#Business German Podcast

[peblogger]

Music Is The Language

What is your favorite genre of music? Blues followed by County | honest and pure … And Music from Heart & Soul. Bob Dylan started with Hank Williams and US Blues reflects the Soul of US Country Folks. Music Is The Language Linked Music Daniel Levitin’s book, “This Is Your Brain on Music,” explores the intricate relationship between music and the brain. Levitin, a cognitive neuroscientist,…

[masteryourgerman]

Angst essen Seele auf …

More here soon … Linked

[rcmclachlan]

On this week's episode of Things I Think About While Driving, I was having myself a grand ol' time thinking about all the different times and ways Buck could've met Tommy earlier, and the one I kept coming back to was S4xE5.

Like, right after Buck walks out of Maddie's apartment having learned about Daniel...

He drives.

He drives and drives and drives with no actual destination in mind, operating completely on autopilot, for hours. No music, no podcasts, just the rush of wind through all the open windows of the Jeep and the echoing refrain in his head of so they made one.

It would've been an allogeneic transplant. He'd looked it up once when he was watching a 60 Minutes special on Myelodysplastic Syndrome. They would've taken the stem cells from his umbilical cord if the timing was right. Unless they tried it a little bit later, maybe waited a few months before they scraped Daniel's homegrown defense system right out of Buck's bones. He would've been too young to remember the pain and discomfort that came after. He wonders if he cried as a baby more than he would've if he'd been wanted for anything other than the hellfire missiles in his marrow.

And then it didn't work. Defective, right out of the gate. No wonder they've always treated him like a massive disappointment—he is one. He had one job and he couldn't even manage to do that much.

So he drives. He drives and he's furious. He drives and he's inconsolable. He drives and he's sorry. With every street he turns down at random, he moves onto another emotion, and by the time the gas gauge is nudging close to empty and the evening is giving way to night, the only thing he's capable of feeling is tired.

And hunger. He'd only had an apple before he went over to Maddie's.

So he circles back to Glendale Boulevard and decides on the place with a red lion on their sign solely because it doesn't look busy for 8:30pm on a Tuesday. There's even a free space in the little lot next to the building. Thanks, COVID.

It's pretty quiet inside, with a substantial bar set against old wood paneling on the walls, making it feel like an old tavern. He takes a seat at the far end of the bar where the lighting's kind of dim.

Turns out it's a German bar, so he orders a glass of Warsteiner, which he's never had before, and it's got a strong, malty backbone for a lager. The bartender tells him there's a Biergarten in the back if he wants to take his drink outside. 

Buck doesn't want to move from his little corner. It feels safe here, even with his mask off. At least two of the one hundred thousand knots in his back muscles have relaxed since he sat down. He quietly declines the offer, but he does order himself the sausage plate and a glass of Augustiner Maximator once he's done with the Warsteiner, which goes down so good he can't believe it's got an ABV of 7.5%. He orders a second.

He's in the middle of robotically eating a smoked bockwurst he can't taste, thinking so they made one, when the door to the biergarten opens up. A guy walks over to the bar and Buck throws him a cursory glance. Then he looks again. 

The guy is exactly who you'd find on the cover of the LAFD charity calendar: big and beefy, with the kind of high cheekbones that belong on a runway in Milan. Effortlessly handsome. Buck wants to tip his beer toward him, because, respect. He also wants to poke his biceps and ask what his regiment is, if he P90X's or something. Buck isn't a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but this guy looks like he could throw Buck around like a grizzly bear. 

Buck lets himself be distracted by watching the guy lightly tap his fingers against the bar to the beat of whatever 80s song is playing softly over the speakers. He's always loved people watching; it's a great way to get out of his head after tough calls. This guy is a particularly fascinating specimen. There's just something magnetic about him. Buck's known people like that: they draw the eye even if they're not doing anything to warrant attention. Without even being called, the bartender wanders over to the guy, no doubt drawn to whatever invisible light is coming off him. Buck can't hear what they're saying, but then the bartender turns and points right at Buck, who freezes, caught. 

The guy flashes Buck a thumbs up and asks just loud enough to be heard through his face mask, "How was the Warsteiner?"

Swallowing, Buck lifts the empty glass and says, "Uh, g-good. Full-bodied." 

With a thoughtful nod, the guy turns back to the bartender and says something too quiet for Buck to hear, but he figures it out when the bartender goes and comes back with a glass of what is clearly Warsteiner. The guy takes a sip, pauses, and then moves toward Buck, stopping before he gets too close. "Thanks for the recommendation. Hey, Jay, put his next one on my tab."

The bartender—Jay—gives him a thumbs up and goes to the register. Buck, mortified at the thought of being a charity case, of this guy pitying him enough to buy him a beer, opens his mouth to tell Jay he can pay for his own beers, thanks, when the guy holds up a hand to forestall the protest.

"German beer's not usually my thing. I'm more of a craft beer kind of guy, so really, I appreciate the assist. If it makes you feel better, pay it forward." His cheeks curve up, and in the bar lighting Buck can see there are long legs attached to the guy's crow's feet. He clearly has spent his life smiling. Buck would bet this man has never once curled up in the dark on his birthday knowing for a fact his parents weren't going to even text him and was still disappointed when the clock ticked past midnight and he had nothing to show for it. This guy's parents probably had a golden statue of him erected in their front yard.

Buck musters up a smile that feels like one of the little, weak waves that just sort of roll over the shoreline without any fanfare before dissolving back into the sea, and the guy tilts his head.

"Rough day?"

"Rough life," Buck says, utterly pathetic, and feels like he's betrayed all his friends for even saying it. "No, that's—that was incredibly ungrateful. My life isn't—I-I have a good life. I just learned something today about my parents that, uh, clarified a few things for me about our relationship. It... wasn't great."

The guy taps his finger against the bottle of Warsteiner in his hand, staring at Buck with deep consideration, flaying Buck from head to toe without a word. Then he gives a nod that smacks of commiseration and walks around the bar until he's only two chairs away. When the guy opens his mouth and inhales, Buck can already hear what's coming: surely it's not that bad. You should talk it out with them. You're being too hard on them. C'mon, they're your parents, they love you. 

"That sucks," the guy says, simple as anything.

Out of nowhere, heat starts prickling in Buck's nose and the corners of his eyes, and he looks at this guy and the calm, earnest expression on his face, and... yeah. Yeah. It does suck. It sucks so hard and it has for so long, and all his life he's wanted someone to tell him that, to hear him list every injustice and offer a crumb of support without any pretense or judgment. Buck gasps a laugh that sounds more like he's been stabbed, and he opens his mouth to thank the guy for telling him exactly what he needed to hear, but instead what comes out is... everything. The whole story comes out of him like an unraveling firehose, pulling longer and longer the more he talks, stretching from the day he crashed his bike—"But it wasn't my bike, it was his."—to sitting in Maddie's living room and finally learning the truth: that he hadn't been crazy, that something had been wrong his entire life and the something was him.

"They'd made a box for her—full of all these memories and little trinkets and pictures—and I bet you he had one with baseball cards and his first, like, pacifier, and Skittles, and whatever, but when I asked them where mine was, they looked at me like I had three heads, because human junkyards full of scrap metal and defective blood cells don't get baby boxes," he finishes on a shout. Panting like he just sprinted to Santa Monica and back, he finds himself deflating into his folded arms on top of the bar now that he isn't filled to the brim with 29 years worth of bottled-up grievances. This must be what bulldozed graveyards feel like: scraped clean and ready to be filled up again. Buck is surrounded by five empty glasses, a little mountain of twisted-up napkins, and a complete stranger who hasn't said a word since Buck began, and it's as a good place to start again as any.

Buck closes his eyes and stews in embarrassment for about thirty seconds, then turns his head to look at his audience of one. At some point, the guy had gravitated into the chair right next to him and took his mask off, revealing a stupidly handsome face, and his wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare makes Buck want to throw up a little. It may have been the cleansing Buck'd needed, but the poor guy didn't ask to be part of any of it. Buck doesn't know why he told him in the first place. This is the kind of thing he'd hesitate to blurt out to Eddie, never mind a complete stranger, but there had been something so oddly steady and compassionate in the guy's gaze that Buck had felt like he could trust him with anything. It had been so easy to just... talk. And to his credit, the guy had listened to Buck's entire rant—stopping Buck only twice to ask a quiet, clarifying question—without making a face, snorting, rolling his eyes, or getting up and just leaving.

Face warm, Buck shifts in his seat to try and get feeling back into his left ass cheek, then he opens his mouth to apologize for dumping all that on the him instead of at his next session with his fucking therapist.

But the guy just blinks out of his stupor and flags down Jay, who wanders over sedately. He taps the bar counter twice and says, "Yeah, can you just put the rest of his bill on my tab?"

When Buck sits up with an outraged squawk, the world spins a little, and the guy places a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder to steady him. He doesn't take it back right away and Buck doesn't shrug it off. The weight feels good.

"N-No, that wasn't—you can't do that, man," Buck mumbles, face hot. His mouth feels a bit gummy.

"I can and I did," the guy says. "Someone should treat you to dinner for putting up with all that shit for all this time. I don't know your parents from a hole in the ground, but I would happily drop 3,000 pounds of water on their house. Jesus Christ, and I thought my issues with my parents were bad."

"I never should've—"

But the guy shakes his head and tightens his hand on Buck's shoulder. "You absolutely should've, actually. If that had built up any longer, I probably would've seen you literally explode on the 6 o'clock news."

Buck snorts a laugh, rubbing his disbelieving smile against his sleeve. "Believe me, it wouldn't be the first time you saw me on the 6 o'clock news."

The guy gives Buck a curious tilt of his head, so Buck clarifies, "Do you remember a few years back when that kid was mailing bombs to people and he rigged that fire engine to explode? And it fell on that firefighter?" At the guy's slow, wary nod, he continues, "I was the, uh, firefighter."

At that, the guy sits up and his gaze goes so sharp that Buck wants to call Jay over and have him slice up some bratwurst on it. "You're with the 118."

Buck blinks, and then the guy introduces himself... as LAFD firefighter pilot Tommy Kinard, who'd gotten his start at Buck's own damn station. Who knew both Chimney and Hen when they were probies, and who watched Bobby walk in and turn the place into a house Tommy could be proud to be part of. Who had been their air support during the Doheny Park gas leak incident.

"That was you?" Buck glances down at the bar counter to make sure it hadn't cracked when his jaw hit it. "Chimney told us afterwards he'd called in a favor from an old friend."

Tommy grins and jauntily points to himself with his glass. "Except Howie was cashing in on a favor I owed him, which means I only owe him like 973 more now."

