let him come too close to you, he'll catch you if you can.

Just pretend, your teddy bear's a dog!

Then shout out, "fetch him teddy!" and he'll hop off like a frog!

Ladybug paused to take a break at one of their checkpoints. Normally, if they patrolled separately, this is where they would meet up before splitting up again. And she couldn’t help but linger there for a minute or too, even though no one would come. 

Or so she thought. 

A thump drew her attention to the chimney behind her. It was a black figure, not like a spider, but like a person. 

A person with pointy ears on his head. 

She gasped. “Chat!” 

He whipped his head to look at her, his eyes glowing a solid green in the night. 

“Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick about you!” 

As she stepped closer, he backed away, keeping his unblinking eyes drilled on her. 

“Chat? What’s wrong? Won’t you come down and talk to me?” 

He backed up farther before darting off into the shadows. 

She had just found him! She couldn’t lose him now! 

She took off after him, listening for the scrambling of his claws on the zinc rooftops. 

He was fast. Faster than normal, and it took every bit of strain to keep up with him.

Finally, she had a good shot and she threw her yo-yo out, snagging him with her rope. He wriggled and squirmed, kicking his legs as he fought for freedom. 

“Settle down, kitty cat,” she said, with annoyance, but concern. “I just want to talk to you.” 

He snapped his alien gaze to her and hissed, spittle drawing lines between his huge canine teeth. 

It made her recoil. 

“Chat? Kitty?” 

He wriggled some more before he got his hand free, then he brandished his claws and cut through her, previously assumed, invincible line. 

Then he bolted, scrambling into the night. 

After his reaction, she didn’t have the heart to chase him down again. 

It was Chat. It was Adrien. It was definitely him. But something was definitely wrong. 

At least she had an idea of where the Black Cat ring was. 

Just pretend he isn't really there,

You will find that Bogeyman will vanish in thin air.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #fanfiction #the ghost of Smokey Joe #ladybug #chat noir

[siyeonjisoo]

AVATAR GOING HUNTING NYC 9/3

It has finally happened, y’all!  Concerts are back in my life and I am more than thrilled about it.  Last night was the first concert I’ve been to since February 13, 2020 so over a year and a half when I’m used to maybe 3 months at most between concerts.  Felt so SO good to be back at it and see concert fam folks again!

My comeback was with the incomparable metal band Avatar who I first saw in 2019 when they toured with Babymetal and I had no clue who they were.  How things have changed since then.  Now without any further ado, I give you how the day went.

I sadly had to go to work in the morning but I left at noon and made it to Irving Plaza around 1:40.  I was really worried that I was going to have a horrible spot in line and thus have to hide in the back or along the walls to avoid the mosh pits but I ended up being only the 7th person in line.  I had GA ticket and was the first person in line for that. Between already knowing some of the folks there and spending the next 6 hours making friends with them, I ended up being promised they would help me get as close to front row as they could get me which was AMAZING.

Doors opened actually on time and we were able to get into the venue pretty quickly!  I ended up SECOND ROW for this show DEAD CENTER.  An intense place to be but so very amazing.

Touring with Avatar are two other bands, Tallah and Magic Sword.  Tallah performed first with about 5 songs.  I’m always completely unfamiliar with the bands touring with folks so I didn’t know this group either.  And they aren’t bad but not a group I will go out of my way to listen to again.  Drummer kicked ass though, apparently he only joined the band as a replacement drummer 2 months ago and he killed it.  The singer has the ability to do splits but that’s the only thing about him I think I like.  The other members of the band were just as memorable as their songs, which is to say, not at all.

Next was Magic Sword.  That group is a trio, of drummer, guitarist, and keyboardist.  They were amazing, 10 out of 10.  If you can get the chance to see them in concert, I beg of you to do so.  That said, I can’t say I’ll be listening to their music again unless it’s live because they don’t have a vocalist and I like to be able to sing/rap along with music unless it is loud enough I can feel it in every single cell of my body, which is what Magic Sword delivered.  Only bad thing to happen here was the crowd was starting to be...less than sober...and the person behind me spilled a quarter of their beer down my ass, right into the pocket where my phone was.  I was less than thrilled with this person and was thankful they traded places with their friend for Avatar’s set because the second person was kinder and actually made conversation with us a little bit and apologized for how drunk they both were.

