#on this side of the Elbe

[dutchjan]

July 07, 2024

[reccyls]

Villain's Festival 2024 (Team High Nobility) - Amusement by the nobility, for the nobility

My translation of the team story (William, Elbert, and Victor) for the 2024 election yes this is really really late, i forgot i owned this orz

---

The one to steal Kate's heart would be the winner of the special bonus from the Queen. As the competition begun, three elegant and refined members of Crown gathered together in the castle.

William: The battle for the bonus, was it? What an interesting idea.

Elbert: ....Ah.

William: Oh, Elbert. Rare to see you in the hallways.

Victor: Why, if it isn't William and Elbert! Victor: Lady Luck must have guided me down this path so I could meet the two of you. And so... Victor: How about we have some tea together?

...

William: The tea you brew is as delicious as ever, Victor.

Victor: I'm honored. Oh, and do try the scones as well.

(glass breaking)

Elbert: ....?

William: What is it, Elbert?

Elbert: ...I think I heard the sound of something breaking inside the castle.

William: That must be everyone else having quite a lively battle right now. All to capture Kate's heart.

(more glass breaking)

Elbert: Ah... That was a window on the second floor.

William: As long as they're having fun. William: Anyway, a broken window here or there is good for ventilation.

Victor: ...And the cost for repairs will be coming out of my own pocket money... Victor: Well, what matters is that everyone is enjoying themselves!

Elbert: ...Are you two fine with sitting out of the contest?

William & Victor: Of course not.

Elbert (surprised): ....

William: There is simply no reason to rush into things.

Elbert: Why not?

William: The contest lasts for the entire day. William: The winner is whoever has managed to steal Kate's heart pendant by the end of the day. William: At any rate, you certainly have no intention of giving Kate up either, do you? Elbert, the covetous queen.

Elbert: Not at all.

Victor: I completely agree with William. Victor: Although, perhaps one of the reasons we're all so laid back is because we're all rich.

William: Always so scathing, Victor.

Victor: You make it sound like I'm some kind of foul-mouthed scoundrel, Will! I'm just saying the truth, aren't I? Victor: You and Elbert both have your own properties and assets you manage. Victor: And I-- whoops, that's top secret.

Elbert: ...Are you also nobility, Victor?

William: Who knows? This man is so full of mysteries that we'd be here until the sun goes down before we even get close to unraveling them all.

Victor: A. Ny. Waaaaay... we'll all just steal Kate's heart at our leisure, and with utmost elegance, won't we? Victor: It's important to always keep noblesse oblige in mind.

William & Elbert: That's right / ...Yes.

Victor: So, how about another cup, William? Elb-

Kate's voice: AAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

Victor: What a mess!* Was that Kate's voice just now? *This is actually what he says in-game

William: It was indeed our lovely little robin's cry.

Victor: Oh dear~! Let's go see what happened!

Elbert: It came from that direction. Elbert: If anything happened to her... I won't fogive who hurt her.

William: Heh, seems that the ennui has disappeared. William: Well then, let's go and take back our Kate.

...

William: Kate, we heard you calling.

Kate: William! And Victor and Lord Elbert too. Kate: Jude, Roger, and Alfons agreed to team up with each other. Kate: They caught me once but I managed to slip away, but I'm pretty sure they're still chasing me.

William: I see. Elbert, we leave Kate to you.

Elbert: Right... Kate, come here. Elbert: ...Don't leave my side for a second.

Kate: O-okay.

William: And now. Victor, how shall we serve those three up?

Victor: Do you even have to ask? Victor: Well done, of course.

...

Jude: Damn it, can't find that woman anywhere.

William: Hello, Jude. That's quite a lovely glare you're sporting today.

Jude: Tch. Of all the times for this annoying bastard to crop up...

William: And this annoying bastard would like to invite you to dinner. What's your answer?

...

Alfons: Was that Jude angrily cursing just now?

Roger: If you have the time to wonder about that, then just look for Ka- Roger: ...Wait, these footsteps...

Victor: How do you do, my lovely Cursed Ones?

Roger: ...Victor.

Alfons: Oh my, Lord Victor. You look like you're in high spirits today.

Victor: I can overlook the broken windows. My generosity is as boundless as the sea, after all. Victor: But, since you've bothered Kate... it's time for some punishment, no?

Alfons & Roger: ...Uh oh.

...

Kate: Thank you so much for saving me from that nonsense!

William: What matters most is that you're unharmed.

Victor: It's rare for William to go all out. Victor: We just narrowly avoided turning the corridors into a sea of blood. What a naughty boy ♪

William: Aren't you far more naughty than I am?

Victor: Oh, stop it. You'll make me blush with that kind of praise.

Kate: "A sea of blood"... Kate: Did I ask the wrong people for help?

Elbert: ...Don't worry about it. It's better that you don't know.

Kate: ...?

William: Kate has been safely retrieved. William: And the three of us worked together to ensure that. However... William: What should we do from here?

Elbert: ...What do you mean?

William: Our ultimate goal is to win Kate's heart and receive her necklace, isn't it? William: So that makes us all each others' rival.

Victor: You aren't wrong.

Elbert: ...I want it. The necklace... and Kate too.

William: It's passé to use brute force to win.

Victor: In that case, to make it fair, why doesn't Kate decide the winner?

Kate: Huh, me? Kate: I don't know if I could make a good judge...

William: I once read a fairytale from the Far East. William: The princess of the moon was being courted by several men, and so she issued them a quest. William: "Whoever finds this object and brings it to me shall become my husband."

Victor: What a wonderful idea! Victor: We'll look for whatever it is Kate wants, and whoever can bring it to her wins.

Elbert: ...Kate. What should we get for you?

Kate: Umm. In that case... Kate: Find something that will make me smile... I guess?

...

Elbert: ...Something to make her smile... Elbert: ...... Elbert: ....Oh.

(leaves room)

Elbert: ...Will? And Victor.

William: From the expression on your face, it looks like you have the same idea as the both of us.

Victor: Yes, it certainly does.

Elbert: ...Let's go see Kate.

...

William: Little robin, we have found what will make you smile.

Kate: "We"?

William: Would you lend me the heart necklace you're wearing for just a moment?

Kate: ...? Um, sure. Here you go, Will.

William: Though the necklace is in my hands now, the prize belongs to all of Crown.

Victor: We'll use the bonus money to throw a party for you and everyone else.

Kate: Really?

Elbert: ...Yes. Elbert: What will make you smile is... being able to have fun and spend time with everyone. Elbert: Isn't that right?

Kate: Yes! Exactly! Kate: Thank you, everyone.

William: .... William: Indeed, that is the most precious thing in the world, that no amount of money can buy.

