#fitting it should be an English metal band

[slobbered]

My Dying Bride - Scarborough Fair

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Bayverse Headcanon: What kind of music do they like?

Idk why I had to do this, but I just had to.

Also, one day I might make more detailed versions of these scenarios.

Warning: Long af, spelling bc I'm dyslexic.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Leonardo:

There are a few sides to the leader in blue. The part that sits in the dojo for hours, meditating in complete silence. Probably one of the few things he had to practice on - meditating with noises all around him. And then there’s the part of him that listens to music, while doing mundane things. Whether it would be cleaning his room, taking a shower, a warm up before training or just chilling in his room or on the rooftops. Leo do enjoy music a lot, he just has clear rules for when he can hear it. No modern music in the dojo! Martial arts should be honored, and to do it in other that silence would be an insult to the arts and the old masters. But outside of the dojo, it would be possible to find Leo with a pair of headphones on every once in a while.

Leo is a rock kid. Not heavy metal - no - that is just not Leo’s kind of music. But old school rock and maybe even glam rock. It was usually music with prominent guitar or bass that he often found himself listening to. It kind of fitted the way he saw himself. Th stoic leader on the rooftop, fighting with an edgy soundtrack in his head. Edgy and cool being the way he described it in his own head. It gave him a slight tingle in his stomach, when he jumped from roof to roof with his headphones on, listening to certain rock songs. He felt like a true leader, jumping high over people’s head, listening to “Zitti E Buoni” by Måneskin. When really feeling it alone in the shower, with the same song booming from his blue bluetooth speaker, he would channel his inner Damiano David, singing along to the fast part without any mistakes. Now, Leo is not usually the one to sing along to songs. He doesn't even hum that often, but when he does, it is usually in the shower. But there was this one time Raph walked past the bathroom, while Leo was screaming his heart out to a Måneskin song. Usually Raph would find a way to make fun of his brother for such a thing, but this time Raph decided not to, mainly because it didn’t sound near as bad as Raph though Leo’s singing would do.

Another artist Leo would be singing along to in the shower is Micheal Jackson. He might even do a few dance moves, but he would NEVER IN HIS LIFE, do them outside of a locked bathroom.

One of Leo’s favorite bands had to be Blur. He really liked Damon Albarn’s voice and the guitar of Graham Coxon, and would often find himself listening to them before going to bed. At one point, Leo even tried to sneak out to see all of Blur play live. Did he get in? Yes. Did he watch them from somewhere just below the roof? Yes. Did the bassist spot Leo, blink in confusion, only to look back up to find the spot Leo had been hiding in empty, with Leo having fled the scene? Yes, and that’s why Leo doesn’t do concerts anymore. But he never told his brothers. Mikey would not be happy to know that Leo had sneaked into a concert, while having told Mikey time and time again that he wasn’t allowed to.

Leo has a thing for languages when it comes to music. He grew up in New York City with English as his first language, with Japanese from Splinter following right after as his second. He decided to learn Spanish, just in case it would get useful, and since he had an Italian first name, he also learned Italien. That would probably explain some of his love for Måneskin. But Leo just really liked languages. He doesn’t have to understand the lyrics in order to enjoy it. One prime example of that is the song “Stefania” by KALUSH and Kalush orchestra, even though it is hip hop in genre. Did Leo understand any Ukrainian? Nope. But did he have a general idea of what the song was about, and found the Ukrainian language beautiful and interesting? Yes, very much. He found the courage of Ukraine inspiring, and would often use that inspiration in his training, which is why this is one of the very few songs he will actually train to outside of warm ups.

A true bedroom song for Leo is “Demoni” by Joker Out. He wouldn’t do much while listening to that. He would just lay in bed with headphones one, eyes closed while either bobbing his head or right foot to the beat. Leo isn't much of a dancer, but more a bobber. That was usually how his brothers knew if he liked a certain song; he would bob his head slightly to the beat. That only fueled Mikey’s imagination, creating a picture in his head of Leo head banging in his room to heavy metal, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Stoic Leo didn’t head bang, but he did move at least his head or foot lightly.

Now, what does Leo’s brothers like about his music taste? Well, to be honest, most of the time they weren’t too sure what kind of music Leo liked. They did know that he was into rock, and they knew very well that at this point that he liked Måneskin and Micheal Jackson. But there was this one time while driving the garbage truck, that Leo somehow got in charge of the aux. None of the guys really knew what to expect, but “Gladiator” by Jann wasn’t it. Mikey even said something along the lines of; “emo Leo doesn’t listen to My Chemical Romance”, causing Leo to remember once again, why he normally didn’t want to be in charge of the aux, and liked keeping his music to himself.

Raphael:

Raph listens to music quite often. Probably not as often as Mikey, but still at way more than Donnie and Leo. One of the main reasons why Raph listens to so much music is - you probably guessed it - training. He would often lift his weights to the beat of the music, in a way that most humans could only dream of doing. But he would also listen to music on his own, either riding his motorcycle through the streets of New York City at night, or while knitting in his room.

A favorite song of Raphael’s to ride his motorcycle to was “Would You Ever” by Skrillex and Poo Bear. Swerving in and out of traffic, causing people to yell in anger in his direction, or causing groups of girls to giggle and point at the mysterious bad boy that just rode past them. Covered in a helmet and covered in a big leather jacket and cloves, he looks like a big hunk of a man, showing off his motorcycle. But would Raph play his music out loud while riding down the street? Normally he would not. But there was this one time he just couldn’t help himself. Stopping at a red light, Raph found himself beside an open roofed car, filled with giggling human girls. Most of them were tipsy, and Raph wouldn’t be too surprised if the girl in front of the steering wheel was too. Obviously, they had something for big guys, as they started asking about his name, how old he was, where he lived, or if they could get a ride on his motorcycle. Or if he would come ride with them. Raph didn’t say anything, he just pressed a button on his motorcycle, causing the music to disconnect from his helmet, and started playing from his motorcycle speakers. He saluted them, just as the light turned green, riding away while the girls stared at him in awe. In his opinion, it was very much worth it.

Raph has quite a few songs he liked lifting weights to. One of them being “Hello” by Will.I.Am. When Raphael is lifting weights, he will do it proud and loud, playing his music on a red speaker, much to the annoyance of Leonardo, who very much wants to meditate. When it came to boxing, Raph would often listen to Eminem, hyping himself up with the music or the angry lyrics, causing Mikey to ask him what the hell Eminem had done to him, since he would get the need to hit something whenever he heard his voice.

Raph would almost always find a reason to listen to Eminem. When Raph was angry and wanted to hit something; “Kamikaze”. Should Raph ever find himself mad at a woman; “Farewell”. Was Raph ever in a good mood and just wanted to dance and have fun; “Shake that”. But somehow, when Raph was sad, he wouldn’t listen to Emniem. If he was sad and decided to box, he would listen to The Weeknd. Mikey caught on to that pretty fast, and would do his little brother duty to bring up Raph’s mood, whenever he would hear the voice of The Weeknd from Raph's room.

Like Leo, Raph would also listen to music while showering. But it was while being alone in the bathroom, that Raph would listen to much that wasn’t often associated with big angry muscle men like him. It would often be more pop than electronic or hip hop. And god, how Raph hoped none of his brothers would hear him sing along to “i don’t wanna talk about love”, by Micheal Medrano. Raphael could just shut up and shower in silence, but nope, a man got to groove in the shower. Luckily for Raph, only Donnie had heard him once. Had Donnie laughed his ass off as soon as he got to his room afterwards? Yes, oh my god yes he had. But did he tell Mikey and Leo about it? Nope, he did not. But he did tell April and you about it though, and what a laugh you guys had over the phone.

Raph would never admit it to anyone, but he did listen to Madonna, and he did enjoy it. It started with “Future” by Madonna and Quavo, and before he knew it, he was sitting in his room enjoying both “Like A Prayer” and “Like A Virgin”, which led to him singing “Hung Up” in the shower. Madonna would lead to Dua Lipa, and before Raph even realized what was happening, half of his playlist would be pop power women. Loreen, Lady Gaga, old Miley Cyrus songs. And did he know the lyrics? Oh yes he did. And one time, his brothers would catch him listening to at least one of them.

It was one of those days where each turtle seemed to be doing their own thing, which left Raph alone with his work out equipment and his speaker. As usual it started out with Eminem, Juicy J, Kanye West and others, before suddenly “Rendez Vouz” by INNA. That caught Mikey’s attention, and once he heard and saw Raph dance and sing along from his hiding spot, he went to find Leo and Donnie. And oh, how they fought to keep from laughing when Raph started feeling himself too much, working out to “Work Bitch” by Brittney Spears. After that, the phrase “get to work bitch”, was used quite often around Raph.

Donatello:

The purple scientist is very straightforward with his taste in music. If he likes it, he listens to it. He often has music playing while doing stuff in his lab. Sometimes calming lofi music in hopes that it could get him sleepy, but that usually didn’t work very often. Instead Donnie would often find himself listening to music from the indie scene, or what some people on the internet might call vibey music. Aesthetic music. What aesthetic, you might ask? Well, Donnie had no idea, and he most differently thought that the internet had no idea either. One of these so-called vibe or aesthetic pop songs was “HEAVEN AND BACK” by Chase Atlantic. Tapping away on his computer or connecting whatever hard drive, he found that the music helped him concentrate at the task in front of him.

Though Donnie didn’t seem to notice, his brothers did. Most of the songs he listened to had some not so happy lyrics. Often quite depressive, covered over with bass, keyboard, drum kit and sometimes even a saxophone. At one point Leo had brought this concern up with Donnie, causing the purple turtle shrug.

“Music is music. I listen to what I like”, he said, making another cup of coffee, before going back to work in his lab.

Those few times Donnie finally left his lab to relax in his room, he would read a book, listen to songs like “Quite Quitting” by NOT A TOY. To Donnie, music was mainly background noise, helping him to shut out his loud brothers so he could focus. What the lyrics said didn’t bother him too much. But there is one thing Donnie notices in most of the music he listens to; a smooth bass. It didn’t have to be a loud bass, often becoming part of the background with the drums, being overshadowed by smooth special effects or the singing. Donnie really like bass, but he also like smooth keyboards. There had been times where he had thought of getting a bass or keyboard, or maybe even make them himself. Mikey had his drum set, so Donnie might as well get a few instruments of his own.

Like Leo, Donnie liked to listen to music on the rooftops every once in a while. But unlike his brother, Donnie would usually stay at the same roof, remembering the names of stars, plants and constellations on the sky above him, while listening to songs like “ALIENS” by The Griswolds and Transviolet, wearing big soft headphones. Comfort over looks was important for Donnie, and being a mutant turtle hiding from the people of New York City, he didn’t give a crap about what his headphones look like. He thought they were nice, and he likes to wear them, and that was enough for him. His brothers, on the other hand, thought they were chunky and strange, to which he could only say it was good they were his headphones and not theirs. And it was at nights like those, that Donnie thought of how, maybe his brothers were right about his taste in music. He might be a little different from them, like how the alien was described in the song he was listening to. Not that he worried too much about it. He liked his head and the brain inside it, and with that came being different. That’s just how it was.

But not all the music Donnie listens to is filled with sadness and depression. Songs such as “Strange Clouds” by ufo ufo were a good morning song according to Donnie. When he woke up after finally having had a full night's sleep, he would listen to songs like that, while making breakfast or making his coffee. But then later in the day, sitting in front of the computer screen, once again not being able to sleep, he would listen to stuff like “Numb” by 8 graves. It was the lyrics from that song that had made Leo’s alarm bells ring. Mikey on the other hand wasn’t too worried. He just called Donnie’s music taste “calm edge lord, that doesn’t need to try hard”.

Now, if there was one artist Donatello had to say was his favorite, it would probably be Mystery Skulls, especially “Stronger”. A nice bass in front and center, backed up with synth all around. But Donnie also really liked Luke Black. Way different from all the other music Donnie would listen to, yet he really liked it. He would probably never admit it to his brothers, but he did listen to the lyrics of Luke Black, and he did find it more than a little interesting.

Michelangelo:

Mikey - or as he like to call himself; DJ Mikey - listens to music all the time, every day, everywhere, rarely turning down for the sake of any of his brothers, blasting it oh so loud on his orange speaker, only putting headphones on if his brothers threatened him. Or if Master Splinter asked him to.

He sang along, danced along, sometimes even to the embarrassment of others, like the many times he would scream along to “Turn It Up” by Oliver Tree, Little Big and Tommy Cash.

Mikey likes big, loud and up beat music. Something he can move his body to and be his little happy self. It could be anything from pop to hip hop, maybe even electronic or EDM. It would usually consist of him listening to the same few songs over and over again, until he is getting slightly tired of them, while his brothers are ready to rip their heads off, or maybe dig into their skulls to rip their ears out.

With Mikey being his small ADHD self, it wouldn’t be strange for him to listen to music made by people with ADHD for people with ADHD, making a big deal out of it. One of those songs being “Irresponsible” by Emei. There was this one time he almost made Donnie deaf by blasting the song into his ears while scream: "This song is made for me!"

Much to Leo’s annoyance, Mikey didn’t follow his rule of “no music in the dojo”, since Mikey often found it easier to train with music. This man can do all of his katas perfectly, if only “Hypnodancer” by Little Big is playing in the background.

If there is one thing Mikey likes, it is listening to “Pac-man” by Gorillaz, and making eating pizza into his own version of pac man, in which his brothers are the ghosts, and he has to steal pizza from them. At this point, his older brothers know to keep a good eye on their food as soon as that song starts playing... Or if he just plays Gorillaz at all.