The stage was cleared after Magic Sword performed probably 6 or 7 songs? I can’t tell for sure since their songs do seem to run on the longer side so I may have split a song that is actually one into two.  And then it was time for the reason I was there, the main event: AVATAR.

The roadies came out and set up the stage for them with a very different setup than ANY of us expected. There was a projector screen blocking most of our view but we could see three mic stands set up in the front middle, the usual lights and drumset in the back, and then another drumset on stageright next to the microphones.  

After many attemted Avatar chants and false alarms from the crew, the band came out.  They all lined up, John at the front drumset, Henrik, Johannes, Jonas, and Tim in that order filled in the microphones set up.  They all stood looking dead ahead, barely blinking, for a few moments of us screaming before jumping into the first two songs of the night, Colossus and Let it Burn.  They performed Colossus without moving or smiling or anything, they looked like robots so so perfectly.  They held the positions for what felt like a full minute or two with Henrik trying so so hard to not smile, I could see the corner of his mouth twitching.  He looked so happy to be here the whole night!

The lights went down after those 2 songs and they took off the front drumset and changed the microphones back to the usual ones that they can kick up and spread them to give them all more space.  When they did, a drumstick dropped on the ground and got left behind so a friend of mine got the venue staff to pick it up and hand it to her! She got a drum stick from Tallah, too I believe.

Next came SIlence in the Age of Apes, Bloody Angel, (Johannes said he thinks of all of us as his) Child (ren), and The Eagle Has Landed.  This is where things started getting a LOT more intense in the crowd.  I could feel the crowd moving more behind me in Apes so I could tell that there was a mosh pit that was at least starting out by then and by Bloody Angel, people were crowd surfing.  At least one person per song would come crashing over us for the rest of the show and I didn’t really love it.  I was scared the whole time a foot was gonna come crashing into my head or a staff member was gonna punch me in the nose AGAIN to keep me from getting a foot in the head. which yes, the dude full-on punched me in the nose to catch a foot that swerved away from my head and into the person in front of me instead.  An adventure of a moment.

Everyone went off-stage for a few minutes except for Johannes who took a moment to greet us and thank us all for coming  He was in his full glory the whole night, that cocky grin glued to his face and a manic joy in his eyes that was genuine happiness to be back in front of a crowd after so long.  He gave us some kind of witty (but obvious if you know song names) intro into the next set of songs and the rest of the band came back out.

(Insert quirky pun her) Paint it Red, Secret Door, Swarm, Torn Apart.  This was the period of time when I could barely keep my eyes off of Tim because he looked so giddy half the time.  Either making faces to tease us or just looking around himself in amazement.  More moshing pushing us around and crowd surfers kicking us in the head but oh-so amazing.

Then came the grand piano being carried on stage.  No, it wasn’t actually a grand piano, it was a keyboard put into a wood frame to look like a shrunken down grand piano so it looked real but was able to be lifted by three or four people and carried on stage.  Johannes sat down and seranaded us with Gun and I have not hated being in an American crowd so much before in my life.  Every time I would start to get into the emotions of the song, someone would shout something hardly intelligible because they were so far away or it would be someone screaming “I LOVE AVATAR!” Made me so so so annoyed but Johannes was smiling so I tried to ignore it and let it go.

The piano was taken away and the rest of the band came back to perform Going Hunting.  And lemme just tell you that it was an honor to be in the third ever audience to hear that song performed live.  It hits all the right feels to kick ass live and at home so I hope people are loving it.

Johannes thanked us for tuning in and making their streamed Dream concerts happen in Avataruary.  He said it gave them all a chance to reflect and think about the songs they haven’t performed in years, leading them to their self-titled album, leading us Deeper Down.  This song was actually one I don’t know if I’ve listened to before, I’ve kind of stuck with the 4 albums I really like and haven’t branched out much.  But it slaps hard.

Next it was time for us to worship our king.  Everyone but Kungen left stage and he looked at us like we were ants beneath his feet, barely worthy of being acknowleged while the roadies came and changed his guitar and gave him his royal attire.  Kungen slowly started playing the intro and Tim joined him, standing back to back and both of them looking gorgeous while everyone else slowly joined them on stage to build up A Statue of the King.  They followed that with zero comments jumping immediately into The King Welcomes You to Avatar Country.  Both of those songs are so effing hype that when they all just walked off stage after, I was shook.