Over a round of drinks—another Maximator for Buck and a seltzer with lime for Tommy—Buck tells Tommy about who's at the 118 now and confirms which of "the most batshit insane stories I've heard about you guys" are true. He tells Tommy about the rollercoaster ride that was his recovery from the explosion, and then follows that up with being caught in the tsunami and being struck by lightning. In return, Tommy regales him with army stories, including the time he landed a burning helicopter under enemy fire, and his favorite calls from his time with the 118—the fucking rooster has Buck practically crying laughing into his arms. He also tells Buck about Hen's fearlessness in standing up to their asshole captain who was voted the LAFD's Most Likely To Have Been At The White House On January 6th, and how Chimney saved Tommy's literal life. He tells Buck that without Bobby showing up and making them into a family of sorts, without him being in their corner even when they didn't trust him not to abandon them like all their other captains, Tommy never would've found his way back to the sky.

Then Tommy gleefully drops a pipe bomb into the scant space between them with, "And you never would've joined the 118."

Buck squeezes his eyes shut to try and make his brain stop feeling so swimmy. "W-What? What does that mean?" His tongue is too big for his mouth. His words taste a bit funny, like they're mushy. He hopes Tommy hasn't noticed.

"You said you joined in 2017. That's when I left," Tommy says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm pretty sure you were the one who took my spot."

Buck untucks one of his arms so he can reach up to touch the hills and valleys running down Tommy's cheeks, then realizes that probably would be rude and tries to play it off like he was going to scratch the back of his own head. All he does is knock over one of his empty glasses. It takes a few clumsy tries before he successfully stands it back up.

"We missed each other," Buck mumbles. He thinks of what it might have been like walking into the station that day, seeing Tommy sitting between Hen and Chimney, smiling wide as he dished up more spaghetti. Maybe he would've turned that warm light on Buck as he passed him the tongs. Maybe Tommy would've shown him the ropes, got him through his first shifts, and even stopped him from stealing the engine for a booty call. Maybe they'd have met up for drinks just like this after their shifts were over, or as a way to distract themselves from bad calls the way Tommy's distracted Buck all night. Maybe they'd have been a two-man unit, and then when Eddie showed up they'd be a tri...something. Buck can't remember what it's called, but it means 'three'. Maybe Tommy would've been every bit as important to Buck as Eddie, Hen, and Chim.

He's hit with the realization that if he doesn't tell Tommy this, he might die, so he garbles out, "You're important. W-Wait, no. I mean, you could've... you were important... I—y'get the gist."

And Tommy must, because Tommy's smart and quick witted and a good listener, and he's looking at Buck fondly, like he might've done if he'd stayed at the 118 and they'd come through fire together, but he's also rolling his lips inward and his cheeks are trembling.

Buck whines, aggravated, because, "Y-You're laughing at me."

Tommy ducks his head and does, in fact, start laughing.

"'s so rude. Don't laugh at me, 's not my fault I'm defective." Buck buries his face in his arms in embarrassment. The cradle of it is so warm and comfortable he just stays there.

"You're not defective, Evan." Even though it sounds like Tommy's suddenly on the other side of the room, Buck can hear the matter-of-factness in the words. He says it like he'd said that sucks. "But you are drunk."

He's not. He's just really tired and his arms make for a great pillow. He also feels heavy and tight, which isn't good for a firefighter. What if he's called onto a massive scene? What if City Hall's on fire and he can't pull the mayor out because he's slow and weirdly full? What if his career as a firefighter is over?

"That's just bloat from all the beer and sausage," Tommy says from even farther away than he'd been a second ago. "Jay, can I settle up? I'm so sorry we kept you this late. You're getting a helluva tip, I promise."

His name's not Jay. It's Buck. But he'd introduced himself as Evan and... forgot to tell Tommy he goes by something else. But he likes that Tommy doesn't know that, because when Tommy says 'Evan' it sounds like how 'Buck' feels. He wants Tommy to keep 'Evan' in the warmth of his mouth, like how some alligators carry their young. For them, it's the safest place to be.

Buck wants to tell Tommy about the alligators, because they are super cool and only exist in two places in the whole world. He blinks his eyes open and finds his face pressed to something hard and cool. The bar stool feels a lot softer than it did a second ago. And it's vibrating.

There's a weight on his knee, shaking it gently.

He must've fallen asleep while watching Celebrity Death Match in the TV room again. Mom's going to kill him when she finds out. "Mads, five m're min's."

"Evan, you need to give me a building number."

"Hmmm...?"

"Your apartment building. I've been driving up and down South Spring for ten minutes. You gotta help me out here. What's your building number?"

"Mmm..." Buck rolls his forehead to chase the coolness. It feels so nice against his skin. He could just sink right into it.

"Evan, c'mon. You can do it. Tell me where you live."

"27 P'plar Road," he mumbles. He blinks his eyes open and catches sight of the rush of lights and road ahead, which blend together like they're about to jump into hyperspace. He's not in Hershey. He knows this road. Sighing, he closes his eyes again. "Oh. 's rowing. 409 at th' rowing."

He blinks awake when he suddenly trips over nothing, and he tries to stop himself from falling but there's nothing except the gaping maw of open space. But he doesn't actually go anywhere. Someone's got an arm around his waist. There's a name for that kind of rude awakening. He can't remember it.

"Two more stairs," the person with him mutters in his ear. "I'm begging you, lift up your feet before we both end up in the ER."

That's fine. He has his own bed there.

"Yeah, let's try to get you into the bed you have here first."

Strong hands lower him onto something soft, and he buries his face in sheets that are cool and smell familiar, his entire body smoothing out like the surface of a lake. Something tugs at his foot, and he rolls onto his back and tries to lift his leg to help, but he's comfy and cocooned in the dark. His sneakers get taken off anyway.

"Evan." Tommy's voice hangs in the air, soft and warm and invisible, and his name sounds like it's precious where it sits in Tommy's mouth. He read somewhere that alligators do that. "I'm going to get you some water and then head out. Do you need anything else?"

In the dark, he somehow lost his body, and he can barely see the outline of Tommy, but he can hear him step closer when Buck reaches out for him. When Buck's hand is caught, he's suddenly so aware of himself, of his blood and bones and every nerve trapped under his skin, and arches a little into the feeling with a quiet moan of relief.

Tommy knows about him. He knows Buck's cells are defective and he still bought Buck dinner and spent the night making him feel like he was made correctly from the start.

"D'nt go," he whispers. He's starting to float away, and he tugs on the hand holding his, trying to bring that steadfast presence on top of him, use it to keep him here. "Stay."

"I absolutely can't do that," Tommy murmurs. His thumb strokes over Buck's palm and it feels like he's dragging his tongue along the length of a nerve. Buck gasps. Something pulls tight and sweet between his legs, and he tilts his head back on the pillow, lips parting so he can suck in air desperately. So he's ready.

"Kiss me," he breathes.

He wants it so bad he almost gags. He wants all that weight and strength to hang over him like a bough, keeping him together, feeding his body what it's screaming for. He inhales deeply and the smell of indelible man fills his nose and the back of his throat, along with the faint hint of smoke and something sharp like snow. He wants a mouth on his. He wants strong, sure hands to run over his ribs. He wants to say I'm full of broken cells and I need you to fill me up with something better, but he's breathing too hard and the words keep blowing out of order. His legs slide open and the sound of them moving on the sheets is deafening. He's so hot, and so hungry. He thinks he's hard. He thinks he's dying.

The hand in his squeezes gently, but then it lets go.

Without it, Buck's going to dissolve. He's going to disappear. He squeezes his burning, wet eyes shut and pulls in a breath that is all wheeze, every part of him a live wire, unsteady and shivering and thwarted. So they made one.

"No. No," Buck sobs. "Y're just like them. You don't want me—no one... why. 's not fair."

The bed suddenly dips right next to Buck's thigh, right on the edge, and the hot press of a thumb against his chin stops him from howling his sorrow and disappointment. When it slides up and just barely brushes against his bottom lip, his mouth falls open. Yes. Yes.

"I'll tell you what." It's whispered so closely that Buck thinks he can feel the wash of breath over his tongue. "You remember any of this tomorrow? Call me, and I'll kiss you as much as you want. I'll kiss the idea you're unwanted right out of you."

Buck exhales in utter relief and sinks into the comfort of the bed as the weight next to him lifts away. He's going to do that. He's going to call and then let Tommy kiss him until he forgets he was ever unloved. But persistence pays off, so he tries one more time, even though he's suddenly so tired he can barely get the word out. "Stay."

"Sleep well, Evan."

+

When Buck wakes up, he immediately wants to crawl into a hole and die. His mouth tastes like there's roadkill in it and there's an egg beater trying to escape his skull by way of his left eye. Whimpering, he tries to bury his face into the pillow but half of it is wet with drool, so he reaches up and throws the stupid thing on the floor. His mattress is comfy. He can just plant his face there and suffocate, no problem.

He has no idea how he got home last night, which is terrifying. Everything after the third Augustiner is a bit hazy. He was talking to some guy who made him laugh, he knows that much. His mind conjures bits and pieces of his mysterious drinking companion: a wide, white grin; large hands; a voice he can hear the cadence and depth of but can't remember a single word it said. After that, he's got nothing.

It takes a few tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and he rolls onto his side to put his back to where the sun is starting to filter through the curtains. The move puts the nightstand right in his line of sight, and when his vision focuses, he pauses.

There's a glass with water on top of it, but it's not the cup he usually chooses. It's one of the textured acrylic ones he picked out when he moved in that he absolutely hates using. Even though they're impossible to break, he feels like he's ten years old when he's forced to drink out of one. All that's missing is a sippy-cup lid.

Although he has to hand it to himself: the acrylic cup was a pretty solid idea, considering he might've knocked a real glass onto the floor sometime in the night and then cut himself when it shattered. Chimney forced Buck to watch Die Hard last year and it was a fun movie, but Buck has no desire to recreate the "shoot the glass" scene.

He slides his face a little closer to the edge of the bed so he can find his phone. It's sitting on the top of the nightstand, plugged in, which is almost as surprising as the acrylic cup. He never remembers to plug his phone in when he's sober, but there it is, charging away. His wallet and keys are also laying next to it. It's such a neat and tidy tableau that, for a second, he thinks he's still asleep and this is one of those dreams where only one or two things is out of place and he spends the entire dream wondering if he's dreaming.

If he were dreaming, though, he wouldn't feel like hard-boiled ass, so someone else had been here and got him squared away. Maybe he called Eddie for a ride home? Buck reaches for his phone and his fingers brush up against the edge of a piece of paper. A receipt? Maybe he took a taxi instead.

Buck squints at it, and he has every intention of grabbing it to look for clues, but he ends up dozing for almost two hours. By the time he wakes up, the sun has invaded every part of the loft, but he doesn't feel so much like he's about to slip this mortal coil. He'll take the wins where he can.