Another thing Mikey likes when it comes to music, is when his brothers somehow enjoy what he’s playing. It had happened before, and it would most likely happen again. Mikey sat in the middle of the lair, happily dancing where he sat while reading comics, playing “Go Bananas” by Little Big. Raph didn’t growl at him from his bench press, but instead started to lift the weights on every other beat. Donnie sat at his computer, pressing the keys of his keyboard in beat with the song, probably without noticing. And Leo was bobbing his head ever so slightly while sharpening his katanas. This had Mikey over the moon, which only caused him to want to play more music for his brothers. Every once in a while they would let him do it, just to make their little brother happy. That was the main reason why Mikey is the aux guy.

When Mikey decided to skateboard, he would most often do it with old school hip hop playing. As a turtle in the sewers of New York, that only made sense to him, which is why he often would skate up and down the sewers, vibing with “The Message” by Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five. And of course Mikey could rap the whole thing. Now, this was one of those few songs that Leo, Raph and Donnie didn’t mind Mikey playing over and over again.

But then there were those times on patrol where Mikey just would start singing out of nowhere. When he started breaking into “Sax” by Fleur East, complete with thought out dance moves in the way only Mikey could do it, Raph was ready to throw him off the roof and down to ongoing traffic.

It would be no surprise to tell you that one of Mikey’s favorite artists is Little Big, and that he also loves Gorillaz. But he would also quite often listen to the music that his brothers were playing. He very well knew that Leo loved listening to Blur, and that most of Raph’s playlist was made up of power women, and that Donnie’s secret favorite was Luke Black. And of course Mikey could sing every single word to the songs of his brothers' favorite artists, being the little attentive brother that he is. And because his music taste had room for more than theirs had.

—----------------------------------------------------------

You can tell I’m European, can’t you?

[izpira-se-zlato]

Milan, 27.03.24

Gig report! Can't believe there's only two to go after this one :o (for me)

I showed up at 4:45pm (bc I'd chosen to get food at the station) and was still a lower number than in Munich at 2pm. Yeah.

didn't really queue thus, which always makes gigs a bit… different. I miss chatting with people before gigs, but I hadn't wanted to fly (even though after the venue move that would have been even easier. But also catching a 7:30 flight the morning after a gig. Yeah, no)

the queue kinda fell apart because you needed a membership card to get into the venue. We didn't have to pay. But they had to handwrite it for us. Emotions ran a little high

the venue was. Something. Sorta a… festival tent? Not quite outdoors, but definitely Interesting

due to the proximity to the airport, the radio frequencies from planes kept interfering with the equipment. Bojan attempted to explain it to us, but he didn't know it himself and thus mostly listened. I feared for the worst at that point, ngl. They didn't look particularly angry to me, but Bojan was like, "Don't be angry, Jan!" so I was like 😬

Bojan tried to get Jure and then also Nace to jam while they were figuring out their tech issues (Always Something Problem), but it meant Jan couldn't hear himself enough and so we just watched him wander on stage while Bojan tried to entertain us

We got ASTP and Proti Toku for soundchek. My first ASTP in 12 gigs on this tour! Curious to see what we'll get today

Bojan repeatedly called Jan "Jenzo" and then later claimed "Just so you know, Jan's Italian name is Jenzo!" with which the crowd disagreed (and let him know that it should be Gianni)

soundcheck was pretty cold and I almost regretted not having taken my jacket (but it did warm up)

the opener was a brass band. Unexpected but actually fun. Fit the gig, somehow

they played a lot of medleys of known songs and the crowd was pretty into it

JC! God, I barely can believe that it was the second-to-last tie I saw him live like that. I love his acoustic set a lot (in particular the first and last songs xD)

He accidentally unplugged his guitar last night. Kinda a funny moment

pretty sure the hype list was changed. Dirty Little Secret made it into the cut, and to our surprise, Zitti e Buoni didn't. Weird choice, Primož (or so I assume)

Actual gig!

We got Jan in a capybaster shirt and Nace in the cosy sweater and Bojan in a buttoned shirt he got gifted during soundcheck and Jure in the gorgeous metallic sweater and Kris in another cozy sweater

The Jance was off the fucking charts, jfc I hate them idk what was in the air. Probably hadn't seen each other all day (I'm not actually complaining)

We got SSOL opener into… Ne Bi Smel into Ona into Tokio

During Ne Bi Smel Jan was standing in front of Nace's mic so Nace had to push him away to sing the backing vocals (grinning all the while)

Bojan went, "This night is gonna be multilingual" so I was like, oh, Tokio, but no! "We had English, then Slovene, now we're gonna add some Serbian!" Changing his quips for the final stretch, huh?

Nace singing fucking "Dok tebe sunce greje, mi amore" at Jan. I hate him (While the sun warms you up, my love, according to lyrics translate)

They also played at each other during NBS because of course they did

Jan back on Jure's snare drum for the end. Multi-instrumentalist

Tokio! I didn't catch it on video, but Nace leaned in and bumped his nose into Jan's breast? Kissed his coat? I have no clue what he did but I was like ??? Nace?

At the end, they chased each ohter in circles again, and Nace either went down on one knee in front of Jan or almost did so. When the lights came back on, Nace patted Jan's chest while laughing (couldn't make out Jan's expression)

before NGVOT, Nace was thrown bread. A plushie? Actual bread? I don't know

Nace kept looking over at Jan during NGVOT, and when Jan finally met his gaze, he turned to him so they played at each other. Jan was making a mock-surprised grimacing face and playing? And then they just. Turned back to the front. What the fuck, guys

they just. kept looking at each other. Jan looking at Nace while Nace was doing backing vocals. Nace looking back as soon as he was done. Them swaying in sync while Nace smiled smugly about it. And at the end, they did the swaying like. In opposite cycles? So both sawying in and both swaying away, until Nace turned and bent his knees a little and yelled up into Jan's face. Yeah idk.

we didn't only get Bluza but got it before Šta bih ja

Kris came over to hug Jan during Bluza 🥰😭

Jan's expressions during the ending were. Something 😂

more silliness from Jan and Nace during Šta bih ja

Bojan: "This is a new song! Why do you know it"

also uh. Synchronised hip thrusting while facing each other at the end of the song. Yeah. Jfc remember you're on a stage, guys

Jan either messed up the opening of Demoni or his guitar gave out for a hot second but he was wearing a very oops expression

Jan grasped Nace's shoulders during Demoni and I think spoke the words at him? Or said something else? But that wouldn't make sense? Nace nodded and patted Jan's chest in turn

Got the Demoni scream

PiJano Padam. Bojan looked really tired during that song. Jfc get this man to take a break

Intense staring at each other at the beginning of Umazane until Nace said something to Jan and then both grinned and Nace wandered off

Nace was pretty silly at the start of the karaoke bit and like. gestured at Jan theatrically and then mimed falling over. Dork

We got the OG OG Umazane Misli chorus. The one Bojan wrote in a hurry the first time they performed it. Made my night -- and Kris's because it's where the very smiley/laughing Kris pics during UM came from

@kurooscoffee/@jokeroutsubs had prepared UNO reserve cards to make the boys sing. Which made the rounds already but gaaah it was !!!!!!

Jan declaiming the verse because "[he] can't sing so [he's] not gonna sing. [He's] gonna interpret it." And interpret he did😂

Nace with the "oh oh" before he started jfc the dork

Jan ducking under Nace's arm to play his bass after he failed to catch Nace's attention to offer, and then just. Going for it.

Nace slinging an arm around Jan

Nace singing "morning smells like you" right at Jan while Jan keeps looking up at him from playing chords on Nace's bass

Kris "Jan! Play, play the melody, I need the harmony!" (and Jan did)

god we need more Kris singing plssss

Kris sang the verse mostly at Nace

Jure going "oooh fuck!" and not knowing the entire lyrics 😂😂 Jance this and Jance that, but that made my night

I didn't see Bojan at barricade cheering his band mates on but he was and just. Gah. It was such a wholesome thing I hate them

Nace posed for pictures with a silly expression, and then Jance posed for a combined heart for someone

Plastika saw Bojan caress Nace and then hug Jan from behind (no choking tho)

During Novi Val, Jance stood off to the side being Jance for quite a while, while Jure had his hand weirdly on Bojan's back?

They looked really exhausted by the end which. Mood.

Post gig:

The venue had a scrolling LED screen that scrolled "Everybody's Waiting At The Ball" (thanks, Kris, for the restory!)

Had a chat with Dean (lovely) and JC Stewart (also lovely) and learned that JC and Conor used to live together which is why JC was out with Conor to be introduced to the boys (allegedly before Christmas, though JC wasn't 100%)

hung around the gate after the show even though it was pretty clear they wouldn't say hi, but it gave us a chance to see Mark (who'd surprised the boys with a visit) as he was waiting for someone to let him off the venue grounds. "Well, they'll have to open this at some point, they ordered McDonald's!"

Spoiler: they did not open the gate for McDonalds. Primož tried to scale it, which almost worked but looked dangerous, and so the delivery person threw it over the top. It was a spectacle

by that point, Mark had been let out the old-fashioned way though

[possumsinpeoplesuits]

Holy shit I was working on this since late October, and I'm the most proud I've ever been of a picture I've drawn?

Details and graffiti transcriptions below the cut! 'Cause I worked on that shit for like three entire days, and I'll be damned if I don't show off some environmental storytelling word crimes.

So, first we have a couple closer looks of Sasha! Their outfit was pretty fun. I haven't done modern outfits in... probably ever, and it was nice having a lot more references to work off of.

Their sefirot necklace was fun to draw because I have one almost exactly like it. The flannel was the first time trying to do plaid by hand with a new little technique (Base colors+Multiply layer for dark stripes+Overlay layer for light stripes) but it went way faster than the god damn quilt?

All in all, my favorite detail was doing cosmetics, because I got to do little chips missing in the nail polish, and that's probably the first time I've drawn eyeshadow and willingly shown the result! : D

Next we have the little rat family in the background, with the wall-dwelling Rat King peeking through the wall, which is where I did dipped into tracing a couple photos instead of just looking at references.

Generally my process has been doing anatomy lines over a reference, then working off of those for about... three to four layers for body->clothes->hair->Full sketch, then another with whatever brush I wanna do the lineart with (usually a watercolor detail brush from one of two sets on Krita), but I'll note where I skipped that process and committed some art crimes.

The two background rats (Pestis and Mortar) are from a pair of stock photos from Getty, while the one in the foreground (Yersinia) is a mix of a pic that pops up in meme dumps from time to time of a smoking rat and a few bits that weren't in the original image. (Jewelry, the legs that were covered by an ash tray in the original pics, the "Buns and Roses" lighter she clearly stole from Sasha.)

Time for some graffiti transcriptions! Most of the variation in the graffiti came from switching the size of my brush and trying to mix up my handwriting, but there's a few segments where I use a font, then outlined the font with a 2px across brush to make it fit more into the art. Mostly, this was through screenshotting google docs, but some of the fancier fonts are from cooltext.com.

Top:

This is really high

No it's not?

Top Right:

A drawing of a clown that clearly used to be titties

"What's wrong with Bipo's eyes?" (Referring to the tape over the nipples)

"Their titties, bro"

"What about them?"

Top Left going down:

"Hail Satin" written next to a six pointed star

"Rong star, dumass"

A sticker reading "Apologize to your English teacher"

"Yeah, get a brian, morans!"

"You're just as bad as the other two!"

<The URL for the Wikipedia page on sarcasm>

Bottom Left:

Gazebos ate my ass

Bottom center:

"My sister turned into a bird but no one believes me."

"That's rough, buddy."

Bottom right:

A sticker of a possum with "Live Weird" written on it.

A sticker of a more poorly drawn character wrapped in blankets with "Seep eeps" written on it.

...So I made up a fake BDSM club for this one and named the majority of the bands dirty jokes, but I will die on the hill that there should be an all-trans metal band called "The Book of Dead Names."

CHOKE POINT

PRESENTS

LIVE MUSIC

THIS SUNDAY

CUNT MUNCHIES

THE BOOK OF DEAD NAMES

SOME GUY NAMED STEVE

FIST FUCK DUMP TRUCK

WOLFGANGBANG

THE PENIS MIGHTIER

A sticker with a set of vampire fangs that says "Got Blood?"

"Parasitic fucks"

"U got beef w/ Count Chocula?"

"Bro, vamps suck."

"Duh"

"So does your mum.

A sticker of a cross made out of a bunch of interlocking parts with some mirrored Hebrew in the middle. (I'm really proud of making this shape up on the spot. I had an idea for a religious monster hunter group named after the Watchers from Enoch, but I've got no idea if this story will ever happen.)

"Your Hebrew is backwards, you twatwaffle"

A sticker reading "Deus Vult"

"I fucking love Powerwolf"

"VULT DEUS NUTS, GOTTEM!

A cut off poster telling people to vote for, I presume, their favorite chainsmoking rat, clearly.

A sticker of the Autism Creature

"Rizz 'em w' the Tism" with the last S being the one everyone draws in school, but also backwards.

"It's like if Kirby was a centaur"

"I will never unsee that."

"It looks nothing like my vaccuum"

A paper with "Missing Printer" and a cut off phone number written in sharpie.

A meme of a bear in a suit (Partially a trace of the actual meme template) with "You have seasonal affective disorder because you need Vitamin D. I have seasonal affective disorder because one of my ancestors fucked a bear. We are not the same"

"Is that how it happens?"

"Oh, sure, this dude's ancestor fucks a bear, he gets a meme, BUT WHEN I-"

"Going insane by yourself, handsome?"

Three pieces of paper with "Yes" "Yup" and "Yass" written on them, two stuck on with tape, while the third is stuck to a wad of chewing gum.

"You guys seriously pay to print out memes just to vandalize shit?"

"No, I stole the printer, too."

"YOU"

"Paulie never died"

A sticker of the Mothman

"TAX FRAUD"

A large printout with a dramatic portrait of Mitch McConnell with "ARE YA BREEDING YET?" written below it. Several tear off strips are missing, but the remainder all say different variations of "Yes"

A cut off sticker of a smiley face

A sticker of a machete

"BURGLE TURTS"

A sticker of a crying laughing emoji.