I think this was when Johannes started getting a little sappy with us in his comment.  He said they’d all agreed that they wouldn’t get emotional on us but he had to take a minute and thank us all for being back here with them.  And the way he knows that we’re really back together is because even though we all look so different we all *snifs armpits* smell the same.  We all Smell Like a Freakshow.  I don’t know if it’s just me but it felt like we were all saving up energy for this song and went absolutely feral.  I used up almost all the energy I had left so I just did the bare minumum for Wormhole right after.  Moved just enough to avoid getting hit in the head with someone else’s head.

Then for what I think was only the second time all night, everybody went off stage.  Every other time, Johannes has stuck around and chatted while the others were gone but he left too.  They did a quick little outfit change behind the scenes I think, Johannes came back on with his overalls undone so clearly he was hot.  And, you know, a warm temperature as well. Yup.

And just like that, as though 3 hours hadn’t passed since the first band started, it was time for the last song of the night.  It was time to Hail the Apocalypse.  This song is the only song I know for sure they performed the last time I saw them live and I feel like it only gets better the more I hear it.  They could make a 10 minute version of it and I would still be asking for more.

They went off-stage for a second and everyone put down their instruments and came back without anything and just let us cheer for them.  They gave us a little bow and then started saying thank you and waving good bye.  I saw Tim say “I love you” at the crowd and I think John and Jonas both blew kisses at us.  

And then it was over.  They left the stage, the lights came up in the house, we all made sure everyone was okay from all the flying feet that came at us, and the venue staff told us it was time to go home.  I had friends going the same way I was so I was able to keep the magic going for a little while longer before I started my journey home alone.

These guys are all so amazing and I am so lucky I got to fall in love with them the way I did.  And I am so happy to have the friends I’ve made at this show and every other show I’ve been to.  It was an amazing way to get back to concerts, starting it off with a bang.  I have blisters, bruises, and sore everything but I would do it all again tonight if only I could.  It is now time to start counting down the days till I follow Miyavi around for a week on tour in October!

THANK YOU FOR TAKING ME HUNTING, AVATAR! Glory to Our King!

The setlist was given to my my friend. All other photographs are taken by yours truly

#avatarmetal #johannes #john #henrik #tim #jonas #kungen #concerts #going hunting #avatar going hunting #magic sword #tallah

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Voices Carry

Ch. 1: “Keep it Down Now”

[ Eins | Zwei | Drei | Vier | Fünf | Sechs | Sieben | Acht | Neun | Zehn | Elf ]

Description: Merkel accepts a job to smuggle a young woman out of East Berlin, and it turns out to be more than he bargained for.

Warnings: strong language, references to violence, poor grasp of the German language, possible historical liberties, probable sexual content in the future

Notes: This is the first chapter of a longer story. Let me know if you want to be tagged for future installments. The song referenced below is “Anarchy in the U.K.” and if any of the German is not clear based on context, I can add translations.

It started with convincing their stout little grandmothers to smuggle in copies of the latest Sex Pistols records from the West. Merkel, then seventeen, was the one who thought to disguise the records as copies of Wagner’s Das Rheingold. It was a perfect plan—at least until his own grandmother wanted to play the record one evening as his family enjoyed a few drinks after dinner. Everyone had been stunned when they were treated to the thrumming electric guitar and Johnny Rotten’s shamelessly punk declaration, “I am an Anti-Christ.” Merkel’s father had snapped the record in half and hauled him upstairs to deliver a beating that, to this day, easily eclipsed the worst ass-kicking he’d ever received in his chosen profession. His father’s talents had been wasted as a postman, Merkel often said with a wry grin when he told the story.

Next came subversive Western novels and VHS tapes of movies and television that were verboten in the East. These were too dangerous for anyone in Merkel’s crew to risk their grandmother, so they recruited American college boys who got conservative haircuts and dressed up as businessmen, carrying the contraband in special briefcases with hidden compartments so they could later go home and brag about how they were doing their part to fight the communists.

Merkel figured they got off on it. Maybe they all did. It was a game in those days, of cat and Maus, suppression and rebellion, action and reaction. By the time he was twenty-two, they had begun to smuggle people. They weren’t just playing punk music in underground garages and running the streets of East Berlin with ink-dyed hair and grungy leather jackets anymore. Now lives were on the line.