It only takes a minute or two of psyching himself up before he's able to roll into something resembling sitting, and after that he gives himself five minutes to drop his head into his hands and regret his life choices. Once he promises God, the Devil, Zeus, and the purple laser ghost of Prince that he will never drink to such excess again as long as he lives, he finally looks over at the nightstand where his phone is.

It's been set to Do Not Disturb, which is nice. It's not something he ever does, because he's afraid he'll miss something important, and when he turns it off the screen fills with dozens of missed calls and texts from Maddie and Chimney. He takes great pleasure in dismissing all of them. Nothing from his parents, of course. There's also one from Eddie asking if everything's okay because "Chim called me asking if I'd heard from you and he sounds like he's about to start climbing the walls using only his teeth."

It's followed by a text that reads "Bobby says to take your time coming in. What happened?"

He taps open the message to reply when he glances up and sees the receipt on the nightstand. Abandoning his phone in favor of learning just how much he spent on a DD, he learns it wasn't a taxi at all. It's a note written in an unfamiliar hand on a small piece of drafting paper.

Your car is parked at the Red Lion. Jay said it was OK to leave it there because you weren't in any shape to drive.

Underneath that is a phone number, and underneath that is a single line: Remember—as much as you want. But only if you want.

It's signed "TK".

Baffled, Buck brings a fist to his mouth, because he's not sure what else to do, and when his thumbnail presses against his bottom lip, something hot and shivery pops low in his belly. It's how he realizes he's got to pee so bad he's going to wet the bed if he waits any longer.

After he pisses for what feels like an eternity, downs four Advil, showers the sweat and shame off, he stumbles back up the stairs feeling wrung out but definitely more human. Once he's in a pair of clean boxers, he surveys the room.

There was a stranger here last night, but it doesn't look like anything's missing. He checks his wallet, but all his cards and cash are still there. His sneakers were neatly placed against the wall, out of the way where he wouldn't trip on them if he got up during the night. And there's of course his phone, fully charged for once, and the note.

He sits on the edge of his bed and reads the note four more times. Then he looks up the Red Lion's operating hours, but it doesn't open for two more hours.

Which leaves him with the number and As much as you want. But only if you want.

His mind immediately takes a swan dive into the gutter. It's probably not meant to be as sexual as it reads, but... he's not sure how else he's supposed to take it. TK's blocky penmanship reveals nothing.

Maybe after he was done talking to the guy at the bar he met some woman? Maybe she was the one to take him home, although considering how drunk he must've been, it couldn't have been an easy feat. That she didn't help herself to his money and was thoughtful enough to plug his phone in and get him a glass of water really warrants a thank you.

He looks down at the phone number.

He grabs his phone—100%, what an absolutely wild concept—and taps in the number, double checking it like four times while his finger hovers over the CALL button like an anvil.

What the hell. He's got nothing left to lose.

He taps CALL and brings the phone to his ear. It takes two rings before someone picks up.

"Hello?"

Not a woman. Buck sits up so straight they could use his spine as an I-beam level.

"Uh, h-hey," he stutters, looking around his room, trying to divine any lingering atoms this person might've left behind. "Um, I think you—I have a note with this number on it and—"

Thankfully, the mysterious "TK" stops Buck before he gets a good ramble going, his voice friendly as he breaks in with, "Evan! Hey. Glad to hear the Maximator couldn't keep you down for long. How're you feeling this morning?"

Buck's entire body goes warm as it relaxes from its ramrod-straight pose. "I, uh, a little confused. I don't remember getting home, but I guess I have you to thank for that." Buck pauses. "So, thank you."

"Well, you didn't make it easy." TK laughs, and it shivers down the line right into Buck's ear canal. "It took me a lot longer to figure out you were saying 'Rowan' and not 'rowing' than I care to admit, but we got there in the end. Your place is insane. Did you get a signing bonus when you joined the 118 or something?"

Buck blinks. An image of Bobby winning a fight against a rooster comes winging out of the back of his mind. "That—that's right. You're a firefighter. Uh, do you really fly with Harbor One or am I making that up?"

"You made me promise four times to give you lessons," TK says warmly. "I had to stop you from slicing your palm open so we could shake on it."

Ducking his head with a helpless chuckle, Buck nods, even though TK can't see him. "Yeah, that, uh, sounds like something I'd do. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'd love to take you up."

He doesn't know how he got lucky enough that the person he made a fool out of himself in front of was one of the chosen few who are able to handle The Full Buck without too much of a fuss, but he's so grateful for it. They're a rare breed.

"Anytime you want, just tell me when."

Buck's gaze immediately shoots to the piece of paper he's still clutching in his other hand, and for no reason he can think of his heart rate picks up. His cheeks start tingling with blossoming warmth.

He curls a little into himself, cupping the phone closer to his mouth. "I-Is that what you meant in your note?"

There's a little pause on the line, and then when TK's voice comes back, it's softer. "No. That's not what I meant."

Buck swallows a mouthful of saliva and asks, just as softly, "What does 'TK' stand for?"

"Tommy Kinard."

Exhaling a shaky breath, Buck's eyes fall closed. He thinks of cool sheets under him, and feeling heavy and safe in the dark. His belly clenches with something like hunger. He bites his bottom lip and then licks it.

"... Evan? You still there?"

He doesn't know why his body feels like it's being pulled in a million different directions, or why the first thing he thought of when Tommy said "Evan" was baby alligators, but he does know this: on the worst day of Buck's life, Tommy Kinard made it easier to bear. He kept Buck company, kept him distracted, and then kept him safe.

I told you not to go, he thinks out of nowhere.

"Look, Evan, it's completely fine, and I promise I won't be offended if you don't want—"

Evan Buckley was born to fix someone else. He has defective cells and has never once been enough for anyone, and that sucks. But he's still here and this life is his whether it was meant to be or not, and he does want.

Buck opens his eyes.

"Hey, so, what are you doing Saturday?"

[dreamdolldeveloper]

back to basics

mostly free resources to help you learn the basics that i've gathered for myself so far that i think are cool

everyday

gcfglobal - about the internet, online safety and for kids, life skills like applying for jobs, career planning, resume writing, online learning, today's skills like 3d printing, photoshop, smartphone basics, microsoft office apps, and mac friendly. they have core skills like reading, math, science, language learning - some topics are sparse so hopefully they keep adding things on. great site to start off on learning.

handsonbanking - learn about finances. after highschool, credit, banking, investing, money management, debt, goal setting, loans, cars, small businesses, military, insurance, retirement, etc.

bbc - learning for all ages. primary to adult. arts, history, science, math, reading, english, french, all the way to functional and vocational skills for adults as well, great site!

education.ket - workplace essential skills

general education

mathsgenie - GCSE revision, grade 1-9, math stages 1-14, provides more resources! completely free.

khan academy - pre-k to college, life skills, test prep (sats, mcat, etc), get ready courses, AP, partner courses like NASA, etc. so much more!

aleks - k-12 + higher ed learning program. adapts to each student.

biology4kids - learn biology

cosmos4kids - learn astronomy basics

chem4kids - learn chemistry

physics4kids - learn physics

numbernut - math basics (arithmetic, fractions and decimals, roots and exponents, prealgebra)

education.ket - primary to adult. includes highschool equivalent test prep, the core skills. they have a free resource library and they sell workbooks. they have one on work-life essentials (high demand career sectors + soft skills)

youtube channels

the organic chemistry tutor

khanacademy

crashcourse

tabletclassmath

2minmaths

kevinmathscience

professor leonard

greenemath

mathantics

3blue1brown

literacy

readworks - reading comprehension, build background knowledge, grow your vocabulary, strengthen strategic reading

chompchomp - grammar knowledge

tutors

not the "free resource" part of this post but sometimes we forget we can be tutored especially as an adult. just because we don't have formal education does not mean we can't get 1:1 teaching! please do you research and don't be afraid to try out different tutors. and remember you're not dumb just because someone's teaching style doesn't match up with your learning style.

cambridge coaching - medical school, mba and business, law school, graduate, college academics, high school and college process, middle school and high school admissions

preply - language tutoring. affordable!

revolutionprep - math, science, english, history, computer science (ap, html/css, java, python c++), foreign languages (german, korean, french, italian, spanish, japanese, chinese, esl)

varsity tutors - k-5 subjects, ap, test prep, languages, math, science & engineering, coding, homeschool, college essays, essay editing, etc

chegg - biology, business, engineering/computer science, math, homework help, textbook support, rent and buying books

learn to be - k-12 subjects

for languages

lingq - app. created by steve kaufmann, a polygot (fluent in 20+ languages) an amazing language learning platform that compiles content in 20+ languages like podcasts, graded readers, story times, vlogs, radio, books, the feature to put in your own books! immersion, comprehensible input.

flexiclasses - option to study abroad, resources to learn, mandarin, cantonese, japanese, vietnamese, korean, italian, russian, taiwanese hokkien, shanghainese.

fluentin3months - bootcamp, consultation available, languages: spanish, french, korean, german, chinese, japanese, russian, italian.

fluenz - spanish immersion both online and in person - intensive.

pimsleur - not tutoring** online learning using apps and their method. up to 50 languages, free trial available.

incase time has passed since i last posted this, check on the original post (not the reblogs) to see if i updated link or added new resources. i think i want to add laguage resources at some point too but until then, happy learning!!

[cherryflavouredconversation]

Harlow Anne Austin was the kind of woman who lit up every room she entered. At 28, with her blonde curls and a wardrobe of pink, she was a burst of sunshine in the heart of Toronto. But her journey there started far away in Tagish, a small Yukon town where she grew up surrounded by snow-dusted mountains, frozen lakes, and the northern lights. Though she cherished the peaceful beauty of her hometown, Harlow always dreamed of something bigger.

Moving to Toronto in her early 20s, the city’s size and pace were a shock at first, but Harlow quickly adapted, her bubbly personality helping her thrive. Before long, she opened Vintage Souls, a cozy bar nestled off Queen Street. The blush pink walls, vintage mirrors, and velvet stools made it an inviting retreat from the busy city — just like Harlow herself. She served up cocktails like “Rosy Twist” and “Maple Sparkle,” blending her love for retro vibes with her deep Canadian roots.

Beyond the bar, Harlow co-hosted a podcast with her best friend @pistolmadeofroses called @the-notso-simplelife , where they chatted about everything from city life to small-town nostalgia, always with a dose of humor and heart.

(mdni, activity varies. pls don't contact me, if you can't cope with having to wait for an answer. just because I'm here, I won't always have time to answer a text. we won't get along, so if you have other expectations, I'm sorry.

you can approach me in german or english, tho english is highly preferred.)