[artsandculture]

Woman at a Window (1822) 🎨 Caspar David Friedrich 🏛️ Alte Nationalgalerie 📍 Berlin, Germany

At the window of a barren room you can see the back view of a young woman looking outside. It is Caroline, the wife of Caspar David Friedrich, who looks from the artist's studio to the opposite bank of the Elbe. In 1822, four years after his marriage, Frederick created this small-format, private image. Even in the year of origin, the painting was shown at the Dresden Academy Exhibition: "A small picture depicting the artist's studio in his peculiar simplicity, in the middle of the background the window with the view of the Elbe and the opposite poplars, would be very true and pretty if Friedrich had not followed again here, which it loves to depict people straight from behind." (Wiener Zeitschrift für Kunst, 1822, . Börsch-Supan and K. W. Jähnig, Caspar David Friedrich, Catalogue of Works, Munich 1973, pp. 96). While the Viennese Magazine for Art reacted to Friedrich's painting with incomprehension, the mystery of the turning-off women inspired the poet Friedrich de la Motte Foqué to become a sonnet. Friedrich consistently constructed the simple, empty interior of horizontal and vertical. Nothing reveals comfort, only a short piece of floor made of wide wooden floorboards, a dark wall and a high window are visible. The female figure alone and the prospect of delicately green poplars on the other side, opening up by a wide spring sky, enliven the presentation. Resembling the filigree peak of a church tower, a ship mast appears in the upper window area, structured by a narrow cross. A subtle color sound of blue, green and ocher draws attention to the light steps in the finest nuances. With this 'window picture', Friedrich picked up a romantic motif of longing that links inside and outside, closeness and distance. The view outwards simultaneously goes inwards, in the center of the soul. Two further interior representations have been handed down by Friedrich: "Woman ascending to light" (1825, Pomeranian State Museum, Greifswald) and "Climbing woman with a candle" (around 1825, loaned from private property in pe.). Like "Frau am Fenster", these images remained in the possession of the artist's family for a long time. It was not until 1906, on the occasion of the exhibition of the century in the Nationalgalerie Berlin, where Friedrich was comprehensively represented with 36 paintings and 57 drawings, including "Frau am Fenster", and the painterly work of the artist, which had been forgotten, was rediscovered.

[octuscle]

A biker decides to throw a party at his house but only invite one guy to turn him into his dream house boy.

(Rest in DMS xxx)

I'm convinced that I'm a fucking jackpot. I'm clever, I'm damn successful professionally with my biotechnology start-up. And thanks to my genes, hard work in the gym and some of my own inventions, I can't say I'm anything other than a wank template made flesh.

My mother, who sadly passed away at an early age, always said that envy is the most honest form of appreciation. My fucking neighbor must appreciate me enormously. Envy literally oozes from every pore of his big drunkard nose. An incredibly unpleasant guy. He's hated me ever since I offered him USD 5 million for his apartment to enlarge my dressing room and add a spa to my bathroom. Luckily, I have a range of products to help me with my plans. And I want to be rid of this pain in the ass by New Year.

The flyer with "Dear neighbor, it may get a little noisy today, but just come to my party. There'll be caviar and champagne, as much as you like" I just dropped it in my neighbor's letterbox. I knew he wouldn't be able to resist this offer. So at 7 p.m., my doorbell rings. I smile at him and say that he's quite early. He's already at the caviar bowls, shoveling Beluga Severol onto his blinis. Well… What can I say… It's not beluga… But I'm proud of the effect.

With his mouth full, my unkempt, disgusting neighbor asks when the other guests are coming. He'd like to be back in his apartment by then. Too bad, I reply, you would have hoped to settle your dispute today. I open a bottle of Dom Perignon and pour two glasses. I grin. I grin very broadly. I can see that the "caviar" is already starting to take effect. My neighbor burps. And farts. Phew! It stinks of fermented herring! But I can see his fat melting away. He looks younger and younger. And he has to fart again. Holy shit, my invention is obviously not free of side effects. My neighbor starts giggling silly. He lisps so that his pants slip down. He starts calling me "Daddy". He asks if his daddy wants to dance with him. He starts shaking his increasingly grotesque-looking ass. Somehow, unlike the rest of his body, it's not getting any slimmer. His pants slide to the floor. He strips naked, still dancing. And asks if Daddy has anything to wear. I have something prepared…

The advantage of the motorcycle suit is that when I'm not fucking the Dainese drone, it holds my houseboy's farts. In a week's time, just after the New Year, the workmen will arrive and combine his and my apartment. He'll get a room next to the laundry room. And a special ventilation system will be installed in the darkroom. Otherwise, it's really no fun fucking my houseboy's otherwise damn delicious big ass.

That was all a few months ago now. Yes, I've gotten used to my boi's flatulence. I've decorated him a bit. With his teenage fuzz on his upper lip, he looks even dumber than he's actually become. But he blows like a devil. And I love it when he's happy as a puppy when I come home in the evening.

First two pics found @elbe-lad, home of hot leather studs.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

HANDS | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Warnings: violence, patients having an episode, hurt/comfort

Requested: YES! by @acid-esther

Hi!! If you still take requests, could I please ask for some hurt/comfort with Spencer’s hands and forearms, but in a cute fluffy tender way? I’ve been obsessed with them and the idea of him holding my face and holding on to his wrists or something.

Take of this what you please. Have a great day💕💕💕

Author's Note: This isn't great, but it's not bad either? I hope you enjoy!

Words: 1.8K

The autumn air whisked around me as I made my way from my car to the hospital doors, cup of coffee still warm in my hand. Luckily, I still had a few minutes to spare to get changed and enjoy my morning drink before starting my shift. 

I had a good feeling about today. I had slept well and I actually felt happy. Though, I believed that was mostly due to the fact that my boyfriend had been home after being gone for his job for five days on end. 

It felt great having him in my arms again. 

Spencer was an agent with the BAU, the department of the FBI that focused on the behaviors of the criminals based on profiles. While I always thought his job was incredibly interesting and loved hearing about how he and the team had caught a serial killer, the fear and anxiety I felt about Spencer getting hurt on the job took the upperhand most of the time. 

I was happy to have him home, even if it was just for short periods of time. 

As I started getting changed into my scrubs, my phone rang in my pocket. A smile made its way to my lips as my boyfriend’s name appeared on the screen and picked up, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder whilst taking my jeans off. 

“Hiya, Pretty Boy.” 

I could hear the smile in his voice as he answered. “Hi, Lovely. You got to work okay?” 

“Yeah, I did. Just got in,” I replied and pulled on my pink scrubs. “There’s some leftover pancakes from my playdate with Jack and Henry yesterday morning in the fridge for you, if you like.” 

“Oh, yeah, I found the pancakes – thanks.” He chuckled. “Why didn’t you wake me up when you left?”

I grabbed the phone in my hand again and closed my locker with my free hand. “I tried to,” a chuckle rolled off my lips. “You were fast asleep, Baby. I couldn’t get you to wake up, no matter how hard I tried.” 

“Ahh, that was the tickling feeling I felt on my face,” he mumbled, chuckling again. 

Remembering how I had tried to kiss him awake that morning, peppering his face with featherlight kisses made my smile widen. “Oh, no, that wasn’t me. I’m sure that was Mrs. Volaski’s cat on your face,” I told him jokingly, which made him let out an airy laugh. “Will you be home tonight?” 