They spent years perfecting their techniques. They modified vehicles to conceal a person in a secret compartment so tiny that someone as tall as Merkel couldn’t dream of squeezing into it. When smuggling wasn’t an option, they resorted to forgery instead—falsifying passports and travel authorizations in an old warehouse on the outskirts of town. But staying on top of the constant changes to the documents needed to cross the checkpoint was a battle, one which required an extensive network of contacts willing to provide them with intelligence and supplies.

At twenty-five, Merkel would now be completely unrecognizable to the greasy little punk he’d been when he started playing this game. His survival depended on remaining cautious. The sort of people he ran with weren’t rebellious little boys any longer. They were either assets or liabilities, loyal to each other in theory, but in practice, more loyal to their own self-preservation than anything else. Merkel knew it was only a matter of time before he was betrayed by one of his friends and declared an enemy of the state. He planned to be long gone before the Stasi came for him.

~

It was on a frigid morning in January that he received the call. The heating in the entire building—one of those Brutalist blocs that began to look dilapidated the moment they were erected—had been out for the past week. Merkel had taken to sleeping fully clothed for once, wearing three pairs of socks and a knit cap pulled down so far over his head it could’ve doubled as a sleeping mask. The phone echoed in his sparsely furnished apartment. Merkel stirred under the mountain of blankets and groped blindly on the nightstand. His fingers were stiff with cold as he closed them around the telephone and yanked it to his ear.

“Ja?”

Bastian was already telling him to meet at their usual place in ten minutes.

“Nein,” Merkel argued. “Zwanzig.”

He heard Bastian scoff. “Fünfzehn.”

Merkel hung up without another word. He groaned as he rolled out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. The hot water had been out all week too. He vaguely wondered if his landlord was trying to freeze him out. Even though Merkel paid his rent on time every week and was always polite to the man and his wife, he’d once made the mistake of coming home with his shirt collar soaked in blood. “Nosebleed,” he’d tried to explain, but he could never figure out if Frau Werner had believed him. Merkel splashed his face with the freezing water and changed into some fresh socks and a clean shirt before he donned a large blue overcoat and headed downstairs.

The street was nearly empty this late in the morning. Merkel tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat and crossed in front of the ruins of an old bombed out building, heading down into the spiderweb of tunnels that made up the S-Bahn. Ten minutes later, he was across town, sitting on top of a short metal filing cabinet and warming his hands with a mug of foul coffee in a dingy warehouse with Bastian.

“I thought I said fifteen minutes,” Bastian complained. He was a strapping young blonde man with icy blue eyes. Merkel liked to tell him he looked like the Aryan ideal come to life. Bastian liked to tell Merkel he looked like a bug-eyed ogre.

“I never agreed.” Merkel smirked over the rim of the ceramic mug and took a sip of the bitter drink. He wondered if he could convince Sonja to let him take a hot shower at her apartment later in exchange for that Bowie record she’d been asking about.

“Johannes König contacted me.”

“The writer?” Merkel confirmed. He recognized the name immediately. König was an infamous playwright who’d had several productions shut down by the state for promoting Western ideas.

Bastian nodded. “He found out his house is bugged and he thinks they’ll be coming for him soon.”

Merkel maintained a neutral expression as he listened, though he wondered where Bastian was going with this. They had an unspoken rule that once someone was under intense state surveillance, they weren’t getting out. At least not with the help of Merkel’s crew. They couldn’t risk their entire operation for one Dummkopf who’d been careless.

“König knows he’s done for,” Bastian said, sensing his hesitation. “He wants us to move his daughter.”

Merkel made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “We’re not babysitters.”

“She’s in her twenties,” Bastian interrupted. “And he’s offering us a lot of money to get her out as soon as possible.”

“We can’t move anyone until Sunday,” Merkel argued. He had a bad feeling Bastian was going to suggest they do something stupid because he wanted to fuck this girl.

“We can hide her until Sunday,” Bastian said with a shrug. He definitely wanted to fuck this girl.

Merkel shook his head. “No, she’s on her own until we have a car or a passport.”

His friend took out a thick wad of cash and slapped it on the filing cabinet. “This is König’s down payment,” Bastian said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grinned. “He’s offering us four times this amount if we do it.”