A sticker of a pot leaf

A sticker with a picture of bigfoot with pasties on her boobs walking up to a stripper pole with "I want to believe" written in the X-Files font

"Whoever gave Bigfoot tits will never enter the Kingdom of God"

Three notes pointing to the previous message with "Noticed the tits first" "Weirdo" and "Your preoccupation with cryptid mammaries betrays your discomfort with your own sexuality. Consider meditation, therapy, or possibly fucking yourself!"

"Weirdo" pointing to the previous paragraph before being crossed out and replaced with "BASED"

"K, but y tho?"

"No one insults the Bigfoot big naturals on my watch"

(She has them in the Patterson-Gimli footage, too)

"BIGFOOT BIG NATURALS" "NOW LORE ACCURATE"

A swastika being covered up by a peace sign

"Degenerates should be purged" "AMEN" "U FIRST."

A drawing of a penis that's been turned into a weasel in a familiar pose with "Dick weasel" and "Had to do it to 'em" written next to it

A sticker of a stalk of corn labeled "CORN"

"See? Iowa is with us!"

And, finally, "Does reading this hurt your back, too?" which was the last thing I added because I literally spent two days just doing graffiti for this shit.

So, the map behind Sasha is made up on the spot, with some inspiration from a map of the Seattle Bay. Kinda proud of just how dirty this fucking place is, but the final, and greatest achievment in making this picture look grimy...

THE RUST

I didn't exactly nail the perspective on some of these (The sketchy layer for the floor grating was done once, then dragged into place and warped with the perspective... and then completely fucked that up) but god DAMN do I love texturing the fuck out of things!

There's like six Multiply layers scattered about because it turned out it's a phenomenal way to make the shading of multiple textures make sense without losing that texture, and I feel so god damn powerful!

Oh, right, the posters.

Not much to say about them. The righthand one was 95% traced from a mafia stock photo, while the hands in the left came from another stock photo.

Honestly, I drew the frames, then had no idea what to put in them. There was briefly gonna be a pic referencing a cosplay photo I have of myself, but eh...

The rats and the guy in the wall were originally referencing a Vampire the Masquerade character I had named Pretty Paulie, who was a mafioso turned nosferatu who dubbed his crew the Rat Pack. I figured if there was some kind of dramatic, Scarface-esque movie about him, he'd definitely find a way to keep the poster nearby, and I wanted to slap in one of those "Give blood!" posters from the Red Cross except... not from the red cross.

I don't really feel like I put in much effort into these (compared to the Graffiti-a-thon with several subplots), but hey... they covered the tile, which before shading was boring and very flat, so they did their job.

I'll leave you with some zoomed in textures, because I do feel proud about those! I make them via a combo of oil paint and watercolor brushes, usually with a whole lot of different coats of varying opacity until it looks like the thing it's supposed to be. :)

I've only just started drawing again this year (I've been editing a looooot longer) so there's a lot of spaces where I have hiccups, but I'm figuring out the areas I do well in.

...Also sweet Jesus this started as me trying to figure out what a character looked like. It says 3 full days worth of editing was done in Krita on this file, and I don't think it's counting the idle time.

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Saol Eile PARTIES: Regan, Elias, and Wynne SUMMARY: After a couple of stumbling blocks, Wynne and Elias both manage to find Regan at the clinic. No one gets quite what they want. CONTENT: Self-harm

How do you tell someone they wasted their time crossing the Atlantic for you?

“That’s no excuse for an infection,” Regan insisted, as she finished wrapping the hand of a young banshee. The dressing matched that of her own hands hiding under her gloves, but this child – only 14 years old – needed her hand smothered in antibiotic ointment before she could be bandaged up. Regan was vaguely aware of the bell above the door jingling, sounding the next patient’s arrival, a drop-in like most. 

No one was screaming. It could wait. 

She stayed focused on the child, one who was probably more adept at existing as a banshee than Regan was. “It will slow you down. You’re thinking of it as punishment when it should be acknowledged as a tool. You help no one and nothing if you allow your hand to fester off. Tell your mother I said that.” Such an exchange would have afflicted her voice with fragility a few weeks ago. Not such now. Regan gave the young girl a dull nod, which around here, was as good as an official discharge. She still stuck to the paperwork, though. The old band-aid dispenser never did. She was better than that thing.

“One minute,” she called out to the waiting room (which was really just a bigger room abutting her one and only examination room, neither designed sensibly with the intent of being used as a clinic). The child left. She rolled off her bloodied gloves into the trash and frowned down at her bandages. How had she managed to cast a stone in a glass house when there was no glass to be found? Regan knew what would come next. The girl would say something to her mother, her mother would say something to Cliodhna, and Cliodhna would see the irony in Regan giving anyone advice, then coat the cruelty on her fangs, waiting for the right moment to–

There was a strange sound, clanging, like something metal falling. Regan rose to alert like an old, dreary hound from a nap – with little haste nor care. “I said one minute,” she repeated flatly, without irritation. Then, for good measure, she said it again in English just in case. Come to think of it, she didn’t detect the presence of another fae. Was there not another patient here for her? After jotting down a couple of encounter notes and filing them away in the solitary file cabinet (which, again, the dispenser would have never done), she finally turned to the open door to face who she expected was to be her next patient, if anyone was there. 

Except, it wasn’t real. Why was she seeing Wynne staring at her from across the room? Perhaps she really should call it a day if such phantoms were paying her a visit. But this Wynne was far more substantial than the other Wynnes, her brothers, the Jades, and Eliases that cast a flicker of doubt and then vanished; this one was not jumping around in her periphery or splitting from her senses upon recognition. Regan narrowed her eyes. Wynne remained both with and without her fís bháis, but she quickly flitted between the two anyway, now doubting her brain rather than her vision. Did the source of the delusion matter? It changed nothing. 

“You’re a stubborn one.” There was no amusement in her tone, but when she realized she had switched to English, as if this Wynne would not be able to understand otherwise, a tickle of something heavier rose up in her chest. She was quick to smother it out. “Anyone out there waiting behind you? At least make yourself useful, if you are going to be my tormentor for the moment.”  

-------

Something about this place reminded Wynne of home. Mostly in sinister ways, with the way death hung in the air and seemed to be part of every breath taken and move made. They understood why both Siobhan and Regan had mistaken them for their ilk and found that even here, it was doable to seem like they fit in. They knew animal bones, after all. They knew what it was like to respect death, to see it as something with as much purpose as life. They knew sacrifice.

And though these were all things they had escaped, they had twenty one years of experience with thinking in such a way. They fell back easily into it. If it weren’t for the people at home they missed, they might even grow filled with longing for a community like this again. But they didn’t, because they weren’t here for fun or play — they were here to help Regan as she’d helped them. They were here because places like these were bad, restrictive, perhaps even cruel at times. Because there was community to be found without sacrifice and constriction. And it was terrifying, to be somewhere so foreign yet familiar, to wonder if maybe – if they were sniffed out – they would become just another banshee sacrifice. 

They had found their way to the clinic, which was where Dr Kavanagh supposedly was. Wynne felt tense taking up space, but that wasn’t much out of the ordinary. They didn’t understand the Gaelic spoken anywhere, so they just did what they were good at — bow their head and keep quiet. The waiting room was thankfully empty, save for a bowl of bone-shaped candies. They were hesitant, trailing around and wringing their hands, growing increasingly tense at the sound of Dr Kavanagh’s voice, but eventually reached for one. Maybe Nora would like one. And really, they were curious. Curse their trembling hands, though, as the subtle attempt to take one singular candy led to the bowl clanging onto the floor loudly. It seemed nothing could be done quietly in this corner of the world.

They crouched down, starting to sweep the bones into a heap and pouring them back in a bowl. They were trying not to cry, were trying to gather the courage to just walk in the room that Regan’s voice was coming from. But eventually she showed up, standing in the doorway in a white coat that was stained with blood. Wynne dropped a bone candy and it skittered away and they raised to their feet. Mouth agape (this was rude — so they shut it the second they noticed), eyes searching for a source of the blood. Had someone hurt Dr Kavanagh? The way people had tried to hurt Wynne when they’d come back home? How did banshees dole out discipline? Was Regan’s mother like Padrig had been to them, responsible for her obedience and duty? They blinked slowly, confused by Regan’s words. “It – yes – I maybe am stubborn. And it’s just me. I can —”  They swallowed. “I can help. That’s what I’m here for! Not torment. To help. Are you okay? What’s that on your coat?” 

-------

Wynne’s voice came out of Wynne’s mouth. Which would have been grand, except Wynne couldn’t be here; it was impossible. Not only impossible. They couldn’t be here. It would be their death, or someone’s death (no scream – right, there was no scream). Regan thought of Hamstring, the lie, how she increasingly spoke of Declan with fondness despite Regan’s pleas to pretend she had no interest in the boy, the spare. How it would inevitably unravel in bloody strands. Good intentions only brought more death and more suffering; here, it was in opposition to Fate. 

“Blood… not mine.” She pointed lamely to the room behind her. “Clinic.”

Help. What a notion.

Wynne. Who should not have had the spine to follow her here. What happened? How was this even possible? Regan wasn’t sure why she was humoring it. The ham child snuck in with her luggage, but this place was not on any map. And did Wynne even have a passport (as if that was the most outlandish part of this)? No, this was some conjuration from part of her brain that she came here to ablate. For now, Regan would proceed under the assumption that this Wynne was just some manifestation of a mind gone rogue, of her longing for Wicked’s Rest (or rather, the people she left behind there– no, backtrack, do not think about Jade, do not get soggy again). She stared some more. She could not stop staring. When would the apparition vanish?

Regan’s eyes did not leave Wynne as she circled to the door, opened it a crack and flipped the sign. It now read: Dúnta. Scread más éigeandáil é. 

Her face stayed impassive as her mind raced. Don’t speak to the macallaí, her grandmother once said. They only cling more. They become real. And what was Wynne if not an echo, a ghost? Regan no longer heard herself calling back, so others, like Wynne, were offering their voices.

“If you’re real…” She started, tone flat yet steeped in skepticism, and she circled Wynne as she spoke, “...then you’re on the wrong side of the Atlantic. Are you aware of that? Do you know where you are at all?” What a foolish question. But then, she felt like a fool. She just wasn’t yet sure if it was for entertaining the possibility that Wynne was here, or doubting that they were. Saol Eile was practically impossible to find and enter.

But Reilly had found her a year ago.

“Prove that you’re really here.” On some level, Regan knew it wasn’t fair to ask something of Wynne when she had no idea what Wynne could even do to fulfill the request. On the other hand, what in the putrid ulcer was this?

-------

It wasn’t her blood, which was some relief. Wynne remembered that Dr Kavanagh was indeed a doctor, and that it wasn’t just part of her name and there was some reassurance to be found in that, even if it was slim pickings. Why were there people bleeding here? They remembered Nora’s wounds with a grimace, remembered the blood spilled at home. Spread on cheeks, drained from a chicken, a lamb, a youth.

They blinked. “Oh.” They swallowed. “Does it get … busy? Is it … good work?” 

Would the clinic look the same as her office, with the walls lined with dead things? The place that Wynne had come to without invite as well, bringing gifts. Their hands were empty now. No time for homemade yogurt and if they had found a dead bird, they were pretty sure another person would have taken it off their hands before they could have gotten it here. But they brought other things, didn’t they? Themself, though that wasn’t very spectacular. Elias, who wore his bleeding heart on his sleeve. (They had lost him, though, and they were trying not to think about the implications of losing a tall man among murderous banshees.) And then there were the messages from others who Regan and subsequently Nora had left behind, back at home. 

They took in the doctor as she circled them, saw the wings laying flat against her back and felt their breath get stuck in their throat. It tended to do that every time they saw a banshee with their wings out, a sight that filled them with awe. They hadn’t yet dared to ask any of them if they could fly. They hadn’t asked to touch them either. 

They refocused on Dr Kavanagh’s face and mouth and the words she was saying. “I … yes, I know, I saw it in the plane beneath me. I don’t think I ever saw anything prettier.” Wynne didn’t think that was relevant, but that too had filled them with awe. “I am in your commune. I – we, we searched for a long time. We sat and waited until we heard a scream and then we saw it, everything. Elias and me, that’s we. He’s — we got separated.”

Wynne was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how they could prove they were really here. “Um…” They crouched down and picked up a bone candy. Slowly they got back up to their full height and threw the candy at Regan, where it bounced against her chest and fell back onto the ground. “I’m here. Really.”

-------

“Some days. It’s fine.” Regan said tersely, still half-convinced she was speaking only to herself. Injuries she treated were mostly self-inflicted, which hollowed her out a little more each day. Back when Regan had lived here in the past, it took a couple of years before Cliodhna and the others trusted her to be able to do this, to have some sort of purpose beyond the great one being prescribed to her. It was simultaneously one of the few pockets of comfort here, and one that stripped away her pericardium the fastest. Her grandmother might have recognized that before Regan did. That might have been the whole point.

Wynne’s small voice was the gentlest she’d heard in days that felt like months. Even when Regan imagined others from back home (don’t, don’t, don’t), they did not speak to her like this. They were limited by what kindness Regan could extend to herself, which depleted like a skeleton getting picked clean by the hour. What would be left once the soft tissue was gone (please, wouldn’t it go?) would be perfect, stark, eternal.  

