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ssa-dado · 1 month ago

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15 - Epistulae ad Lucilium

Aaron Hotchner x fem!professor!reader Genre: fluff... I think? Summary: Late at night, Aaron struggles to comfort his inconsolable son, Jack. Desperate, he turns to a book and a plush, gifts from you, which momentarily soothe Jack. However, work interrupts as another case calls him away, deepening the rift with his family. At the FBI, the team investigates a series of murders rooted in something up your alley. Warnings: DAD HOTCH DAD HOTCH DAD HOTCH, Haley being mad at him, CM case in detail. Word Count: 9.8k Dado's Corner: Not only did the brilliant mind of @c-losur3 inspired the "dad Hotch" part, but she also gave birth to Aaron "You sound exactly like her" Hotchner. Show her some love! This entire chapter is written from Aaron's POV. Fun fact: when he's with Jack, he’s simply Aaron. But the moment the phone rings, he shifts back into being Hotch. fun, right?

masterlist

It was late into the night, and the house was quiet... save for the soft hum of the baby monitor and Jack’s persistent cries echoing through the walls.

Aaron paced back and forth, cradling his crying son against his chest, his heart sinking a little more with each sob. He had tried everything - rocking Jack, singing lullabies in a low, soothing voice, even walking him in circles around the room. But nothing worked. Jack's cries, relentless and heartbreaking, filled the quiet house.

Jack was inconsolable.

Hotch was no stranger to pressure. He had faced down killers, stared into the eyes of danger, but this? This was different. This was Jack, and the stakes felt infinitely higher.

He had held off on trying this one last thing, but now, he had no choice. He paused, glancing at the small bookshelf in the corner of the room. There, among the rows of children’s books, sat one that he hadn’t reached for yet tonight. His eyes settled on the small brown plushie sitting nearby that had arrived months ago in a giant cardboard box - your gift.

It had been an unexpected surprise, that day. A package too big for the porch had appeared, and if it hadn’t been for the Croatian postage stamp, Hotch might’ve thought it was a mistake. But no, he knew it was from you. You had mentioned in one of your letters that you were off to Croatia for a teaching stint, and he'd expected maybe a postcard or a quick note, but instead, there was this - a large package filled with something quirky, something that was so... you.

When Haley had seen it sitting by the door, she’d raised her eyebrows, eyeing the box with suspicion. “What on earth is that?”

Hotch had smiled faintly, already guessing. “It’s from her.”

Opening the package had been an experience in itself. Nestled inside was the plushie - a strange-looking creature Haley hadn’t immediately recognized. Her brow had furrowed as she picked it up, holding it at arm's length. "Is this... a brown skunk?" she had asked, her tone teetering between amusement and confusion.

But Aaron had found it endearing, charming in that odd, thoughtful way. Attached to the plushie's tag was one of your signature sticky notes, written in your unmistakable blue ink. It read:

"Hi Jack, meet your new friend, the pine marten. I read that humans are the greatest threat to the European pine marten, hope you can prove them wrong. He's a cool guy! He is also the national animal of Croatia (a privilege reserved for a select few). P.S. Here's your first word in Croatian: Kuna. It means marten."

Aaron had smiled at the note, his heart warming as he imagined you carefully writing out those words, taking the time to craft something special for his son. The gift was thoughtful, filled with meaning, as all your gestures were.

But that wasn’t all. Beneath the plush toy lay a small book, its cover adorned with a cartoonish pine marten embarking on what looked like an adventure. There was another sticky note stuck to the front:

"To Jack's parents: Here’s a complimentary book with the pine marten’s adventures. You’ll find translations in English, but I encourage you to try reading it in Croatian. Aaron, if you ever actually attempt it, give me a call. I’m always up for a comedy show."

Haley had chuckled at that, shaking her head. “I always wonder how she comes up with these ideas…”

Aaron, flipping through the book, hadn’t replied, too caught up in your careful handiwork. Each page was thoughtfully illustrated, with colorful hand-lettering in the margins. You had even drawn little pine martens on the sticky notes, making it seem as if they were the ones doing the translating. You’d put so much thought into it that he could feel it in every page he turned.

And somehow, since the day Jack was born, that pine marten plushie had become his favorite - maybe he could feel the love and care that came with it, the way only children could.

Now, as he grabbed the toy and the book, a small glimmer of hope sparked in his chest. Jack’s cries had softened just a bit when he saw the plush marten.

Maybe this would work. It had to.

Aaron sat down in the creaking rocking chair, gently cradling Jack against his chest as he carefully opened the familiar book. The title, "Male Pustolovine Kune Borove", made him smirk as soon as he saw it, the memory of his first attempt at reading it aloud bringing an amused warmth to his chest. The way he had butchered the pronunciation was miserably laughable, even to him. He was certain you had picked it just for that reason, knowing full well he’d struggle, probably just to get a good laugh out of him.

And, knowing you, he was probably right.

"Alright, buddy," He murmured softly, his voice a low and soothing balm as he turned the first page. "Let’s see what Kuna is up to tonight."

Jack’s tiny fingers instinctively reached out for the plush pine marten, gripping it tightly as he nestled deeper into his father’s arms. The gentle rocking and familiar sound of Aaron’s voice seemed to finally calm the little boy, his sobs quieting, his body softening against Hotch’s steady frame. As he read, Aaron’s hand gently brushed through Jack’s soft hair, soothing him further with each tender stroke.

“You know, buddy,” He murmured, more to himself than anyone, his heart swelling with affection, “the person who gave you this book is very special to me, she’s one of the most amazing people I know. Of course," he added with a soft chuckle, “you come first. But she’s right up there.”

Jack, too young to understand the words, let out a soft sigh, comforted by the warmth of his father’s embrace and the gentle rhythm of the story. As Aaron continued to read, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to you. They always did, especially in quiet moments like this. It felt natural, comforting even, to talk to Jack about you - someone who meant so much to him, yet had been far away for so long. Aaron had always wanted you to meet Jack, and speaking about you made it feel as if, somehow, it brought you closer to him, closer to them.

“Did you know,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “she’s accepted a teaching position in Quantico? She could’ve gone anywhere, but she’s coming here. Closer to us. You’ll get to meet her soon.”

A small smile crept across his face as he thought about the letters you’d sent over the years. “Don't look at me like this, buddy, I liked getting her letters, even if she does like to make things difficult for me sometimes,” he said, glancing at the Croatian text in front of him with an amused sigh. “But I don't think I'm going to miss them, not at all. Not when she’ll be close enough to just… be here. And trust me, Jack, you’re going to love her, just like I do.”

Jack stirred slightly, his little hands gripping the pine marten even tighter, as if he already knew who his father was talking about.

He chuckled softly, glancing down at the beloved plush toy in his son’s arms. “You know, you’re inseparable from that pine marten all because of her,” Aaron said, his voice filled with warmth. “And here I am, reading you this story in Croatian... because of her too.”

He paused for a moment, watching as Jack’s eyelids began to droop, his tiny body relaxed against him. He couldn’t help the swell of love that filled him as he kissed his son’s forehead, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’ll meet her soon, Jack,” He whispered, his voice soft and full of affection. “And when she holds you for the first time, I need you to do me a favor, alright buddy? You have to avenge me,” he said with a playful glint in his eye. “Because she’s never going to miss a chance to mess with me. So, when you’re in her arms, you give her a look - like this,” Aaron made his best serious ‘Hotch’ face, one of his famous stoic expressions. “Make her think you’re onto her.”

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound barely above a whisper in the quiet nursery, but then he leaned in closer to Jack, his voice dropping to a playful, conspiratorial tone. “And listen, buddy,” he whispered, “if she ever starts saying words that sound like ‘Hegel’ or ‘Plato,’ you go ahead and start crying, just like you did earlier. Alright?” He smiled, brushing a gentle hand over Jack’s soft hair. “In the Hotchner household, we’re lawyers, little man. We don’t have time for all that abstract philosophy,” he teased, his grin widening. “You just make it clear to her, no funny business, okay?”

Jack sighed contentedly in his arms, his tiny fingers clutching the pine marten as he drifted off to sleep. He kissed his forehead once more, the weight of the day finally beginning to melt away as he continued to read, the warmth of the moment enveloping them both.

Just then, Haley appeared in the doorway, her hair tousled from sleep and her eyes filled with frustration. "Aaron, is he still crying?" she asked, though her tone softened when she saw Aaron sitting with Jack and the plush marten in his lap. "Are you reading him the brown skunk story again?" she asked, her voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

Aaron, too tired to defend himself, simply nodded. “It’s the only thing that works.”

Haley leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them with a half-smile. “Does it put Jack to sleep, or you, Aaron?”

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed on the side table. The noise cut through the soft moment like a knife, pulling him back into reality. He knew what it meant before he even looked at the screen.

Another case.

Haley’s smile faded instantly, replaced by a familiar frustration that he’d seen in her eyes too many times before. She straightened up, her voice rising just a bit. “Are you serious? It’s the middle of the night, Aaron. You’ve barely been home, and now you’re leaving again?”

Hotch rubbed his forehead, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He didn’t want to go, not tonight. But he had no choice. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, already reaching for his phone. “It’s a new case.”

Haley let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she turned to leave the room. "Of course it is," she muttered, her words fading into the stillness as her footsteps echoed down the hall, each step a progressively quieter reminder of the growing distance between them.

Hotch's heart clenched, a sharp ache spreading through him as he stood frozen, watching her retreat.

The nursery felt unnaturally heavier now, the excessive silence thick and oppressive.

He looked down toward Jack, who was still nested peacefully in his arms, his tiny chest rising and falling in the soft, rhythmic cadence of sleep. The gentle glow of the nightlight bathed his son’s face in warmth, casting a tender light over the innocence of his slumber.

The small pine marten, nestled against Jack's cheek, stared back at Hotch with its beady, lifeless eyes, but it seemed to carry a weight of its own, its presence a reminder of the thoughtfulness and care that had come with it, a symbol of the love that lingered even in absence. Jack's fingers clutched the toy tightly, as if it were the one constant in a world where his father’s presence was becoming less and less frequent.

Haley's words, bitter and sharp, lingered in the air like a distant storm, a shadow that refused to leave. And as Hotch stood there, caught between the quiet of his son’s peaceful sleep and the echo of Haley’s retreat, he couldn’t help but feel the vastness of everything slipping through his fingers.

He wanted nothing more than to stay here, to hold his son and be present. But the buzzing of his phone on the side table pulled him back to reality. With a heavy sigh, he glanced down at the screen. His heart sank even further.

“Hotchner,” he answered, his voice clipped with resignation.

As JJ's voice filled his ear with grim details of the new case, the weight of Haley’s words pressed even harder against his chest. It was the same cycle, always the same. Each time he left, Jack would wake up alone, Haley would grow more distant, and the gap between his family and his job would widen. His guilt gnawed at him, a relentless ache that never truly subsided.

But he couldn’t ignore the call.

He never could.

---

Hotch arrived at the FBI building late, his mind still replaying the scene at home, the way Haley had looked at him with a mix of frustration and defeat. The team was already gathered in the briefing room, the fluorescent lights too harsh for the late hour.

He still felt the pull from the nursery, the warmth of Jack’s small body against his chest. But now, here, the weight of duty replaced it. He had to push it aside, at least for now.

“We’ve got six confirmed victims so far,” JJ began, her voice level but laced with tension. “But the local police didn’t connect the dots until the sixth victim. The MO keeps changing with each murder, which is why it slipped through the cracks for so long.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his mind snapping to the present. “The unsub might be experimenting. They could be evolving, trying to find their signature. Or…” he paused, considering the alternative, “we could be dealing with someone who’s familiar with different methods, someone who knows how to disguise their work.”

Gideon crossed his arms, his expression unreadable but intense, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “What’s the timeline?”

JJ scanned her notes, her brow furrowed. “The first victim was found three months ago. Then the second and third within two weeks of each other. But the real concern is the escalation. Victims four through six were found in the past ten days.”

Hotch's mind raced through the details.

Three months.

Three months of missed opportunities. Every minute wasted in connecting the dots could’ve been a life saved. The guilt returned in a wave, a reminder of every moment he hadn’t been there, both at work and at home. He shook the thought off, burying it as deep as he could for now.

He had to focus.

“There’s no clear pattern in terms of location or victim profile,” JJ added, her voice quieter now.

“That suggests escalation,” Morgan said, stepping forward and leaning against the desk, his arms folded across his chest. “The unsub’s confidence is growing. They’re moving faster.”

Reid, who had been staring at the evidence board in silence, finally spoke up, his voice thoughtful and measured. “Changing MOs could mean we’re dealing with someone new to killing - experimenting with different methods. But,” he hesitated, “it could also mean there’s a purpose behind each change. The way the kills are evolving might have a deeper meaning.”

Hotch took a breath, grounding himself in the task at hand. “Gideon, Prentiss, Morgan,” he said, his voice taking on its usual command, though there was a subtle edge of weariness to it. “Head to the latest crime scene, we need fresh eyes on it. JJ, Reid, and I will meet with the local authorities and review their files. Reid, I want you to start working on the geographical profile, see if there’s any consistency in the locations.”

The team moved with purpose, their steps quick and deliberate as they gathered their bags and made for the door. But Hotch lingered, just for a heartbeat longer, rooted in place as a familiar heaviness settled in his chest. The guilt wrapped itself around him like a tightening vine, threading through his thoughts with every passing second.

It wasn’t just the weight of the case that pressed down on him - it was the aching truth that once again, he had chosen this, chosen the relentless pursuit of justice over the quiet, fleeting moments with his son.

He pushed the thought away as best as he could, but the ache remained, a constant reminder of everything he was losing while trying to save others.

---

There was nothing quite like the hollow hum of a six-hour flight to clear his mind, though the thoughts clung to him stubbornly at first, like shadows he couldn't shake.

As the plane crossed the first timezone, the weight of realization settled in: he would never be the husband Haley deserved, not in the way she needed.

By the time they passed the second timezone, another truth pressed against him like a bruise: he would never be the father he wished to be, not enough to erase the empty spaces he left behind.

But it was during the third stretch, as the world below darkened and the hum of the plane grew louder, that he understood the final piece of the puzzle. If he let these thoughts consume him, if he lingered too long in the ache of what he couldn’t be, he would lose the only thing left to him: his ability to be good at this, at the one thing that demanded his whole being.