Merkel took the cash in his hands and counted it quickly. He sucked his teeth, narrowing his eyes at Bastian. “How many days is it until Sunday?”

“Drei.”

Merkel swore. “Scheiße.”

German Glossary:

Dummkopf - dummy

Scheiße - shit

@skrsgardspam​ @b-afterhours​ @emmyrosee​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​

#atomic blonde fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #merkel fanfiction #bill skarsgard #gordon merkel #atomic blonde #merkel #gordon merkel fanfiction #voices carry

[prairiesongserial]

16.1

The lights on the burlesque stage went out just as Friday’s brassiere fell open - the timing of which she and Abernathy had been practicing for days. The crowd was so reactive that Friday felt the whistles and applause reverberating in the floorboards as she hustled off the stage. It was a louder reception than she was used to. She’d had fans at the Ace, but unlike the burlesque tent of the Madsen and Graves Circus, the Ace was just as much about drinking and catching up with friends over cards as it was about the girls.

Behind the curtain, in the tiny staging area, Beatrix was getting ready for her fan dance - she always did the finale, and it was always the same act. Friday had picked up the importance of crowd control since she first started hanging around the burlesque tent. With just cloth tent-flaps between yourself and a crowd that had been waiting a year for the circus to come through town, it was important they understood when the show was over.

A little girl popped through the curtain behind Friday while Friday was still trying to fix her brassiere back in place.

“Hey, baby,” Friday said, shooting her a smile. Jaelle, All-Fair’s kid, had been working the crowd. It was odd - usually Johannes did the burlesque tent himself, or at least got one of the men to do it. They blended in better. On the other hand, looking at the dozens of rings jammed on Jaelle’s fingers and the watches crawling up her arms, maybe the kid was the right choice.

“Hello, Miss Friday,” Jaelle said. She deposited her goods in the tin lock-box that Abernathy would come collect at the end of the night, turning the key with an air of great importance. “Can’t stay and chat - Johannes has me working every tent in the circus.” She heaved a sigh. “Bury me standing - I’ve been on my knees all my life.”

Friday had no idea what Jaelle was talking about, but the kid took off before she could ask. The circus would be winding down, now that the burlesque tent was putting on its last show. Friday threw slacks and a shirt on over her sequined underwear, still soaked in sweat from performing. She needed an ice cream cone before the stall packed up for the night.

When Friday left the tent, she was abruptly reminded that this was no ordinary show.

Her boots tread on grass, but there was no sky here. Despite the fact that it should have been past ten at night, dozens of lights high up on a domed ceiling gave the impression of daylight. Johannes’s amplified voice reached her from the main tent as he announced the last attraction. All at once, the lights on the ceiling shifted from yellow to orange to red, performing dusk in a matter of seconds. If not for that, the effect would have been eerily realistic.

Friday got a strawberry cone from Di and decided to wander over to the main tent. Might as well.

The last act in the main tent was fire-hooping, which was worth watching. The twin clowns had shed the baggy overalls from their tumbling routine and now wore form-fitting red and blue harlequin outfits as the flaming hula hoops arced through the air in perfect sync. Not only were the fire-hoopers impressive, but when the flames were extinguished at the end of the show, it made for a powerful symbol. Lights out, go home.

Friday felt the lightest touch against her back pocket. Most people would have written it off as the movement of displaced air as someone nearby walked past. Friday jerked her hand back and caught a slim wrist.

“Damn, I’ve been made,” Jaelle whispered.

“It’s just me,” Friday said, letting go. She beckoned Jaelle forward. “See that cluster of people three rows ahead of us, a little to the left? Heavy purses.”

Jaelle squinted in the direction Friday had indicated.

“Thanks, Miss Friday,” she said, then disappeared into the crowd again.

On stage, one of the clowns tossed her hoop up in the air, tumbled through the center of her twin’s hoop, and caught the one she’d thrown on the other side. The crowd clapped. That was the perfect moment to pick pockets. People’s hands were occupied, it was noisy, and the whole tent was filled with vibration, making little touches harder to notice. Friday felt the urge to check her own pockets again.