“I think so. Haven’t heard from JJ, so it seems we��ll be getting our two days off after all,” he said and I could tell he was smiling widely. The idea of Spencer being home when I got home caused flutters in my stomach. “I’m cooking for you tonight.”

The flutters quadrupled. Not only was I going to have the sweetest boy in my arms for one more night, he was going to cook for me. Knowing him, that would mean the most romantic night that was going to end in bed. 

“Ooh, I’m gonna be proper spoiled tonight, huh?” I asked, smirking. 

“You betcha,” said Spencer. “My princess deserves to be spoiled.” 

I couldn’t stop the blush from spreading across my cheeks as I made my way out of the locker room and into the briefing room where most of my coworkers already were. “I’m looking forward to it,” I said, softly, so my coworkers wouldn’t hear. “I gotta go, Spence, the briefing’s starting.” 

“All right. See you tonight, Lovely.” 

“See you tonight.” 

I hung up the phone and tucked it into the pocket of my scrub shirt before joining my coworker’s side. Aisha smiled at me, one of those teasing smiles she would always give me whenever we were talking about either one of our love lives. 

“The genius is home?” she asked, nudging me with her elbow. 

I nodded my head and was unable to hide my smile from her or anyone else. “Yeah. He’s cooking for me tonight,” I said, almost proudly. 

“Ooh, proper romantic.” Aisha wiggled her eyebrows teasingly. 

 The two of us fell silent as the head of our department started on the debrief, though I couldn’t stop thinking about what was going to happen tonight in the confines of mine and Spencer’s apartment. However, even that didn’t help me with what was about to come. 

What I thought would be an amazing day, turned out to be one of the worst days of my life. Everything seemed to be going wrong, the family of patients were yelling at me and I felt like the world was crashing down on me. It wasn’t until Minnie Wilder, one of my younger patients, started having an episode, when I officially crashed. She was throwing everything she could find, her screams bouncing off the walls. As I made my way inside to help her, I was immediately greeted by the glass of water that resided on her bedside table. 

I wasn’t fast enough to duck and the glass shattered onto my forehead, splintering into a thousand pieces, a few of which caught into my forehead. The sting of pain rushed through me before I could possibly register anything else in the room. My coworkers quickly filed into the room to calm Minnie down, only Aisha turned to me. 

“You okay, honey?” she asked, inspecting my face for any wounds other than the one gash on my forehead. “Come on, I’m gonna get you stitched up.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me toward an empty room. 

I sighed as I allowed Aisha to clean out the wound. “I thought this was gonna be a good day,” I told her, my bottom lip sticking out into a pout. “What has gotten into her?” 

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened in there, honey,” Aisha said. “You know Minnie Walker. You know she gets these episodes.”

Aisha finished stitching up the slash in my forehead as I spoke. “Yeah, I know. It’s just – This day is filled with – I don’t know, today just kinda sucks.” 

“You still got some vacation days, right?” I nodded my head in response. “Use them to take a day off. You’re going home and enjoy your boyfriend’s time off. Let him spoil you.” 

I started to object, but the look on Aisha’s face said enough. She was right. This wasn’t going to end well if I kept going. I was going to end up with more than just a gash in my forehead. There was only one way to end the madness of today and that was by cuddling up to Spencer. 

After the floor manager okayed my taking a vacation day, I made my way to my locker and quickly changed back into jeans and a t-shirt before exiting towards my car. For the entire duration of the drive, I was able to withhold my tears, but as soon as I entered the apartment Spencer and I shared, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. The familiarity of the scent that screamed ‘home’, but especially the familiar honey-brown eyes that found mine when I walked in, made the walls around my heart crumble. 

“Lovely?” Spencer said, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

The words couldn’t pass my lips, the tears choking me up as I held out my arms for him to take me into a hug, undoubtedly making me look like an infant wanting their mommy to hold them. Spencer didn’t wait for me to explain what was going on and simply wrapped me up into a hug, holding me tight and allowing me to sob into his shirt. 

I inhaled his scent and cherished the way his arms felt around my waist, the way I could feel his heart beating against mine. Allowing my breathing to sync up with his, I finally calmed down. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, noticing how I had grown into putty in his arms. 

He carefully pushed me off him, but made sure I didn’t go too far by keeping me at arm’s length. His eyes landed on my stitched-up forehead and I noticed how they widened in shock. Instead of making a big deal out of it and panicking, Spencer stayed calm and placed his hands flat on my cheeks. 

I loved when he did that. His palms would cover the expanse of my jaw whilst his long, tender fingers reached into my hair, his thumbs caressing the apples of my cheeks. 

“A patient threw a glass at me,” I explained, chuckling at how ridiculous it now all seemed. 

“What?” 

I placed my hands on his wrists in hopes that would keep his hands in place. It would allow the warmth to seep from my cheeks to the rest of my nearly-freezing body. 

My thumbs fled across his skin in slow strokes, mostly so the movement would calm me down more than it would help him. “It’s not like she attacked me. One of my patients just had an episode. I just have terrible timing.”

For someone who just had the worst day of her life, I seemed pretty calm. I couldn’t be stressed around Spencer for too long. He would always kiss the stress away or cuddle the bad thoughts away or he would place his hands on my face and just hold it there, allowing the warmth back into my bones. 

“Do you wanna watch Hocus Pocus and eat some chocolate?” he then suggested. “I got your favorite.” 

My eyes lit up at the thought. He smiled at my reaction before dipping down and kissing me softly. His hands then moved away from my face and one of them moved to engulf my hand instead, bringing the warmth to my palm and fingertips. 

Spencer’s hands were just lovely like that. Whether they were on my face, holding my hand or placed on the small of my back to guide me somewhere. It was always tender. Always so insanely warm. 

Once Spencer had procured the chocolate and I had put the movie at the ready, the two of us cuddled up on the sofa. For an hour and thirty-six minutes, all I could hear was the cackle of the witches mixed with Spencer’s steady heartbeat, the stress of the day long forgotten. 

My head laid in his lap while I fidgeted with his fingers, intertwining and detangling them with mine. I didn’t even notice I was doing it until Spencer pointed it out. 

“You enjoying yourself there?” he asked, an amused tone in his voice. 

I intertwined our fingers again and brought them to my chest before turning to look up at him. “I just love your hands.” 

A smile appeared on Spencer’s lips. “And I love you.” 

He bent down to kiss me deeply. Once he straightened up again, I couldn’t help but grin. 

“Ditto.” 

Everything taglist: @calamitykaty @n0wornever @wanniiieeee @unnowhatthisistbh

Criminal Minds Taglist: 

@boimlers-gonna-boim @samsbirks @tinaasthings @dysphoricsanity @love4lando @elenamoncada-ibarra @r-3dlips @magstheslayer @astess @sylvcaplath @tillypettitt @mordechaisworld @ssameadows @spikedhe4rt @spencers-bookworm @littlemissaddict @kirbybean

[dryndelicate]

After arriving in Hamburg, my beautiful home city, we hit the water. With the large international harbor on the Elbe and the Alster lake on either side of the inner city, that's an obvious choice and it's nice to just see things glide by from the boats. The dress code in Hamburg is a bit more understated, with Gigi getting it absolutely right.