[mashyimaro]

@thatkevinsmith : Long before any other pop culture figure “broke the internet” (@)theshando singlehandedly shattered it in the early 90’s. This is an incredible accomplishment considering the internet as we know it didn’t even exist yet. I (and the rest of the known universe) used to watch “the girl from #heathers” every week on (@)beverlyhills90210. I usually did so while jockeying the register at (@)quickstopgroceries - so it was ironic that the film I’d eventually make there would lead to #shannendoherty. (@)malcolm.ingram is most responsible for Shannen being in #mallrats. When I told him my next flick was essentially “Clerks in a Mall”, Malcolm insisted “Then you gotta cast Doherty! She’s an American icon!” That she was, and so much more. Shannen was a true talent and she became a good friend, but lest anyone forget, she was the only reason Mallrats got green-lit in 1995. That’s because Shannen was one of the most famous people on the planet - and the fact that she picked Mallrats as her first follow-up to 90210 made that movie happen. I cherish the memories of Shannen walking her German Shepherd around the (@)edenprairiecenter every morning, or whenever she’d gossip and giggle between takes. At the junket for Rats, we established a ritual we kept up for years, where she wrote “dick” over my half of our (@)filmthreat cover while I wrote “bitch” over her pic. But while Shannen was no shrinking violet and she gave as good as she got (particularly to the paparazzi), she was never anything but sweet to me. I told her back in December when I was on her podcast that I felt like the girl I used to watch on TV at Quick Stop was there to welcome me when I got into show business. Fuck… She’s died way too soon. I already miss you, Do-Do. Thank you for going to the Mall with me - and for thirty years of friendship. My Canadian pal was right: you are (and always will be) an American icon.

[lostcauses-noregrets]

if Levi activated his Ackerman powers in the underground, then what was all that in no regrets when Levi looked like he was seeing god or some shit after Erwin gave him that speech? Like he already activated the Ackerman powers?

I’m glad you brought this up Anon, because we had a long discussion about this when we recorded the @youhearbiggirls podcast the other night.  The podcast will be out just as soon as @momtaku has finished editing it, so look out for that. 

Frustratingly, there has been endless confusion about the relationship between the Akermans extraordinary powers and their devotion to their chosen person, the so-called Ackerbond.  The Ackermans power stems from their clan’s unique ability to harness the power of the Titans in human form. This is the “by-product of Titan science” business that Zeke mentions in chapter 93. This power typically activates when their survival instincts are triggered but it seems that not all Ackermans have their power awaken. It’s not clear whether Kuchel and Mikasa’s father had Ackerpowers for example.  The Ackerbond is related to the Ackermans superpowers but is something quite different. Isayama explains this in the Answers book which was published in 2016, the same week as chapter 84, Midnight Sun, and goes a long way to explaining the Ackermans relationships to their significant other. 

—In the battle to overthrow the monarchy, in the relationship between Erwin and Levi too, subtle changes begin to appear! Isayama With the heroes of American comics, conflicts dealing with the situation “with great power, comes great responsibility” have been depicted. In Levi’s case, if he had no power, he would probably have been an ordinary person with no responsibilities but, as a consequence of having power, that he became a person excessively burdened with responsibility. Kenny talked about “everyone… was a slave to something…”, when he put the question to Levi “what is yours!?”, Levi himself too perceived it. That he himself too was a slave in regard to his own strength. The sense of duty that “I must become a hero”. …the same thing can be said of Mikasa too but…, for the Ackerman family, in the service of their master, there are many people who are able to manifest their power to its maximum. —Eh!? (surprise) About that, isn’t this information that hasn’t been talked about in the original story!! Certainly for Mikasa it’s Eren, for Kenny it’s Uri that is the lord/master-like existence… Isayama In Levi’s case, it’s Erwin. As the existence who surpasses him, he has acknowledged Erwin or how should I put it. That is the Ackerman lineage or rather, the instinctive part probably.

[Translation by @tsuki-no-ura]

This is the relationship that Eren mischaracterises as Ackermans being a slave to their instincts, which Zeke debunks in chapter 130.  Ackermans are free to choose who to follow and whether to devote their power to them. 

Part of the Ackerpower / Ackerbond confusion seems to arise from the fact that Mikasa’s Ackerpowers awaken at the exact moment she meets her liege, so the two things happen simultaneously.  This isn’t the case for Kenny and Levi, who have already come into their power long before they meet Uri and Erwin. Some fans are also unaware of the existence of the Answers book, or doubt its veracity, which is weird because it comes directly from Isayama and is an official Kodansha publication.  Admittedly, Answers has never been published in English, though it has been published in German, and it’s widely available in translation.  @fuku-shuu, @ningen-suki and @yusenki all translated Answers when it was first published and @tsuki-no-ura has translated parts of it more recently and written several commentaries on the text.  

In Levi’s case, most fans assumed that his Ackerpowers had awakened before he met Erwin, as this would explain his skill with the 3DMG and his extraordinary fighting ability, we just didn’t know when.  Bad Boy confirms this.  The reason that Levi decides to follow Erwin is because he realises that he is fighting for a higher purpose; something that Levi himself doesn’t fully understand. Basically Erwin gives Levi a cause to fight for, enabling him to “manifest his power to the maximum”.  This is the revelation that we see at the end of the ACWNR manga, and which is made explicit in the visual novel, but is sadly missing from the anime.  

What a man—Levi thought to himself.  When he'd gotten caught in the underground, he'd felt humiliated. He had thought that Erwin was brimming with an air of superiority as he looked down at his catch—but now, Levi knew that he'd been mistaken. That kind of quarrel about superiority or inferiority had never concerned Erwin even in the slightest. He was, after all, fighting a more important war against the titans—no, perhaps, it was against something even bigger than that. Fixing his sight on that something, he'd carried on fighting, trying his hardest to defeat it. Levi thought—he'd been obsessed only with his pride, limiting his horizons only to that, and had then lost important friends as a result—with his current self, he definitely had no chance at winning against this man. If that's the case— "All right… It looks like you have something that I lack. Until I know what that 'something' is, I'll go with you." Having made his choice, Levi stood up. And then, catching up to Erwin, he began to trod through the heavy rain that obscured everything before them— Towards the hope surely left somewhere in this broken world, he began to walk.

[ACWNR visual novel, White Flower Translations.]

Of course the alternative answer to all this is that reacting like you've seen god is a perfectly natural reaction to Erwin giving you a motivational speech 😂

Hope this answers your question Anon, I’ve answered loads of other asks about the Ackermans over the years, which you can find in my Ackermans and Ackerbond tags, and I also have an Ackermans Master Post, which includes every canon reference to the Ackerman clan, their power and their relationship to their masters. Actually, now I come to think about it, I'm going to have to update that master post to include the new information from Bad Boy!

[duchessofostergotlands]

Leonor is putting an impressive number of engagements before getting in the navy. In a way I wish more European royals would feel the pressure the Spanish do, because it’s embarrassing to see a teenager work more than actual monarchs and constistently giving more relevant speeches than middle aged people. It’s actually good for these privileged people to know their position is not set in stone.

I was going to go into depth about why you shouldn't compare families etc but let's just fact check this first. The only family that has an official, public record of engagements is the Brits (one of the many many reasons you don't compare wildly different situations) so the best you can do with other royal families is use their website. As far as I can tell from Casa Real Leonor has done 9 engagements this year. You state that she's doing "more than actual monarchs" and I'd love to know which monarchs have done less than 9 engagements since January because I can't think of any. Harald did more than that in June alone and he's 87 and just had a pacemaker implanted lol.

I also find the statement that she is "constistently giving more relevant speeches than middle aged people" to be odd. Relevant means appropriate. We're not the intended audience for the vast majority of speeches so unless unless it's egregious - like talking exclusively about Botswana during a visit to Hungary - how can we judge what's more or less relevant? We can say if we liked the speeches or not, sure. You could say if it's relevant to you and your life (for example I don't enjoy military related speeches because I'm not a fan of the military so it isn't relevant to me personally). But I'm not a German politician or a business person from Japan, how would I know what's relevant to them if they're the kind of intended audience, which they generally are for older royals compared to the young royals whose speeches tend to be aimed at the general public through events like National Days or birthdays? What exact passages in Leonor's speeches make them more relevant than those given by older people?

None of this is in any way a criticism of Leonor. I'm not Spanish but as an outsider she seems like a kind, intelligent, confident, mature young woman and a credit to her parents. Again, as an outsider, I'd say she's doing an excellent job. But it's totally unfair to use her to put down people in vastly different circumstances using inaccurate information and criticisms neither you nor I are actually qualified to make. The next generation are coming into their own and we have the chance to make sure they become leaders who are recognised for their own strengths and criticised for their own failings.

Of course royals need to know that their position is determined by us, the people. But if I've learned anything from our WW2 and abdication episodes of the podcast it's that the most successful royals are those who are motivated by a recognition that their job is an honour and they have a responsibility to the public, not those who are scared of losing their ponies.

[marimayscarlett]

If not for the bands message, I would 100% believe he was quitting either Rammstein or both the band and music. In fact, I think last year he was going to. No doubt about it. But the support and love stopped him. Made him rethink things. There are still people, a lot of people, who want to see and hear him. Like a Phoenix from the ashes - that's what I think the end of the poem implies

I also think he lost a lot of people. In music industry and personal life. People turned their backs on him long before any verdict was issued, and that made him lose hope. It would make anyone lose hope.

But truth prevails. And those who were genuinely loyal - stayed. And for those people alone, it is worth continuing... and I don't mean just music.

Hi 👋🏻

If Rammstein's thank you-message from two days ago hadn't been posted, I would be even more worried than I already am.

Nevertheless, I try to hold onto the fact that it is hardly likely that the band would publicly announce their continuation for all fans to see, and then their lead singer would announce his departure two days later.

Yet Till had to endure incredibly much last year. He was pilloried and prejudged from all sides, while at the same time, no one gave him the opportunity or allowed him to actively defend himself. His professional environment (the band, other Rammstein employees), as well as his private environment with family (there were even articles about Nele and his mother in the German press) and friends were dragged into it, then there was vandalism and death threats against him.

That one becomes hopeless and thinks about quitting (not only in a professional sense...) is not surprising. The poem reads very personally, as if he is not necessarily (only) referring to his musical career. If you approach the matter interpretively, you can also think that he has lost a lot privately (maybe friends who turned on him, other people in his life became frosty and distant...) and had to endure a lot. However he meant his poem, it seems to be an emotional/sad vent for the emotions and grief he still actively carries and now, with the tour over, perhaps feels more than during the busy and consuming tour life.