She frowned at the familiar vision, interloper, whatever they were. Regan would not have called this place a commune. That was Wynne’s term. And… we. Who– her heart thumped for a certain impossible answer. When it wasn’t that, surely that should have been better. Not really. Elias’s name was like a bone snapping in her ears. “What? You brought him with you? Are you mad? Both of you?” Even she was surprised by the lack of rote monotone… just when she had been improving. Sort of. Tiny specks of improvement awash in failures. Regan pressed her hand to her forehead. This headache had to leave her. Because it was that, right? A migraine. She had never had a migraine, but that was beyond the point. It was never too late to start (yes it was, you could be too old to succeed at something, it was easier to fail after so many wasted years).

Regan didn’t know what Wynne had in mind when they reached for one of the candies. Were they going to eat it? That didn’t prove a thing. But then it arced through the air and bounced like a bird hitting a window when it struck her sternum. Narrowed eyes filled black and met Wynne’s.

She did not want to think about what her grandmother would have done in response to the insult. A human throwing a piece of candy at a banshee. But she was thinking about it anyway. Would Cliodhna have reached for Wynne’s wrist and pulverized their carpal bones? Regan found her boot hovering over the candy, but… she bent down and picked it up instead, turning it over in her hands. Pocketing it. 

No. She could not think about her grandmother and Wynne ever being in the same place. 

But… were they? The answer started in her chest, twisted her stomach, and then made her brain feel like it had been starved of oxygen. Wynne in Saol Eile. How? She wasn’t sure yet. But clearly she should have tied more than only Jade to their words. A mass of questions formed in Regan’s mind and clotted there, but she couldn’t cough them out. Where was Elias? Was he somewhere safe? He shouldn’t be alone here. Was Wynne safe? Had they talked to anyone? How was this possible? And how could she even begin to ask about Jade? Should she? No matter the answer, it would be sharper than any blade. And Van, Erin, Metzli… even Emilio. The names started tripping over themselves. Her breathing, the same. She paced across the small room. Wynne was here. They hadn’t stowed away like the ham child. How had they even found this place? They weren’t safe. Had there been glass in here, it would have cut a thousand times.

“Wynne…” How do you tell someone they wasted their time crossing the Atlantic for you? How do you tell their heart that? “I’m not going back with you. I’m sorry.” Something heavy and thick welled up inside her chest, but there was no scream to lock in. “You… it isn’t a wasted trip, though. There is someone you need to take back with you. The ham child is here. I don’t know how you managed to find this place, but you will collect her, and you will leave.” 

-------

Maybe they weren’t the best person to judge whether Dr Kavanagh was happy here. Wynne hadn’t often seen her happy in Wicked’s Rest, after all — but there had been that moment with the rabbit or when they had brought the bird. Most of the time, though, she seemed as contained and closed as most things they had encountered in life and they’d accepted that much. But hadn’t Regan told her to demand more? Shouldn’t she demand more? 

Because despite them not being in any position to try and rule on her happiness, Wynne did have a feeling that Regan wasn’t happy here. She didn’t talk of her work the way she had back at home. She didn’t ask if they’d brought a creature of some sort. And then there was all Nora had said. (And maybe, as they often did when it came to the other, they were projecting — maybe they didn’t want her to be happy, because if she was happy that might mean that they would be happier back home.) 

They pressed, a little. “Do you miss your old job?” It was innocuous enough. Emilio had taught them, hadn’t he? Play the role of the naive. Was it playing when that’s what they were? They weren’t sure.

They remained standing there as Regan asked them about Elias, no flinch coursing through their bones. Part of them had wanted to, though, but they’d both known that Dr Kavanagh wouldn’t be happy if they showed up. Wynne hadn’t expected a hug and a tour. “He … well, we brought each other. I don’t think I could’ve done this alone.” They shrugged. They were quiet for a moment. “Maybe. But I think being here might also be mad. I don’t want you to be somewhere that’s bad for you.”

Though they hadn’t flinched before, they did feel themself tense in anticipation the moment they’d thrown that bone. As narrowed, inky eyes landed on them they shrunk a little, expecting to be berated and disciplined, to be told off, for Regan to mirror the elders they’d once had in their life. But for those people Wynne wouldn’t do this. For those people Wynne hadn’t gone after that demon, either. Regan was different than their former elders — she was better. But she was also – perhaps just like those other elders and certainly just like Wynne – misguided.

But the hammer didn’t fall, as it never did. Regan was kind like that. It would have been forgivable, had she yelled, but in stead she just picked up the little bone and put it away. They just hoped it was enough to prove they were there — Wynne wasn’t really sure how else to go about it as everything around them felt surreal. It felt surreal in Wicked’s Rest too, though: that’s just how they tended to feel about the world and their body in it.

Regan spoke again and said the dreaded thing, the thing they’d already known. They nodded, because they did hear what she was saying. It made sense to Wynne, who had stayed for years and years in a place that wished them dead. “I know. I mean, I knew you’d say that. But I am here to try anyway.” They thought of Nora. “I know Hamstring is here. She told me you don’t want to leave, but you also know she won’t leave without you. I think the same goes for Elias.” A beat. Did that go for them, too? Wynne wasn’t forceful, weren’t as determined as Nora or as brilliant as Elias. They were here, once, in a place where a perfect hole was cut out for them and they belonged. Where they were with people like them. They understood that Regan didn’t want to go, even if it was better. But they understood that Regan had left once before, just as they had. That there was more than what blood demanded. “Me too.”

Wynne didn’t like idle hands, so they knelt down, starting to gather fallen bones while looking at Regan. “Why do you want to be here?” They looked around. “What is there here that you don’t have in Maine?” They put the bones back in the bowl, they clinked merrily even though there was nothing happy to find here. “I … I understand duty. I understand sacrifice. I understand that home isn’t always kind but that it’s still home and that that isn’t a place you should leave.” More bones gathered. Why were there so many? Why did they feel so heavy, like rocks? They turned one over in their restless hands. “And that you feel you don’t want to leave. I just think maybe …” They swallowed. “There is more.”

-------

It hadn’t taken long for Elias and Wynne to get separated. With all the fantasticalness that was being surrounded by a bunch of fae, Elias forgot to stick to the buddy system. Which, par for the course, really. After rooting around for what felt like hours, he finally found himself captured by a tall, very serious banshee woman. She had long copper hair and piercing green eyes. Elias could find himself very easily lost in them if he wasn’t careful. He needed to be careful. “Who do you belong to?” She spoke plainly, clearly annoyed by his very presence. 

Elias blinked owlishly in return to the woman’s question. “Uh…” he trailed off, realizing he had no idea if Regan went by Regan here. “Great, you’re stupid, too.” The banshee rolled her eyes and tugged him along. “Come, we’ll get you checked at the clinic.” She insisted, hand gripping tightly on his arm as she forced him to follow. The clinic, that’s absolutely where he’d find Regan. He tried to stifle his enthusiasm. 

As he was dragged along, he caught glimpses of women with wings and fantastical things, but it wasn’t something he could stop and take notes about, no. This woman had him in a choke hold and was dragging him along to see Regan, the whole purpose of his mission here. As they entered the clinic, the woman shot him a withering stare. “Stay put.” She hissed before turning to Regan and Wynne. “I found this one wandering without a chaperone.” She spoke, her voice dripping with disdain. Elias looked over to Regan finally and gave a bright smile. He didn’t dare wave. He didn’t dare move. He was still stuck to this scary banshee woman.

-------

“I don’t miss, and I don’t want.” It was a lie that took a smaller bite out of her each day. At least Wynne registered no surprise at Regan’s refusal. This mission was dead on arrival. Normally, she liked that. Not right now. She didn’t approve of the mission. “So you’re aware this is mad, you’re aware of the ham child’s situation, and you have no idea what is keeping me here. Yet you will not leave without me.” There had been a pause before Wynne’s declaration, though, and Regan was curious what they had been weighing. Some weakness she could use to call Wynne back to Maine? The girlfriend, maybe. Others left behind. So many cared for them, as evident by what happened at Moosehead Lake. This would be at their expense, all of those people; did Wynne realize that? Did Elias?

Regan pulled a long breath through her teeth (she was not frustrated, she wasn’t) and hunched down, scooping up the candy with Wynne. Not to help. Only to rid the floor of hazards. And it gave her somewhere to look that was not into Wynne’s sad – and mature beyond their years – eyes. Wynne did deserve more answers at the least, and perhaps they could bring them to Elias and then home to others so no one else had this foolish idea take root in their brain.

“Like I said, I do not want. But if I go back, I will hurt people. I do not mean the temporary sting of separation. Not tomorrow, maybe not the day after, but it’s an inevitability. My grandmother always said control only comes with duty, and for us, that’s true. And why should Fate look kindly upon a rogue instrument?” Regan swept the last of the nearby candies back into the bowl and rose again, practically looking through Wynne. “We give up a lot for control. Nearly everything. If a banshee is… suitable, the lessons stick, the mind and heart quiet, and control is as simple as breathing. That can only be learned here.” She hesitated, unsure how much to tell Wynne about what went on at the cabin. Vague, as always, was where she landed. “I tried to continue what I was learning while in Wicked’s Rest. It did not work. It lost effectiveness. I lost effectiveness. Should I have waited until Jade exploded into millions of pieces against me? Or until I brought down a building? Until something terrible happened that I would need to live with for centuries? No…” She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Speaking that name nearly choked her.

Regan crossed her arms, letting the weakness pass, but she could not completely shake it. Her voice grew quiet. “Here, I have the potential for more, someday.” But she would not want it when it came. “Does that–”

The door was thrown open and time seemed to slow down for a second, affording Regan three thoughts in quick succession. One, had they not read the sign on the door? Two, she needed to hide Wynne or at least be ready to provide an excuse for them being there. And three, it was Brenna, an acquaintance of her grandmother’s who seemed to be… strangling someone? Very tall. Male. Elias. Regan opened her mouth to protest but there was no telling how this was going to shake out yet. Give it a moment. Regan stood a little straighter – other banshees always stretched out her spine – and whatever weakness Wynne and Jade had drawn out was wiped from her face. Even with Elias there. Especially with Elias there, if he was to remain in one piece. The fool, what was he– “You were right to bring him here,” Regan cleared her throat, returning the Irish from Brenna. “Long and lanky, yes? It’s no wonder he’s unfamiliar; he probably sees little sunlight.” Lucky Elias didn’t know Gaeilge. Regan sighed, feigning boredom, and stretched new gloves over her hands. She stared down, making a show of wiggling each finger into the perfect fit as she spoke. Ready to do a full cavity search. “Leave him with me. I will do a thorough examination and find where he belongs.”

Brenna’s radiant hair swished as she turned to Wynne. That was bad. And, worse: Brenna’s eyes went dark as she searched for answers, clues, but she would not find any on the human. Regan’s mind jumped to a lie, however unnatural it felt – she had spared Hamstring some danger for now, and she might be able to do the same for Wynne. “I am preparing the human for an chéad scread.” Regan supplied it in English this time (at least the parts she knew the English for), so Wynne did not do anything rash to contradict what they did not understand. Her stomach felt molten at the flagrant lie, but just as she had with Cliodhna, she did not let it reach her face. “It will not be for some time – it’s for one of the children who came of age while I was gone. You won’t scream now.” Brenna seemed to accept this, and pushed a flailing Elias in Regan’s direction. Regan caught his arm and steadied him, not too overtly caring, only practical, given their company. Brenna switched back to English too, a show for the humans. She craved the drama, always did. Regan’s grandmother had some limited fondness for Brenna, but complained of her histrionics frequently. “Doctor. I changed my mind, it is good you’re back. We finally have someone to handle all of these humans. The old band-aid dispenser was not as thorough.” She waved a deceptively delicate hand toward Elias and Wynne. “Someone has to do it, right, this low work? It must feel like such a waste.” Regan didn’t have to respond; Brenna was already out the door, and when it slammed shut, she was left with the two humans. 

No, Wynne and Elias. Relief swelled inside of her that Elias was not only located, but here, safe, for now. It was short-lived when the reality of the situation became unbearably obvious. Her eyes lifted blue again as she shot the iciest glare between them, lethal enough to kill the dead a second time. The two needed to see how cross she was, because if anger was going to mark her failure right now, it was better brought to the surface where it might make them leave. If she was going to answer for something, let it not be their lives. “Wynne said you’re not going without me. I was telling them this is impossible, and you have demonstrated why. You just became human sacrifices.”

-------

Regan laid out the flawed plan and Wynne could only blink at it, the foolishness of it all. It was mad, wasn’t it? A lost cause? A problem with no solution. Wishful thinking and a reality that would never agree with that fantasy. Except they had been in impossible situations before. Wynne had spent most of their life preparing for a death that was inescapable, a fate that had been promised to them at birth. Life had been lied out for them and it had been that simple, that definitive. 

But they had left. They had left and yes, someone had gotten hurt. They had left and they’d stumbled like a newly born lamb, wide-eyed and shaky on their legs but they’d left and broken with that definitiveness. Regan had helped them with that. They looked at her, trying to find the right way to put that sentiment into words. Their thoughts were like the bones scattered over the floor. The other was better at scooping up, at putting things into methodical and clear words while Wynne was still scrambling, picking up bone after bone and trying to string a sentence together to explain what had brought them here. “This can’t be all there is,” they interjected, once.

And then the other laid more on the table than sheer logic — there was something like fear, too. Wynne wasn’t sure exactly how banshees worked, how this place worked, and that made it tough. How could they argue something they didn’t know? “I don’t … I just don’t see how this place can help, when back in Maine –” They breathed in. “You have people there.” They were trying to find the words still, but there was no point in the hunt any more as the door burst open. 

Their back straightened, eyes dancing from the strange banshee to Elias. Wide, questioning, wondering if he was okay but attempting not to give an inch. There was the Irish lilt again, the language that was impossible to decipher. They just stood there, waiting for the stranger to leave the room, hoping that she would and that they hadn’t brought any issues to where Regan now conducted her business. When she switched to English to address them, albeit indirectly, they didn’t speak. This was a role Wynne could fulfill, even if they didn’t know what an chéad scread was. They knew what being prepared for something was, and though they were ignorant, their experience came in perfectly. They barely registered the disrespect, watched Elias flail towards Regan and themself and remained that same thing they had been at home — head bowed, submissive, understanding that they were part of something bigger. They were just playing at it now, though. Weren’t they?