Welcome to Hamburg, finally, @gigiprinceton

[paganimagevault]

The 'Odin' from Lejre 900 CE. Note the two birds, possibly Huginn and Muninn. Also the two animal faces behind, possibly the wolves Geri and Freki. I included an illustration of Odin by Carl Emil Doepler from 1882. It's very similar in style to this object that was only discovered in 2009. Images from kokita-eri-historiadelarte blogspot and Ole Mallin @ Roskilde Museum.

"In his [Archbishop Unni's] days the Hungarians devastated not only our Saxony and the other provinces on this side of the Rhine but also Lotharingia and Francia across the Rhine. The Danes, too, with the Slavs as allies, plundering first of all the Transalbingian Saxons and then ravaging the country this side of the Elbe, made Saxony tremble in great terror. Over the Danes there ruled at that time Harthacanute Gorm, a savage worm, I say, and not moderately hostile to the Christian people. He set about completely to destroy Christianity in Denmark, driving the priests of God from its bounds and also torturing very many of them to death."

-Adam of Bremen. History of the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen (Records of Western Civilization Series) (p. 62). Columbia University Press.

[power-chords]

A rough translation, which I had to tinker with somewhat, but nevertheless:

The last of this clan, my aunt Martha, who went to Assenheim to fetch bread on the day she left, also perished in Minsk with her husband Moritz Adler and their young son. The names of the whole family are engraved on the memorial wall in Frankfurt's Jewish Museum.

But not Martin. Like his father Max, a front-line fighter in the First World War, captain of the Friedberg soccer team (the Jewish team) in the 1920s, he was a short, stocky, brash “tough guy.” He beat me up often enough, just messing around, when he visited us in Griesheim, but I always enjoyed seeing him and visiting the family in Frankfurt just as much. We did this often, even though Aunt Ida was a real obsessive when it came to cleaning and tidying. She would have been a good Japanese housewife; she always liked to take off our shoes before we stepped onto her polished floors.

One day in 1938, when things were getting worse, there was an unpleasant incident outside her apartment. A group of Hitler Youth attacked Martin's brother Alfred at the front door and beat him up.

The shouting drew Martin, who was just 14 years old at the time, to the window. He grabbed a kitchen knife, jumped out of the window, ran towards the mob and struck at them with his fist and knife. After the HJ punks had run off with a few stab wounds, all hell broke loose. His father just managed to get home to take Martin away before the police arrived. A friend took him by motorcycle to Nathan and Frieda in Kaiserslautern, and from there to a hiding place. I always thought it was my father who managed this, but he later denied it to me, so it was someone else after all.

Max had to go to the Gestapo for a tough interrogation, but apparently he was able to stick to his claim that the boy had simply run away; at least he was released after a while. The family, I think with the involvement of my father, managed to introduce Martin to an American Quaker whose group was organizing a ship transport for Jewish orphans to America. They provided him with forged papers — whose statements later became all too true, of course — and brought him by ship to the USA, where he arrived a few weeks before my father and was entrusted to a Jewish family in Brooklyn.

There he went to “high school,” joined the US Army at 18 in 1942, married Doris Kimmel from Brooklyn at 19, took part in the invasion in June 1944 in Patton's Third Army, Fourth Armored Division (as a Jeep messenger between shot-up tanks on the battlefield — not a pleasant job, as he assured me afterwards), took part in the liberation of Ders, passed through Frankfurt in the final battle in April 1945, and ended his army career as mayor of Pilsen, a post he held for a week thanks to his knowledge of German, before the Americans were withdrawn to the other side of the Elbe. Then the hard years began, until he found good work as a skilled carpenter in New Haven, Connecticut, and settled there, where he died in 1983. His two sons Barry and Michael are splendid fellows, one the head of special education in the state of Connecticut, the other a lawyer in New York; they in turn have four children; they are — unlike the three of us — still practicing Jews, and so this branch of the family continues to exist.

[kendrene]

“I think you’re angry.”

Ava opens her eyes. Pushes up from where she’s lying, where Lilith left her, sprawled starfish-style on the training mats, clothes soaked through with sweat. She blinks.

“Pardon?”

“I think,” Mary’s foot taps against her side. “That you’re mad.”

“At Lilith?” Ava would wiggle away, but she’s too tired. “Nah.” As far as Ava understands it, Lilith was next in line to become Warrior Nun. After the last, the one they all talk of in hushed whispers when they think Ava’s not listening. When Mary isn’t around. Instead Lilith was passed over once and now Ava is here, and it doesn’t matter that she was a vacant body at the right time. To Lilith it doesn’t. “I’m not angry at her.” She’s had a lifetime worth of people punching down. It would be energy wasted. “I’m not mad at anybody. So.” Ava lifts a hand, makes a shooing gesture. Mary doesn’t move.

Annoying.

“Bullshit.” The toe of Mary’s boot is steel-clad, and when she digs in more roughly it actually begins to hurt. “I think you’re lying.”

“Whatever.” Mary draws her leg back, foot threatening more poking, and Ava rolls to her side. Pushes on all fours before it can connect. “Look, if you could go and do your thinking elsewhere—”

“Nope.” Ava expects more prodding, but Mary holds a hand down for her to take. Open. Beckoning. “Come on. I’ll show you something that’ll help.”

“I said I’m not mad!” Ava is starting to feel somewhat irritated. She just wants to flop back on the mats and close her eyes. Sleep, maybe. The halo burns, coal nestled in the cradle of her shoulder blades, a shower of embers down her spine. Every spot that Lilith hit during their sparring session — and she hit many — hurts. A nap sounds nice. Much better than this thing Mary insists she wants to show her. Nothing can be more important than sleep. If Ava could pick, she’d sleep for a week.

But she doesn’t have a choice, because Mary is dragging her to a corner of the training facility she’s never seen the other recruits use. There, a bag hangs from a hook, the kind Ava’s seen Sylvester Stallone work on in Rocky. She still remembers watching the movie with Diego late one night, the TV muted, fear of discovery far outpaced by the thrill of doing something that they shouldn’t. They’d devoured the whole saga over the course of a sticky hot summer, Diego shadowboxing in what little space they had, Ava coaching him from her sickbed in the corner.

“Here.” A tangle of wraps thwaps Ava in the chest, and as she catches them, instincts kicking in, she wonders what it is with these people. They’re always either hitting her, or throwing something at her.

“I don’t know how to put them on.” Mary heaves a sigh, steps in to help. It’s a few minutes of fighting, of colorful curses, and once Mary’s hands fall away Ava has no heart to tell her the cotton wound tight around her hands feels all wrong.

“Now gloves.” Mary fits the boxing gloves to her hands, ties the straps around her wrists, clicks her tongue and ties them tighter. “Okay.” She gives Ava a shove toward the heavy bag that’s probably meant to be encouraging. In her fatigued state it risks toppling her over. “You’re all set.”

Ava is tired. Ava’s exhausted, really, but Mary seems hellbent on teaching her to fight. In all fairness, she could use the help.