As the plane descended, Hotch leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the cracks forming in his personal life, not now, not with a case like this waiting for him. The moment the wheels hit the tarmac, the emotional turbulence he’d been wrestling with needed to be packed away, stored in a corner of his mind that he could no longer afford to visit.

He was good at compartmentalizing, too good.

By the time he, JJ, and Reid stepped into the stifling heat of the local precinct, Hotch had already shifted fully into his role, his mind sharpening, refocusing on the case that had now become his only priority. The quiet turmoil of his personal life faded, replaced by the pressure of a killer they were struggling to catch.

The exhausted police chief approached them, his face haggard from sleepless nights and the mounting pressure of a case that had spiraled out of control. "We’ve been spinning our wheels on this one," the chief admitted, his voice weary.

He motioned to the evidence board, where the victims' photos were tacked haphazardly, a mess of lives lost without a clear thread linking them. “It wasn’t until the sixth victim that we started connecting the dots, and by then, we were already behind. These murders don’t make sense together.”

Hotch approached the board, his eyes moving methodically from one image to the next. The crime scene photos were brutal: faces frozen in death, bodies contorted, each one telling a different story. He took a deep breath and gestured toward the chief. “What have you got so far?”

The chief’s sigh was heavy. “Every victim is different. Male, female, different ethnicities, different ages. The methods vary too: strangulation, stabbing, blunt force trauma. It’s like we’re dealing with multiple killers, but we know that’s not the case. There’s something linking them, but we can’t find it.”

Reid was already pacing, his eyes flicking from the board to the map on the wall. His mind churned as he analyzed and reanalyzed the positions of the bodies and the evidence scattered before him. His hands traced invisible connections between the dots as he muttered to himself, sorting through the details that still felt elusive.

Hotch turned to Reid, his tone even but commanding. “Reid, what are you thinking?”

Reid didn’t tear his eyes from the board, his voice steady but quick as he processed the flood of information. “At first glance, it seems chaotic. The changing MOs, the lack of a clear victim profile - it all suggests disorganization. But…” He paused, picking up the file of the third victim, and his brow furrowed. “There’s hesitation here. The killer hesitated during the third murder. This wasn’t just random. This murder feels… intentional. Like the unsub was evolving or refining something.”

JJ moved closer, her gaze scanning the file Reid held up. “Intentional how?” she asked, her voice edged with the need to understand.

Reid pointed to the victim’s wounds. “Look at the pattern of injuries. The cuts are precise, controlled. The unsub took their time with this one. This isn’t just about killing, it’s about making a statement. It’s as if there’s a theme here.”

Hotch, his instincts alert, zeroed in on Reid’s theory. “A theme?”

Reid nodded, grabbing the other files and spreading them across the table like pieces of a fractured puzzle. “The first victim,” Reid began, pointing to the photo of a middle-aged man found in an alley, his body aged prematurely, his face drained of life. “Time. He was killed slowly, methodically.”

Hotch continued, understanding that the young doctor was onto something, “His watch was broken, and the time stopped at exactly midnight. He was forced to watch it happen, minute by minute. The unsub was playing with the concept of time, as if controlling it.”

Reid nodded and swiftly moved to the second victim, a young woman found posed in front of a mirror, her body displayed almost like a work of art. “The second victim represents virtue. She was strangled, but the way she was posed afterward - like a Madonna figure - suggests the unsub was making a comment on purity or morality. The unsub didn’t just kill her, they transformed her into a symbol.”

JJ glanced at the photo, her brows knitting together. “So, the killer’s trying to send a message?”

Reid’s voice picked up momentum, his eyes gleaming as he continued to unravel the pattern. “Exactly. The third victim, it’s the theme of friendship. He was stabbed multiple times, but the placement of the wounds shows care. Almost like the unsub was reluctant at first, then deliberately chose each strike. This murder represents betrayal, the wounds symbolizing a broken bond.”

Hotch’s gaze darkened as he took in the significance of each murder. “What about the fourth victim?”

Reid flipped through the files, landing on a young man found at a cemetery, his body arranged as if in sleep, with his hands folded over his chest like a corpse in a casket. “The fourth victim represents death itself. He was already dressed in funeral attire when he was killed. The unsub buried him halfway in a grave that had already been dug, leaving him in a liminal state, neither fully alive nor fully dead.”

JJ’s breath hitched slightly at the thought. “The unsub’s not just killing. They’re staging these murders to symbolize something deeper.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched as he processed the unfolding realization. “And the fifth victim? Religion?”

Reid nodded, pulling up the photo of a woman found in a church, her body draped across the altar, surrounded by religious symbols. “She was killed in the church, posed like a martyr. The unsub’s making a statement about faith, morality, and sacrifice. It’s almost ritualistic.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpened. “And the sixth? Freedom?”

Reid picked up the most recent file, the image of a man found in a wide, open field, his body scattered with wounds, as if he had been tortured for hours. “He was bound at first, kept restrained for days, but when he was finally killed, it was in an open field. The unsub let him go, only to take that freedom away in the end. It’s the ultimate act of control - giving the victim a taste of freedom, then ripping it away.”

JJ stared at the crime scene photos, her expression shifting from confusion to horror. “So, the unsub isn’t just experimenting with methods. They’re following some kind of philosophical framework, each murder connected to a larger theme.”

The word ‘philosophical’ hit Hotch like a trigger, and instantly, his mind began to drift. It was as if that word had become synonymous with you.

He barely registered the rest of JJ's sentence because the moment she mentioned philosophy, his thoughts were no longer in the room.

They were with you.

Over the years, it had become an automatic reflex. Any time the conversation veered toward deep concepts, philosophical debates, or ancient texts, his mind would latch onto memories of your voice, your insights. You were the one who could crack these kinds of cases almost effortlessly. The way you connected with these abstract ideas, how you always found the hidden thread - he could practically hear your voice explaining it, guiding him.

He missed you in moments like this, missed working by your side.

The cases felt heavier without your presence.

Especially now, with you back in Quantico, just within reach but not close enough. It made his itch for your partnership even more acute, more frustrating. You were always the one who could decode the intricacies of a mind like this. He craved your insight, your steady presence, the way you challenged him and calmed him all at once.

He could almost picture you now, sitting at your desk, flipping through files with that slight furrow in your brow as you connected the dots others couldn’t. This case felt like it was made for you, and the itch to call you, to have your insight cut through the confusion like a knife, gnawed at him.

It was more than just missing your professional brilliance, it was the familiar rhythm the two of you had shared, the way you could pick up on each other’s unspoken thoughts with a glance. You had always been in sync, a partnership that felt more like second nature than work.

His gaze stayed fixed on the board, but his mind was far from the room. "Focus on the first victim," he said, his voice low but more urgent than before. "The first kill is usually the most significant. What can you tell us about the theme of time?"

Even as the words left his lips, the thought tugged at him - he needed to call you. You would see what they were missing. And, truthfully, he just wanted to hear your voice again.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

You were likely teaching, and the last thing he wanted to do was disturb you in the middle of class. Even though it was morning in D.C. and he knew your lessons wouldn’t start until the early afternoon, he could picture exactly what you were doing.

If he knew you well - and he did - you’d be hunched over your desk right now, a double espresso halfway emptied beside you, scribbling down notes for your upcoming lesson. Schemes, summaries, diagrams, anything that would help your students grasp the material. Every scribble was made with the same care and thought you always gave, just like the book you had gifted Jack.

He could see you clearly, writing as fast as you could, racing to keep up with the faster pace of your mind. On topics that especially interested you, your hand would move so quickly that the gel blue ink of your pen would smudge across the page. That was the only imperfection in your otherwise meticulous notes. But to him, even that smudge was a detail he cherished. It was another way you showed your heart and passion, pouring yourself into every word.

He couldn't interrupt that.

Not now. But the urge still lingered, and the longing to share this case with you, to hear your insight, gnawed at him with every passing second.

His attention snapped back to the present as Reid’s voice filled the room, his philosophical lecture flowing uninterrupted. Hotch hadn’t even noticed that Prentiss, Morgan, and Gideon had returned from the crime scene, now quietly listening to Reid’s ideas.

“Time, philosophically speaking, is a concept that has been debated for centuries,” Reid began, his voice steady and thoughtful. “Kant believed time was a construct of the mind, a way for humans to make sense of their experiences. Augustine argued that time is divided into past, present, and future, but none truly exist in the same moment-”

Before Reid could continue, Morgan cut in, shaking his head with a half-smile. “Slow down there, professor. Not all of us are ready for a PhD lecture on time.”

The brief moment of levity brought a faint smile to Hotch’s lips - barely there, just a twitch - but enough for Gideon to catch. It wasn’t the first time Hotch had heard this kind of deep dive into philosophical musings, and the memory was enough to stir something inside him.

You, again.

He could almost hear your voice over Reid’s, see you pacing, effortlessly turning philosophical debates into a practical narrative. There had always been an energy between the two of you, a mental chess game where each new idea or concept clicked together in a way that made even the most abstract notions understandable,at least to those who could keep up.

Across the room, Gideon noticed the change in Hotch's expression, the subtle flicker of something unspoken. He raised an eyebrow knowingly, understanding exactly where Hotch’s thoughts had wandered. He had seen this look before way too often now.

Hotch quickly noticed Gideon’s silent observation, his smile fading as his face hardened back into its usual stoic mask. He stepped toward Reid, signaling him to wrap it up, the professionalism sliding effortlessly back into place. As he passed Reid, he muttered just low enough for him to hear, “You sound just like her.”

Reid paused mid-thought, blinking in confusion. “Her who?”

Hotch didn’t answer.

The room seemed to still for a moment, the tension subtly thickening as the rest of the team exchanged glances. It wasn’t hard to guess who Hotch was referring to. Even though you were never part of the team, your presence lingered in moments like this, your intellect, your connection to him.

Everyone in the room knew it.

Before Reid could press the question any further, Hotch’s phone buzzed again, the sound cutting sharply through the quiet. The vibration echoed ominously against the table, pulling everyone’s attention. Hotch glanced down at the screen, his expression immediately hardening as he read the message.

“Another body,” he said, the grimness in his voice pulling the room back to the brutal reality of their work. His earlier thoughts of you were now pushed to the background, swallowed by the urgency of the case.

The unsub wasn’t slowing down. If anything, the kills were escalating, the pace quickening, leaving them scrambling to piece together the next part of the puzzle. Hotch could feel the pressure mounting, time was slipping through their fingers, and they still hadn’t cracked the philosophical code that would lead them to the killer.

But even as Hotch mentally prepared for the next step, a thought lingered at the edges of his mind: You would have seen it already. You would know what they were missing. It gnawed at him, the need to reach out, to hear your voice offering clarity. But there was no time for that now.

---

At the crime scene, something had shifted. This time, it wasn’t just the brutality of the kill that had the team on edge, it was the new element, a disturbing and cryptic message left behind.

Beside the body, stark against the wet pavement, was a large "X," crudely drawn, yet deliberate in its placement. The symbol, bold and unmistakable, seemed to pulse with meaning, as if it were taunting them, daring the team to uncover its secret.

The victim’s body told a different story: this murder was tied to the theme of lust. Everything about the scene - the suggestive placement of the victim, the meticulous positioning of the clothes, and the intimate nature of the wounds - hinted at the unsub's twisted interpretation of lust. But it was the "X" that radiated significance, a signature of sorts, demanding their attention and indicating a deeper layer to the crime.

Back at the police station, the air buzzed with tension as the team tried to decipher the meaning behind the mysterious mark. Hotch stood silently at the head of the room, his mind swirling with the ideas being tossed around by the team.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and scowled at the photo of the "X" on the evidence board. "What if this unsub’s just messing with us? Like on a treasure map. 'X marks the spot,' right? Could be their way of saying, 'Hey, look here, you're getting warmer.' Could be a taunt."

Reid, pacing near the board, rubbed his chin in thought. "Historically, an 'X' can represent a crossroads, a point of decision. In medieval times, it symbolized judgment - both in religion and law. It could indicate the unsub sees themselves as a judge, perhaps someone deciding the fate of their victims."

Prentiss chimed in, her voice thoughtful, eyes scanning the crime scene reports. "It might even be a form of signature. In some cases, killers leave marks, symbols to claim their work. Maybe it's less about us and more about the unsub marking their territory. This ‘X’ could be their way of saying, ‘This is mine.’"

As the ideas bounced around the room, Hotch remained unnervingly still, his eyes locked on the photograph of the bold "X" scrawled beside the body. The image seemed to pulse with meaning, but the answer eluded him, hovering just beyond reach like a word on the tip of his tongue.

Each theory felt plausible but incomplete, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. Hotch’s mind churned through the ideas, but something - something vital - was missing.

Gideon, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, finally stepped forward. He watched Hotch closely, noting the tension in his posture, the way his brow furrowed with concentration. Gideon knew Hotch well enough to see when he was wrestling with something more than just the case.

“You should give her a call,” Gideon said quietly, his voice cutting through the murmur of ideas.

Hotch blinked, pulled from his thoughts by the unexpected suggestion. “Why?” he asked, his tone guarded, though deep down, he knew exactly what Gideon was implying.

Gideon’s eyes held a knowing glint, his expression calm but certain. “She’s already a step ahead of us, Aaron. You know how she is. She can see the bigger picture, the themes, the patterns that might be slipping through our fingers. These murders, this complexity... she’ll catch what we’re missing. She always does.”

Hotch hesitated, the weight of your name hanging between them. You were the first person who came to his mind - philosophy had always been your language, and you had a way of translating the abstract into something that made sense, even in the darkest of cases.

But calling you felt so complicated.

“She’s got a lecture at the academy this morning,” Hotch said quietly, his gaze drifting away. “And even if she could help, it would take her hours to go through the files.” His voice softened, as if he were reasoning with himself as much as he was explaining to Gideon.

Gideon raised an eyebrow, his faint smile betraying how far ahead he had already planned. “That’s why I had Garcia send her the files yesterday,” he said smoothly. “She’s been going over them ever since Reid made the connection with the themes.”

He had anticipated this. Of course, he had.

Hotch straightened, the hesitation still tugging at him as he pulled out his phone. The urge to hear your voice, to let you guide them through the confusion, gnawed at him. He dialed your number, his thumb hovering over the call button for a second longer than necessary. The phone rang, and anticipation built with every ring until finally, you answered.