I think it is good that he makes it clear how close it hit him - a witch hunt was carried out against him to an incredible extent. Having to endure that leaves marks that do not fade quickly. Till is not a saint and has his quirks, but he certainly did not deserve this.

He is an artist, so he naturally expresses himself in a lyrical and cryptic way. We must be patient and wait to see if and what comes next. I really hope that he has found hope and confidence again. The matter is far from over; proceedings against a podcast are ongoing, and his lawyers have filed a lawsuit against Der Spiegel. That means it will accompany him for a while, whether he wants it to or not. I hope he has a network of loyal people around him who are good for him, and that he at least somewhat finds inner peace... and strength to carry on.

[peblogger]

Have updated some sites on my Blog today! Check it out!

[masteryourgerman]

Rache ist Blutwurst

Blood pudding, also known as black pudding, is a type of blood sausage that is a traditional delicacy in many parts of the world, particularly in the United Kingdom and Ireland⁶. It’s made from animal blood, typically pig’s blood, which acts as a binder for other ingredients such as oats or barley. This mixture is then encased and cooked, resulting in a rich, savory sausage that’s often served as…

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 19 May 1933, Germany's Nazi government abolished collective bargaining – the principal of workers together negotiating with employers over pay and conditions. Instead, conditions were to be regulated by labour "trustees", appointed by Hitler. The following year the system was refined to designate owners of individual enterprises as local "fuehrers", with complete control of workplaces and ability to "make decisions for employees and labourers in all matters concerning the enterprise". In 1935, the Nazis introduced compulsory labour service for 18-25-year-olds, militarily conscripting young workers into employment. Workers were banned from changing jobs without permission, and maximum working hours were increased from 60 to 72 hours per week while workplace illnesses rocketed. It was just one of many ways the Nazi regime benefited big business, and helped keep workers' wages low, with the US government stating that "It was by such bait that the great German industrialists were induced to support the Nazi cause". Some working class young people rejected Nazism and instead formed gangs called Edelweiss Pirates. Learn about them in our podcast episode 72: https://workingclasshistory.com/podcast/72-edelweiss-pirates-swing-kids/ Pictured: Youth labour conscripts in Nazi Germany https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=628506649322554&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

[randomfoggytiger]

Fail Better Premium: David's Thoughts (Part VI, 1/2)

Creating a breadcrumb trail with David Duchovny's personal growth.

"Just some thoughts after the Stephen Dubner podcast-- which felt way more comfortable than the others, I feel. Um, settling into the job of interviewer rather than interviewee; but that's not for me to decide.

"I missed a couple of areas that I wanted to get into with Stephen. Um. One was, uh-- and I don't know why I'm coming back to a German word again, schadenfreude. I don't know about the pronunciation; but you know, the delight in other people's distress. Which the Germans have a word for. And we know it here, in English speaking wherever-we-are. It's bandied about quite a bit.

"...What I wanted to ask him [Stephen] was-- his stance is always releasing the shame around it [businesses failing], releasing inhibition around it; and, um, therefore increasing innovation, increasing risk taking. Which he feels is good for business, good for life-- one would think: if you're not terrified of failure, then he can take risks; and, y'know, be creative. But I wanted to ask what role schadenfreude has to do with popularity of such discussions: not just the releasing of shame, but actually the displaying of abject failure; and how we like to look at that as we rubberneck at car accidents.... There's something in our nature, unfortunately, that takes a modicum of delight-- maybe more than a modicum of delight-- at other people's failures.

"Um, and I wonder if that's part of the appeal of this podcast-- I, I don't think so. Um, y'know, I guess I'm as guilty as anyone sometimes of... of, of taking pleasure in somebody's else's distress or failure. I, I don't feel like that's a primary impulse of mine; and I wouldn't want to contribute to it, in any major kind of way. But I think.... I was raised in a kind of a mindset of, of uh, scarcity; and I think many of us were and are-- and not just a scarcity of resources, for those of us that didn't grow up with a lot of money. But scarcity of love, in a way. There's not enough, not enough love out there to go around. Not just material, but love as well. And in a world of scarcity, in a worldview of scarcity, then... it's possible to think of other peoples' success as making it harder for you to succeed. And that's another thing I want to investigate in this podcast: does someone else's success contribute to my failure? Contribute to my feeling like a failure? Y'know? Because it is all-- as Stephen does-- it's reframing the narrative of success and failure. Reframing the definitions of success and narrative.

"So those are things I want to get out in the open. As well as this-- I woke up this morning with this idea, like: is failure... does it feel contagious to people? Um, when I got divorced, I found there were some married couples that didn't want to hang around with a divorced guy. Um... not namin' names; but, y'know, there's a certain kind of contagious quality to... mm... deeply, uh, painful experiences that people go through. That people don't want to confront-- that, in themselves. So, maybe they don't go out of their way to avoid people that have experienced what they are afraid of experiencing, or that they dread experiencing; but I think it's a thing. The contagiousness of failure, or the superstitious contagion of failure. Something to talk about at some point-- I don't know with who. Obviously with just myself. Yeesh."

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV: 1/3, Part IV: 2/3, Part IV: 3/3, Part V: 1/3, Part V: 2/3, Part V: 3/3)

[c-schroed]

Podcasts I Adore - Re: Dracula or This Year, Our Friend Jonathan Has a Podcast!

"I had for dinner, or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was very good but thirsty. (Memorandum: Get recipe for Mina.)"

I wanted to join "Dracula Daily" ever since I heard of it. To me, this is a stroke of genius; it's just the perfect approach to this book. I mean, not only is Bram Stoker's horror classic an epistolary novel with precise dates given for every journal entry or letter written by one of its protagonists, it also spans quite an ideal amount of time, i.e. roughly half a year. Long enogh to give it a feeling of something interesting and important slowly unraveling, short enough to not feel like too much of a commitment.

So yeah, I really wanted to join "Dracula Daily". Especially because I wanted to read the novel in English for years already (so far I've only read its German translation, because that's my native language). But, alas, I do not find the time so easily to add a book to my to do list, so I ended up not joining this lovely book club last year, fearing I'd miss out on most of the entries sooner or later.

Enter "Regarding Dracula". Right after seeing it for the very first time I knew this will be perfect for me. I already have a habit of listening to audio drama on my daily commute, and preferably in the form of fictional podcasts. So quite literally, @re-dracula had me at hello.

And gosh, they did not disappoint. Although I have to admit that I was a bit disappointed to find out that the format is more that of a classical audio drama, with voice actors speaking every line of their respective character. Originally, I was hoping for a more podcast-like approach, meaning that each actor speaks all of the text of a journal entry or letter, period. As if Jonathan would make a podcast instead of notes in his journal. I simply like it when audio fiction uses the possibilities of podcasts, and "Dracula" felt like something that could profit from this way of storytelling, too. So yes, I admit it: I was a bit disappointed. But not for long.

After hearing just a few sentences of Karim Kronfli as Dracula, I immediately understood the decision to breathe life into each character this way. I mean, I love Ben Galpin's work as Jonathan, but Dracula really, really profits from Kronfli's nonchalant but still breathtakingly powerful and confident take on this charakter.

And Mr. Kromfli is not the only one who makes a redefiningly marvellous job here. So far, all the voice actors go far out of their way to make me fall in love with each and every one of them: Ben Galpin's Jonathan is heartbreakingly relatable, Isabel Adomakoh Young's Mina is capable and charming beyond measure, and Beth Eyre's Lucy is just gorgeous. Yes. I'm in love.

In addition to all that talent of its cast, "Re: Dracula" also has a neat and absolutely on point score and sound design. And, just like the basic idea of "Dracula Daily", it really gives you a feeling of how time passes between the journal entries and letters. Haven't heard anything of Jonathen for a while? One does start to worry a bit. Lucy answering to Mina just two days after the Mina's letter? Wow, that was quick, I guess (not sure how quickly the postal service worked back then, though). Even if one has read "Dracula" again and again, I am sure this form of presentation can grant new insights!

So, if you, like me, are a more eager listener than reader, or if you happen to like close-to-perfection audio drama, then please give this a shot! I bet you, like me, will soon be finding yourself eagerly, yearningly awaiting the next bit of news from your good friend Jonathan, who hopefully soon returns from that terrible business trip of his. 9 out of 10 points.

[hirschkuh-im-traum]

We'll meet again

the plot is: (Y/n) started a new life, but every day she feels more and more lonely.

tw: a short episode with being attacked by a thief, Alastor is little bit out of character and he also lives through some trouble times, possibly grammar mistakes (english is not my mother-tongue.) I guess that's all. Well, maybe a little bit angst but there will be a happy ending (if I may call it like this)

I'm sorry it took so long, I had another busy week at university. I guess fics will appear once every in seven to ten days

The part three, by your side

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

(Y/n) had been living in New Orleans for three years already. She liked this city very much. It captivated her with its charm and picturesque streets.

She had a job that didn't bring her much earnings, but brought her a lot of joy. She made the podcasts about literature. (Y/n) usually told about classics but she loved the most to tell about the older books, that were not popular in modern world. She liked to popularize the unknown, yet interesting books, because their influence was as strong as the influence of more popular stories.

From the money that was her dowry she bought a house. It located outskirts and stood alone near a forest, so (Y/n) felt herself like she was at home, but nobody demanded anything of her now. She also liked this house being near the forest, because it was very important to her to be close to nature. She did her strolls under the majestic branchy trees almost everyday and couldn't hide a smile when she understood how many deer lived in this area.

People said that this house once belonged to a famous radio host who was also a serial killer, whose crimes were discovered only after his death. He buried a body in the forest and a hunter mistook him for a deer and shot him.

(Y/n) softly smiled when she first heard this story. It was just a hearsay, a very old story, but (Y/n) liked the thought that she lived in the house of her devil.

When (Y/n) moved in her new house, the neighbours knew about it only after a week. Her nearest neighbours, a married couple with already grown-up children, who lived in fifteen minutes walk, came to her to congratulate with the new home. (Y/n) gave them a welcome, not too warm, and never let anyone in again.

She got a reputation of an unsociable and reserved lady very quickly. Nobody knew where she was from. Her speech was strange. She had a strange accent and knew many languages, but she didn't speak any of them as it was her native. She seemed out of this world. She usually appeared on the streets early in the morning or in the late evening. She wore long dresses, a long pearl beads like in 20's and a black veil, covering the upper part of her face.

She didn't have much aquaintences, didn't have friends. Sometimes she went to the city to the meetings to discuss some business, connected with her podcast. Rarely (Y/n) invited somebody in her place. It was only women. But she never let them to cross the threshold. (Y/n) and her guests sat in the garden in the backyard and chated about something.

(Y/n) liked her life in New Orleans. She didn't feel alone, didn't feel any pressure of her family. She felt absolutely free and safe.