“Okay.” She squares off, facing the bag. One foot slightly offsetting the other, hands up in front of her face, mimicking a guard position she’s only seen in films. Elbows tucked in. “Now what?”

“Now you punch it.”

“Now I—” Ava lets her hands drop. Turns around, incredulous. “That’s it? I just punch it? Aren’t you going to give me tips about stance, or something? What if it’s all wrong?”

“How the hell should I know if it’s wrong?” Mary nods to the bag. “That’s not the point. The point is I want you to punch the bag.”

“This is stupid.” Ava attacks one of the straps with her teeth, trying to undo it. “Get these off. I’m going to go take a nap.”

“Will you punch it just once? Trust me,” Mary grabs her by an elbow, surprisingly gentle, and steers her back to the bag. “Once. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“If I punch it once, will you leave me alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Deal.”

Ava closes her eyes. Draws in a breath, and when she opens them she’s Rocky in the ring. The last seconds of the last round against Apollo Creed. She lets fly a jab and the shock of the impact races up the length of her arm, numbing before sudden pain flares in her wrist.

“Again.” Mary says, and Ava pivots on the axis of her hip, bringing her other fist to bear. Left. Right. A strange feeling licks up from her gut, the taste of bile but more burning. Ava keeps punching.

“I think you’re angry at the hand you’ve been dealt.” Mary has moved behind her, is leaning in close to speak in her ear. “I think you’re mad that you died, that you had to leave your friend — Diego, is it? — behind.” A mean left hook has the bag swinging wildly. “And you’re angry because you’re alive, but you can’t live your life.” Mary lowers her voice, each word like salt on a wound Ava didn’t want to admit was still bleeding. “You were trying when we found you. You just wanna live, kid. Didn’t think your second chance would come with all these strings attached. Am I right?”

“Shut up.” Ava twists around, arm pulled back for a gut punch. If she weren’t crying, if she was a bit faster, if she actually knew what she’s doing, it might have a chance to connect. She has no clue. So it doesn’t. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ava throws herself forward blindly, seeking a clinch. Mary’s arms wrap around her, the fire winking out, and Ava crashes forward, face pressed to the crook of Mary’s neck.

“It’s okay.” Mary shushes, fingers splayed almost perfectly over the shape of the halo in Ava’s back. Like she’s done this before. Held another bearer just as close. “You’re okay, kid.”

“It’s not fair.” Ava wants to wrench herself away. She wants to never let go. “I didn’t want her to die.” The one she has no name for. The one who had died in the church, so that her friends could survive. So that Ava could live.

“I know.” Mary’s fingers twitch. Dig in. The halo grows hot. “Neither did I. But it is what it is, and it isn’t your fault.”

/

The gloves are old and well creased, inside padding so worn Ava’s knuckles still smart hours after she’s put them to use. Mary gave them to her. “She’d want you to have them” she’d said before leaving Ava at the door of her room.

She sits on the bed as the day outside dies, turning the right glove over and over. Follows the stitching with the tip of a finger, past the logo of a sports company that doesn’t exist anymore, to the inside of the glove’s strap where it’s attached at the wrist. To the set of initials hastily scribbled in black there, the ink mostly faded.

S

Mary had explained that, too. Who it stood for and what she had meant.

Ava clutches the glove to her chest. Curls over it, nose brushing warm leather. It smells of something sharp, something else a little woody.

She has a name now.

Her name was Shannon.

[bivwifeybunny]

I messaged you my voting for Foolish proof :) I would like a cc!punz x afab!reader smut with some praise about how reader is “such a good slut” or “my perfect girl taking me so well”.

Maybe the power went out in Punz and reader’s apartment and it’s rainy, Punz and Reader build a pillow blanket fort of sorts (in this world Punz has a damn couch XD) and then things get spicy inside.

Pairing(s): Punz x afab!reader

Warning(s): SMUT (MINORS DNI), cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, hair pulling, slight dacryphilia, praise galore, lots of nicknames, literally so many nicknames (baby, princess, sweetheart, slut, perfect girl, honey), so much fluff

A/N: Okay- this might be my favorite fic I've ever written. It's just so soft and sweet and cute! Agh I'm in love with it. I hope you like it as much as I do :) Also hurray to me getting back in the swing of things with fics, school is still stressful but I feel a lot better about it as of now :) Also also hurray I actually finished a fic before 4 am :D Anyways, yeah, enjoy!

“Punz?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m bored.” You muttered into the silence of the room. You and Punz were laying on your bed, holding hands as you stared up at the ceiling. The power had been out for about… oh. Only 3 minutes. Damn this rain.

“Me too.” You both turned to look at each other, a smile forming on your faces as you gazed at each other. God, he’s so pretty.

Your smile morphed into a smirk as an idea popped into your head.

“What? What is it?”

“Let’s make a pillow fort!” You grinned, very pleased with your suggestion, already making your way to your feet and tugging him up as well.

“Fine, only because I know you need supervision.” He teased, letting you pull him into the living room.

“Yeah right. You wanna build a pillow fort just as bad as I do.” You nudged him with your elbow, his smirk fading into a soft smile that told you all you needed to know. You ran around the house, gathering all the blankets and pillows you could, pilling them on the floor in front of the couch. Now having moved in with Punz, you were sure to get the boy some damn furniture. So you had Punz move the coffee table out of the way before getting to work.

You didn’t realize how difficult this would be. If anything you thought it’d be easier with Punz here to lend a helping hand. What you didn’t anticipate, however, was that Punz would get distracted so easily, resulting in way too many pillow fights. Oh who are you kidding, there’s no such thing as too many pillow fights.

Giggles echoed throughout the house as you ran away from Punz who was chasing you, pillow in hand. “Get back here!” He laughed.

“Never!” You giggled, ending up running into a corner, only a table between you and Punz.

“You ran yourself into a corner. All according to plan.” Punz smirked.

“According to plan, my ass.” You rolled your eyes with a laugh. You scramble to think of an out and the best you can come up with is throwing your pillow at him and trying to run past him. You squeal as he grabs your waist and picks you up before you can sneak past him.

“Gotcha! Told you, all according to plan.” He smirked in that beautiful way he does whenever he wins. He leaned up and kissed you. A kiss you’re more than happy to reciprocate, hands holding the sides of his face. A giggle escapes you again and pretty soon you’re both giggling into the kisses.

Finally he sets you back down after walking the two of you back to your unfinished fort. “Okay, let’s actually finish this thing now. Without any more interruptions.” You shot him a look to which he held up his hands.

“Fine, no more interruptions. But no promises for when you finish.” He smirked, laughing when you rolled your eyes playfully and went back to finishing up the fort.

When the fort is done, you’re eager to climb inside, poking your head back out to beckon Punz inside. And soon you’re both sitting in the pillow fort, admiring your shoddy craftsmanship. “Wow. Looks just as shitty as I thought it would- ow!” Punz chuckled when you elbowed him.

“Not like you were much help. I’d like to see you do better.” You challenged.

“Of course I could, but why would I when I’m already sitting in the loveliest pillow fort ever?”

“Oh so now it’s lovely?” You asked as he leaned in closer.