Weren’t they?

But then finally Regan spoke again, with cold eyes and an anger Wynne knew intimately. Not from her, but from others. They heard the words echo, those two last ones. Circling around their mind. Sacrifice, human, human sacrifice. Murder with no real purpose. Inevitable, the inescapable grasp of fate in the back of their neck like Padrig's meaty fingers digging in their flesh. And this time they had ran towards it. They paled, stumbled, wished the candies were still on the ground so they could crouch down again and become smaller. Their mouth opened, but it took a moment before a sound to come out, “No.” They heard how pathetic it sounded, how small and scratchy, how desperate. But the sentiment remained.

Regan and Siobhan had both told them that it wasn’t their fate to die, so why did this happen again, again, again? The knife at home, the ustras in the woods, the vampires in the barn, the monster that had attacked Van, and now this. “We won’t. And you — you won’t … you said.” They shook their head, not wanting to speak against fate when it was screaming at them. “You said to demand. That’s what we’re doing.”

-------

As soon as the banshee had left, so too did Elias’s inability to speak up for himself. So much had gotten him to this point, and he wasn’t about to throw that all away because some banshee decided they were now going to be a human sacrifice. A human sacrifice? No, Elias decided. Too long had he been a sitting duck for other people’s decisions. He went to engineering school for his family. He went to Ireland for Regan. He was done letting himself be tossed around from side to side like he was a boat on a stormy sea. As soon as the door shut, Elias’s face went cold and angry. “Regan, we’re here because you’re being fucking ridiculous.” Out went a happy-go-lucky Elias. If this quest had taught him anything, it was that if he wanted to get something done, he had to demand answers. 

“You came here because you decided you needed to be. Why? Because of someone else’s decisions.” He thrust his finger at the door he’d been pushed through by Brenna. “You’re here because you think you can only be a successful banshee by surrounding yourself with archaic views of the past. What about us?” Elias’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “What about your friends that you can call a family? Wynne, the freaky girl, and I are in Ireland for you.” He thrust his finger in Regan’s direction this time.

Elias’s voice dropped from the mounting anger to one of desperation and deep sadness. “I told you I’d do anything for you. This is me doing anything. You belong with us. With Jade. You belong in Wicked’s Rest where you made yourself be something more than what your grandmother told you to be!” His voice grew louder as he spoke until he was nearly shouting. He stopped, took a deep breath, and rubbed a hand down his face in clear exasperation. 

Poor Elias Kahtri, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, feels too deeply only to be rejected by everyone in his life. It stopped here. “We’re not leaving without you. And I’m not stopping until I get you to see that what you’re doing here is pointless. If these people cared about you, they wouldn’t force you into a box. I know this is what you think you need, but what about what the rest of us need?” He looked to the distressed and sullen Wynne and shook his head. He didn’t know what Wynne had been through, but he’d picked up on their clear nervousness and naivety about the world to know that there was something deeper he hadn’t been told about. That wasn’t his business. 

Elias stared down at the ground as he made his final point, hands balled into tight fists. “I came here because I decided some people are worth crossing oceans for.” His voice was quiet and nearly imperceptible as he spoke. Finally, he looked up to meet Regan’s eyes. “To us, you’re worth moving mountains for. I told you I would. This is me doing it. So don’t leave us to be sacrificed for some old-fashioned women who hate humans. Come with us.”

-------

Sacrifices. Regan already was one in her own right, carved out at the altar, and now they would join her. What else could she have said? Anything else would have gotten back to her grandmother. And then not only would Wynne and Elias be outed as fr– humans from Maine, but Cliodhna would have figured the same of the ham child, too. And then all three of them would have served a slightly different function, but would be dead all the same (what it would be, Regan wasn’t sure – perhaps they would be blown up as a demonstration to a child, or tossed in the tar pit, or given as an offering to the worms; each possibility made her blood drain downward as her mind flicked through them all). But Elias and Wynne could still get out of here before anyone started looking for them. Or they could hide away until they could be smuggled. It wasn’t too late. She just needed to knock some sense into their thick skulls (unfortunately, this seemed more like a trepanation situation, blunt force trauma only got you so far).

“This is not what I meant by demanding.” Had Regan needed any more proof that Wynne really was there, that would have supplied it. “You were supposed to make demands for your own life, demand respect from those around you and for yourself, so you are no longer satisfied with being pushed around and accepting what is given to you. But you don’t make demands of me. You don’t ask anything of me. Either of you.” The tight squeeze in her lungs would have been sufficient to punch out the lights, had there been any available for the role. What use was anything she had done here, any progress she had made, if she could not keep a lid on the rising tide inside of her? She tried to remind herself of that. Her fingers squeezed against the bandages beneath her gloves, but she only felt the hard jade ring around her finger, assaulted by ghosts both present and far away. 

They should have meant little to her. Maybe not nothing, not yet – it could take years – but why had practically nothing changed? It wasn’t working. Her stomach bled, she coughed water from her lungs for hours, she had struck herself until her cheeks were dry, but everything felt… backwards. Like the clinic was the oddity, Ireland the thing that was out of place, not Elias and Wynne. Ever the failure, she still saw familiar faces when she looked at the two of them. More than familiar. More than acquaintances. There was a harsh pricking in her sinuses and she was quick to refuse it. Regan’s eyes filled with black again, breaking the hold the ghosts had on her. Coward, she thought, knowing she was taking an easy way out of locking in any nascent tears. Did it matter? Not if it worked. She noted trails of darkness wafting from the examination room, bones at their point of origin. There was nothing over Wynne (they did not come bearing gifts like usual) and Elias was alive as ever. Let’s keep it that way, she reminded herself.

There was truth to what both of them said, and Regan rose to challenge it with all that she had to become. She tried to press her voice flat, to cram and twist her hand down on top of it like she could plug it with her palm, and perhaps there was some degree of success, an improvement from how she had sounded back in Wicked’s Rest, a facsimile of a heartless drone, but all she heard was the child Cliodhna knew her to be. “You come here knowing absolutely nothing and expect me to follow you out like some complacent leanbh. I serve Fate, not you. You don’t know why I came here, you don’t know enough to call anything archaic, and you assume I think anyone here cares for me or that it matters.” Regan had never once been under the illusion that her grandmother loved her. That anyone humored her presence for any reason other than her medical expertise and bloodline. She hadn’t come here seeking affection. The assumptions continued: calling her a person, presuming banshees hated humans (could hate anything). Any rising emotion in her voice was exterminated like she’d choked it with a cold fist. Under her gloves, she imagined blood soaking through bandage, and her heart finally, after minutes of attempting to get it to quiet, slowed. “I have already told you, I am not coming with you. I belong here. You do not.”

She could do this. She would. Elias was close, his big, sopping eyes boring straight into hers. And there was Wynne, sweet, timid Wynne, who had the fire of determination kindling in their eyes with every passing moment the word sacrifice still rang through the room. They would scrape away at her composure if she let them and she’d slide back into that marshy affectation; she would not let so many days of her own sacrifice crumble because of a few charged words and too much self-reflection. (Did the ring hear that? It ought to.) 

Regan could prevent this from becoming a complete failure. She knew what she needed to do because she had done it before: she had left, clenching a tangle of the heart’s veins and arteries between her fingers, only some of them from her own body. Her wings flicked once against her back as she turned away. If anything, didn’t they mark her as being something of this place? So let them have a nice, long look. Regan paused in front of the counter, sliding a key on it. She did not face them, and her voice remained stiff as the dead. “There is an upstairs. It will be dusty and uncomfortable, but there are a few extra patient chairs and a bathroom. I expect you to be silent while I have others here. Explain to anyone who stops you outside – as I recognize that you will need to leave – that you are being examined by me. I will arrange for your departure.” Before they died for their stupidity. Somehow.

Her body decided to give her one final test. It froze before the doorway. Her legs knew where the rest of her wanted to be, but this was why the body had to be trained, and it would be trained. Regan inhaled a long breath, her shoulders forcing themselves tight, upright, and she walked out on those who crossed an ocean for her.

-------

Elias did what no one ever had for Wynne back at home. He attempted to shake Regan awake, to demanded that she see reason, that this martyrdom – imposed by herself but her family, too – was something cruel. He was fighting for her in a way they weren’t sure how to do, even if they agreed with some of the ideas he vocalized. And it all seemed so simple, coming from his mouth. Like these were the easiest things to say and ask of another, as if he didn’t feel weighed down with the recognition that made it hard for them to breathe. They were glad he was here. 

Who were they, after all? Stumbling and uncomfortable, all too aware of why Regan was here and why she didn’t want to leave? Their mind traveled to Metzli, who had tied themself up in a small room out of fear of hurting someone. They thought of themself, never daring to step a toe out of line at home, afraid that even thinking of abandoning their duty would hurt their community. But Metzli had left the confines of that place and Wynne had turned their back and eventually made up for the carnage caused — or at least so they thought.

Responsibility and duty weighed heavy, but why should they have to constrict a person? They looked between the two, the difference in emotion that painted their features and they felt hopelessly powerless. They felt their chest grow tight at the prospect of remaining in this place where they might have to climb on an altar after all, and it being all for naught. Would Regan truly watch them die and stand by? 

They would like to think not, but they had been repeatedly disappointed in that area before.

So they were quiet. They didn’t have the speech that Elias had, were dumbfounded and struggling to verbalize what they did believe to be the truth. That there were alternatives, that there were always other ways — that it didn’t have to be the way others always said it had to be. 

But they glanced at Regan, “Shouldn’t you demand better too?” It was said quietly. “Shouldn’t you be respected?” That woman, before, she had been cruel. Nora had said they called Regan a baby. Wynne knew what it looked like to be respected — they had been, once. Sanctified and revered, considered someone of a higher ranking within the commune. They knew hierarchy. They felt it exist around them in this place. 

She was so clinical, so distant and hard to grasp. Wynne felt their voice die out again, just watched the wings flutter and waited for Regan to turn around. Maybe this would be easier without Elias here, who didn’t know about the demon, the sacrifices, the home they had once abandoned. Maybe they should tell him about it in the attic they were being pointed to.

They moved forward and took the key. There was a moment of hesitation and then they pulled their backpack towards them, opening up the front pocket to produce a few slips of paper. Written letters, more eloquent than their attempts at convincing Regan had been. “These are for you,” they said. They didn’t say any more, didn’t beg the other to stay. Some things took time, especially in a mind that was filled with teachings that might not be correct. Wynne knew this, even if they didn’t understand it. Most of all, they didn’t want Regan to be mad again.

They watched as the other left without the letters, silent and unmoving and struck with a look of defeat. Soon enough they’d remember how they had left in the end. How Metzli had left in the end. How Regan had left once before. They looked at Elias. “Let’s go upstairs.”

-------

There were so many more things that Elias had wanted to say to Regan, to make her see sense, but in the end, he’d done his part. He’d said his peace, and now it was up to Regan to want it. After all, how do you help someone unwilling to see reason? Who doesn’t think that they need it? You can’t. So Elias took Regan’s response with a blank expression as if he were receiving feedback from a superior. “Fine. Walk into a world where no one respects you. Walk away from everyone who cares about you.” He spoke, tone clipped and angry. 

Yelling at Regan would do nothing. It wouldn’t make him feel better either, but the way he wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her back and forth until she came around, he knew it wouldn’t work. She had to want it. And she didn’t want it. He didn’t say anything as Regan left and didn’t try to fight here anymore. He’d said what he needed to say. 

He looked to Wynne, who looked like they were battling a storm behind their eyes. They spoke quietly, and Elias nodded his head in agreement. He didn’t look up to Regan; he just kept his gaze focused on the floor. If he looked up, it would risk Regan seeing the anger in his eyes. He didn’t want to be angry at her. He wanted to be angry at everyone in her life, which led her to believe that this was what her life was supposed to be. Her life belonged wherever she pleased with Jade at her side. Not this, where creativity and personality were stifled in order to serve ‘fate.’ 

When Regan froze in the doorway, Elias’s face fell. He finally looked up at Regan’s frozen form and sighed. “We came here because we love you. Not because we think you need to serve anything.” He finally said after the anger had dissipated. “Just think about what we’ve said. Read the letters.” He finally tore his gaze away from Regan and looked to Wynne and nodded, a look of defeat clear in his eyes. “Yeah.” He said meekly, shuffling for the stairs. “Let’s… go hide.”

[tenosit]

In the infernal depths of the Maw, Stoker feeds the machinery that galvanizes the Asynplex to activity. With his great, spade-like hands, he shovels the carelessly-scattered fuel rods into ever-hungering plasma stoves, as STOR-class SKJOLD Mask of Shielding protects him from both their flares, and lakes of molten metal and burning chemicals. Fierce and not afraid to show who's the boss, those delving into the belly of Asynplex must know they are on his turf.

While Stoker is rarely out of chores to perform, the throngs of Vaerkers rarely descend into the Maw, leaving him as one of the more lonesome Velhelts. Those who had fortune to be escorted by him describe him as a determined, grim protector, but not much more. Even though many a Gevaerdyr has regretted his rage, Stoker longs for recognition claimed by heroes of old.

[I reckon a lot of people will try their hand at AUs based on the original story bible now, but I wanted to try my hand at adapting the creative concept artwork of Bo Torstensen (as seen here, for example)! The Stalker vibes can serve for very different interpretation of Bionicle, especially the images of Toa leading Turaga-looking folk through cyclopean, desolate "robo-innards", stalked by unusual beasts with beaded limbs. There is still a story, if a very different one from retail Bionicle, but I think it can be an incredible setting if life is breathed into it.