“I was waiting for your call, partner,” you said, your tone familiar and easy, as though no time had passed since you had last worked side by side. Your voice alone brought a sense of comfort, one that Hotch hadn’t realized he needed in that moment.

Before Hotch could respond, he picked up on the faint sounds of a classroom in the background - soft murmurs, the scrape of chairs, and the faint shuffle of papers. Then your voice came through, a bit more formal than usual, though laced with the familiar hint of humor. “Now you’re on speaker. Everyone, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU.”

Hotch’s smile faded slightly, the weight of the situation settling in. “It’s an active case,” he cautioned, his tone firm but gentle, a reminder of the need for discretion. “The details are confidential.”

You laughed, the sound rich and unburdened by the darkness that often filled his days. “I know, I know. But Gideon told me I could bend the rules just this once, and you know that I’m the first one who always wants to play by the book. But sometimes you have to bend the law, because ethics are more important… just don’t write that down in your notes.”

Hotch shook his head, though the faint tug of amusement softened his otherwise stern expression. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured.

Then your tone shifted, growing more serious, more focused. “That ‘X’ isn’t just a letter. The way it’s drawn, the graphics - it’s too condensed. It’s too deliberate to be a regular ‘X.’ What if it’s not a letter at all? What if it’s the Roman numeral for ten?”

Reid, who had been silently pouring over the files, immediately perked up at your suggestion. His face lit up with recognition, as if a light had been switched on in his mind. “Yes! Roman numerals, that makes perfect sense. But why ten? What’s the significance?”

Hotch’s mind whirled as he stared at the photograph again, the symbol suddenly taking on new meaning. “In Roman numerals, ten doesn’t just represent the number, it signifies sequence. It could mean ‘tenth,’ like this is part of a larger series. The unsub could be following some kind of plan or pattern.”

Prentiss, still studying the details, looked up sharply. “What if this is the tenth victim? The police didn’t connect the earlier cases until recently. There could be other victims we don’t know about.”

Gideon nodded, his face unreadable but thoughtful. “That’s possible. The pace of the killings has picked up recently, but that doesn’t mean the earlier victims weren’t just as important. We might be missing the full picture.”

Your voice cut through the air again, focused and clear. “If that ‘X’ is the Roman numeral for ten, then Penelope should start pulling data from unsolved homicides in nearby areas, cases that might have slipped through the cracks. If there are other victims, they’ll be there.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate as he patched the call through to Garcia, his fingers moving swiftly. The line clicked over, and Garcia’s familiar, playful voice came through with her usual flair. “Spank me, teacher. I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

Laughter erupted in the background on your end - the unmistakable sound of your students, likely stunned at hearing such an exchange from an actual FBI technical analyst. Hotch’s face remained serious, though he could picture the small smile tugging at your lips. You were probably trying your best to let it slide, convincing your students that it never happened and brushing it off as a figment of their imagination.

Or so he thought.

You didn’t let it slide, not at all.

You chuckled softly, your voice warm but teasing. “Penelope, I think we need to keep it professional this time. But if I weren’t engaged, I might just ask you to show me your Python. What do you think? Was that good enough?”

Of course, once again, you proved him wrong.

The laughter from your classroom grew louder, borderline hysterical now, clearly not expecting such a quip from someone like you. Hotch, despite his best efforts, couldn’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at his own lips. There was something about the way you matched Garcia’s banter, unexpected but effortlessly fitting. Still, the reality of the case loomed, pulling him back to focus.

“I knew it! Deep down, you’re a naughty girl just like me!” Garcia shot back, her voice full of mischief before quickly shifting gears. “All right, all right. Let’s get serious. Let’s see what I can dig up.”

As Garcia’s voice faded and the team fell back into their analysis, Hotch leaned back slightly, his thoughts racing. Despite the levity, a sense of weight pressed down on him. The murders weren’t just random - there was a deeper thread running through them, something that tied everything together, but it remained elusive.

“There’s something we’re still missing,” Hotch muttered, half to himself but loud enough for the others to hear. “Something that ties these murders together in a way we haven’t seen yet.”

Your voice came through the speaker again, this time with an edge of intensity. “What if the X isn’t marking the number of victims? What if it’s connected to something literary, related to the theme of that murder - lust?”

Reid, always quick to piece together intellectual puzzles, murmured, “It could be connected to a text, a framework. The killings are following themes, and they might be related to a specific work of literature.”

You continued, your voice growing more thoughtful, “The theme of lust makes me immediately think of Dante’s Inferno - the second circle of Hell, where the lustful are punished.”

Reid’s mind raced, picking up on your line of thought. “Yes! In Dante’s Inferno, the lustful are driven by uncontrollable winds, symbolizing the way they’re tossed by their desires. But… wait…” He paused, pacing in front of the crime scene photos pinned to the wall. “In the fifth canticle of The Divine Comedy, the second circle represents the punishment of lust. Multiply the fifth canticle by the second circle, and you get the number ten.”

Gideon's gaze intensified as he considered the details of the case. "This isn't just a random act. It’s carefully and mathematically calculated," he observed, his tone thoughtful yet troubled. "But something still feels off. The message should be clearer—it’s already masked beneath a Roman numeral. It shouldn’t involve any additional complexity like a multiplication."

Hotch's eyes brightened as the realization hit him, the missing piece finally clicking into place. “What if this isn’t just about the sin of lust?” he said, his voice sharper now with clarity. “What if it’s about the negation of lust? Maybe the unsub isn’t punishing the victims for acting on lust, but for failing to avoid it. It’s not about the act itself, but about their choice not to resist. You live a life of indulgence, and you die for it. But the real question is - how could they have saved themselves? What did they fail to do?”

Suddenly, your voice broke through again, sharp and full of clarity. “Living a life through reason: that’s the real theme of the murder. Epistulae ad Lucilium. Seneca the Younger. In the 10th letter to Lucilium – he talked about the importance of living a life through the stoic ideals, the key is self-control, avoiding indulgences like lust”

The room went silent for a moment as everyone absorbed what you had just said. Reid’s face lit up as he immediately followed your line of thinking. “Exactly! In the 10th letter he mentioned ‘Sed ut more meo cum aliquo munusculo epistulam mittam, verum est quod apud Athenodorum inveni: 'tunc scito esse te omnibus cupiditatibus solutum, cum eo perveneris ut nihil deum roges nisi quod rogare possis palam'.”

It felt like you could see the confused look on each agents’ face, even if you were in Quantico: “That translates to ‘But as is my custom with sending a letter with some small gift, it is true what I found in Athenodes: 'then know that you are freed from all desires, and with it you will come to ask nothing of God except what you can openly ask.'”

You further explained the meaning “For us mortals, it means that when you free yourself from wanting things for yourself, you reach a peaceful state. In this state, you will only ask for things that are good and honest, with nothing selfish or hidden behind your requests. To find inner peace by we need to let go of desires and living with clear intentions.” You paused “Wow Spencer how did you know the entire passage in latin?”

Hotch unintentionally cut off Reid’s response - who had been beaming from your recognition, his boyish grin spreading across his face as he began, “Eidetic memory, I read the entire book when I was only twe-.” But Hotch, ever focused, quickly steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Are you saying the unsub is following Stoic philosophy?” he asked, his tone sharp with urgency, seeking clarity in your analysis.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady and thoughtful. “The killings are modeled after the teachings in Epistulae ad Lucilium - also known as Letters from a Stoic.” Hotch swore he could hear the hint of a suppressed giggle on the other side of the phone, but you quickly returned to the matter at hand.

“These letters weren’t just philosophical musings; they were moral teachings. Seneca was writing to his student, Lucilium, urging him to live a life governed by reason, virtue, and restraint. Each letter deals with a specific theme - like friendship, time, death, religion, virtue, and freedom. Seneca believed that by controlling our desires and passions, we could free ourselves from the things that enslave us - namely, emotions like lust, greed, and fear. Sound familiar, Unit Chief?”

Before Hotch could respond to your unexpected jab, your tone shifted back to focus on the case. “In these killings, the unsub is punishing people for failing to live up to Stoic ideals. The crime scenes aren’t random at all: they’re deliberate, calculated representations of the failures Seneca warned about. The victim of lust was killed because they lacked control over their desires, which is a fundamental tenet in Stoic philosophy. It’s not the first letter Seneca wrote, and it certainly won’t be the last.”

Reid jumped in, clearly excited by your insight. “Exactly! Each murder is a representation of one of Seneca’s letters. The victim of lust was killed because they didn’t live a life of restraint, but the other murders also follow this pattern. Virtue, time, friendship, freedom, religion, death - they all correspond to themes Seneca explored in his letters. The unsub is picking people who fail to live up to these ideals and killing them as if it’s a lesson.”

Morgan, still crouched beside the latest crime scene photo, looked up, his expression darkening as he tried to connect the philosophical themes with the brutality of the murders. “So we know why the unsub is killing—to punish people for failing these ancient ideals. But how does this help us catch them?”

You spoke again, the gears in your mind turning quickly. “There’s something else you need to consider. If these murders are following Seneca’s teachings, then we know there’s a deeper message behind each kill. Seneca’s letters were instructional, they were lessons written for his student, Lucilium. So if we think of these killings as lessons, then it’s possible the unsub isn’t just acting alone. They’re teaching someone.”

JJ frowned as she processed your theory. “A message... to who? Who’s the student in this scenario?”

Gideon, who had been silently contemplating the unfolding theory, stepped forward, his voice grave. “The unsub is taking on the role of Seneca, but every Seneca has a Lucilium. They’re not just killing; they’re teaching someone. These murders are lessons, each one showing their ‘student’ how to live, or rather, how not to live.”

Hotch, his mind racing with the implications, pieced it together quickly. “So there’s a ‘Lucilium’ out there, someone the unsub is guiding. Someone they’re grooming, possibly teaching how to kill.”

Prentiss straightened, her face hardening as the realization sank in. “Which means we’re not just dealing with one unsub. There’s a mentor and a student. Seneca is teaching Lucilium to follow this twisted moral code.”

Hotch stepped back from the evidence board, his brow furrowed as the weight of the case began to fully reveal itself. “We’re looking at two unsubs. The one we’ve been calling ‘Seneca,’ who’s leading these murders, and a second unsub, ‘Lucilium,’ who is learning from them. The second person is still in training, which means we have a chance to stop them before the lessons are complete.”

There was a heavy silence in the room as the team absorbed the gravity of the situation. The realization that they were up against not just a killer, but a teacher guiding an apprentice, added an entirely new layer of urgency to the case.

You broke the silence again, your voice more serious than before. “If you find ‘Lucilium,’ you’ll find Seneca. But there's more. In Epistulae ad Lucilium, Seneca also discusses two more themes that haven’t yet appeared in the murders: slavery and the crowd. If the unsub is following the structure of Seneca’s letters, then we know what to expect next.”

Gideon, always focused on the broader picture, spoke with quiet authority. “If Seneca is teaching Lucilium how to kill, it means Seneca has a criminal record. No one just starts teaching murder out of the blue. Garcia, start running a search for known offenders with a background in philosophy, particularly Roman and Stoic philosophy. Look for connections between any of these offenders and known students or proteges.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speaker, her usual lightheartedness replaced with focus. “Already on it, boss. Cross-referencing every offender who’s mentioned Seneca, Stoicism, or anything close. I’ll narrow it down as quickly as I can.”

---

Back in his office, Hotch sat slumped in his chair, exhaustion pulling at his every muscle. The scattered papers in front of him were neatly organized, but his mind was a tangled mess, caught in the lingering grip of the case.

This one weighed heavier than most, the usual closure that came with catching an unsub evading him. They had barely stopped him in time, so close to another life being stolen under the theme of slavery. The image of what could have been haunted him, the brutal calculation of the murders, the way each victim had been a lesson, twisted and final.

Hotch's weary eyes drifted toward the window, where the darkness of the night had now just settled in, casting heavy shadows across his office. The weight of the case pressed down on him - how close they'd come to failing, the lives that had hung in the balance. It wasn’t just the exhaustion in his bones, but something deeper, a quiet, lingering ache that refused to let go.

The near miss with the last victim, the theme of slavery still fresh in his mind, gnawed at him in a way most cases didn’t. Just as the silence became suffocating, a soft knock at the door broke through, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. Without looking up, his voice low, he said, “Come in.”

He assumed it would be Gideon. They still had loose ends to discuss, details of the case to tie up before the night slipped any further away. He braced himself for another long conversation, expecting Gideon’s familiar, steady presence to fill the room.

The door creaked open, and someone stepped inside. Hotch didn’t glance up at first, still scribbling notes on the corner of a file. But the sound that followed wasn’t the shuffle of Gideon’s footsteps. Instead, there was a lightness, a familiar cadence, and Hotch frowned in confusion.

“Jason?” he asked, looking up, only to freeze as his gaze met yours.

You stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “You really thought I was Gideon? You’re slipping, partner.”

For a second, he was caught off guard. He offered you a soft smile, one that came more easily than expected. “I wasn’t expecting you.” he said, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

You sauntered in and sat down across from him, the easy confidence in your posture disarming him further. “Well, you should always expect the unexpected from me, right?” you teased, your smile growing.

Hotch chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this, missed you. He’d been so focused on the case, on the mission, that he hadn’t let himself dwell on it. But now, sitting across from you, the memories of all those years working together rushed back, hitting him harder than he anticipated.

Hotch’s gaze softened, but there was a heaviness behind it. “Your help was crucial. We never would’ve figured it out without you. The connections, the philosophy, it was all you.”

You waved him off, shaking your head as if brushing aside his praise. “Reid deserves the real credit,” you insisted. “He’s the one who picked up on the themes firsthand. I just... connected the dots. Besides, I was only on the phone. You and the team did the real work.”

But Hotch wasn’t about to let you downplay your role. “You did more than connect the dots,” he said firmly, his eyes holding yours. “You always see things others don’t.”

For a moment, your teasing demeanor faltered, replaced by something softer, more sincere. You held his gaze, and for the first time since you’d walked in, the banter between you faded into something deeper.

You broke the silence first, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Careful, partner. Compliments like that might go to my head.” The dynamic between you two had always been one of mutual respect, even if it was sometimes hidden behind teasing and banter. Now, after all these years, it felt even more significant.

His expression softened even more, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as well. It was in moments like this that he realized how much he missed you being a constant in his life. Even though you were closer now, taking a teaching position at Quantico, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough. The case had stirred something in him, made him realize that the distance between you wasn’t just physical.