“It was always lovely.” He muttered against your lips. His hands roamed your body as he shifted, gently leaning you back and hovering over you. His lips made their way down your neck as his hands reached under your shirt, caressing your sides lovingly.

“Punz..” You breathed out, one hand carding through his blonde locks.

“Just relax, baby. M’gonna take care of you.” He whispered against your skin, slipping your shirt over your head. His lips trailed down your collarbones, achingly slow for your liking but he wouldn’t let up. His kisses seemed to reach every part of you, appreciating every inch of skin they touched. Finally he took one of your nipples in his mouth, hot tongue swirling around the bud while his fingers toyed with the other.

A gasp tumbled past your lips, hips bucking up in an attempt to seek any sort of relief.

Instead of giving in, he continued on his journey of worship, mouth and hand switching places, giving your nipples equal attention. Once he felt they had been given the proper amount of attention, he trailed his kisses down your stomach, pressing a teasing kiss to each of your hips.

“Punz,” You whined, “Don’t tease me.” You huffed, eliciting a chuckle from the man.

“Sorry, honey, I just couldn’t help myself.” He smiled, helping you out of your shorts and underwear, exposing your wet folds to the cool air. He continued placing his kisses down your hips and onto your thighs, sprinkling in a couple of nips and hickeys to the inside of your thighs, oh so close to where you needed him most, but not quite there.

You squirmed, making him chuckle again. He finally lowered his mouth down to your pussy, gently blowing on your clit. You whined loudly, hips bucking, hole clenching around nothing.

“Please just do something. Please, Punz.” You pleaded desperately, his laugh sending a buzz to your core once more.

“But I have been doing something, sweetheart. Afraid you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.” He teased, lifting your legs to sit on his shoulders, but keeping you still, awaiting an answer.

“I- You know what I mean-” Your eyes welled with tears of frustration, trying to push your hips to his face, only to be denied. “Just eat me out already. Please.”

“Of course, princess.” He concedes, lowering his face onto your pussy, tongue alternating between lapping at your folds and circling your clit.

Your thighs instinctually clench, being held in place by Punz’s hands. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as you moan out in pleasure.

“Doin’ so good. My pretty baby.” He mumbled against your pussy, one hand moving to push two fingers into your hole. He pumps them in and out, smirking against your clit, feeling your pussy eagerly suck them in. “Such a good little slut, aren’t you?”

You whine loudly, nodding your head as your fingers tug on his hair, making him groan into your pussy. “Punz,” You pant, “More please- faster-”

He slips in a third finger, just like you ask, speeding up his hand which has you moaning like a slut above him.

“I’m- I’m close-” You moan. “Can I cum? Can I please cum, Punz? I’ve been so good. Please?” You ramble desperately.

“Go ahead, baby. Make a mess on my fingers.” He mutters, going right back to sucking on your clit as you clench around his fingers. He helps you through your high before cleaning you up with his tongue, making sure to lick his fingers clean. He moves back up to hover above you, capturing your mouth with his, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Meanwhile, his hand busies itself with pulling down his pants and boxers. He pulls away from the kiss to tug his shirt off his head, before giving himself a couple pumps. His cock is flushed such a pretty red, the tip weeping, begging to be in your mouth. But that would have to wait for another day, as Punz is lining up his cock to your entrance.

“Ready, baby?” He asks, chuckling when you nod eagerly. “Use your words, princess.”

“M’ready.” You mumble, impatient for him to stretch you out. And stretch you out he does. You both moan as he pushes in.

“God, so wet. So tight, baby.” He whispers in your ear, pressing a few kisses just below. He allows you a few moments to adjust, quick to begin thrusting as soon as you give him the go ahead.

His thrusts are slow and deep, savoring every brush of your walls around his cock. His mouth occupies itself with marking up your neck.

You whine and whimper at his deep thrusts, the head of his cock just perfectly grazing your sweet spot. “God, Punz. You feel so good.”

“My perfect girl, taking me so well. So good for me.” He pants, moving his head back up to kiss you once more. He groans against your lips, hips speeding up but still hitting just as deep. “You drive me crazy, baby. Make me feel so good.” He moans, feeling your walls clench around him. “You gettin’ close, honey? Come on, baby, cream all over my cock. Let go for me.”

And just like that, you have his hips stuttering as your walls flutter around his cock, sending him hurtling towards his own orgasm. His thrusts slow as your pussy milks him of all of his cum. He leans his head against your shoulder, panting softly.

After a few moments, he gently pulls out and kisses your cheek with a small mumble about being right back. He climbs back into the fort with a damp washcloth and a water bottle, immediately going to clean you up, handing you the water. He tosses the washcloth aside when he’s done, laying in the spot besides you and pulling you into his arms.

You melt into his embrace, a content smile on your face as he kisses the top of your head.

“You know, I think the pillow fort was a good idea after all.” He teased.

Taglist: @jordyncandy @foxilia @lacunaanonymoused @remiwastaken

Punz taglist: @mayempress @alexwashere82

Join the Taglist

[strawberrystepmom]

elb handmade pine side tie lace silk set

[kerovous]

The guard - der Wächter by Ralf Kaiser Via Flickr: I've wanted to stand here in this spot for years when a new day begins over Dresden's old town. I've been here several times in the evening and at night and have photographed this perspective a few times, but never at sunrise. However, since sunrises are usually quite early in the morning and I always preferred to go to the mountains when I was out and about at this time, this has never happened so far. However, yesterday the opportunity presented itself. I actually decided to wait for sunrise on the other side of the Elbe to take a photo of the old town panorama. I also took the photo (I'll show it to you in the New Year, so I'm off to a good start), but I didn't wait until sunrise and quickly came over here again. I think it was worth it. Ich wollte schon seit Jahren einmal hier an dieser Stelle stehen, wenn über der Altstadt von Dresden einer neuer Tag beginnt. Abends und Nachts war ich schon mehrfach hier und hab diese Perspektive auch schon ein paar Mal fotografiert, doch noch nie bei Sonnenaufgang. Da jedoch Sonnenaufgänge in der Regel recht früh am Morgen sind und ich, wenn ich um diese Zeit schonmal unterwegs war, immer lieber in die Berge gefahren bin, ist es bisher nie dazu gekommen. Gestern bot sich jedoch die Gelegenheit. Ich hatte mich eigentlich dazu entschlossen auf der anderen Seite der Elbe auf den Sonnenaufgang zu warten um ein Foto des Altstadt Panoramas zu machen. Das Foto hab ich auch gemacht (ich zeig es Euch im Neuen Jahr, da hab ich schonmal einen guten Start), jedoch hab ich nicht bis Sonnenaufgang gewartet sondern bin auf die Schnelle nochmal hier rüber. Ich finde, es hat sich gelohnt. more of this on my website at: www.shoot-to-catch.de

[engelsindleuchtfeuer]

Walking through the picturesque streets of Cardinal Hill, you find Ludwig Engel, the 31 year old mechanic at Romano’s originally from Dresden, Saxony, Germany. Living alongside them in such a small town, you know that they're compassionate and , but what you might not know is that they are a human, and that they’re hiding something… ― Max Riemelt, bisexual, male, and he/him.

previous threads - visage - musings - wanted connections

current threads - mood board

Name: Ludwig Johann Engel

Alias: Lud, Luddy, Ludo, Lutz

Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/Him

Age: 31

Birthdate: 11/15/1959

Big Three: Scorpio, Taurus, Capricorn

Occupation: mechanic at Romano's and part time boxing coach

Height: 5’11”

Hometown: Dresden, Saxony, Germany

Family: late mother (Greta Engel), father (Johann Engel), late older brother (Gunther Engel), younger sister (Katrin Engel), youngest sister (Anna Maria Engel),

Friends: N/A

Relationship Status: single

Sexuality: bisexual (I couldn't have a max muse and not make him bisexual let's be real)

Other Relationships: Sabine Nachreiner (his childhood best friend and his first love, though it was thought to be unrequited for most of his life because he was too afraid to ruin their friendship.)