The model is inspired not just by art, but also the late '90s Technic sets, those with gratuitious "hard" hoses (which, I guess, early Bionicle also falls under, see Bahrag and Boxor). It is not all pre-2003 pieces, but I am still mostly content with the look of him - stability, though, I cannot vouch for. (I say Stoker is a he because he wants to be a classic saga hero, otherwise he's a biorobot). With exception of Mata limbs and hoses, and maybe the System bits, the pieces should be all real and thus theoretically you could build this Stoker pretty closely. Imagine that the mouth tube is held by a rubber band or something.

As for language - I went for mostly-Danish vocabulary, though I am glad to receive suggestions if someone wishes to add. I am not sure if diacritics fit the English-focused retail vibe. Bit of an inversion, you see!]

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

OOR 2001 - Nr 8 - Rammstein interview

Rammstein <Germans have a very good sense of humor>

Rammstein: those are boring, surly men, who take themselves too seriously and even are perhaps a little 'wrong'. You would think. But with the release of the third album Mutter, singer Till Lindemann and drummer Christoph Schneider prove that Germans do have a sense of humor. "Only... we don't laugh."

by Robert Heeg

Actually, Rammstein's entire career is a joke. Or at least a bizarre twist of fate. Born and raised in the GDR, Lindemann, Schneider, keyboardist Flake Lorenz, bassist Oliver Riedel and guitarists Paul Landers and Richard Kruspe despite state censorship managed to develop into stubborn punks with their own vision on hard music. Only in '93, long after the fall of the wall, did they convert their ideas into the total concept Rammstein. In addition to hard industrial metal with a gothic touch, this concept also includes a well-oiled show in which sweaty male bodies and stunts with fire play a leading role. Despite international aspirations, the mother tongue was retained. That did not stop the albums Herzeleid ('95) and Sehnsucht ('97) from being very successful. Even in the US, entire tribes sing along at the top of their lungs during the performances. It must be a great victory for the six 'Ossies'. Can you therefore blame Rammstein for using images from the propaganda film Triumph of the Will, by Hitler's court filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl, in a video clip.

How does Mutter differ most from its two predecessors?

Till: "We used more acoustic instruments and recorded a string orchestra 'live' for the first time. We also worked on the mix for a very long time. We even broke off a mix because the album started to sound too much like Sehnsucht. We were looking for a more modern sound"

The official biography says that no one sounds like Rammstein, but I definitely recognize that rigid sound of Die Krupps...

Christoph: "Yes, of course. And there are more bands with which we have something in common. In that bio they are probably referring to the combination of show and German-language singing."

Till: "Especially that German thing, yes. Most acts sing in English, which sounds much rounder than German. So we do offer something new internationally."

The lyrics on Mutter seem less harsh, slightly more personal. Is there a thematic shift?

Till: "You should interpret them the way you want. Use your imagination. I do believe that they are less abstract than before, they have become clearer stories. However, we try to stick to our well-known style."

If you used to express yourself in macho rhetoric such as: 'Wollt ihr das Bett in Flammen sehen', you now cry for Mutter. Back to the womb?

Christoph: "Mutter is simply the word that fits the mood of the record, you don't have to look for any special meaning behind it. Inspiration can really come from anywhere: personal experiences, magazines, a book, a good film... It makes It doesn't matter. It can also happen if you happen to get your finger stuck in the electrical socket. Anything."

Is this a democratic band or are there members who have more influence?

Christoph: "It is quite a democratic whole. And that does not always make it easy when you are in a hurry. Fortunately, there is also a producer [Jacob Hellner] who makes decisions every now and then. It is also a lot more productive that we now sometimes work in smaller teams. If there are six of us, there is always someone who disagrees with something."

Till: "It is good to learn that you occasionally have to defer to the majority opinion. After three or four weeks it often turns out that the consensus was the basis for the right decision. It is essential that you share everything as a band: equal rights, equal duties. It has been my experience that when someone feels underexposed in a band, they usually leave."

Would Rammstein be over then?

Christoph: "It's like cutting off an arm. We would continue, but it would be very different."

In interviews the band members sometimes come across as a bit rigid. You rarely allow yourself to be lured out of your tent.

Christoph: "That depends on how someone responds to us and our texts. Every journalist does that in his own way, and we respond to that. But I know that we are considered difficult. Whether it is photographers, cover designers or people at the record company, they experience us as difficult. That is because we have a very strong opinion about how things should sound and look. We don't compromise well."

This also applies to the language...

Till: "Yes, why should we? Words are free."

And you were also right, in America people sang along with complete lyrics.

Christoph: "Well, at least they tried, haha. In any case, we had a good time with their attempts. They looked like teenagers going to their first pop concert, not having fully understood the lyrics, but still trying to sing along. Very amusing."

You guys have something special with America. Did that start when David Lynch used two of your songs for his film Lost Highway?

Christoph: "That was our first contact with America. It made us a bit known and gave us the opportunity to perform there. However, it was very difficult to make the right contacts and bring Sehnsucht there. We only managed that in '98."

American record companies are traditionally skeptical of European acts. Especially when they stubbornly continue to sing in their native language.

Till: "If you hang around somewhere in the middle, that is certainly true, yes. But once you are successful, you can do just about anything there. The most idiosyncratic acts are often the most successful."

Idiosyncrasy is also often poorly understood. For example, you are often associated with the extreme right. You went one step further by using fragments of Leni Riefenstahl films in the video for the Depeche Mode cover Stripped.

Christoph: "We have never really understood that prejudice. In our opinion, it is not demonstrable. In interviews we have often said that we have nothing to do with it. We are busy discovering our own German music and creating our own German band , and we have mentioned many things that have to do with our culture. We are getting quite tired of the allegations. People simply have an opinion about us, no matter how often we contradict those prejudices through the media. The only thing we can do now all that's left is to just continue making music. If you follow us a bit, you know that we have nothing to do with the right. For the people who still need an explanation, we have included the song Links 234 on the album. Listen to that."

Is your sense of humor and sarcasm underestimated?

Till: "Oh, you either understand us or you don't. There is no in between. You either love us or you hate us. The fans understand our intentions."

Christoph: "The problem is that people are always presented with something that is ready-made. But as soon as they have to interpret something for themselves, think for themselves, they have a problem. You do have your own opinion, right? Then don't ask me what you have to think about it. I can't explain it either."

Don't you secretly cherish those different reactions a little?

Till: "If people think we are really bad, that is of course often annoying and questionable. But it is indeed better than not arousing any reactions at all."

Christoph: "It did surprise us, but it has become part of us."

You also evoke reactions with the show. For the stunt with the dildo, you were even held in an American cell for a couple of hours in '98.

Christoph: "Americans are easily shocked by things that we consider very normal here. But for those involved it was certainly not a pleasant incident, I can assure you. Perhaps Till would like to say something about that."

Till: "We don't do something like this with premeditation. We mainly do a show like that for fun and to illustrate the music. That makes it a bit more pleasant for us on stage, because at least something happens and time goes by faster, haha. And the audience is grateful that there is also something to experience visually. It is not our style to deliberately evoke such extreme reactions. It is not as if we plan it, it just happens naturally."

And yet... Does that rebelliousness have nothing to do with your GDR youth? Is the animal out of the cage now?

Christoph: "That is probably innate, yes. In the GDR, of course, nothing was allowed and the music scene was of little significance. We spent our youth and teenage years in the GDR, so it could not have been otherwise or that it left an indelible impression."

Till: "Yet we weren't really rebellious. We just did what we did, also on stage. We just lived it up, and actually we still do. Only later did we realize that it was quite bold to do that in the GDR."

Were you influenced by show bands like Kiss?

Christoph: "Of course. I wasn't that impressed with the music, but I did have the posters hanging. Musically we were more impressed by Udo Lindenberg, AC/DC, Neubauten, the Neue Deutsche Welle. Very few of them actually came to the GDR. But we didn't know any better. If a band came, it would be talked about for another five years. Those performances were incredibly inflated. haha."

Did you feel like second class citizens?

Till: "That was a big problem, yes, because we were constantly looking to the west. I think the worst thing was that we were not allowed to travel. That was really sad. Other than that, life wasn't that bad, just the traveling... ."

Once an Ossie, always an Ossie?

Till: "Certainly. We still live in East Berlin. Due to our extensive travelling, I don't know whether the term Ossie still has the same meaning for us. But it remains our homeland. You carry it with you in your heart. "

Am I wrong or are you parodying the cliché image that foreigners have of Germans?

Christoph: "You might think. Well, we know how people sometimes think about Germany. Never mind, there is little we can do about that."

Till: "We like to exaggerate and that's part of parody. Only... we don't laugh."

Do you think Dutch people understand German humor?

Christoph: "Germans have a very good sense of humor. But let's talk about you, with your Big Brother-Shit! 1)"

--

1) The Big Brother reality tv show format was originated in the Netherlands, first aired in 1999, and had spin-ofs in many other countries around the world

--

List of other Rammstein OOR interviews

[noelle666]

Some introduction + important links

Hello there!

I think I need to make some sort of introduction for this blog. This is my blog ver. 2.0. I had another one with the same nickname and the same title, it was mostly a pile of posts dedicated to the band London After Midnight. I deleted the original blog couple of years ago because saw no need in it. And now I think I should revive my blog since, well, I think Tumblr format will be very suitable for what I am going to do.

So, right now, here's an approximate list of things you may find here:

- posts and reposts about games and geek stuff (TES universe, Baldur's Gate 3, Dragon Age universe, Metal Gear, Warhammer 40k, Pathologic, etc);

- some of my thoughts, articles, maybe even short fanfics based on games or other stuff;

- maybe I might post some LAM stuff again, mostly pics of Sean Brennan, the heart and mind of this band (or "music project" would fit better), I'm not sure. Maybe there will be other goth stuff too;

- and maybe some other stuff.

Remember, guys: we are all different, each of us have different thoughts and opinion on things. If you are agree with me - ok, if not - again, ok. I mostly will write here just to put my thought on "paper", to not forget them.

So, welcome, I think. Oh, and also, English is not my native language, I am Russian, so sorry for any mistakes.

Some important links related to my OCs (mostly for 2024 it's Rogue Trader characters):

Master-post with all my fanfics

Noelle von Valancius, list of characteristics

Maarden von Valancius, list of characteristics

Heinrix van Calox - list if headcanons let it be here, so I won't need to search

Noelle and Heinrix, art by Vetus Vulpes

Noelle, art by cadencespark

Noelle and Heinrix + other RTs, art by cadencespark

[thedaughterofkings]

Tagged by @clotpolesonly, thank you, Jess!

I went ahead and linked all of the songs and you should totally give them a listen, because they are all wonderful and amazing and I love them (and thus am totally unbiased).

T - Through the Dark (One Direction) Do yourself a favour and listen to this song it is so beautiful and I love it so much. H - Highland (Blackmore's Night) Renaissance Folk about wanting to go back to the Highlands? Sign me upppp E - Everything louder than everything else (Meatloaf) A wasted youth is better by far than a wise and productive old age - need I say more? D - Dreamer (Supertramp) Supertramp is epic and wonderful and has such prominent piano lines and I love it A - And Then There Was Silence (Blind Guardian) An almost 15 minute epic retelling the Iliad - need I say more? I especially love the Cassandra reference. U - Underdog (Imagine Dragons) I once listened to Bleeding Out for an entire day, but there is no B in my username and I do really like underdog, too, so we'll go with that! G - Give me love (Ed Sheeran) I'm not sure if it still counts as my very favourite Ed Sheeran song, but it certainly was my first favourite Ed song, and I still love it a whole lot. H - Heaven on their minds (Jesus Christ Superstar) If someone wants to pay me for putting on a one woman show of JCS - I'm ready! T - Time Stands Still (At The Iron Hill) (Blind Guardian) An operatic/symphonic metal concept album about the Silmarillion is everything I ever wanted in my life. E - End of all hope (Nightwish) If you need to get your blood pumping, I know nothing better than this song! R - Ride the Wild Wind (Queen) I had to get some Queen in here - and I couldn't make '39 fit my name so we'll go with this one O - On My Way Home (Enya) Really, anything by Enya goes! Her winter/Christmas album (And Winter Came) is an absolute staple in my winter rotation! F - From the North (Runrig) I'm hard pressed to pick any favourite Runrig song (because they are all favourites), but this one is definitely up there. K - Kopf hoch, tanzen (Herbert Grönemeyer) You are missing out, if you don't understand German, but there are a couple of English versions of his songs that he produced once upon a time! One of Germany's best beloved acts and well deserved as well in my opinion! I - If I Could Fly (One Direction) It makes me cry okay - another really beautiful one N - Nur für Dich (Wise Guys) Okay, this one is German and with this band half the fun are the lyrics (the other half are the harmonies because acapella!!), but if you understand at least a little German, I highly recommend the Wise Guys! G - Generation (Simple Plan) HEY HO, LET'S GO! S - Show me (My Fair Lady) One of my absolute favourite musicals ever!!

I feel as though I should say that I'm not as old as some of these choices make me appear

I'm always ready to yell about any of these songs/artist!!! And if you end up listening to anything because of this and liking it, pleeeease let me know!

Tagging Clara, @loverofcake and the last ten people who reblogged something from me - no pressure though!

@ihavelikenolife, @sharlaidfrey, @brap-brap-lightning-mcqueen, @writinglines, @fruitingbodyworship, @fandoms-and-i, @c00kieknight, @221b-anarion, @fangirlofrandomness, @letterschming and of course everyone else who'd like to do this!