“So,” He asked after a moment, his curiosity piqued, “what brings you here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating, considering we finally cracked the case?”

You raised your eyebrow, giving him a look as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “I’m here for the paperwork, of course.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Paperwork? You helped us close the case; there’s no need for you to be bogged down with reports. I won’t let you do that.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you leaned forward. “Oh no, partner. I deserve to fill out each one of those reports, especially since I might’ve bent a rule or two helping you out under the pretense of ‘teaching material.’” You gave him a cheeky grin, but he could hear the seriousness beneath your words. You weren’t just here to wrap things up, you wanted to take accountability.

“I already told you,” He said, his voice firm but warm. “It’s my team, my case, and I’ll take full responsibility. I’m not going to let you do the paperwork for bending a few rules.” He was firm in his stance, not wanting to drag you into the mess of administrative fallout.

But of course you didn’t back down. “Arguing with me is a waste of time, partner. Let me do the paperwork. We both know if you let me handle it, you’ll get out of here sooner.”

Before he could protest, you leaned in with a grin that hinted at something more. “And if you get out of here at a decent time, you, Haley, and Jack can come over for dinner. Pete’s been looking forward to meeting you two after all this time, and I’ve been dying to meet Jack.”

He froze for a moment, surprised by the invitation.

Dinner?

With you and Peter?

The thought had never crossed his mind, and yet, hearing you suggest it now sent a strange warmth through him. “Dinner? You never mentioned this.” he echoed, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Yes, Aaron. Dinner. Pete’s already planned it, and I figured using food was the best way to bribe you into giving me those reports.”

He chuckled, a warmth spreading through him at the thought of the invitation. “Dinner, huh? What’s on the menu?”

You gave him a smug look. “A few Mediterranean recipes I’ve been perfecting. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re not going to poison me, are you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’ll never know unless you hurry up and let me help with those files.” The tension between you broke, and he shook his head, smiling. But before he could respond, you added, “Want to bet I can finish the paperwork faster than you?”

He leaned forward, his voice playful now, catching onto the game. “And what happens if I win? You’ve never beaten me in a bet before.”

You leaned in just a little closer as well, close enough for him to catch the soft, fading notes of your rose perfume, lingering faintly after a long day. There was a glint of mischief in your eyes as you matched his tone, voice low and teasing. “You tell me.”

Without missing a beat, Hotch's playful expression shifted, his eyes growing more serious, though there was a flicker of anticipation that softened the weight of what he was about to say. The words came out before he could second-guess himself, as if they'd been lying in wait, building with every shared glance, every passing moment between the two of you.

“If I win,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, something vulnerable, “you come back to the BAU. You work with me again, together.”

His heart thudded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the space you had left behind when you had gone, a void he had tried to fill but couldn’t.

He hadn't expected the words to feel so heavy once they were out in the open, hadn't realized how much he wanted you back, not just for the casework, but for the way you steadied him, the way you saw through the layers he kept so tightly wrapped around himself.

He watched your grin slowly fade, your eyes searching his as if you were weighing everything, and for a moment, he wondered if he'd pushed too far, revealed too much. But then he remembered the years you had spent together, the unspoken trust, the way you could read him just as easily as he could read you.

The silence stretched between you, thick with shared history and unspoken feelings, until finally, you broke it.

“We’ll see, Aaron,” you said quietly, your eyes holding his. “We’ll see.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @kyrathekiller ; @lorereid ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @prettybaby-reid

Dado's Corner pt.2: Here's a pic of Kuna the pine marten - aka Jack Hotchner's fav plush toy

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds

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jokeroutsubs · 1 year ago

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Joker Out between dreams and reality (Val 202: Music 202) - Part 1: Bojan and Jan

Today, 3.08.2023, Slovenian national radio station Val 202 broadcasted a recent interview with Joker Out members Bojan Cvjetićanin and Jan Peteh. Below is the translation of the interview, which you can listen in the audio file above, or on this direct link.

Interviewer: Joker Out, the five-man band that sent Slovenia into a frenzy and is well on their way to sending Europe into a frenzy too. After their Eurovision performance in Liverpool, a lot of doors opened to Bojan, Kris, Jan, Nace and Jure. And Joker Out are stepping through all of them with decisive steps. Massive crowds at their concerts at home and abroad, concerts until the end of the year in Serbia, Croatia, Poland, Scandinavia that sold out in minutes, and crowds of dedicated fans around the world who seem to know all the lyrics by heart, even though Slovenian is far from familiar to them. I talked about all that with Bojan Cvjetićanin and Jan Peteh, two of the founding members of Joker Out. To start with, I asked them whether they’re living their dreams.

Jan: Fortunately, we're living more than our dreams, we’re living our lives. Bur what’s happening right now was still a dream not so long ago, yeah.

Bojan: I passed the Museum of Modern Art yesterday and saw that they currently have an exhibition called “Don’t dream your dreams”, so… it’s better to live them.

How are you absorbing everything that’s happening right now? A Slovenian band that’s, let’s say, more “midstream”, has never managed to do what you’re doing right now. Are you watching that with excitement, wonder, maybe even fear?

Bojan: Yeah, it all definitely caught us a little unawares. It’s true that everything that’s happening now was absolutely our aspiration when we decided that we wanted to go to Eurovision this year. And what we secretly and not-so-secretly wanted really came true. But I’d say that you cannot be prepared for all that to really happen. It’s truly crazy to follow these moments when we announce a concert abroad in some city, often in cities we’ve never even been to, and before we can even all post “juhuhu”, it’s sometimes already sold out, so… I mean, damn.

Jan: Never in my life could I have imagined that I’d see a full venue in Glasgow or London sing our songs in Slovenian, so moments like that are definitely the highlight of every week and month. But then there’s a big contrast when you come from that somewhat surrealistic experience into the quiet of your own home, and you’re at home for a few hours. Because you don’t know if this is real life or just a dream, or if you’re shifting between them. So it’s unusual, but… I’m enjoying it immensely.

Jan has pointed out that even abroad, fans sing Joker Out songs in Slovenian. After one of their recent concerts in the UK, I saw a comment on social media that went something like this: “I didn’t understand a word, but that was the best concert in my life.”

Jan: That’s what Bojan says at the start of every concert, “prepare to not understand a word for the next hour and a half.” But people are screaming, enjoying themselves. And some even pretend to understand the songs, even though they probably don’t.

Bojan: Well, that’s the main point of music, right? Music is special exactly because you don’t have to understand it, you just have to feel it. But it is weird for us because we’re not used to this happening with Slovenian language. Especially because… really from the moment we started making music, everyone was telling us that first of all, with Slovenian you can’t even make it in Slovenia, second of all, absolutely no way you could make it in the Balkans, and we’re not even going to talk about breaking into other foreign countries.

Bojan says that even with the upcoming songs, and hence with the new third album, they will not forget their mother tongue. Especially because they recognise you can achieve a lot even if you don't sing exclusively in English. Their ambition to tell an even bigger story, to expand to larger venues and to have a new, larger fan base is turning things around.

Bojan: As you mentioned in the beginning, we are a mainstream band. In mainstream music it is always a good idea to include the masses and make your music easily accessible to them. We have witnessed an initial push of interest after Eurovision, with some fans genuinely drawn to us as musicians. They're really, really committed to learning the material, because they want to come to the gigs and enjoy themselves. They're taking it to the max and that's phenomenal. And it's also our aspiration to grow. After all, writing songs in different languages is, by definition, a kind of musical experiment.

Kris (in the background): And a challenge.

Bojan: Yes, absolutely a challenge. We're not setting off to write the third album as an English only album, of course. We've decided that we want to do a multilingual album, it will absolutely include Slovene, Serbian and English, and hopefully include some Spanish and French language as well. That is something we want to play with.

Not only Slovenian and English, the other languages represent a challenge as well, say Joker Out. Speaking of the third album, it's already, let's say, marinating, in the making. Joker Out is also a band that has not suffered the so-called curse of the second album. It was, dare I say it, was even better than the debut. Are you concerned about the possible third album curse?

Jan: Our Demons have obviously defeated the curse of the second album. As for the progress of the third album, we recently had our first really creative rehearsals since December, when we were working on Carpe Diem in Hamburg. From then on, we've accumulated so much creative potential, that it simply poured out of us during those few rehearsals. Now each time we get to our rehearsal space, our need to create becomes so intense that I think if we keep this up, we won't have to worry about the demons of the third album either.

As Jan points out, they are not lacking in creative inspiration. Bojan agrees, adding that in recent months they have often been 'emotionally shocked'. This means that emotions have boiled up and things that they were not used to before have been happening, which made it difficult to process certain situations. Last week, Joker Out parted ways with one of the members of their core team, who found himself under an avalanche of criticism, especially on social media, for inappropriate behaviour. The news of the termination of the collaboration was followed by many thanks from fans that the band members had not only heard the message, but had also taken action about it.

Bojan: Yes. We have really had a very, very complex situation that we have always hoped would never happen to us, but as we said in the statement, we hope and believe that it will never happen again. What has happened was that one of our team members has created an unpleasant atmosphere with our fans, with our listeners, in a repetitive, how shall I say... Pattern. He often chose the wrong words, and this in turn led to many feeling, I would say, unpleasant, uncomfortable. Both at our concerts and on social media. And that is something that is absolutely unacceptable for us. We have always tried to put 1000% positive energy out at our concerts and share it with people, and the people also gave that energy back to us, so any disruption of that process is, as I said, unacceptable to us. And we absolutely had to say goodbye to this member.

The singer of Joker Out says it was the right decision and the band stands by it, adding that they have learned a lot from this experience. If nothing else, they have realized the true power of social media. They have learnt that it can bring a lot of good things, but there are also a lot of bad things that you can't be prepared for.

Bojan: I have to say that, yes, I've withdrawn from social media now, because I want to make this album under positive influences, not negative influences, and really, on social media I feel like I'm trapped in a world that I don't really want to be trapped in. So, yeah, for example, let's say two days ago, I was really negatively shocked, or affected by a moment when... We had a concert in Ptuj, which was a really specific experience, because I was having a panic attack on stage for an hour and a half, and I was just thinking about whether or not I was going to faint or not. I don't know why, whether it was the air, whether it was too much coffee, or what happened, but it really wasn't a pleasant concert for me, so within 20 minutes after the show I was rushing home, right. But on Twitter there was this post, some girl who said that I... that some security guard or somebody on my behalf invited her backstage after the concert. Which, whoever was there, including the organiser, knows wasn't even remotely true, because as soon as I got out of the shower, hands shaking, I got into the van and went home, sitting next to Nace, bag in hand, so as not to throw up right there in the car. So, there are some things we are not prepared for. There are dimensions that are a whole new world for us.

In the second part of the interview with Joker Out on "Val 202" (name of the radio station, "Wave 202"), we're sticking to departures and leaving. Joker Out is a group where two band members were replaced in the past seven years. The drummer Matic was replaced with Jure and the bassist Martin with Nace. That's why I am interested in how replacements influence the group or rather the ahmosphere in the group. A music group has to breathe as one. Jan says that each member brings a different energy to the team. He's convinced that one half of the first album and the whole second album would have sounded totally different if the drummer Jure hadn't joined them.

Jan: At this point, I'm simply happy that it happened, and it goes for Nace as well. Because now, I can hardly imagine two better persons for this band or better friends.

Jure (in the background): Awww!

Bojan: The fact is, members leaving a band is definitely a very difficult thing. We've had five members in the band since its creation. And as Jan said, when the energy changes, the balance that was there gets disrupted. Now there are only two possible scenarios. One is that the new energy is less suitable for the collective and the whole balance is brought down. Or that it is more positive and elevates the whole thing. I believe the universe helped us somehow; in both cases the energies that joined us, pushed us into new realms of creativity, positivity, literally everything in a very short time. So, I know that everything happened here just the way it had to happen. Even if you ask Martin, who just left the band, because he wanted to pursue another path in his life. You can ask him now, I know, because I live with him, because we are roommates. He is the luckiest man because, in the same short time that we have started branching out in new directions, his personal spheres have taken off in the best possible way, and he is, as we say, kicking ass. We can say that by 2023, everything that went on has happened as it should have.

Everything happened like it was supposed to happen, says Bojan. Also in Liverpool on the Eurovision stage. Barely three months later, Joker Out are living the life they could have only dreamed about. Masses of fans, sold out concerts and a feeling that only the sky is the limit. Is the current success partly or solely due to Eurovision, that's our next topic.

Bojan: It's absolutely not just a consequence of what happened in Liverpool because that was just one big catalyst for everything that we've been doing as a band since the beginning. (It also has to do with) how we dealt with Liverpool. Because what is happening today, as I said, was planned. We didn't know to what extent it was going to be realized, but it was a plan. Liverpool has made a difference for us in a way that no other night in this world can make because it has literally brought us, in one night, bizarre numbers of new audiences that we could not have imagined before. So, in one sense, yes, that is what Eurovision did for us; we cannot deny it. But on the other hand, it was us who did it.

Jan: In harmony, Eurovision and Joker Out, hand in hand.

Bojan: Together forever Joker Out, hand in hand.

Jan: *singing* # Together forever #

Together forever. Behind the group Joker Out is 7 years of creating. For the very end, a question, where do they see themselves in 7 years.

Jan: Now I've had a couple of people ask me recently how do you handle it when there's so much going on. To me, it seems like a primary school experience, where every year, the new grade is a little bit harder, but you're also evolving from the previous years. So, if we were thrown from zero to where we are now, we wouldn't even know where to begin. We have quite a bit of experience behind us now. It's a very steep road, exponentially growing, mathematically speaking, and I'm glad that we are at a point where nobody is confining us to a certain determined path that we should follow, but it's all up to our own volition. Whatever we decide to do, we will do, and I think that we can be very happy about this kind of artistic freedom. So, I'm also very excited and eagerly awaiting to see where this will take us.

Bojan: Here, Jure is suggesting that in 7 years we'll be doing Wembley. There was an idea that we should book Wembley now for the year 2030 and we release the tickets today. It would be the first concert in the world, where the tickets would be sold 7 years in advance. Then we'll wait and see what happens. If something will happen, it'll happen; if not ... it will get canceled due to illness.