Character Inspiration: Joey Tribianni - Friends, He's a Samantha, Troy Barnes - Community,

TW: war, communist germany*, multiple character death, suicide, bombs, DAMN

Ludwig Johann Engel was born into a very modest family in Dresden. A city that is marked by beautiful architecture and rich history. He is a middle child of four children. Gunther, Ludwig, Katrin and Anna Maria who was born when he was 12. His father, Johann, worked at the port as a marine mechanic. His mother, Greta was a teacher. They taught their children loyalty, intelligence, hard work and the importance of family. Ludwig was very bright. Curious and very eager to learn. He excelled greatly in school. Particularly in subjects like literature and history. He found a lot of comfort in stories about heroes and adventure. Being the youngest of the two sons, he really idolized his older brother Gunther. Ludwig was a spirited child and he practically shadowed everything Gunther did. From soccer to exploring the Elbe river; they spent countless hours together. Making their own fun because they were not allowed a lot of the forms of entertainment that were available on the West side of the Berlin Wall. These moments had really fostered in him an appreciation for nature. And a longing for freedom that would become so significant to him later. Gunther wasn't just a brother, but a friend and mentor; teaching him things like how to ride a bike and the complexities of growing up.

Gunther had introduced young Ludwig to the world of underground boxing, which he instantly fell in love with. It became an outlet for his own emotions; a way to channel his frustrations into something much more productive. Because of this he developed a strong sense of camaraderie and discipline. They were the best of friends and nothing could pull them apart. Or at least that's what they thought. That's what everyone thought.

But the Cold War was intensifying fast -- the allure of fighting for freedom and against the grips of communism was becoming too strong for Gunther. So he enlisted in the Bundeswahr. Ludwig felt admiration for his brother but also fear, grappling with the risks his brother faced. His mother, Greta, was nurturing and supportive during these times but she really struggled with the weight of expectations after her eldest son joined the military. She wanted to shield her sons from the uncertainties of the world but it was becoming increasingly hard to do so. Father Johann was almost the opposite, seemingly trying to avoid the topic of war as much as he could. He remained pragmatic and stoic, an attempt to maintain some normalcy, continuing to work tirelessly to provide for his family.

Ludwig, who was now growing into a man and not a boy, struggled with the weight of expectations. He desperately wanted to make his family proud, especially after Gunther's enlistment. The pressures of adulthood impending were incredibly daunting. He felt extremely lost and he grappled with attempting to live up to Gunther's legacy while also trying to make an identity for himself.

And then tragedy struck. Gunther was killed in action. A military operation gone wrong. The loss of his only brother completely shattered his world. He was consumed with grief and guilt. He tried so hard to truly understand his brother's life and sacrifice. Struggling to cope, he became withdrawn. Ludwig felt that no one, not even his parents, could understand the true depth of his loss.

After Gunther's death, Ludwig's world turned upside down and then sideways. He was in a deep state of grief and he felt completely disconnected from everyone. His family, friends and his community. The loss had created a huge hole and a rift in their modest and picture perfect family dynamic. Greta became increasingly withdrawn and her worry for Ludwig was undeniably palpable. She couldn't take the loss of her first son and the metaphorical loss of her second, so she succumbed to her own demons and took her own life. Johann focused on his work in hopes of providing stability amid the chaos and distracting himself from the loss of his wife and son. The warmth of their family dinners grew ice cold, now filled to the brim with silence and unspoken emotions.

The Cold War continued to wreak its havoc and Ludwig really felt a strong pull towards the military. Inspired by the stories of valor his brother often wrote to him about. He yearned to embody the bravery and strength he had admired in his brother. In a moment of sheer desperation, Ludwig [REDACTED]. The act of this was not only a means to escape his own life but also attempt to find closure and walk in Gunther's footsteps. To feel the connection that had so abruptly been severed.

When Ludwig enlisted in the Bundeswahr he found himself thrusted into a world of harsh trainings and the stark realities of life in the military. The discipline and physicality of military training really appealed to his background in boxing and allowed him to connect with fellow soldiers. Unfortunately he did also encounter the dark aspects of military life; looming threats of conflict and destruction, the pressures to conform and the emotional toll of being away from his father and his little sisters.

His service was riddled with a growing awareness of the complexities of war. He initially saw it as a way to prove himself and honor his late brother but he quickly realized the gravity of his decision. His friendships with his squadmates became a deep well of strength for Ludwig but it did become a vulnerability for him. Forming deep connections with the men who faced the horrors with him. It was during a harrowing mission that he experienced yet another tragic event. Shattering his already fragile state of mind. His squad had encountered a field of landmines and he was one of the only survivors. He's haunted by that day, filled with grief and especially guilt over the lives that were lost. It pushed him into a state of despair, struggling with night terrors and isolation. His mental health quickly deteriorrted and he found it progressively harder to reconcile his own sense of duty following what he had witnessed. Long standing heroic ideals were suddenly replaced with actual reality. One that left him questioning his purpose and even his identity. A path that was once full of honor and strength became a prison in his own mind. Memories he could never escape.

Just as hastily as he had [REDACTED] he went and [REDACTED] at the first opportunity he could.

In the wake of all of these struggles, he looked for a fresh start. One where he didn't have memories haunting him on every corner he looked. He thought back on stories told to him by his childhood best friend, Sabine, about Cardinal Hill, Washington -- where her mother was from. A picturesque town that now felt like a nirvana. Far away from the turmoil in his life in Germany. It was comforting and daunting, symbolizing a chance to escape. Both his grief and the expectations he was constantly placing on his own shoulders. It represented a life where he could seek healing, live a simple and small life. But most importantly -- to rediscover parts of him that he had lost.

However, upon arriving to Cardinal Hill, he was met with another harsh reality. One of Sabine’s death. She had passed while he was serving. Stricken once more by grief, he stumbled upon a letter she had written confessing her own love for him. It hurt him greatly; reigningting feelings of regret and sorrow. With Gunther, he let fear hold him back from embracing a love that he could have had. All of these things created a raging storm within him. Forcing him to confront his demons.