The one thing that didn't leave her mind was he.

She missed him every day.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Once in the late evening she was on her way home from the studio. She recorded an excellent podcast! She was sure, it wouldn't be popular, but it wasn't the main thing. She did her job because she liked it. All she had to do is to read, to write scenarios, to talk about her favorite topics and then she just had to apply the necessary effects and cut out what didn’t sound very good. That day she talked about a German novel from neinteenth century.

"Salutations, my dear hearers! Today I will tell you about the miraculous story of Peter Schlemihl. The man without his shadow... Hahaha! Oh, my! whenever I read this story I can't stop laughing! I'm very sorry for Peter and for his solitude, of course, but don't you think that he could benefit from his position? I mean, he had no shadow, so what?! People should be afraid of him, but instead of it, he was afraid of them! I find it quiet pathetic..."

"Moreover he had the devil's help by his side. But he failed to benefit from the deal. He chose money, another stupid decision of him. I would choose something more potent, what I could you use both on earth and in hell."

"Well, I shouldn't to tell you everything at once, when you probably haven't even read this book. So, let me to discuss the author's life with you, it was no less entertaining."

She enjoyed that day. She was walking along the road on the grass and thought about devils, shadows, contracts...

(Y/n) thought about Alastor. About his voice, which she hadn't heard for three years already; she thought about his smile, words, touches, protection.

His protection.

"What on earth does "choose wisely" means?" (Y/n) muttered, "Won't I stop trusting anyone the moment they attack me? Well, let's imagine. I did trust somebody, and allow them to be too close to me, but the moment they, for example, raise a knife over me, they wouldn't be the ones I trust anymore, would they? But why then does this point exist at all?"

(Y/n) didn't know that the answer was on her way.

She heard steps behind her and turned back. She saw a silhouette. It was in several meters behind her, quickly steping forward. (Y/n) saw that this person had a gored skirt and a leather coat.

"Only a woman," (Y/n) thought and breathed a sight of relief.

She turned around and continued her way, trying to remember what she was thinking about.

She walked without thoughts for some time. The night air was chill, and she breathed it with pleasure.

Suddenly the steps behind her became louder, and, before (Y/n) could thought anything, she felt that something squeezed her neck. Something thin cut into her skin. She began to suffocate. (Y/n) tried to remove that thing from her neck, but it was too tight. She heard the woman's voice behind her, "Hush, everything will be alright, I won't hurt you." (Y/n) felt that she was losing consciousness. Her eyes rolled up and legs gave way.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

As she opened her eyes, she felt a strong headache. With a weak moan she sat. She felt dizzy, but cool and wet morning air made her feel better. It was dawning. The sky was grey. A light fog surrounded her. The crows croaked in the woods. It was still dark but just in several minutes the sun would rise. How long had she been lying on the road? She touched her neck and saw little blood stains on her fingertips.

That woman... What did she do?

(Y/n) checked her bag and understood that that woman robbed her.

So what did that mean? It meant that (Y/n) relaxed when she saw, that she was stalked by a woman. (Y/n) never thought that any woman could rob the other one. She sighed deeply, stood up and slowly headed for her home. Her knees were shaking.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

She looked in the mirror. Pale face, dirty hair, a red line on her neck. It looked like (Y/n) was beheaded and then put her head on the place again.

She took a bath, treated the wound, changed her clothes. She was depressed and didn't want to think about anything.

In silence she moved to the desk where she worked. The best way no to think about anything is working. So now she was going to edit her last podcast.

When she heard her own voice, deriding the shadowless man, she couldn't help watch at her shadow. It was deeply black as usual, so black that it could be seen even in the darkness of the night. Just like on the road last night. Did that woman noticed the anomaly? (Y/n) didn't know, but even if so, the woman didn't run away in fear, she made her to lose consciousness and robbed her. The woman didn't care about who or what was (Y/n), the woman only wanted to get what she desired.

So maybe she wasn't the only one like that? Other people, desired something and saw no obstacles, they also did not care about essence of her and her shadow.

That meant that if (Y/n) wanted to be never harmed, she couldn't trust anyone.

She looked at her shadow again. At his shadow. She craved for seeing him again. It was so long.

She stood up, brought a candlestick from the living-room and matches from the kitchen and headed for a corridor at the far end of the house.

This corridor was the longest in the house and it was dead-ended. If the killer from the past had kept his victims in this house, and if they had tried to escape, they would probably have been caught in this hallway.

When (Y/n) moved to the house, she did some minor renovations: changed the wallpaper, updated the furniture that was too old and falling apart. She left the paintings, photos even and hunting trophies. A lot of antlers were hanging on the walls in this long and broad corridor.

She stopped in front of the dead-ended wall. It was also the darkest place in the house, as it had no windows. The only source of light were the candles in the sconce. She placed the candlestick on the floor and sat between it and the wall back to the candles, so a big black shadow fell on the yellow wallpaper.

She was waiting. Just give him time and he'll come.

Slowly the shadow grew bigger. Antlers grew on its head big as the branches of a tree. Its shoulders became sharper and its neck lengthened. An old radio, which she thought was no longer working, suddenly turned on. A soft white noise filled the hallway. She didn't move when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"I apologize, my dear, but I cannot be by your side right now," He said very quietly, she barely heard him because of the crackling. She didn't say anything.

"I have some business... that I must complete." He said it, drowning in the white noise more. She knew it meant that he was exasperated.

"Are you in hell now?" (Y/n) asked without taking eyes from the macabre shadow.

"I am, dear." His voice became softer. "We met in wrong time, mon cher..." Quiet calmy crackle. "I wish we could meet more often."

"I was attacked." (Y/n) said as soon as he finished his sentence. Not because she didn't want to listen to him. The point was her eyes we're filling with tears as she heard his tender whispering. She didn't want to cry if he couldn't wipe of her tears away.

The corridor filled with a nervous crackling. It took long enough for him to answer.

"And how could it happened? Don't you trust anyone?"

"It was a woman," She answered, as it could explain anything.

"Ah, now I see."

Somnolent noise filled the air again. She noticed how strange he was this time. He usually knew what to say and never kept silence for too long.

"Tell me, how are you, dear?"

"I'm fine."

She couldn't take this suffocating atmosphere anymore. Suddenly she wanted to scream his name, to cry, to crash the radio, where he was hiding. She felt hate and despair, love and hope.

The shadow moved, as if the candles' flame was disturbed by somebody's inaccurate movement. The white noise almost disappeared, and she felt somebody's presence behind.

She was still sitting on the floor and saw two shadows on the yellow wall. Her usual, yet too black, shadow and his one, with deer ears, little cute antlers and a cane in the hand. His shadow leaned over her and she felt his breath on her cheek and then her neck.

"It won't work that way," he whispered, looking at the red line, crossing her neck. "Are you sure, you don't want to rewrite the contract?" She heard a smile in his words.

"I assure you that it will not happen again. No one can even come close to me."

"I see," (Y/n) could feel like his words touching her skin. She was glad, she was sitting on the floor, otherwise she could fall because her knees were too weak.

Their shadows blended in one.

His wet lips gently touched her wound. She felt his sharp fangs on her skin. (Y/n) didn't want to move away, she wanted to press herself to his mouth. Alastor raised his head higher, leaving a trace of hot breath on her cold skin, and left a kiss on the crown of her head.

She saw Alator's shadow bent in the waist and his head touching hers, when he left the gentle quick kiss.

He straightened up.

"Remember your words, dear. I don't want to see any wounds on you, unless I gave them," He chuckled. "Until we meet again, dear."

The sound of his footsteps faded away until another radio crackle was heard. It spilled over into an old song, repeating his last words.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Since that day (Y/n) became more isolated. She stopped to invite anybody even in her garden. Her reputation of an uncommunicative woman became stronger. She only read books, recorded podcasts and made her forest strolls, which became more frequent.

(Y/n) didn't feel lonely.

Since last meeting of her and Alastor, the shadow became more independent. When (Y/n) was alone, the shadow could change its form, it smiled and grimaced. Sometimes it could even take a physical form. Then (Y/n) could even touch it.

Slowly the shadow turned into something more than a dark figure underfoot. It became her friend.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

Several years had passed. (Y/n) had fame and yet she still was the biggest mystery for her listeners and residents. But she had tired of her loneliness. She didn't want to accept that she could feel lack of intimacy. All this years she ignored that feeling, but every day it became stronger. It was eating her alive. The shadow was friend, indeed, it protected her and saved in time of need, from both men and women. People dissapered and nobody could find any trace of them. It brought (Y/n) joy at first, but with time she tired of suspicious glances and the strangers under her windows. They were so annoying...

His shadow could even touch her, it could embrace her, they even danced sometimes, but she still felt like something was missing.

It was like you watch at a home landscape and understands that something has changed, but you can't understand what. Until you notice that an old tall tree didn't touched the sky with its green leaves anymore.

She couldn't deny that she missed Alastor. Not just felt longing for him, she felt like she had missed him, as if she had lost him. This feeling grew stronger with everyday.

"I need him more then ever," (Y/n) thought. Being without him felt like a torture. The feeling of losing him scared her. Couldn't he die in the hell? She didn't want to even think about it. The pain grew stronger, when she realised that it was his home town, it was his house, it was his shadow. He was everywhere, and yet never beside her. Just a torture.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

"I WANT YOU TO FUCKING COME!" She screamed at the top oh her voice; so load that her throat hurt. She suffocated with sobbing. She felt so furious. (Y/n) had cast the spell for three times already, but he hadn't come.

She needed him, she wanted him; why was he ignoring her call?

She hated him that moment and hated herself. He promised to come whenever she wanted him, but he had been ignoring her for all these years.

"ALASTOR!"

Suddenly a flash of bright green light filled the room. Shadow tentacles were moving in the the fog. In this explosion (Y/n) saw his figure. Alastor was down on all fours, as if he was suffocating from pain. When the green fog disappeared (Y/n) noticed that his eyes were coloured in black. He glanced at her from under his forehead, and his eyes changed into their usual crimson colour. His red hair stood on end, his teeth were sharper than usual, the tails of his frock coat were tore. All his appearance told (Y/n) that something had happened with him. She had never seen him... so weak.

He looked away and stood up. The macabre lights and shadows disappeared. He looked normally now. Alastor stood opposite (Y/n) with his shoulders wide and with a self-satisfied smile.

"Verily, my dear, your command is much stronger then powers of overlords of hell."

She stood silently. He had come. Tears of rage ran down her face.

"Why, my dear!" Alastor exclaimed in surprise, "What has happened?" He made a step forward her and leaned over, "Why are you crying?"

She looked at him with her eyes burning with anger, "Why? Why?! You're asking me why?!"