She did wonder at Johannes’s directive to go hard on pickpocketing this show. They were underground - had actually had to pay a toll to get into this giant bunker - and only after the steel door had been sealed behind the circus caravan had Friday learned that this was Washington, DC; home of Hemisphere Central. If Jaelle was caught picking the wrong pocket, that pocket had a pretty good chance of belonging to a powerful mobster. And the circus was trapped in here.

It was interesting how the Madsen and Graves circuit just happened to hit so many Hemisphere towns - from Everglades City to the accidental run in with the Good Guys - and now Central itself. No, interesting wasn’t the right word. At this point, it was almost boring, how obvious it was that Johannes was planning on handing her, Val, John, and Cody over to Hemisphere. Friday had finally tested her L-shaped pin against those used in the trailer hitches, and it was a perfect match. Johannes was trying to kill them, and Friday didn’t have a next move.

The fire-hooping ended with the lights shutting off just as the fires were extinguished. When they came back on, Johannes stood center stage to announce that the night of spectacle had come to a close. He’d changed backstage, and now wore a sequined suit - the left gold and the right black - and a cream cravat with a gold pin. Also cream colored was the porcelain mask that covered the top half of his face. Strange.

“Thank you all for coming to our show - that’s all the entertainment we have for you tonight. We hope you enjoyed the feats of athletics and wonder of the Madsen and Graves Circus.”

Friday spied Enis climbing down the ladder of the crow’s nest from which he controlled the lights. The crowd began to move toward the exit.

Friday wondered what Val thought about all this. She hadn’t tried to talk to him since he came back from Monocacy, but she’d pieced together from the gossip that Johannes had kissed him, it hadn’t been appreciated, and Val was pissed about it. Di, who was approaching sixty and had likely been with the circus since before Johannes was born, had called Johannes a dog and spat on the ground.

The crowd cleared the main tent surprisingly quickly - there were whispers of stopping at home to get changed. Interesting. Apparently the Madsen and Graves was the unwitting first half of a double feature.

As the last of the crowd left, circus members began to file into the main tent. Not unusual - after a show, there were sometimes special instructions for striking the sets. Friday saw Val hanging around the edges, and John and Cody front and center. She made her way over to Val.

“Catch my show?” she asked him.

Val looked at her, made an embarrassed face, then looked back to the stage.

“Would you rather I said yes?” he asked.

Friday smiled to herself, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

“A girl can dream,” she said, and winked at him. Val rolled his eyes. For a second, the summer had rolled back to the start, before John, Cody, and the fire. The reminder of how things used to be made Friday forget what she wanted to say next.

“Alright people, gather round,” Johannes called out, tipping the mask up to show his face. “You all know your strike teams, but there’s a little change. Enis and Abernathy are standing in for me and Ezra. We’re gonna shmooze at the gala and see if we can’t get us some extra gigs next year.”

Ezra had joined Johannes onstage by this point. He too was dressed up, wearing a bright navy suit and polished red leather shoes. He held a red mask in one hand. 

Friday was surprised when Ezra projected his voice exactly as competently as his brother had.

“Once you’re done, feel free to go into town, buy things that aren’t good for you, and give Enis a hard time.”

The crowd of circus members laughed, and a few ribbed Enis.

“Alright, get outta here,” Johannes added.

Friday stole another glance at Val. His brow was furrowed, his eyes intense on the brothers as they descended the stage.

“Gala, huh,” Friday said. “Sounds like a high class affair.”

Val gave her the look that meant I know what you’re getting at.

“I’m just saying, beer and campfires are nice, but I’ve never been to a champagne-on-little-trays kinda party.”

Friday wanted to keep an eye on Johannes - to judge if this was going to be a planned handoff, or if he’d spend the gala advertising the bounties to interested parties. Either way, Friday needed as much advance warning as she could get. And if Val came to the gala with her, maybe he’d finally see Johannes for who he was.

“It’s a Hemisphere party,” Val said.

So don’t you think it’s interesting that Johannes is looking for work there? Friday thought. Come on, Val.

“No one’s gonna be looking for us there,” she said. “It’s a fancy ball. We’ll wear big sparkly dresses and masks and introduce ourselves as the stars of a not yet released Bellamy picture that no one’s even heard of yet. No further questions.”

“I’ll come, but I’m not doing that,” Val said. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble.”

“Me? Trouble? Never,” Friday said, a wide grin growing on her face. “Come on, let’s find costumes.”

epilogue 15 || 16.2

#story