Now, in Cardinal Hill, he has made the choice to confront his past head on and stop hiding from his feelings. It's a prison but also a refuge, sweet memories of Sabine reminding him of what he had lost. He tries to face the challenges of reconciling his grief. Hoping for redemption and healing in a town that gives him so many opportunities for growth.

Additional Information and Headcannons:

Ludwig attended the Friedrich Engels Military Academy in Dresden from the time he was 12 until he was 14 years old. It was supported by the Communist party of Germany and they indoctrinated heavily. Convincing students that the West side of German was terrible and that the East was the best. The Friedrich Engels Military Academy closed in 1990 following the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Ludwig has been really enjoying exploring the natural beauty of Cardinal Hill and often times with take pictures of the landscapes and wildlife.

He occasionally volunteers at the local gym to coach kids in boxing and offer free self defense classes. It gives him a way to channel his love for boxing and connecting with the community.

Ludwig has a secret love for poetry and classic literature. He always carries a worn out copy of Rainier Maria Rilke poems in his bag.

He has a small tattoo of a boxing glove and a star on his wrist in homage to his brother and their shared interest in boxing.

Ironically he also has an extremely big fear of heights. He struggles to climb tall structures and even looking down from high buildings which makes him extremely frustrated sometimes.

Ludwig has a passion for coffee and enjoys many different brewing methods at home. He will often times visit the local cafe to try different blends and shoot the shit with the baristas. He also will sometimes engage in deep conversations with strangers there. Discussing philosophy and the human condition, finding solace in hearing the thoughts of others.

Ludwig loves language and is always trying to improve his English speaking skills. He finds it very rewarding but also challenging with all the nuance he keeps uncovering. He practices by watching a lot of American media with the subtitles and without subtitles when he's feeling a challenge. (He also really enjoys American TV shows because the only TV shows they had in Eastern Germany were ones allowed by the communist party so there weren't many good ones to choose from.)

Television isn't the only media he likes in America - he also is quite fond of the music. He has a small collection of vinyl records. Mostly classic rock and folk music. He also is known to belt out classic rock anthems during karaoke nights. Which he is a big fan of.

He's a mechanic now because he started as a mechanic in the military but he's also kind of a gadget guy. He's fascinated with technology -- and enjoys tinkering with old electronics. Whether that means trying to repair them or repurpose them depends on many of his own factors. It gives him a sense of accomplishment when he can make something hum to life.

Ludwig has a pet bunny named Otto, whom he finds very calming. He enjoys to care for him and often talks to him as a way to process his thoughts without feeling crazy.

*the views I’ve written in this biography do not express my view of communism as a whole. as a german student of 12 years however, I am glad East Germans are able to now live in freedom and I recognize the hardships they faced during those times and me writing about them is not me trying to trivialize or romanticize it. Love y’all bye That being said, I’m a jelly donut. (I hope someone gets that jfk reference).

[queerasfact]

Hi! I love your podcast. How long is your suggestions list? 🤣🏳️‍🌈

Hahaha oh no you’re on to us! There’s 714 things on the list right now, so at the rate we’re making episodes now, that’s around 60 years of content. I don’t want to mislead people by having them think that if I add something to the list it means we will do an episode on it, but on the flip side, the list is definitely my go-to place when brainstorming new episode topics, so it’s much appreciated!

The most popular suggestions right now if you’re curious are:

The Public Universal Friend

Magnus Hirschfeld and the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft 

Alan Turing

David and Jonathan

Lile Elbe and The Danish Girl

Selma Lagerlöf

Mishima Yukio

-Alice

[calibansisland]

Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam. Marina Abramovic (antiseptic kitsch); Corita Kent: Green Fingers, King's Dream and I am the sacred words of the art - Shell Writing #3; Ana Lupas, On this side of the river Elbe

[devosopmaandag]

Dicht op de huid

Met het begrip 'Samizdat' werd clandestien verspreide literatuur tijdens de Sovjettijd aangeduid. Geproduceerd met de eenvoudigste middelen leidden deze boeken en geschriften een geheim leven. Zulke boeken werden uitsluitend binnenshuis gelezen. In het verspreiden ervan werd letterlijk het woord dicht op de huid gedragen. Het is een gedwongen omgang met het woord die we ons nu amper kunnen voorstellen.

Vorige week bezocht ik in het Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam 'On this Side of the River Elbe', een overzichtstentoonstelling van de in 1940 geboren Roemeense kunstenares Ana Lupas. Bijna al haar werken bezitten een sociale component. In de eerste zaal hangt het werk 'Coats to Borrow' uit 1990, bestaande uit zes handgemaakte jassen. Een ervan hangt half open en toont zelfgemaakte labels met namen als 'Egyes' en 'Daneaya'. Ze verspreidde de jassen onder haar kunstenaarsvrienden en vroeg ze hun naam erin te naaien en ze na dragen door te geven. In een wereld waarin elke vorm van persoonlijke expressie of afwijkende esthetiek op straffe van vervolging verboden waren, vormde de kring van dragers een gemeenschap van mensen die niet zozeer het woord maar een levenshouding dicht op de huid droegen.

Pas kwam na maanden een boek binnen: 'To Hold Your Heart In Your Teeth – The Visual Language of the Romanian Blouse' van Simona Bortiş-Schultz. Het boek is een persoonlijk gekleurd, cultuurhistorisch onderzoek naar de gebruikte ornamenten die vrouwen borduurden op blouses. Ze emigreerde als kind naar de Verenigde Staten en ontdekt gaandeweg de diepere betekenis van deze visuele traditie uit het land van haar ouders. De ornamenten dragen namen als De Kam – Wolf en Tanden – De Slang – Bloem, en staan respectievelijk voor: het uitkammen van het kwaad – bescherming tegen kwade geesten – herschepping – jeugd en verwelkende schoonheid.

Na de tentoonstelling van Ana Lupas ging ik naar galerie Fons Welters om de tentoonstelling van 'Tenant of Culture' te zien, de kunstenaarsnaam van Hendrickje Schimmel (1990). In haar inventieve sculpturen bekritiseert ze de de vervuilende en vraatzuchtige mode- en kledingindustrie. Ze hergebruikt en vervormt bestaande kledingstukken en accessoires en maakt gebruik van de in die industrie bestaande technieken en materialen.

Ik keek via de drie soorten kledingstukken als het ware naar het werk van een grootmoeder, een overgrootmoeder en een kleindochter. Ik had moeite met de 'High Art' waarin de sculpturen van de jongste thuis horen en willen horen – mijlenver verwijderd van Lupas' oude jassen die in hun zeggingskracht en gemeenschapszin in een ander tijdperk horen, en nog verder van de met engelengeduld geborduurde folkloreblouses.

Ik voelde weer eens het voorgoed verdwenen zijn van werelden waarin symboliek, ambacht en traditie, of het gedachtegoed van kunst, dicht op de huid worden gedragen. Daarvoor in de plaats is er nu een wereld van consumentisme waarin de artistieke kritiek erop, in het geval van Tenant of Culture, vooral voor de happy few in de beslotenheid van de kunst zelf blijft en de kunst als geheel in een ander soort marge dreigt te raken.