All: (laughter)

Translation cr: @kurooscoffee, @beeoftheanxieties, drumbeat, +2 anonymous jokeroutsubs members

#joker out #jokeroutsubs #bojan cvjeticanin #jan peteh #martin jurkovic #nace jordan #jure macek #kris gustin #please let us know if you notice any inaccuracies or mistranslations #we really tried to do our best while at the same time getting this done asap bc of its topicality

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growingstories · 3 months ago

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Growing stories

#fictionalweightgain #maleweightgain #weightgain #weightgainstories #wg fiction #wg fantasy #fictionalstories #exjock #maleweightgainstories #aiweightgain

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thegildedbee · 3 months ago

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Appreciative: May 32nd Prompt for @calaisreno

I have arrived, at last, to the end of my May prompts, this being the one for the 32nd of May, a day I decreed to exist so that I could add one last prompt of my own for myself, in honor of @calaisreno,😘 and the magnificent, awesome festival they brought into being with the May writerly shenanigans! So much creativity unleashed, all at the invitation of one very special person. 🤗 As you may have guessed from the title, the word for my own personal May 32nd 🙃 is: appreciative.

.................................................. This last chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3. Program Note: In the penultimate chapter posted at ao3, I added a note saying that I've decided to take these thematic seat-of-the-pants daily prompt responses and (fingers crossed) turn them into a real story. It will take a while, as it needs to then have, like -- AN ACTUAL PLOT -- but now I'm curious about all the ins and outs of how this premise I've been winging might work 🙃 -- of John figuring out that Sherlock is alive and strong-arming Mycroft into allowing John to secretly shadow him as protection -- so I'll try to figure it out! tldr; one of these days, look out for take 2 of my May 2024 prompts as a proper fic of its own: Threading a Shadow through the Eye of the Storm :-) ................................................. Warning: This ended up being 3x as long as any daily prompt chapter has a right to be . . . ................................................. Sherlock slips through the jetliner’s door at the last possible moment, very nearly missing his flight from Zagreb to Split. Feeling skittish after suspecting that he was being followed, he’d chosen to advance his departure by one day, erring on the side of caution that it was time to move on. His concern had been sparked after a bank visit to obtain funds to support his travels in Croatia; after moving down the steep set of stairs into the crowd of bodies milling about Jelacic Square, he had registered some sort of movement in his peripheral vision, giving rise to a judgment that he was being tailed. An impression of an instant was of dubious value for making decisions, but turning around for a closer look would have negated any slight advantage he might have gained.

He had disappeared behind a horse-drawn carriage, slipped into an alley and swiftly turned the corner, placing himself at the back of a cafe next to the rubbish bins. He’d made quick work of switching out of his navy blazer and forest green button-down shirt for the precautionary items in his briefcase: a white and red striped athletic shirt, a camo patterned bucket hat, and a worn gray rucksack. He binned the briefcase and his original clothes, and melted back into the crowd, reasonably certain that his wardrobe change undercut any efforts to resume tracking him at a distance.

Later that evening, he’d called the hotel and made a false arrangement to extend his stay for a week, attempting to wrong-foot any unwelcome players he may have attracted. He had purchased a new ticket on a different carrier using his Norwegian alias, and was reassured that, at least for now, he had neutralized any threat. He’d been on the road for so long, however, that he'd lost any sense of whether such actions were evidence that he was executing sterling tradecraft, or if he was seeing shadows refracted through a prism of paranoia.

An hour later, he arrives in Split without incident, and makes his way briskly toward the arrivals hall, stopping momentarily to rotate in a circle until he spies signage for the shuttle to Trogir, a city of 10,000 or so, a short distance away. He’ll be housed there for a few days – or at least until he determines whether or not there is more intelligence to be had in Croatia – before he boards the train that will carry him to Sarajevo for a similar stop, and then on to Belgrade and the risks it poses.

His fellow riders on the shuttle appear to be innocuous – locals returning from holidays or shopping trips, visitors touring the Dalmatian coast, house cleaners and sales clerks and restaurant staff on their way home after a day’s work in the city. As he leaves the transport, his anxiety is goading him to move quickly, but he forces himself to approximate a meandering gait, so as to appear innocuous himself.

He completes a circuitous route to end up nearly where he began, making his way to the DHL baggage station to retrieve a package holding the address and keys for the safe house, along with a miscellany of other items: colored brochures, bulky printouts, grainy photos. It’s been some time since he’s had a report from home; he doubts that there will be anything about London, and a quick glance tells him that his supposition is correct. He is never sure whether or not the lack of content is a good thing or a bad thing. Hearing nothing, were he to admit it to himself, is probably the better option, since it keeps him from having to battle the misery that arises when confronted with how long the tally of days marking the presence of his absence extends.

By the time he's located his lodging, dusk is beginning to close off the day; he opens the door to a one-bedroom apartment in a small building that is currently unoccupied. It's a relief to have a door to lock behind him, to be enclosed within four walls where he can begin to dial down his hyper-awareness of his surroundings.

The place contains nondescript chairs, a dining table with a stained surface that has seen better days, and lamps with dusty shades, but it seems comfortable enough. His needs are few, pared back to essentials – security and quiet being the most important among them. He leaves the lights switched off, and walks out onto the small balcony, brushing away the pollen that covers the wooden chair, which he uses as a front-row seat as the sun sets over the sea, a silent and solitary figure who becomes less and less visible as darkness first enshadows him, and then fully cloaks his presence.

He's worn-out, through and through, his emotional being as much as his physical state; he feels as if his nervous system is made of cast iron filings, heavy and tending toward rust, a corrosive scraping of his soul. He tries to shake off his turn into a viscerally maudlin state and to keep any further negative waves at bay by putting himself into motion, rising up from his seat and returning to the apartment in search of something to eat, if only for a distraction. He supposes it may be too much to hope that there is food waiting there for him; he regrets having made such haste to get to this new phase of his mission. Perhaps he’ll find some overlooked cartons of one sort or another; after all, his contacts aren’t hoteliers, but busy agents in the field, tasked with many more matters than dancing attendance on him. He moves toward the kitchen, turning on a few table lamps along the way, and is pleasantly surprised to find that there are food parcels to unwrap.

He tears off a portion of lepinja, the local flatbread, which he has come to like very much. There is a carton of eggs, a bottle of olive oil, tins of sardines packed in coarse salt, and fresh lemons. Packages wrapped in wax paper turn out to be several kinds of cheese, and inside a carrier bag there is a container of jam made from plums and another from figs, and a trio of multi-hued jars of honey.

His flagging spirits lift slightly, and he mocks himself that a loaf of bread and the taste of plums he licks off his fingers has made the difference, as he can’t provide an objective rationale for how such a mundane circumstance has dispersed some of the inky clots lodged in his mind. He savors the reveal staged by the opening of the door of the refrigerator to see if there’s anything inside, and is pleased at what he finds: a crockery bowl of cooked pasta which looks to be sauced with truffles, prosciutto, grilled sausages, bottled milk, and orange soda. He closes the door and turns to the other end of the counter, where he is particularly appreciative to find a plate of phyllo pastry containing a surfeit of cherries, and a version of shortbread biscuits stamped with outlines of bees. He dips his already sticky fingers into the cherry pudding and licks them clean, and then bites into one of the biscuits, which explodes on his tongue with the simultaneous taste of pepper, cloves, and cinnamon, and then quickly gathers up the rest, biting into a second one. Mrs. Hudson couldn’t have done better, he thinks, with a wistful nod of approval, as a whisper of melancholy reaches out and wraps around him.

He brings the plate of biscuits and the milk to the table to inspect various items that have been placed there. The most obvious is a map of Southeastern Europe spread out across most of the surface, and next to it, a tidy pile of travel guides for Croatia and Serbia – he finds the idea of a travel guide to Serbia to be grimly humorous, given the peril that he is bound to encounter when he arrives there and tries to disrupt the organization he hopes to set on a path to destruction. He rolls his eyes, finding it doubtful that its pages of advice on local highlights will contain anything relevant to his tasks . . . but then quickly reverses himself and thinks again: information of another kind may be exactly what he finds has been added. He’ll look at it more closely later, and sets it out of sight for now on the empty chair he’s standing next to.

He opens the cover of a book entitled Omis: The City of Pirates, produced by the city's board of tourism, and pulls out a chair to page through it, losing himself in another world for a few moments, adrift in the gulf of Venice in the twelfth century, having set sail from the former pirate town, aboard a medieval corsair preying on Adriatic shipping, which slips surreptitiously into one of the multitude of small coves and inlets that form a jagged saw-toothed edge along the Dalmatian coast.

His pleasure turns to delight when he puts the book aside to find a reprinted volume of A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the most notorious Pyrates from 1724, and he luxuriates in the indulgence of re-visiting tales about Blackbeard and Calico Jack. When he finds to his chagrin that he has eaten all of the biscuits, he decides it is time for something approximating a proper meal, or at least as proper as it can be, with himself leaning against the counter, as he’s not inclined to set up a place setting for one, for reasons that are unnecessary for him to devote attention to excavating.

His tabletop search later turns up one more item: a dvd set of an American historical adventure series, Black Sails. He remembers watching most of the first season at 221B with John – in the time before he’d abruptly had to make his exit from London. The totality of his haul of riches here reminds him of the safe house in Vienna, where he’d found a similar cluster of goods seemingly tailored to his tastes. Sherlock thinks acerbically that big brother must be experiencing prickings of guilt about his little brother's odyssey, and therefore has been supplying agents with a tip list. He finds it hard to credit, to be honest. It's certainly uncharacteristic for Mycroft to indulge him so, but perhaps he is becoming sentimental as he ages, or perhaps believes he needs to balance the books given the hazards that Sherlock is currently facing. He remembers that the safe house in Vienna had been stocked with a dvd set entitled Good Omens, which he’d sheepishly welcomed as an auspicious portent, despite knowing that such flights of fancy are nonsensical. That the current option on offer is Black Sails, is, he acknowledges, a reasonable augury of what lies ahead once he boards the train that will take him across the border from Croatia into Serbia.

For now, he feels fleetingly cared for and content, a rare state of existence in the two years and more since he has been away from London. A short while later, he puts the first disc into the player, and lies down on the sofa with a cushion wedged under his head; within minutes he falls into a deep sleep that lasts for seventeen hours.

When he awakens, it’s to a workshop in his mind palace, where he finds himself sharpening a steel bar capable of taking the brunt of a flinty determination to spark an endgame to his Moriartian exile. As he leaves the workroom to wander through the corridors, he opens the door to the tower that represents the last fortress to be breached. He doesn’t know if his chances of survival would benefit from an effort to be optimistic, rather than remaining resolutely realistic, but he’s dubious that he will be able to conjure up a positive vision of the future if he tries, without devolving into a spectre at the feast, and decides against making the effort.

He studies the Serbian guidebook with fierce attention – it is indeed rife with coded information – until he thinks it’s been shorn of all the surplus value that it contains. As dusk approaches, he realizes that he’s been sitting in one position from his awakening in the early hours of the morning until now; his muscles ache, and so does his head. A restlessness sweeps over him, and he decides there’s no more to be done at present; he’ll be waiting at least another day or two to rendezvous with sources who can update his earlier forays through Stockholm, Copenhagen, Malmo, and Gothenburg, the power base of one of the most dangerous of the arms of the Serbian mafia, built on a foundation from the mass immigration of Yugoslavian guest-workers to Sweden in the 1970s. Buttressed by the Yugoslavian secret services -- who made use of the expat criminal outfits as informants and assassins, providing them with weapons and legal protection -- the gangsters had grown to be formidably wealthy. The horizontal sturcture of the organizations have given Sherlock a great deal of trouble in bringing the personnel into the light, one of the reasons that he has been gone so much longer from London than he had ever imagined. Moriarty the man could well have been the god of chaos, but Moriarty, the institution, was a model of stealth order.

He decides to take a breather and to play tourist for the evening and thumbs a ride into the city, using the opportunity in conversing with the driver to re-acquaint himself with Lukas Sigerson’s accent and demeanor. By the time his friendly volunteer transport service has dropped him off near the city center, he’s realigned his presentation of self -- despite lacking enough of the bearded scruff to be completely in character, and the fact of his hair currently being a russet-tinged shade of Venetian blonde -- but he can make it work for his persona . . . he thinks. The lighter locks may lend themselves to being expected to be inhabiting a more gregarious disposition, which may be an insurmountable hurdle.

He's intrigued by what he sees before him as he makes his way further into the city center, the extensive Roman garrisoned fortress and monumental-scale palace built in the late third century for the emperor Diocletian to inhabit in a splendorous retirement, and even ever after, as his imperial remains were contained within the custom-built mausoleum. As he strolls around the perimeter, examining the walls, he drifts in and out of different tour groups being conducted in Croatian, English, Japanese, German, and Italian, hearing how several hundred years after Diocletian’s death and the fall of Rome, townspeople elsewhere in the region fled from invaders who had razed their city, seeking out the safety of the empty palace, where they had re-constituted their lives, incorporating their houses and workplaces within the impregnable palace walls and the cavernous barrel-vaulted cellar. In doing so, they had seeded the emergence of the city that now exists, and set the conditions for the continual presence of local people living and working within its precincts on up until the present-day, several hundred buildings, with several thousand people. Sherlock hears snatches of tales and questions and answers, including a 20th century description of the palace as “the most serviceable ruin in the world.”

He chooses to enter the palace compound itself from the east side, through the walls of the so-called Silver gate. He walks lightly down the pathway that takes him to the round vestibule that served as the first section for the corridor leading to the emperor’s apartments, and stands quietly, hands clasped behind his back, imagining the reverberations that music played within its circular wall would generate. He gazes up through the oculus at a waning crescent moon, acutely aware of the intangible stretching of earth connected with sky. As he wanders the compound, walking across stone streets gleaming from the passage of uncountable numbers of feet from ancient times until the present, he makes a game of deducing the palace's transformations, feeling rather smug when he reads on a plaque that his estimate that the emperor’s body had been jettisoned by later inhabitants to a place or places unknown, and his mausoleum repurposed as a Christian church is correct. He nods approvingly at another informational plaque that sardonically conveys the historical fact that the church became a cathedral named in honor of St. Domnius, one of the Christian spiritual leaders that Diocletian had persecuted and executed.