Alastor didn't expect such fit of anger. He drew himself up and let her to continue. As she screamed, she gesticulated wildly, pulled her hair and looked at him like mad.

She didn't care who she was yelling at. She was devilishly angry and wanted to let all her anger out. He didn't stop her, letting her to vent all the emotions, even if he found it extremely senseless.

"I've been crying for you for..! for four years! I tried to summon you for numerous times! And you never showed up! Tell me, is the hell so far, that you can't even hear my screams, my cries, my prayers to you?!"

Her fury almost frightened him, and he thought what a powerful overlord could she be. Even a human she was frightful. She knew black magic, she didn't care for people's lives, she loved only herself and her power. But her words made him to feel pain I'm his chest. She was so deeply hurt. He was the cause of the pain, and for the first time in his life, he didn't like it.

She stopped screaming. She breathed more heavily and looked at him with teaful eyes. Pain in his chest became stronger.

Alastor said, pressing his hand to the chest, "I am ever so sorry, my dear. I apologize. There are some forces... That I can't resist."

(Y/n) was silence for several minutes. He couldn't understand what was on her mind. And then she said the thing Alastor didn't expect to hear, "I forgive you."

These words hit him. She said it so seriously, with clear eyes. He always tried to act like a gentleman, as his mother though him, but when he apologized, he always felt superior to others. He looked up on others with a wide smile. He found it funny, how he could to say "magic words" and then people or demons actually could take their armour off. But was he like that towards her? She was hurt by him indeed and yet she forgave him. Alastor understood that he needed her to forgive him, and that he apologized with all his heart. He felt sorry that they hadn't seen for so long. He missed (Y/n). And he was also glad that she summoned him in the moment, when he was in a quiet unpleasant situation. So, he was assuredly sincere.

But still he was amazed.

She looked at him, already calmed down. Alastor stared at her in wonder.

"We all have some... Difficult things to do sometimes, don't we?"

"Yes, indeed, dear."

(Y/n) looked at grandfather clock and asked Alastor, "And I suppose we don't have so much time, do we?"

He looked at the time too. If he weren't in the state he was now, they would have a lot more time.

"I'm afraid you're right, dear."

"How long?" She still looked at the clock.

"Until the dawn, I believe," He said quietly, coming closer to her.

"Only six hours," Murmured (Y/n) and turned to Alastor so quickly, he stopped in wonder, "Then you will do everything I ask."

"And I ask you now," She continued, because Alastor was silent, "to stay with me for this night, and you won't disappear or go away."

"If you wish, my dear."

(Y/n) took a candlestick from a commode.

"Follow me," She said.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

Alastor followed her through the dark corridors lightend only by the candles in her hand. The walls were lined with woods, the furniture was old-fashioned, some floorboards creaked underfoot. He couldn't take his eyes off every object that arose in the dim candlelight, when they passed by. Alastor knew, if (Y/n) weren't here with her light he still would have found the way to the bedroom where they headed for. Everything was very familiar. His heart was aching.

"My dear, tell me, is this house- "

"Your house?" She interrupted him, not turning back, "Yes, it is."

Alastor heard smile in her words.

"Honestly, I didn't know it was yours when I bought it. Well, I was told that a serial killer lived here, but I thought it was just a commercial. But I understood that it was true, when I realised how hard it was to get it. After all, I had enough money to buy anything I wanted to."

"So they remember me?"

"Of course they do!"

Alastor was pleasantly surprised. He was an unknown serial killer and a famous radio host when he was alive. He liked his double life, but he liked more when people were afraid of him. And he was a little sorry, that no one knew about his crimes, when he was alive. And when (Y/n) told him the legends about him, how children frightened each other with stories of his deeds, Alastor was glad.

They came up to the bedroom door. (Y/n) stopped and asked Alastor to wait outside the door until she changed her clothes. As she disappeared behind the door, her shadow slipped under the door, mergering with his one. He tipped his head, looking at it.

In the bedroom (Y/n) changed her dress to a cotton nightgown in nineteenth century style. She turned on the lamps on the night tables and saw her shadow. It was her own shadow. Pale, dim, so abnormal. (Y/n) thought how defective looked her shadow without deep black colour of him.

She hastened to the door and let Alastor in. As he entered, the shadow backed to her. She breathed a sight of relief, but she thought about her addiction to the power and him.

She slowly came up to a big bed and lay under the blanket. The demon stood still in front of the bed. It wasn't his mother's bed, that once stood hear in this room. Some thoughts from his past filled his mind.

"Com here," He heard (Y/n)'s voice. She sat in the bed, surrounded by dark-red and white pillows. Her hair was plaited, naking her neck; she looked innocent in the nightdress, fit loosely on her body.

"Pardon?"

"I said," She said with a smile, beating each word with her palm on the mattress, "Come. Here."

He slowly came up, and sat down next to her. She glanced at him with a blink of fun in her eyes.

"Tell me," She said with a sly smile, "Do you have hooves?"

Alastor looked at her frowning but still with a smile.

"Just wondering," She smiled softly, "I just can't let you in my bed unless you take off your shoes."

She looked extremely cunning but he still saw traces of sadness in her eyes. He definitely didn't like what she invented to do, yet he took his shoes off and even his coat and lay beside her.

(Y/n) looked down on him and lay.

They looked at each other in silence in dim lightened room. She didn't realise how much she missed his crimson eyes, his wide sly smile, his funny sharpe ended nose and his deer ears. Several minutes ago she was so mad, she could kill him. Now she thought that to spend time together was much worth than any fights. (Y/n) moved closer to him and lay her head on his chest. Alastor turned on the side, so she clung closer to him. One of his hand laid under her head, other one embraced her waist. Alastor knew, her height was above average, but in his arms she still was very small.

"Do you demons ever sleep?" She wispered.

"Yes, dear, we do," He answered with a quite chuckle, "But not me, I'm afraid. Insomnia."

(Y/n) felt heat of his body. She clung even closer to get warm. Alastor's touches and breath were very hot; his breath tickled her skin; his right hand patted her head, and his left one squeezed her waist. She felt his claws gently touching her scalp and it gave shiver down her spine. The atmosphere of dark bedroom, his soft touches and quite radio crackling, his warm made her eyes close.

"I'm afraid to fall asleep." She mumbled and opened her eyes. Alastor saw her eyelashes were trembling.

"Why, my dear?"

"I want to feel you presence," She spoke very quietly, "but if I fell asleep, I wouldn't feel you anymore. And I want to spend every twinkle we have together."

(Y/n) felt his breath above her head and how he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. Then he pulled slightly back to look at her, and he saw tears in her eyes. He didn't like tears, especially when it was so much of them. With his long forefinger Alastor gently wiped her tears away.

"My dear," His voice was very low, "What is use of crying? I'm here. Wasn't that you wish?"

"It was, right, I just... Uh. Well, I missed you much and now..." She hid her head in Alastor's chest. She remembered last four years. And three years before it. The memory of her pale shadow flashed in her mind and (Y/n) shrank. It seemed like she wanted to bury herself in his rib cage. "To be honest I don't like my life. It feels like a threshold of life. Your power and protection freshed me, but I still feel like I don't belong to this world."

Alastor silently listened to her. Her breath became more intermittent, and he understood that she was crying again.

"I hate myself for being addicted to you, and yet I'm still like this. I'm so weak, so pathetic. I'm not even sure if you want my soul... It's the darkest and the coldest place in the whole Universe. It is more greedy and merciless than the Black Hole. But there is the only star in it. Just one warm star. And it burns for you. For you only, whatever you like it or not."

Alastor was impressed with her such poetic speech, but for the woman who had spent her entire life communicating only with books, this was normal, he thought.

"The only star in her soul that burns only for him," He thought. Such a lost girl. Such a lost soul. But he felt a strange longing for her. He didn't understand it and didn't like it. But he couldn't help it. Just as she couldn't stop her tears, he couldn't stop himself to touch her, to press his lips against her head, to call her "dear" putting a special meaning into the word.

She looked into his eyes and then looked down at his lips. They were the same colour as his skin — grey. She was looking there for too long, and Alastor raised an eyebrow, smiling expectantly. She leaned to him, but Alastor shown his teeth in a smile and moved a little bit back. (Y/n) smiled to him and left a kiss on his forehead. Alastor felt his cheeks pinked up.

"I'm sorry," She wispered and buried herself in his chest again. She didn't cry anymore, just lay in his arms movelsee as if she was already dead.

He was thinking. It could really be the last night they spend together. He didn't know when he would be free again. He tried to do everything that was possible, but it was still not enough to get back his freedom, to find the backdoor of that deal. But while he was here, in this house and in this room, with (Y/n) by his side, he could not to think about it.

Alastor made a decision. He made (Y/n) lie on her back and leaned over her. She opened her eyes in wonder, as he put one on his hand on her shoulder so she couldn't move. (Y/n) tried to bend her knees but touched his foot, no, his hoof. It gave her a very strange feeling, making her blushed. Alastor made the lamps to light even dimmer, and (Y/n) could see now, that his eyes radiated the red light. She opened her month to say something, but he leaned lower and kissed her. It was a long, deep kiss. His mouth was hot and wet, and she slowly closed her eyes. The metallic taste filled her mouth and she felt the touch of his tongue. She quietly moaned, and he pressed closer. His hands were searching her body; the lamps lighted up brightly and then go out again; she embraced him tight; sometimes she gently touched his ears and softly laughed, when they twitched, and he looked at her with assumed displeasure.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

After several days the newspapers told about a woman died in the forest near her house, in the house where a famous serial killer had once lived, and in the forest where the killer had died. It was after two weeks since (Y/n) and Alastor had met for the fourth time. After that night she woke up alone. She was the happiest and the saddest person in the same time. She went to the woods and didn't appear again. Some of her colleagues became worried and decided to visit her, dispite the fact tha she didn't receive anyone. The house was silent, and they checked the garden that was also empty. And then they went to the forest. They were looking for her for several hours and found her under a tree, a big and wide pine. A young deer bent over her body. It disappeared into the depths of the forest, seeing people. Her body had already begun the process of rotting. It was hard to name the cause of her death. There were only theories. People called the house where she had lived cursed. They told eerie stories about the deer in the woods. What a strange animal, they told, one man was mistook for a one and got shot, and other woman was guarded by the same animal. Residents noticed that with the death of the woman, people stopped disappearing without a trace. But none of the bodies were ever found. So New Orleans residents decided, that the famous podcast host was the murderer, and that she had a unique way of disposal of the bodies. People made up legends about a foreign woman who killed her enemies, guarded by the spirit of a last-century killer and who was friends with his shadow...