[cardcaptor-lisia]

the winking owl is quite possibly my favorite band of all time for like 5 reasons

FEMALE VOCALS IN A METAL(CORE) BAND WOOOO this is my FAVORITE (no screams actually works well bc her voice is v powerful and elegant)

MIXING ENGLISH AND JAPANESE JUST LIKE ME!! i love it when bands do this omfg

cool name + motif in general (whole album about stars and such)

good music/sound in general they should have been bigger (but they're on hiatus bc luiza left, their sound fits so well in america and japan both though)

their lead singer's name is luiza which is like lisia kind of

open up my heart is probably their most memorable song, and the song i first found by them. my current personal favorite is orion bc i really like the lyrics.

[gggoldfinch]

Rammstein rant post ready GO!

I know like nothing about them but I love hearing about people’s interests info dump to your heart’s content my friend! Teach me all about these concerningly sweaty dirty (?) men and their pyrotechnic shenanigans I am sitting here with my favorite pen and notepad ready to take notes. <3

anon. I love you so much. thank you for enabling my insanity. this is gonna be a long, unhinged post

Okay, here we go. My darling anon, I had to HUNT in my blog archive to find this post, but here is my basic rundown of Rammstein itself as a band (<-linked). So come back here after reading that post if you really don't know anything about the band bc this def won't make any sense. In THIS post I'd love to discuss WHY I'm so obsessed R+ and all the things that I personally love about them. I will format it in bullet points to spare myself and everyone's sanity:

I feel like the most obvious point should be the first; I love their music! I grew up on industrial and synth, so introducing metal to that mix is like a heavenly mashup. The heavy guitar, the synth keyboard, the gorgeous vocals and deep (often complicated) lyrics??? I would insert the music directly into my chest cavity if I could and that sounds really fucking weird but that's where I feel like it should live 🧍🏻‍♀️

I have daddy issues point blank, that much is obvious from my blog LMAOOO so ofc latching onto gruff middle aged men is a fundamental human need for me at this point

The style and uniqueness of the band is incredible. Who else do you know that lights everything on fire while looking like they just walked off a movie set? Their outfits are so fucking awesome. Like every time I see a new fit I eat that shit up and stare at pics for hours on end because they're so intricate and cool and kinda kinky?? I WISH I could be their fashion designer like jfc. Also their makeup/ face paint is always killer. I need to kiss their stylists fr !!! The 90's-y2k looks are some of my favs

the history of the band is also very interesting. a bunch of weird dudes from East Germany end up becoming pals and form a band and rise to stardom while soldiering through the trials and tribulations such fame throws their way? love an underdog story. I highly recommend watching the documentary Rammstein in Amerika, it gives a lot of insight into the band's origins and history up through 2015

Some of the shit they pull is so freaky and weird that its camp at this point. The dick mold dildos? camp. The fact that they need licenses to use all their pyrotechnics? camp. Being arrested for public indecency? camp.

I am incredibly, overwhelmingly, unhingedly down bad for Till, Richard, and Paul (and also Schneider to an extent but not as much). I would allow for unspeakable things to be done to me if given even the slightest opportunity if you know what I'm saying

PAUL'S HAIR !!!! He is so silly goofy but I fucking LOVE Paul's stupid little haircuts. like yass go off with your little monk bowl cuts I'm eating it up I'm putting you in my pocket

(the photo of his red hair isn't even showing the back where he LITERALLY shaved it like the fuckin monk tonsure)

everyone is so fucking queer. like. deadass. Paul and Richard regularly kissing on stage is so precious ???? they're just two besties being besties kissing n shit. The band also supports the lgbtq+ community and are outspokenly against bigotry which is always a win. A lot of people have accused them of being bigots themselves and they're like ummm haha no get fucked (cue "Links 2 3 4")

Richard is a perfect little baby angel and I would die for him. I love his spiky hair. I love his nail polish; I paint my nails like him. He is so cute. I love the way he speaks, in German and in English. I also LOVE his band Emigrate, esp the most recent album. He's so awesome 😭 that being said I wish he wouldn't smoke like a chimney because I dread hearing the news one day that he has cancer but ofc I can't do anything about that in the slightest

I mean. do I need to make a bullet point dedicated to Till being built like a fucking brick house?? because I think I do. He is soooo,,, AUAUGHHHHH !!!! Like, the guy is 60 and still looks that incredibly built ?!!!!! homeboy was an olympic swimmer he can swim in my p *gets shot*

Till has a precious smile 🥺 I love his fucked up teeth. he's such a sweetie fr, a big scary looking teddy bear. I need him fr

Flake in his entirety is just so silly goofy. Like homeboy looks like just Some Dude.. he's so normal (he also looks like my step grandfather only tall and skinny, which is very strange...). But then he pulls shit like whacking Till with a keyboard or getting fake fucked on stage. Homeboy also apparently just up and ditched everyone in America and went home after 9/11 because he was so freaked, which in itself isn't funny but imagining him just fucking leaving is a little bit...

Darling little (not so little...) Doom Schneider has an incredibly gorgeous side profile. And I love the pornstache he occasionally sports. He's also another one who is just like. A Normal Guy in my head. He is also very very pretty and very well spoken. I loved listening to him talk during the Rammstein in Amerika documentary

I also think Ollie is also just a Dude,, tho admittedly I don't really even think about him much because he is so normal and not unhinged that he kinda just blends into the background most times. He is 6'7 tho so that is fucking insane

Anyway yep that's all for now I'll stop torturing everyone with my depraved insanity 👍🏻 THANK YOU AGAIN ANON for indulging me for a moment

[myriadxofxmuses]

Tagged by: @heartxshaped-bruises

Tagging: @savagecuhnt , @emmaxmeyer , @strictlyoc (for whoever you want : ) ), @lunarruled , @lostxones (Molly), @northrnattitude (Dakota or Anthony), @hxneybees (Charlie), @aprilwritcs (Audrey), @thanaredreamtof , @unwrittenxrp

► Silas

★  ⸻  BASICS

NAME: Silas Oberon Birch

 NICKNAME(S): Speedy (becase of both of his addictions - coke and sugar), Tree Hugger (only used by the band when teasing him of his upbringing)

 AGE: 25+

 SPECIES: Human

★  ⸻  PERSONAL

MORALITY: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / gray / evil

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: His parents raised him in a spiritual commune. One that dove deeply into the Y2K belief when it arose - something that ultimately meant their demise when it didn't happen. Silas was only three when it fell apart and his parent left to lead a much more agnostic way of life, which now dictates his belief system as an adult. 

VIRTUES: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice

PRIMARY GOALS IN LIFE: He's not much of a goal person. He usually just wings it. Very go with the flow. The only thing he would consider a goal in his life was to become a rock star and he did it, so he doesn't really see much point in any other ones. Especially since it's so easy for him to get what he wants now.

LANGUAGES KNOWN: English

SECRETS: His ADHD bothers him much more than he lets on. He wishes he was smarter and more business savvy. He considers his favorite color to be a little girly, so he doesn't let on how much he likes it. He would love to have a big family. He may seem dumb, but he gets it. He just doesn't let on how much, opting to keep the mask of his freeloving, happy-go-lucky attitude on to hide his actual intelect. It is easier to live life that way anyway.

QUIRKS: His hyperness can manifest itself into what appears to be fidgeting, but in reality his mind is constantly working over new music for the band. He is a very touchy, feely, hugger kind of guy. He can come off as obnoxious, but he has a great heart.

SAVVIES: He is extremely musically inclined. He can teach himself to play pretty much any instrument. He actually writes most of the music for the band. And, the deeper meaning songs, were written by him.

★  ⸻     PHYSICAL

BUILD: slender / scrawny / bony / fit / athletic / herculean / baby fat / pudgy / obese / other

HEIGHT: 6′2

SCARS / BIRTHMARKS: One along his leg from a dirt bike accident and various minor ones from skateboarding.

ABILITIES / POWERS: None

RESTRICTIONS: None

★  ⸻     FAVOURITES

FAVOURITE FOOD: Candy. Of any kind.

FAVORITE DRINK: Monster energy drinks

FAVOURITE PIZZA TOPPING: Chili Peppers and chicken

FAVOURITE COLOR: Purple

FAVOURITE MUSIC GENRE: Hard Rock and Metal

FAVOURITE BOOK GENRE: Graphic novels. He doesn't like to read very much, so when he does it has to he short and easy.

FAVOURITE MOVIE GENRE: Action and Comedy

FAVOURITE SEASON: Summer

FAVOURITE BUTT TYPE: Women's

FAVOURITE CURSE WORD: Cunt

FAVOURITE SCENT: Patchouli, Rain, Bonfire/burning leaves

FAVOURITE QUOTE:   Don't take life too seriously. No one makes it out alive.

★  ⸻     FUN STUFF

BOTTOM OR TOP: He is surprisingly dominant in the bedroom given his seemingly softer nature outside of it.

LOUD BURPER OR SOFT BURPER: Loud.

SINGS IN THE SHOWER: Oh yeah. And Gage keeps trying to get him to sing in their songs, but he always declines - disbelief that he is actually a good as he is told and only willing to do the occassional backup.

LIKES BAD PUNS: Definitely, although he isn't the greatest at making them himself.

THEIR OPINION ON THE MUN: They're quiet, but super cool. They should really let themselves branch out more. She should stop being so afraid of letting the world in a little.

[haveyouplayedthisttrpg]

How are the books actually sorted.

One Rule: Games and supplements stay together.

Let's put a number to the shelves : 1 to 12, left to right, top to bottom

1 : big books. that's it. The other shelves are too small for them ex : Vaesen, Mage20th, Itras By

2 : separate in two. On the left : generic systems. On the right : fiction books in a ttrpg universe and non fiction books about ttrpgs ( like history of roleplaying, roleplaying with history, Horror in ttrpgs)

3 : on the left : French indie games like Broken cities, Against the Titan. On the right : games from publisher Les XII Singes ( The Twelve monkeys) including the mythender and crytomancer translations

4 : On the left : games from Pattern Recog, mainly translation of Arc Doom, Troika, Paleomythic. On the right, games from John Doe, only original creations like Rotting Christ ( a metal game inspired by the band of the same name)

5- 6 : A line break, games with beautiful covers to serve a decoration/colors

7 : All my pbta and fitd games, a priority shelf (for example Monsterhearts is published by Lapin marteau but is placed here)

8 : again two sides. Left : Games from Black Book edition including Cats the Conspurracy (a eng translation is coming) Right : games from Lapin Marteau ( Castle Falkenstein, Ryuutama)

9 : The small english only games including Mausritter, Break!!, DotDungeon Remastered

10 : All the Solo games, a priority shelf

11 : Everything Nephilim or Knight RPG

12 : Like 1 , big books that did not fit on the other shelves. English only but separated from the ones written in french.

And on the side, the wooden case contains everything Ecryme (eng translation crowdfunding, should come out this year)

Moving out is finished. The ttrpg books are there. It doesn't matter if the fridge is empty, there's no gaz, the TCG decks are still at the last place, all the things missing. The important is here. Just behind the computer desk for easy access.

No what really matter is the number of holes on the shelves that need to be filled with more games.

[crimsun-n-clover]

the show went alright. had a bunch of people go “THOSE SCREAMS WERE FUCKING GNARLYYYY” so i’d say it was mostly successful.

the metal show was first, and despite some technical difficulties and my guitarist almost having a goddamn breakdown, we fucking killed it.

the punk one??? not so much. our new guitarist fucking sucks. he’s a great guy, and he’s really good about learning riffs well and quickly, but he can’t play smoothly or in time at ALL. and a keyboardist applied and we thought we scared her off but she came back so we were just like. okay. we have someone who plays KEYS in a PUNK BAND now. she earned that shit but i really do feel bad. i kinda forgot a lot of the last song we played but hey man, as a bassist? wasn’t that obvious compared to how bad the guitar sounded.

i’m not dogging on him or anything, i always help him with his amp at practice and we stand next to each other on stage. he’s a solid kid. does martial arts and shit like that. if our drummer doesn’t jump his bones and then WHOOPS nasty breakup!! we should be fine yk? we just gotta let him get used to it i guess.

god i miss my favorite kiddo SO fucking much. i miss having someone to unlock pvp twice a week at practice. i miss having a tiny little genius around who doesn’t know shit about music theory so none of the riffs she wrote made ANY fucking sense but they always sounded super fuckin metal. like woah minor pentatonic, walk down, PHRYGIAN?? you’re a weird little critter.

she’s the math kid to my english bitch. the argumentative child to my grumpy old man. the reasonable christian to my casual satanism. we fit together because of how little we fit together, but she wants to be just like me. any time i tell her about something i like or know how to do, she immediately asks me to show her or teach her how. god i love her so fuckin much. don’t tell her i said that though. her ego doesn’t need to get any higher or she’ll overthrow me.

anyways i told her she could always get me to bail her out. little bastard shouldn’t be away from bad influence for this long. she might be leaning more towards a lawful alignment now GAG

that and her parents don’t love her enough so she needs help in her jailbreak. who better than the sweet respectful one with a car and many deep encouraging little conversations to give and little presents to bestow?? i’m a goddamn SAINT as far as her family’s concerned.