He wanders without purpose through the labyrinth of narrow passages and hidden courtyards, occasionally noticing someone looking out from higher up, or reeling in the washing hung out in lines above the streets. He wonders idly at the gamut of emotions that have restlessly circulated through the formal halls and the private corners, allowing himself to lower his threat level, determinedly eschewing his usual practice of straining his ears to identify hints of adversaries who seek to thwart him. He is rounding a corner when he hears strains of jazz music reverberating against the walls, a silky contralto whose words sing of wanting something cool, off to the right somewhere a bit further beyond. He decides to allow the music to pull him toward its source, and the vibrato leads him to a door with a sign that announces that what lies within is Marvlvs Library Jazz Bar.

“And what might a library jazz bar be?” he muses, peering closer in the shadowy space at the explanatory plaque on the wall, which says:

"You are standing outside where once the home of Marko Marulic (1450-1524) was located, a man whom contemporaries styled as the Christian Virgil, and who later came to be known as the 'Dante of Croatian literature.' Among his many works was the epic poem Judita (1501), based on the Book of Judith.”

He steps across the threshold, after first giving way to a cat who darts around his ankles ahead of him, to see what he'll discover. The space is of a piece with the rest of the palace: the contemporary layout is built atop the ancient stone floor, and incorporates the original graceful arches, as well as a wooden beamed ceiling and other touches that are likely five centuries old, from the time Marulic was held to have lived here. Starting near the entrance, books are shelved everywhere one looks. As Sherlock walks alongside the rows of neatly lined-up titles, he discerns an organizational logic, although not one based on alphabetization or time period. What stands out for him at first is how the subject matter moves from the physical world, to the biological world, and to the social world, moving then into representations and culture, from lies to truths, and from hearts to minds.

The bar is relatively empty at this late hour of a week-day evening, with only a few pairs of scattered patrons, and a lone bartender towards the back, so he commandeers a generously sized table intended for a group, that is placed beneath a massive painting of "Saint Jerome in His Study" – he is surely seated in the only bar on the planet which features a depiction of the patron saint of translators, encyclopedists, and librarians. He is charmed to find that the menu is itself a multi-paged book, filled with small stories, quotations, and poems woven in between the items listed on offer. Sherlock returns to the menu’s prologue, which he had skipped initially; the owner, it appears, is himself a poet: in fact in his introductory comments he remarks that he considers himself “to be married to his poetry,” and Sherlock feels a flicker of satisfaction at the second-hand encounter with a kindred spirit.

In keeping with the literary rationale of the bar, Sherlock has retrieved some volumes to skim, chosen from the nineteenth century: Bees: Their Habits, Management, and Treatment by the Reverend J.G. Wood; a second edition of Samuel Bagster’s The Management of Bees, with a description of the ‘Ladies Safety Hive’; and Thomas Nutt, Humanity to Honey Bees: or Practical Directions for the Management of honey-bees upon an improved and humane plan by which the lives of bees may be preserved, and abundance of honey of a superior quality may be obtained. He also has brought with him a mid-twentieth century volume with an enticing cover: H.J. Wadey, THE BEHAVIOUR OF BEES – and of bee-keepers. He considers it to be unlikely that he’ll eventually realize his dream of settling somewhere close to the sea and becoming a keeper of bees himself. But surely there is no harm in imagining that it might be so for a few hours.

He loses track of time as he immerses himself in his haul, until he senses reverberations from a tapping sound coming from the table, and then, startled, looks up, noticing the bartender he’d glimpsed after his entrance, standing beside him. He tamps down his threat response: it's merely a neutral personage, a pleasingly graceful young man whom he assesses to be twenty-six or twenty-seven, sporting a medieval phoenix tattoo, beautifully colored, that can be glimpsed from under the rolled-up sleeves of a soft, sky blue linen shirt tucked neatly into the snugly-fitted jeans that are at eye-level. When Sherlock raises his face, he sees a sun-kissed complexion and a deep set of dimples, dark brown eyes that match the color of the man's hair, which is cut longer at the crown and angled rakishly over his right eye, the tapered sides fading until they touch the open skin at the collar of his shirt. Although not a threat, Sherlock's pulse has yet to completely return to its baseline.

“You look like you’ll be thirsty soon,” the blue-and-brown speaker says teasingly, “if you’re not already, with how hard you’ve been going at your research. May I bring you something to eat or drink? We'll not be open very much longer, so it's now or never."

For some reason that escapes him at the moment, Sherlock can’t seem to summon up a vocal response, although this doesn’t seem to put off his visitor.

“Perhaps you’d like something regional, to soak in the aura of the place more deeply?”

Sherlock narrows his eyes. “If that’s a roundabout way of suggesting slivovitz, please, no thank you, please. I know for certain that I am not going to be in Croatia long enough to develop a taste for it.”

“Well, yes, it did cross my mind,” the bartender says with a cheeky smile that activates his captivating dimples. “But I’d like to stay on your good side. No, I was thinking of something that would pair well with your bee-keeping books.”

“And that would be?” Sherlock asks, his voice softening slightly, awarding the young man points for fine observational skills.

“Medenica,” the bartender says confidently. “A honey-based brandy. It is well-known in these parts as an excellent aperitif – to stimulate the appetite and open the digestive system – and, as it happens, as an excellent post-meal digestif as well. Which is not to say that it is not an excellent drink to have first thing in the morning, as an aid in ‘cleaning the body,’ although it is also true that it really is suitable for any time of the day, or night, for that matter, such as when alone, and perhaps needing some assistance in ensuring a restful sleep. So, you see, no matter what your state of being presently, it is a superb option.”

“Well,” Sherlock says dryly, “It seems as if the only possible answer is . . . yes. So, yes," he offers, with the slightest of smiles.

“Wonderful! Feel free to wave me off, but perhaps you’d like to join me at the bar, keep me company, while I prepare it for you? It will take a few more moments than how we typically serve it, as I’ll warm it before pouring. Oh, and I should introduce myself ," he says with a slight bow. "My name is Petar.”

Sherlock nods his head in response, and says primly, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Petar. I’m Lukas.”

Once he’s seated at the counter, Sherlock finds that he is mesmerized by the thick, golden liquid sliding down the side of the glass, and then realizes that he’s lost track of whatever Petar has been saying, and tries to catch up. “I’m sorry, what was it that you asked?”

Peter laughs. “If you work with plants? Or if you are perhaps an entomologist?”

“Not presently,” Sherlock says. “Perhaps one day. My work is in the field of computer science.”

“And what is your area of expertise, Lukas?”

Sherlock looks at Petar skeptically. “You really want to know?”

“Really," he replies, his hand brushing against Sherlock's as he places the heavy, warmed glass in front of him.

Sherlock pulls up the relevant details from his background cover. “Computational intelligence. Fuzzy logic.” He takes a sip from his glass, and shakes his head in wonder at how good the honeyed brandy tastes. “My research entails trying to program computers to answer questions that can’t be solved in exact terms, with either a yes or a no, because the questions arise from processes entangled with highly complex, changing variables, that are open to chance.”

“Something like the weather,” Petar suggests, beginning his evening clean-up, drying glasses, and hanging them in the hanging overhead holder.

“That’s not a bad example,” Sherlock concedes. “My focus, however, is in using biological instances as a characteristic approach. Think about the survival of a species – that’s a problem that requires a solution. Natural selection doesn’t offer a yes or no answer; it inherently diversifies the possible range of solutions through mutations, which themselves are impacted by open-ended sets of variables.”

“And how is it that these interests have brought you to Split? Although I can make an argument that we live amongst fuzzy logic here," he chuckles, "So perhaps that answers itself."

“I was in Zagreb for a meeting of the Computational Intelligence Society, at a conference hosted by I triple E – the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers.”

“And how is it that a computer man finds himself having traveled from technical proceedings to wandering about an ancient palace?” Petar asks.

Sherlock shrugs. “I’d never seen the Adriatic coast, and the thought of all that sun was appealing. Living in the northern latitudes inspires one to seek out occasions to escape the darkness." He sips thoughtfully, closing his eyes as the liquid moves from his mouth down his throat. “I have a question for you,” he offers. “The informational sign out front explains the reason for the library theme, as it is presumed to be the site of a lauded author. But how did the choice of jazz music come along with it?”

“That’s an easy one,” Petar replies. “The owner didn’t feel compelled to carry through the theme completely, as he thought late medieval, early modern music would be unlikely to draw crowds.”

“Fair enough,” Sherlock responds, and then tries some teasing of his own. “Working from the information in the menu, mightn’t a writer of moral and theological treatises feel compelled to haunt the premises, unamused by the rhythms of modern jazz permeating his home?"

“Well, the owner claims that Marulic wrote on a wide range of topics. For example," Petar says, with a wink, "I’ve heard it bandied about that he wrote glosses on the erotic poetry of Catullus.”

“Did he now?” Sherlock responds, an inviting lilt accompanying his words. "Do tell.”

Petar grins. “I’m sure we have a volume of Catullus’ poems at the ready if you give me a minute or two. In the meantime, would you like another drink?" and his smile broadens when Sherlock agrees. “My shift is almost over, as it’s nearing time for us to close. Would you mind waiting for me for a short time, with your bee books to keep you company, while I finish tidying and then lock up? After that, I can join you with a glass of Medenica as well, and we can chat at our leisure.”

Sherlock offers a small, lop-sided smile. “That sounds acceptable.”

“Well, then, Živjeli, to us!” Petar says, warmly. "The night has only just begun, and there are so many possibilities before us.”

......................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

#mayprompts2024 #calaisreno #sherlock bits and bobs #may prompts 2024 #johnlock #better late than never?#happy end of may #all you cool cats and kittens :-)#‘Another d-mn’d thick square fic!#always scribble #scribble #scribble! Eh! Mr. Gibbon?’

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writersblockiskillingme · 1 year ago

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Ona | Bojan Cvjetićanin

Pairing: Bojan Cvjetićanin x reader

Summary: Bojan wrote this song about you and preformed it at one of the bands concerts for the first time. Through the song he started to spill his feelings for you for the first time after your breakup and you have a few thoughts.

Warning/s: possible grammar and spelling mistakes, mention of mental breakdown, maybe one curse word, bad breakup.

Author's note: Here is one for out golden retriever beautiful boy. I hope that you enjoy this one! Feel free to send in requests if you want me to make something specific with him. Oh and, btw, here is the translation for this amazing song. Your welcome. 😉

It was so bright out there, it started to hurt your eyes a little bit. You were standing somewhere in the middle of the crowd watching the love of your love. The love of your life... that you decided to let go because you felt like you weren't good enough.

You were attending yet another Joker Out's concert, but it felt different this time. Maybe because Bojan and you weren't together anymore.

Joker Out was here, in Croatia's capital city of Zagreb. This was the next stop for their concert. This is where the two of you met. Right here in Zagreb on a hot, sunny day in a crowded city. In your hometown. In the breathing country where you were born and raised in.

So here you were. In your hometown where Joker Out was performing. The first time that you heard that they will be performing in Zagreb, it felt like someone punched you in the stomach. But then you felt something different, you felt the need to see him again. Even if he doesn't take a notice in you as you stood in the middle of the crowd that was dancing and singing along. So you decided to go.

The moment that they stepped onto the stage you felt like you would cry. You missed them all so much. You somehow found the strength deep in your soul to look at Bojan. And so you did. He was just so gorgeous. He looked even better then when he did on the day that you left him (Lana Del Rey anyone? No? Okay...). He still had long hair, he was tall and just oh, so handsome. You noticed one thing however, his playful and mesmerizing, so radiant, smile or his playful smirk wasn't pressed onto his face like it always was. It worried you, truly. You watched as they got in their possession and as Bojan took the microphone.

"So... for the first song I will be singing something that hasn't been released just yet." He spoke in Serbian (it's actually very similar to Croatian, you know?) as he watched the crowd go wild with excitement as they claped and shouted and screamed with pure joy, with pure excitement.

"This song is also very special to me." He said, his voice was deep as he looked down in what seems to be sadness.

"It's about a very special person about who, I hate to admit it, I didn't get over and I don't think that I ever will." He paused for a moment so he could take a deep breath so he could continue to speak. "I met her right here, actually. In the beautiful Zagreb a year ago and I can honestly say that I fell for her harder then I ever did for anyone." The crowd was cheering, screaming, in excitement as Bojan introduced Joker Out's unrelated song.

"This one is for her." He said as the rest of the bend slowly started to play the chords. You felt your last bit of your breath leave your lungs as you felt tears pricking in your eyes, your vision getting blurry. You couldn't move. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think.

But once he met your eyes deep in the crowd, where you stood, just as he started to sing, you felt like you were going to collapse.

Hodam opet njenom ulicom

Brutalno se vuče otkad nisam više s njom

Stanem ispod njenog prozora

Jedna njena senka da me spasi očaja

Bojan was walking around the dark cornered alley in the middle of the night. It must have been midnight by now. As he walked, he could see his breath in the cold of the Zagreb's winter, cold night. As he watched his breath become visible in the cold, dark night, he found himself pulling his dark coat closer to himself. It was truly a good attempt to keep himself from freezing.

Before he knew it, he found himself walking along the familiar road. The road that he walked along too many times to count, but right now, he was all alone. He looked up so he could be met face to face with the moon. It was shining so brightly in the middle of the dark night's sky. It was staring right at him, it seemed like it was mocking him. It was mocking his heartbreak and his loneliness. It was mocking him.

Suddenly, as Bojan looked down, he felt like the last breath was knocked out of his lungs. You were skipping along the frozen road, your steps quickly increasing as you went towards your apartment.

He felt like a staker, even though he wasn't one. He slowely started to go after you, something was pulling him towards you. That invisible pull was there again, just like it first appeared when he saw you for the first time.

After a while, you finally came into your apartment. You leaned against the window with a heavy sigh. Bojan could see you from the street and as he watched you he felt like he was suffocating.

Bojan loved you. You know what? Scratch that. He loves you. He longs for you. He wants you to be safe and as he watched you quitly from down below, he once again exposed his pain for the Croatian girl to the moon. To the moon, to the darkes and the cold winter in the middle of the street.

Nisam ni zaslužio da završimo uživo

Jedna poruka i via more

Snegovi u avgustu sad po meni padaju

Dok tebe sunce greje, mi amore

It felt like it was a good day. Truly. Bojan and you went out to get lunch and to explore the city. You were just hanging out together and it felt so good to do it. However, all good things have to come to an end.

Bojan didn't expect it at all. It struck him like a bolt of lightning. Out of nowhere, just when you think the day is going to be beautiful, and it hit hard. Really hard. In fact, it hit so hard it hurt.

"I'm sorry, Bojan. I really don't want to do this, but I think it's for the best if we break up."