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

A new overlord appeared in the hell. A woman in a long black dress, with green wide eyes and big antlers. Nobody knew her name, and she was called The Wood Witch. The Radio Demon was especially close to her. Soon they took control over the hell. They were the most dangerous and enigmatic overlords. They never seperated from each other. Those demons who still believed in love considered them the most lovely couple. They captured the hell and nobody dared to stand in their way.

the end

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

invitation for a deernner: @noraunor

[schvmacher47]

Rumour Has It (Pedri x artist! protagonist)

part 2!

view part 1 here!

my requests are open

summary: Being dragged along to the studio of Sira's favourite artist, Pedri never thought he would find himself falling in love with this place or even the owner... He quickly found himself looking forward to hearing about the process of the commission his friend placed, dropping by after practice to pick up Ferran's commission and place his own, just to get another reason to see Ana again...

face claim: artbylavra on instagram

ferrantorres started following ana_hernandez

pedri started following ana_hernandez

A few weeks have passed since Ferran has placed his commission...

»Dios mío, I missed you so much!« said Ana and embraced her friend with a wide grin on her lips. It’s been a bit more than a week since her encounter with the two football players, when Ana found herself at the airport, picking up her bestfriend. »It's definitely been too long!«

»If I remember correctly it was you who refused to come to Spain because of your busy exam season.« Ana grinned amused. »It's what it takes to become a doctor I guess.« Ella shrugged, grabbing her suitcase and backpack so they could head for the exit of the airport.

Ella and Ana met when they were still in highschool, 10th grade when they took part in an exchange programme organised by the German school in Barcelona. The DSB, short for 'Deutsche Schule Barcelona, has been partnering with a school in Dortmund for decades and thus made exchanges possible.

Ana still remembers how she arrived in Dortmund, it was January, grey overcast. It was a cold and rainy day when she and the other Spanish students of the German school arrived at the airport where they were picked up by their host families. Ana had been in contact with Ella before, texting so that they could get to know each other beforehand. They hit off, being on the same wavelength immediately. The month Ana spent in Germany was arguably one of the best months she ever had. Ella's family soon became her second family, her parents taking care of her as if she was their own daughter.

Spending the afternoons after school in random cafés, taking the train to Bochum to go shopping in the 'Ruhrpark' or going partying at the weekends. The highlight, despite not being into football, was definitely watching the 'Ruhrpott Derby' Borussia Dortmund against Schalke in the Signal Iduna Park Ana still remembers how Ella couldn’t believe how Ana wasn’t into football.

»If I were you and living in the city of one of the best football clubs in the world, the club Messi plays for, I would be the biggest fan on earth.« – »You already are the biggest football fan on earth, just look at your wardrobe. You have literally more jerseys of Barça than I’ll ever have. You quite literally own the fanshops of both Barça and Dortmund. If you ask me, you’ve got us both covered. I don’t need to be a fan anymore.« – »I’ll still turn you into a football fan.« – »Good luck with that, it might take you a few years.«

A few months later, after the summer holidays, the German students finally came over to Barcelona. Ella immediately fell in love with the city and all the hidden spots Ana showed her during her stay. They would often spend the afternoons exploring the secluded tiny alleys of Barcelona's old town, meeting up with friends or spending the endless hot summer nights at the beach. Ana knew how much of a football fan Ella was, being confronted with her football obsession everyday when she was in Dortmund, the city where arguably everyone was a fan and living for football. Therefore she wanted to return the favour, her family somehow managing to get tickets for the most prestigious match of the league. The Classico.

In these two months that the two of them spent together, they became best friends. The contact never broke off, they messaged each other daily or sent each other long voice messages that soon became a kind of podcast and took turns in visiting each other in the respective country during the holidays. After they graduated from high school, Ella came to Spain for a few months, first spending some time in Barcelona before finally pursuing their road trip plans until Ella had to go back to Germany to start her medical studies.

»You know, I still can't understand why you're putting yourself through all that unnecessary stress for becoming a doctor..« said Ana when they reached her car. »Sometimes I question my decision as well, but« – »There's no buts, your decision is indeed questionable!« – »I have some great news though!« – »You're quitting?!« Ella rolled her eyes as she fastened the seatbelt and Ana started the engine. »No of course not you idiot, why would I quit after I've spent all of my school years working so hard to get good enough of a degree to study anything medicine related.« – »Could still have been possible, if I were you, I wouldn't like to be burnt out by the end of my twenties.« Ana grinned and drove off the airport parking lot. »If you'd let me finish for once, then you'd know that you have the next four to five months to spend time with me..« – »Wait, I think I got lost in translation. What did you just say? Or more like why?« – »Ever heard of 'Erasmus'« – »Yeah.« – »I got accepted and..« – »No way! And you're just telling me now??« Ana shook her head, a grin still finding its way on her lips. »Felt like it'd be a nice surprise... I have all the paperwork with me, I just need to drop them off this week and sign some papers for my flat and then I can start moving.« – »I still can't believe how you didn't tell me. Especially since you normally cannot shut up about anything.« Ana playfully rolled her eyes and nudged Ella’s shoulder when they came to a halt at a red traffic light.

➵ ➵ ➵

»How’s the boyfriend doing?« asked Ella, while she settled in her friend’s apartment, taking in the beautiful view of the colourful houses and roofs. It was obvious that Ana was an artist, even her apartment looked like a little art studio. Paintings were hung on walls, or were standing against walls. Sketches scattered across the dining table, pencils spread out on a piece of paper. The hallway was crammed with packages of new paint and canvases, waiting to be taken to the studio. »Ugh, don’t ask, he’s a pain in the ass.« Ana mumbled, remembering their latest argument about the most unnecessary thing ever. »The usual, men are in general annoying.« Ella sighed, spreading her limbs out on the sofa. »But what would I do to have a hot Spanish boyfriend as well. Felipe and you are literally perfect, just look at you both.« – »I mean, you technically have the next 5 months to try. Yet you’re also the one who says she doesn’t have the time to commit to a relationship.« Ana grinned amusedly. »Studip medical studies!« – »My words, yet you never want to hear them.« Ana propped herself next to Ella on the sofa. »Oh shut it, not everyone can be as talented as you and make that much money during their studies.« – »I know, it sucks to not be me.« she grinned, putting her hair in a low ponytail.

»Just shut it, or I’m going to ruin your day by telling you what I’ve planned for us this evening!« »Oh good god. I can see where this is going.« Ana buried her face in one of the pillows on her sofa, she already suspected what was about to happen to her. »Don’t be like that, it’s not even as bad as you always say it is. And besides, I need to make good use of my time here. And you’ll just have to go along with it today.« Ana pressed herself deeper into the pillow and mumbled something unintelligible. »You’re lucky I like you so much…« – »I know, and I’m going to take full advantage of that today.« Ella grinned contentedly as Ana lifted her head and propped herself up on her forearms.

Ella had already found what she was looking for and was now waving two blue and red cards in the air. A wide grin spread across her lips as she watched her friend's reaction. Ana stared at her with an indefinable look, her eyes alternating between Ella's grin and the blue and red cards. Something in her gaze changed, and Ella knew that Ana would like to snatch the cards out of her hand and destroy them.

Over the years, Ella still hadn't managed to convince Ana of her passion for football. Even though she was so committed to it and even offered to explain everything to her. But Ana more or less refused every time. The games she was forced to watch because Ella dragged her to the stadium almost every time she was in Barcelona, or because her sister insisted that Ana watched the group games in Seville, had stressed her out so much that she didn't even feel the urge to get involved with football one more time. But Ella didn't give up, hoping that Barcelona, who were slowly returning to their old form and were convincing with their new young stars, could enchant Ana and finally convince her of the beauty of football.

»I hate you.« – »You love me.« Ana gave up and buried her face in the pillow again. »I should’ve known better and gotten prepared as soon as you said you were going to visit me during your semester break. It was so predictable that this was going to happen.« – »What do you expect me to do? Come to Barcelona without seeing them play for the first time since they’ve been taken over by Xavi and are getting great again?« Ella took another pillow and threw it at Ana, who just just groaned in despair. »I expected you to spend time with me, not to drag me somewhere to watch 22 men kick a ball for 90 minutes. I would much rather go out and have a fancy dinner somewhere.« – »We can still do that some other day.« Ana huffed, pushing herself up again. She couldn't wrap her head around how someone could be that obsessed with football. Ana also wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Barcelona has been underperforming for the past couple of seasons, having to deal with Ella’s outbursts after every important match they lost. Such as the 5 Classicos they lost in a row. Yet Ana knew that she had to accept her fate and do her friend the favour of joining her to watch that football match.

That’s how Ana ended up in the Camp Nou hours later. She sank deeper into the soft material of her coat keeping an eye on Ella who was, despite not being there for the first time, seemingly amazed by the astonishing atmosphere. »They better not play like shit, or else this was the last time I'll accompany you.« Ana grumbled and crossed her arms in front of her upper body. Ella just shook her head, knowing damn well that the chances of them playing yet another shitty match were pretty high. »It’s not even that bad..« – »Oh really, must have all been a dream then when you complained about their shitty form for hours over voice messages.« – »Things can change, you know. With the new generation coming through, my hopes are getting up again. They’ve brought up some young talents from ‘La Masia’. It’s looking very promising, the younger players are fun to watch.« Ella gushed, pulling Ana up from her seat as the first notes of the anthem sounded from the speakers. »I actually know about that.« – »Woah, how? – »I have my ways..« Ana smirked, listening to over 80 thousand people sing the anthem.

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replies!

pedri

I thought you weren't a fan and only watching when it's the Euros or World Cup?

ana_hernandez Don't get your hopes up too high, I was dragged, or more like forced, along by a friend

pedri

You should feel honoured that she picked you to come a long to see the best club in the world play in the most beautiful stadium ever!

ana_hernandez I'm her only friend in Barcelona... You think really highly of yourself, is it a common trait when being a professional football player?

pedri

It's common knowledge that the Camp Nou is the most beautiful stadium in the world... Did you enjoy it?

ana_hernandez I think so... Well I actually expected you to play like shit after Ella, my friend, told me about how shitty Barcelona has been the past couple of seasons

pedri

Thanks😦

ana_hernandez Jokes aside, I wouldn't have thought that players as young as you and that friend of yours could be so gallant on the pitch... I'm impressed

pedri

Glad to hear that! Are you planning to see another match?

ana_hernandez Ella already told me she's going to drag me to another one...

pedri

Make sure to wear my jersey then

ana_hernandez In your dreams Ella has tried to make me wear jerseys a million times, has never worked out, will never work out

pedri

Challenge accepted.

Are you by any chance in the studio tomorrow?

ana_hernandez I am, but not until late in the afternoon.. Why?

pedri

Just wondering...