OH AND i finally saw honor among thieves today after my band backed out for the THIRD. FUCKING. TIME.

twas rad. cried at the end. simon is my new meow meow. my friend was right, i am a lot like holga. i got my mom to watch it with me and she loved it despite not ever being able to keep up with my crash courses on dnd. there were so many bits of lore and different creatures and references that made me squirm autistically with the need to say “OH MY GOD OKAY SO THE THING ABOUT THAT IS—“ which i resisted with the valor of a thousand men.

it was funny, light hearted, sincere, anti capitalist, and not at all as bad as i thought it might be. it had that princess bride type of quip and situational humor, with lotr world building, which is the best i hoped for. there were compelling characters i want more of. doric didn’t get enough screen time, but i know she has a prequel book that i’ll probably read instead. i liked the chaotic good alignment of the main characters. they stole from the rich and did no harm, and i really do believe in that.

the villains were lawful evil, the heroes were chaotic good. that’s the shit i like to see. lawful evil is a very real alignment with people in power, and i’d say that chaotic good is the most optimistic alignment. although they have no hope in the law, they put others before themselves and do what it takes to make things better. it’s seen as wild, but i think it’s very loving and passionate.

anyways goodnight tumblr pray for me at practice tomorrow so i’ll be nice to our new guitarist

[trashbag-baby666]

okay okay okay this popped into my mind in english class this morning and now it's all i can think abt. hcs of hunter with a quiet and reserved s/o who's in a band ( either metal like him or indie rock ) and is really active and energetic when they're performing! IF YOU CANT / DONT WANT TO WRITE IT THEN DW, I JUST WANTED TO SHARE THE BRAINROT

The moment I saw this I had an idea in my head that was TOO good for HC’s so I really hope you enjoy this! But I also decided to go with one of my own OC, Peach Meridian to write this for because it fit her personality! You can find her at the bottom of my OC Masterlist!

Hunter stood next to Peach as she gathered her things she’d need for her last few classes.

Clay walked over to the two, “Hey Hunter what's up?”

“Hey Clay,” Hunter turned around and they high fived.

“Hey Peach,” Clay waved at the short girl with blue hair.

Peach looked up and waved at the other boy then went back to fiddling with her books.

“Are you busy tonight?” Hunter asked Clay.

“Nah. I was going to ask if you and Hunter wanted to chill tonight?” Clay smiled.

“Actually we're all going to see Peach’s band tonight down at the Verse.” Hunter looked over at his girlfriend. She closed her locker and slung her backpack on.

“You don’t have to come,” Peach whispered looking down at her white converse that she had scribbled and drawn all over. A small H in a red heart on the toe cap of the right converse.

“You should come! Pixie Hearts are so good!” Hunter began to brag then unzipped his leather jacket showing off their newest shirt design. In ransom note lettering it read ‘Pixie Hearts’ with hearts for the dots in the I’s.

“No, I’ll totally come!” Clay smiled, pulling out his phone. He pulled up their instagram and followed them, “Woah Peach I didn’t know you sang.”

“Yeah,” she smirked, tucking some blue hair behind her ear.

“I’ll meet you two there then, Hunter can you text me the time and stuff?” He looked up at the two.

“Okay,” Hunter smiled and watched as Clay pranced off. Hunter put an arm around Peach, “Let's get you to class.”

Peach smiled and looked up at her boyfriend. She never really talked to anyone that wasn't her parents, Hunter, Emily, or Kevin. She had immense anxiety around people but being on a stage with her band just made it all disappear. It made her feel in control.

She’d actually met all of her bandmates in a support group at their therapists office.

“Fuck,” Peach muttered as she was trying to get ready in the green room.

“What's up?” Hunter looked up from the couch he was sitting on.

“I just messed up this wing,” Peach shook her head and turned around looking at Hunter.

“Let me see that,” Hunter grabbed the eyeliner marker out of her hand and wiped away the eye liner on her right eye. Hunter gently applied the eyeliner wing symmetrical to the other one.

“There you go hun,” Hunter kissed her cheek and handed her back the eyeliner.

“Ew,” Stella walked in and grabbed her drum sticks off the coffee table, “You guys disgust me.”

Peach shook her head and giggled at her friend's comment.

“You guys are on soon,” Pixie Hearts manager came into the green room, “Where is Millie and Ariel?”

“Right here!” Ariel and Millie said in sync as they came into the green room.

“Okay great,” Marco smiled, clasping his hands together. He was a short italian man with thick wide framed glasses and knew everything there was to know about guitars.

“Let's go out there and show them that we’re better than boys, No offense Hunter.” Millie smiled and grabbed her bass from its case tuning it as they shared their last thoughts before going on.

“We're going to slay the house down!” Stella giggled spinning one of her drum sticks.

“We’re going to make this our best performance to date!” Ariel tuned her guitar, “Any words Peach?”

“We’re going to do great,” she said just above a whisper with a smile.

“On three,” Millie put her hand in the center of their little circle, “One…two…three! Pixie Hearts!”

“Oh what was that?” Marco spoke into the walkie talkie, “Someone backstage that's here with Kevin and Emily. His name is Clay?”

“Oh yeah that's our friend.” Hunter wrapped his arms around Peaches waist and kissed her on the cheek, “Break a leg Peach, but not actually don’t do what I did.”

“Okay, love you.” Peach giggled.

“Love you too,” Hunter waved as he walked out of the greenroom then to the side stage with Marco.

Peach looked in the mirror making sure her space buns looked right and her makeup.

“You look great Peach,” Millie hugged her best friend.

“I know I’m just nervous, we've never played a venue this big.” Peach sighed and tugged on the shirt she had tucked into the black high waisted jean shorts.

“Okay Marco is calling for us over the in ears lets go,” Ariel sighed.

“Okay let's crush it!” Peach smiled and put in her in ears walking to the stage.

“It kinda shocks me that Peach sings in a band. I've maybe heard her speak 20 words in the whole time we’ve gone to school together.” Clay leaned over talking to Hunter. Hunter, Emily, Kevin, and Clay all stood in front of the barricade to watch them.

“Oh just you wait,” Emily smiled looking over at Clay.

“Yeah she’s…a lot different on stage.” Kevin nodded.

People started to go fucking nuts as the lights lowered and there was pink stage lights flashing.

Stella, Millie, and Ariel walked out onto the stage, the crowd screaming and yelling. They waved and smiled, Stella sat behind her kit and started playing the intro to their opening song.

Then Peach came running out onstage and waved taking the microphone from the stand.

“My dear I feel you're quite confused

You lie in my ear and claim you've never felt this before

Feeding me phrases from your Arsenal

Singing fake promises while your fingers' on the door

Well my dear I'm taking back all I said

Tripping over my thoughts again.”

Peach sang, dancing all over the stage with a wide smile across her face.

Hunter loved watching her perform; she loved being onstage and her confidence would spike. Hunter looked over and Clay had his eyes wide with a smile.

Half way through the song Peach got on her knees right in front of them and sang the interlude part.

“From Olympus

I wear my crown

From the Krakken

You will drown

There seems to be confusion between

Who here is the royalty

Aphrodite is crying

And Phanes is dying

Hades will know your name.”

Peach winked at Hunter and got up singing the rest of the song.

At the end she grabbed onto the mic stand and looked around catching her breath.

“Wow hello everyone,” Peach smiled looking around at the sold out venue, “Thank you all for coming. Now let's get crazy!” Peach shouted into the microphone starting the next song.

After the show the rest of the band helped pack up all their equipment into Millie's van deciding they’d take care of it tomorrow.

Peach ran over to Hunter as he waited for her at his car.

“You guys were so good!” Hunter scooped up Peach, spinning her around in a circle. He set her down and they shared a kiss.

“That was your best performance yet,” Emily hugged her.

“Thank you,” She smiled, still speaking a little louder than a whisper.

“You Are so loud on stage…it's crazy but I love it.” Clay spoke to the short girl.

“Being on stage is just different,” Peach snuggled into Hunter's side as he had an arm around her.

“You guys are better than Skullflower. Maybe we’ll get to open for you sometime.” Hunter giggled.

Peach nodded and gently squeezed him in a tight embrace.

[hiimblurry]

redecorate | eddie munson oneshot fanfiction

synopsis: Eddie's room is a vivid reminder of him.

word count: 1.3k

pairing: Eddie Munson x OC

warnings: spoilers for the entire season 4 (this takes place after the events from vol 2. Yes, including THAT thing), reminiscing, just, I'm sorry

disclaimer: please keep in mind English is not my first language, feel free to point out any mistakes!

inspo: this fic is inspired by the song "Redecorate" by twenty one pilots, listen along to enhance the experience

Everything was left on display.

The sheets were a mess, like he always left them. The records were disorganised, some laying on the shelf that was dedicated to them, some peeking through the clothes in his wardrobe, some laying on the floor. She encouraged him so many times to organise them, alphabetically, or at least by genre, or, hell, with no system, just get them in one place. But he insisted that it wasn’t a mess; it was his mess and he knew exactly where to look for whatever he needed at the moment.

The clothes were chaos, too. His band t-shirts flooding out of his wardrobe. He had so many of them they didn’t fit anymore. Or, maybe they would fit if he folded them. Now the makeup-covered faces of KISS members were looking at her from the washed out t-shirt hanging just above the floor. Among his pants were some bandanas and chains. She wondered if they don’t get tangled. He must be spending some time in the morning just getting them to look decent.

Must have been spending.

She sat on the unmade bed, picking up one of his Hellfire Club t-shirts from under the bedside table. She felt the tears build up in her eyes as she put the t-shirt to her face, inhaling his scent that was left on it.

There was so much of it.

He was here, in the scent of his clothes, in the chaos of his records, in the clutter on the floor. He was present in the cigarette smoke soaked up in the walls, in the stains on the mattress that he would joke about not knowing the source of, but she knew they were just beer. She knew he would forget the cans on the bed and the beer would spill when he played the guitar, jumping on the bed, giving the most metal concert known to mankind with nothing but the posters on the walls as his audience.

Yes, the guitar.

It hang on the wall, just as he left it. She came up to it. She slid a finger across it, collecting the dust that started to settle on it. It was probably the first time the guitar ever got dusty. He would play it all the time. With a sad smile, she recalled him calling the guitar his sweetheart.

She put a hand on it, covering the strings which shook a little, making a quiet buzz sound. It felt as if she was feeling its heartbeat.

She envied it. It was so unaware. So clueless, so calm. Did it make any difference to it, that it was just hanging on the wall and not being played? Did it miss his touch as much as she did?

“He’s not coming back, you know,” she whispered to it, her throat clenching.

Saying it out loud made it feel too real.

She slid down the wall to sit on the floor, tears now streaming down her face as she still held on to his t-shirt, squeezing it as if it was a teddy bear. The images flashed in her head again, even though she tried so hard to push them out, she’s been trying for days now.

Maybe Steve, Robin and Nancy were right. Maybe she shouldn’t’ve come here. She’s been avoiding it for so long… but something called her here. She had to. She didn’t know what for, exactly. But she had to.

A light knock on the door shook her out from her thoughts. She looked up to see Wayne peeking through the door. He didn’t come in. She knew he hadn’t ever since it happened.

“You okay?,” he asked.

“As okay as it gets lately, Mr Munson.” She gave him a soft smile that he returned.

“Whatever should we do with this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Should we… leave it all as it is? Or should we clean it up? He would probably want his friends to have some of this stuff, and you, obviously, and some things we could donate…”

Before he could finish, she burst out crying. She hid her face in her hands, trying to conceive the ugly whimpers that came out of her, but she couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“Oh, Cath, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“No, no, Mr Munson, it’s fine.” She tried to sound as convincing as possible. “We do need to talk about it. It’s just… so…”

“Fresh,” he finished.

“Yeah.”

The silence was filled with two heavy breaths and the sounds of sniffing.

“I’ll leave you for a bit longer. Let me know if you need anything, yes?”

“Thank you, Mr Munson.”

As Wayne closed the door, she gathered all her strength to stand up. She scanned the room once more, noting more details.

The D&D books. The Club members would love them. They are going to need a new master. Maybe his notes in the books would help.

She knew he left them. Notes. He would always get to reading and planning the campaigns with a pen in his hand, jotting down ideas, adding his own share to the textbooks. “Sometimes they’re so closeminded,” he’d say. “This could be done in so many different, better ways,” he’d comment. She never played, but she knew that with his creativity and insight his games were amazing.

Irreplaceable.

There were other books, too. The entire Lord of The Rings trilogy, the beautiful, leather-bound edition. It was one of his most prized possessions. He would read her his favourite passages out loud as they laid in bed at night, her head on his shoulder, none of them wanting to sleep just yet. She loved to hear how smooth his voice got whenever he was reading, his storyteller’s nature making him a perfect narrator.

If anyone was to keep these books, it would be her.

It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right to think about giving these things away. They were all right here, just where they belonged. They belonged to him. This place was sacred. It was his room, his safe space, his chapel. It was so… normal. As if he was about to open the door, toss his jacket on the chair, pick up the guitar and lay down on the bed, on the mattress that knew his shape so well. As if the room was about to be filled with the sound of the guitar playing, him practicing for the next gig, or practicing a new song he heard and loved, or, maybe, composing something of his own.

But it was awfully quiet now, and empty, and it was getting cold, no warmth of his breath, of his smile to warm the room.

They’ll have to do something. Eventually. It couldn’t remain like this, a sanctuary, a constant remainder, his things on display, collecting dust. She couldn’t keep fooling herself. Leaving it like this won’t do anything.

He won’t come back.

She laid on the bed. She had no more tears to cry, they were all already soaked up in his pillows. She stared at the ceiling, the light of the lamp above her blinding her a bit.

She was so numb that, at first, she didn’t notice the light flicker.

Only when the lamp made a loud, buzzing noise, did she realise what was going on, and immediately sat up. She stared at the lamp, her heart coming up to her throat, anxiety building up in her stomach. It could be very, very bad. It could be…

Her breath stopped as she realised what she was looking at.

Short tap.

Short tap.

Short tap.

Pause.

Long tap.

Long tap.

Long tap.

Pause.

Short tap.

Short tap.

Short tap.

She was standing now, right under the light, looking at it in disbelief. She held her head, trying to process what was going on, trying to figure out whether this was really happening or if it was just her head playing tricks on her, her grief already driving her crazy.

“Eddie?!,” she let out a scream, realising she sounded like a madwoman.

But then the sequence repeated.

Short tap.

Short tap.

Short tap.

Pause.

Long tap.

Long tap.

Long tap.

Pause.

Short tap.

Short tap.

Short tap.

S.O.S.

“Eddie!”