That was it. Bojan could still remember those words echoing in his mind even though you never said them out loud. You told him this through text messages and maybe that's why it hurts even more than it would if you told him that to his face.

You loved him so much. You still love him so much that it hurts. Joker Out was starting to be a big band that has so much potential, and with that came so much more fame. You just didn't want to be in the way. You felt like you weren't good enough for him. You felt like he could do, and deserves, so much better than you. You were so happy with him, in fact, you were happier than you have ever been. But you didn't want to be in the way. So you made a hard choice.

Nobody could ever know, nobody could ever describe the pain, suffering and all that misery that you felt that day. That miserable feeling you felt when you pressed that little "send" button on your phone. As you watched the message being sent, you cried so much that it felt like you were going to collapse. After that you cut all of the contacts with him.

It was for his own good, that's what you told yourself. It's what you always told yourself as you broke down in the middle of your bedroom floor.

Znaj, bebo, znaj

Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe

Taj osećaj

Da za mene živo ti se jebe

Ubija me

Bojan felt like a part of his soul was ripped away from his body as he read that message over and over again. He cried so much it started to hurt. He has never felt this way before. He hated to admit it, but he has never loved anyone as much as he loves you. It was intoxicating, but most of all it was painful and infuriating.

It lasted too long. Jan didn't know what to do anymore. Bojan just kept on crying, he was crying for so long, in fact, it was already dark outside. Jan was afraid that something was going to happen to him if he doesn't do something. And quick. It looked like Bojan wasn't breathing anymore. His broken soul didn't allow him to take a break, even just so he could breathe.

So Jan panicked and before he knew it, he was calling you up. He watched Bojan from the other room as the grip on his phone tightened. He found himself silently begging you to pick up your damn phone and answer him.

And so you did. After the millionth ring and after about two hundred messages later. You picked up the phone.

Jan told you everything. You were crying before he called you and it took everything in your power to not break down while being on the phone call with Bojan's band mate and your friend. You were practically kicking yourself for your decision, but there wasn't much that you could do.

From that day on, Jan tried everything in his power to get you two to at least meet. And for the first time, in a very long time, he succeeded. He managed to convince you to come to their concert.

In the city where you met.

Znaj, bebo, znaj

Celu noć sam plakao zbog tebe

Taj osećaj

Da za mene živo ti se jebe

Ubija me

As Bojan sang the last few chords of the song, he never broke the eye contact. You felt a few tears betraying you as they ran down your cheeks. Before you knew it, you found yourself whispering the words for which you barely found the strength to say.

"Celu noć si plakao zbog mene." You said, practically out of breath. It felt like you were kicked in your stomach as he continued to hold your gaze. You felt more tears as you found yourself repeating the words you just said.

"Celu noć si plakao zbog mene..." You couldn't do this to yourself anymore. You couldn't do this to him anymore. It was too much. The pain and suffering was getting out of hand.

You had to fix this.

#bojan cvjetićanin #joker out #bojan cvjeticanin #bojan cvjeticanin x reader #bojan cvjetićanin x reader #imagine #joker out x reader #eurovision song contest #eurovision 2023 #eurovision #fic #songfic #Spotify

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azzifudd · 4 months ago

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anon im with you on the theory. I think the Croatia trip was special for them, just the little moments from the Fudd vlogs and our Roman Empire, the ornament with P’s initials added to the Croatia dump

It’s moments like the ornament pic that makes me think once they’re not on the same team they will actually post way more often (even if they don’t say this is my gf, it’ll be obvious)

the initial thing is so meaningful 🥲

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eddieredmayneargentinablog · 10 months ago

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New post!

"Eddie Redmayne, star of the Fantastic Beasts series, enjoys a caffeine fix at a local speciality coffee shop".

By We love Budapest, January 30, 2024.

British actor Eddie Redmayne, currently shooting in Budapest, was spotted at a downtown speciality coffee shop. So, next time you are sipping on a flat white, keep an eye out – you might be sharing a coffee moment with the Oscar-winning star!

Redmayne, well known for his leading roles in the Fantastic Beasts series, The Danish Girl, and The Theory of Everything, has been in and out of Budapest since last summer. He is shooting ' The Day of the Jackal ', a thriller series based on Frederick Forsyth's novel, where he plays a professional assassin. Beyond the film set, he's been actively exploring the city, making appearances at a student protest and the Espresso Embassy, and now he ventured into another top-notch speciality café near the Parliament, where he posed for a photo.

The baristas at Madal said the actor had arrived solo and ordered a latte for himself and another to go. He was super friendly, greeting another guest with a 'Nice to meet you'.

As for the duration of his stay in the Hungarian capital, we have no information and the release date of the series also remains a mystery. But we do know that the filming locations span Budapest, Austria, Croatia, and the UK, and the cast includes Lashana Lynch, Adam James, Scott Alexander Young and Hans Peterson too. So some more celebrity spotting is definitely on the cards.

---

#eddie redmayne #eddieredmayne #redmayne #the day of the jackal #budapest #january 2024

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freakingoutthesquares · 1 year ago

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Mojo Britpop Special 2009 This Year’s Model. Transcription: Me.

A mix of Celtic yobs and art school wits, Pulp created a culturally momentous update of old school glam. But joining London's glitterati fragmented them. By Roy Wilkinson.

At the 96 BRITS, whilst Jarvis Cocker was making himself known to Michael Jackson via a stage invasion, bandmate Russell Senior was making another acquaintance. ‘I met Chris Eubank,’ says Russell of the monocle wearing former boxer. ‘We were getting on famously, but after the Jackson incident he folded his arms and turned away because he was a huge Jackson fan. I'd been having this interesting conversation, about art, philosophy... But Jarvis ruined it!’ [Laughs] ‘Though he had a point, of course.’

A phenomenon as chummy as Britpop was never likely to produce seditious acts similar to self-immolating monks or suffragettes throwing themselves under horses. Cocker's BRITS incursion was perfect - a commando raid as envisaged by Charlie Chaplin. If the Britpop was a national Jubilee, Cocker’s assault was the feat of bravado that marked the party at its peak - before dawn revealed the broken glass and trampled flower beds.

With nothing but a stylised posterior display and glare full of silent movie distain Cocker derailed Jackson’s plan to recast himself as a mix of Jesus, David Attenborough and Doctor Bernardo. Surrounded by children, images of wildlife and actors done up as representatives of the world's key religions, Jacko sang on through Earth Song, oblivious to Cocker’s presence. But the rest of the world noticed, and there were consequences.

Jarvis was locked up at Kensington police station, Brian Eno took out a pro-Cocker advert in industry paper Music Week, while Simon and Yasmin Le Bon appeared in the Daily Mirror wearing ‘Justice for Jarvis’ T-shirts. An act that united the ex-Roxy Music pop sage with the Duran Duran singer was an appropriately odd reflection of the way Pulp’s uneven career embraced both high and low art. By the time Cocker gatecrashed Jackson's performance, Pulp had been going 18 years. Jarvis, a single minded fellow, was the only surviving original member.

Russell Senior left Pulp after ‘Jacksongate’ in January 1997. He'd been with the band since 1983, effectively operating as Jarvis, his right-hand man. When I spoke to Russell, he was attempting to create a nesting site for kingfishers in the garden of his three-bedroom family home in Sheffield. Conversation ranged from Suede and Oasis to Russell’s fascination for central Europe. He recently visited Criona, a Serb enclave in Croatia. The band's guitarist and multi-instrumentalist, Russell quit Pulp, citing artistic frustration and the desire to spend more time with his family. He'd been part of Pulp’s slow ascent to 1995’s Different Class album, the band's commercial and critical peak, cut by a line up completed by keyboard player Candida Doyle, drummer Nick Banks and bassist Steve Mackey.

Jarvis wasn't the only member of Pulp to trespass at the BRITS. Cocker was accompanied by Peter Mansell, Pulp bassist, from 84 to 87. Mansell’s presence at the BRITS was a subtle reminder of the bands long torturous history. They survived years on the dole and lived through the Miners’ Strike, during which Russell served on the picket lines. Pulp finally reached the masses during Britpop's commercial peak in 95. But for Senior. Britpop began earlier, on a night in Paris in October 1991. Pulp were third on the bill to Blur and Lush.

‘My first experience of Blur,’ says Russell,’ was walking into their dressing room in Paris and seeing them smashing this mirrored wall. The floor was covered in glass and Alex (James) was pouring champagne out of the window onto the people below. Damon (Albarn) was flicking spoonfuls of caviar out of a window. The first thing Graham (Coxon) said to me was, ‘We like your band. We're going to copy you.’ I used to do this kind of Pete Townsend arm fling. Next time I saw Blur, Graham was doing it but making it look more like a Nazi salute.’

‘Later I thought their Girls and Boys single was very Pulp. (Blur producer) Stephen Steet did say, ‘I know we've nicked your clothes a bit.’ But I'm not griping at Blur because they had the balls to do it bigger. For me, that night in Paris was the start of Britpop. It's not something I'm going to knock. I mean, there was a period little later when I started wearing Union Jack socks.’

Prior to Senior’s Britpop flashpoint in Paris, he is band had a 13 year pre-history - unlucky for some including, it seems, Pulp. The band came into being in 78, formed by Jarvis at school in Sheffield. They were known as Arabicus Pulp, the Arabicus coming from a copy of the Financial Times. It alluded to a commodities index featuring coffee arabica, found in Ethiopia and Yemen. Spiritually cursed by such obtuseness, Pulp spent the next 15 years plagued by tragicomic levels of ill omen and commercial failure. There were rehearsals in the building shared with table tennis clubs and model railway enthusiasts. According to Jarvis, these hobbyist sects were at daggers-drawn and expressed their antipathy by crapping outside each other’s doors. Jarvis said in 1993 that he devoted much of ‘It’ Pulp’s 83 debut to ‘writing all these songs about girls when I'd never had a proper girlfriend.’ When he did secure female attention, Cocker had unconventional ways of making an impression. He attempted to walk along a second-floor window ledge outside a Sheffield bookshop. He fell, breaking a wrist and ankle and fracturing his pelvis.

Subsequent shows saw Jarvis singing from a wheelchair - a sight some interpreted as grotesque take on the kind of ‘disability chic’ launched by a hearing-aid-adorned Morrissey. Pulp made an album for £600. The sales figure wasn't of a dissimilar magnitude. Pulp made three albums in these wilderness years. It was followed by Freaks (1987) and Separations (1991) [Actually 1992!]. Freaks’ subtitle - Ten Songs About Power, Claustrophobia, Suffocation and Holding Hands – said Pulp were still some way from the matily exuberant dimensions of, say, Blurs beery, Britpop totem Girls and Boys.

I first interviewed Jarvis and Russell in 87 around Freaks. They were genuinely amazed that then record company Fire had stretched to some chocolate biscuits to go with tea. The resulting article compared Pulp to Ian McEwan, Bertold Brecht and Carry On actor Charles Hawtrey.

‘It wasn't all about me and Jarvis by any means,’ says Russell of Freaks. ‘There was also this Celtic yob element which was (Belfast born) Candida Doyle, Magnus (Doyle, Candida’s brother and Pulp drummer at that point) and Pete Mansell. If it was just me and Jarvis, it would have all been very art school. The other three liked Sham 69… Actually, we all liked Sham 69. Perhaps that was the only thing we all had in common. In fact, we sometimes played Sham 69s Hurry up, Harry live.

After Freaks, Jarvis moved to London, studying at Central St. Martins College of Art and Design. Steve Mackey had joined Pulp on bass and was also in the capital studying film at the Royal College of Art. Soon Pulp were exhibiting a more playful mood and an unknowingly pop-art retrospection. There were concert flyers advocating ‘Pulp-ish’ things to do, such as ‘doing a wheelie on a Raleigh Chopper’ and ‘Going to the supermarket wearing a lurex jumper.’

This increasing friskiness - and references to the kind of 70s bicycling design that would soon turn up in the video for Supergrass’, Alright single - began to manifest itself in Pulp’s records. In the early 1990s they released a string of singles full of a new vivacity. In title, at least one single could hardly have given clearer indication that Pulp were now ready for revelry. It was called Razzamatazz.

Pulp left Fire for Island Records. The band's first album proper for Island was His’n’Hers in 1994. Now Pulp finally reached the Top 10 of the UK Albums Chart. The sleeve featured an airbrushed portrait of the band by Philip Castle, the artist best known for his poster image for the film A Clockwork Orange in 1971 - Pulp were a vision of sci-fi second-hand chic. The music included the same pop art reconfiguration of the past.

‘Glam rock was a big part of the picture,’ says Russell. ‘I'd written this mission statement for the band - about making the fairground music of the future. The music of dodgem cars and girls with love bites - the modern version of Sugar Baby Love by the Rubettes, anything by Slade and Sweet. In the dour time we were experiencing, there was a wistfulness for the exuberance of glam rock. We believed in glamour. We absolutely wanted to be pop stars - on our own terms, but pop stars nonetheless.’

With its vandals, acrylics and tales of sexual initiation His’n’Hers was a critical and commercial success. The next 16 months saw Pulp - Jarvis in particular - become a national treasure. Where once Cocker had occupied the mildewed margins, now he seemed to be permanently addressing the nation with wit, charm and the ability to correctly answer every question that Mike Read [it was Chris ‘Talent’ Tarrant actually!] asked in the quick fire round on BBC 1's Pop Quiz.

Pulp’s years lurking in the backwaters could now be seen as advantageous, their own prolonged version of the way The Beatles had honed their craft hidden away in Hamburg. If Britpop was about taking age-old strands of British culture and re-styling them for the contemporary era, Pulp were masters of the moment. The Sheffield years weren't far removed from the formative grind endured by any traditional Northern stand-up comedian.

Russel: ‘On stage, Jarvis is always great at talking to people. But before Britpop, he kind of had them in his hand and then turned it into a joke. That used to drive me mad because I wanted him to keep hold of them and make it all really euphoric. Coming into the 90s he became a full-on master of ceremonies and it was great. The Pulp shows in that period was so exciting. That was the best of it for me. I don't think we ever truly captured it on record.’

When Pulp stood in for an injury-stricken Stone Roses at Glastonbury in 1995, they were greeted with the kind of open-armed gratitude Allied troops experienced while liberating Paris in 1944. These latter-day saviours brought with them a whiff of sex and nylons, but also Common People, a song that for the summer of 1995 became a universal anthem to match Lily Marlene or The White Cliffs of Dover.

When Jarvis guest presented Top of the Pops in 1994, he was met with a wave of communal good will. Even more so than when Chris U band appeared two years later, gamey lisping through ‘Suggs at six with Cecilia.’ Then Pulp became Top of the Pops themselves, their Different Class album hitting Number 1. It wasn't difficult to account for its success. The likes of Mis-Shapes and Something Changed have show-tune vigour that could have been as successful for Tommy Steele or Jesus Christ Superstar. There were also more left field inclinations. Common People was partly inspired by the drones of American minimalist composers Steve Reich and La Monte Young. But at its core, the album dealt in ancient methodology: narrative writing set to music everyone could understand.

While Britpop groups occasionally mined British music hall, Pulp surveyed the eternal verities of popular song less self-consciously than their peers. Here was a new folk music, but one that always felt like pop music. Musically, the album touched on The Beatles’ Revolution 9, drum and bass, the soundtrack to 1966 French film Un Homme et une Femme by Claude Lelouch and Gloria the 1982 hit from Laura Branigan. It amounted to a remarkable piece of populist art. However, the band have mixed memories of this period.

‘It did feel like vindication,’ says Nick Banks. ‘We were always confident that if only the masses could hear what we were doing, then they'd like it. When people did hear it, quite a few thought it was good enough to shell out for a record or two.’

‘At the time,’ says Candida Doyle, ‘We fought against the Britpop label. I thought we were the best band and there was no way we should be grouped with these other bands, but looking back, we were part of it and I'm glad we were. It was only in 2000 that I actually began to enjoy playing with the band. Before that, I was petrified on stage. Headlining Glastonbury, that was really fucking scary. But when we played Common People and they turned the lights on the crowd singing for miles into the distance, I'll never forget that.’

Russell has a more challenging version of events. ‘It had become a travesty,’ he says. Different Class was a kind of last gasp. It was over by then, but we still managed to get it down as a document. I rather hated Jarvis when he was in the studio singing Common People. He'd become so far removed. He was the villain of the piece because he was wearing trousers he'd been given by some designer. He wasn't wearing his jumble sale trousers. We were surrounded by coked-up knobheads.’

Senior also talks about an attitudinal North-South divide in the band at this point. In the Southern corner were London residents Jarvis and Steve. For the North, Russell, Nick and Candida, (though Candida was actually living in London by this point.) It's a perspective partly shared by Nick. ‘There was a North-South divide,’ says Russell, ‘Abso-fucking-lutely. I like living in Sheffield and one does have a chip on one’s shoulder about being patronised by poncy Southern bastards. To find there was a couple of members of the band who were doing the patronising was rather irksome! (laughs) The more they go all Kate Moss and London, the more I'd be, ‘By heck, where's me whippet?’ There was definitely a divide within the band.’

Russell left Pulp as they began to work on what would become 1998’s This is Hardcore album. By this time narcotics had become part of the picture, appearing in the lyrics of This is Hardcore and becoming a staple topic in Pulp interviews.

‘I thought that was a distorted image,’ says Steve Mackey. ‘I've never known Jarvis have a problem with narcotics. Ever. I was taking a lot more drugs than he was, but I didn't think I was taking that many. With Pulp no one ever went to rehab, no one was taking heroin. I don't recall Jarvis ever regularly taking drugs. But it did become a fairly regular part of the studio experience during This is Hardcore, and that's a dangerous thing. It became a bit of a self-indulgent record. But in a way that's also its finest hour, because something glorious came out of that. I feel very affectionate about that record. I think we really reached something with that.’

And the alleged north-south divide?

‘I never felt that,’ says Mackey, ‘My recollection of why Russell left is that after Different Class, it was clear he wanted to make a record that followed on in that vein. Me and Jarvis made it clear we weren't going to make that kind of record. Russell made it clear he didn't want to make our kind of record. The split was pretty amicable - we didn't fall out, but it cast a shadow over the band. I missed Russell - he was the person I loved watching when I saw them live before I joined.’

Before Pulp played their last show in 2002, they made one more album, the nature oriented We Love Life, released in 2001. There was also an underperforming greatest hits compilation in 2002, a record Jarvis has described as ‘the real whimper, the real silent fart’ of Pulp’s career. It charted Number 71, then disappeared. But if Pulp’s last years can read as forlorn times, that wasn't really the case. Recorded with Scott Walker, We Love Life has some of Pulp’s finest material, particularly the wonderfully elegiac, spoken word piece, Wickerman.

Nowadays, Pulp’s ex-members have a healthy view on all the past dramas, perhaps because Pulp isn't the only thing in their lives anymore. Jarvis was unavailable for interview because he was in America mastering his second solo LP. He also guest-edited BBC Radio 4’s Today programme and collaborated with Nancy Sinatra and Marianne Faithful. I spoke to Candida Doyle as she was visiting Disneyland Paris with six Shetland cousins and their ten children. She’s started a counselling course in London. Steve Mackey just finished producing Florence and the Machine’s debut album. He's produced and co-written for MIA and has remixed the likes of Kelis and Arcade Fire. While overseeing London's Frieze Art Fair’s musical programme, Mackey booked Karlheinz Stockhausen for one of his last engagements before he died. Nick Banks plays at private parties with The Big Shambles, knocking out covers of songs by The Damned, David Bowie and Amy Whitehouse. More typically, he runs Banks' pottery, a Rotherham based crockery business – ‘Crock’n’roll, as we like to call it.’

Of all the former members, Russell Senior has strayed furthest from music. He's written 50,000 words of a debut novel and has been setting up a ‘wild-foods processing plant.’ An avid lover of wild mushrooms, Russell has been furthering this. Rather than reducing trees to a pulp, he's utilised woodland in a more sustainable manner. ‘What I've been doing,’ he says, ‘is drilling little holes in Birch trees to collect sap – I’d highly recommend it.”

Scans from PulpWiki

#russell senior #jarvis cocker #steve mackey #candida doyle #nick banks #mark webber #pulp #britpop #90s #interview

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holidaysenses · 1 year ago

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Personal experiences in Croatia - Holiday Senses

Explore our private experiences in Croatia together with your most important people and feel special moments this year. Croatia offers a lot of private activities and hidden locations, and we have summarized all of them for you to easily explore and book what you desire. For more information, get in touch with Holiday Senses.

#best private guided tours Croatia #private luxury tours of Croatia #Personal experiences in Croatia #Private group tours Croatia #special moments in Croatia

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dijetemjeseca · 1 year ago

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#samobor #croatia #365project #myupload #august 2023 #the old town #summer adventures #explore #hiking #special moments

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wishingstarinajar · 1 year ago

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Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory?

A memory from a trip to Croatia. This vacation was special because I had planned and booked it especially for my mother, who deserved this vacation after all the crap she had gone through and survived together with me. I paid for all the expenses so she didn't have to worry about anything. It was just us two, and the lovely elderly people in our tour group xD

My fondest memory was after we took a boat trip to a small island and just sat around at a tiny cafe that was basically the backyard and dock of a lobster fisherman, right next to the water. It was peaceful, the weather was super nice, the elderly peeps were really friendly, welcoming and chatty as we all sat together and had a drink. Just laughter and good times. That moment gave off a family-like vibe that was completely new to me. It is difficult to describe but I've never really experienced that warmth again. I often think back to it.

#wish talks #q and a #toss wish at flowers

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jokeroutsubs · 7 months ago

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📝ENG Translation: NEW VOICES: RAIVEN in conversation with Bojan Cvjetićanin

Article published in April 2024 issue of VOGUE Adria magazine, English translation by @kurooscoffee, @moonlvster and a member of Joker Out Subs, Proofread by IG GBoleyn123.

Whatever it is, in its essence youth is almost always intense, authentic, revolutionary and brings new things even when it is not aware of it, and if there is a great example of this statement, then it is certainly this year's representatives at the Eurovision song contest from the countries of our region. It has not happened for a long time that at the same time Slovenia, Serbia and Croatia are represented by members of the younger generation who also bring a completely new sound. While Teya Dora extremely successfully brings ethno-influences into pop, Raiven gives her operatic background a pop form, and Baby Lasagna brings a rock sound with a specific local twist. However, in addition to being refreshing in the musical sense, they also know the little secret that "a song can bear everything" and that in it, it is possible to say more than in hundreds of words, so with their songs they open not only a new chapter in the music scene of the region, but also some important questions: migrations, feelings of rejection and not belonging, regeneration and triumph in difficult times. This year's Eurovision representatives talked about this sacred thing (and much more) with their colleagues Ana Đurić Konstrakta, Vesna Pisarović and Bojan Cvjetićanin, who participated in some of the previous Eurovisions and shared questions, doubts, experiences, problems, plans and excitement about the upcoming contest.

Sara Briški Cirman, Raiven, talked to last year's Slovenian Eurovision representative Bojan Cvjetićanin from Joker Out about authenticity, which always wins, stage fright and the new Slovenian music scene.

BOJAN : We haven't spoken for a long time, practically since the last interview we did via webcam, I called you from London last time if you remember.

RAIVEN: Yes, I remember. This is going to be very special now because I can't even imagine how the conversation is going to go, because you're going to be asking me questions mostly, and I think it's usually the other way round, so...

BOJAN: Look, I have a lot of questions prepared for you and I'm really looking forward to talking to you. I think it's best if we start with the fact that your life is probably mostly painted with the Eurovision colours at the moment. Please tell me, how has your Eurovision participation shaken up your inner state of mind? What is going on in your head?

RAIVEN: Yes, this Eurovision is absolutely much more mentally exhausting than one would think. Above all, I think it's not only stressful for the artist, but also for the people around the person who is going to Eurovision. There are many emotions, from excitement to fear and horror. Everything is present, but it is the most exciting period in my life so far.

BOJAN: You're an independent music artist, you're not signed to any record label, right? Do you, already at this moment, before Eurovision itself, see the disadvantages or advantages of being an independent artist?

RAIVEN: Yeah, there are definitely advantages in terms of having more creative freedom, but Eurovision is such a big project that I think it would be nice to have a bigger team of people behind you to help you out, but I still have a lot of people I can rely on and work well with. Through the Eurovision process, I've also got a sharper radar of who I'm cool working with and who I'm not.

BOJAN: Do you feel any fear? Do you feel equally competent to the other performers? Some of them probably have a background in the music industry, some of them absolutely come from these so-called powerhouse countries of Eurovision. How do you feel?

RAIVEN: I have a chance in terms of having some kind of starting position, but at the same time I feel a little less pressure because I feel that if you come from a bigger country, you have higher expectations about the result.

BOJAN: Okay. What is your realistic goal? What would you want in a year? I mean, in one year, Eurovision will be ten months behind you. What would be the ideal result for you in one year?

RAIVEN: I would probably be happiest if I managed to have concerts abroad. I also think my music is suitable for a foreign market. Yes, I would definitely be interested in that. I think you have more than obviously shown that it can be done, but there are a lot of factors. To go abroad would be ideal for me of course, at least to the Balkans. That seems somewhat realistic to me.

BOJAN: The Eurovision stage will absolutely be the biggest stage you have ever stood upon. Will Sara be scared?

RAIVEN: Yes, of course I'll be scared. But above all, I feel a very strong responsibility to myself not to disappoint myself, to be relaxed and confident enough in the moment, and ready enough to really enjoy it. I mean, everybody tells me that I have to go there first and foremost to enjoy it, but I honestly don't go there with that mindset. I'm sure I'll be happy if I enjoy it too, but I think I'm going there to work first and foremost. Then, when all the things and all the preparations have gone at least roughly as I had imagined, I can enjoy it.

BOJAN: It's been a while since the song has been out. Tell me, how are your ears reacting to the song today?

RAIVEN: I'm very proud of this song. I don't think I've ever released a song that I could stand behind so much. It's also absolutely clear to me how I could have approached it more tactfully and made a different song that might have been more suitable for that stage on a first sight. But it's a song that I'm still not tired of now that I've sung it a million times and that I've been rehearsing for a really, really long time. I know that at this point in my musical development, this song has been through the most; it's the best I can give of myself and I've put all the knowledge and all the experience I've gained so far into this song, so I'm very proud of it.

BOJAN: Nice. I like to hear it too and it always stays in my head when I hear it, so it's a good ear worm, even if maybe it's not uniform.

RAIVEN: But I have to say that I often think back to when you came to me and when we were still working on the song a little bit, because the song didn't have that most important hook in the first place, "Jaz sem, ti si, Veronika" ("I am, you are, Veronika"), and I often think back to what it would have been like if the song didn't have that part. I feel like it really elevated the song to a whole other level and gave it a part that maybe I wouldn't have dared to give it because I would have thought it was too hooky for me. I don't even know what I was thinking before, when that part wasn't there, so thank you.

BOJAN: My pleasure. I agree that a good part is in the right place. It definitely has a role to play. You know, I believe that the universe tends to take us where it can take us, if we're already working in that direction, to believe in our own success and in good energies. It was bound to happen, and it did. You performed at the Croatian Dora and sang Veronika for the first time in a stripped down version, in a different shape, acoustically, and as far as I could tell from the comments, it was very well received. Are there any more of your opera inserts to look forward to at Eurovision? Or is that a secret?

RAIVEN: I don't know exactly what people perceive as opera. If these high notes that I shout at the end of Veronika are operatic, then yes. I think it's a dangerous path for me, this pop genre of opera, because I think it can quickly take on a corny undertone, so I'm very careful when it comes to including opera into pop. But I'm sure it will be very audible on the Eurovision stage that my technical singing fundamentals are based on classical training.

BOJAN: Interesting, interesting and beautiful. The performance will, I assume, also have a strong dance or choreographic theme. I believe, given that we approached Eurovision pretty much on the principle of "Let's try to make a concert experience," which also meant that the choreography was really minimal and we didn't bother with it too much. But maybe you're even more worried about the choreography part than the actual performance?

RAIVEN: Not really, because I feel like with the choreography, if I can even call it that, because it's not really that, we've approached it as coming from me and coming from some natural movement of mine. I felt liberated to accept that I'm not a dancer and I don't need to look pretty or sexy or like some conventional beauty on stage and I've embraced this awkward moment that I'm having and I feel very comfortable in all these movements that we've put in, so now I don't (worry) anymore. But I have one question for you. What advice do you have for me as a female musician who is not so much conventionally or commercially oriented, but is still going to be standing on the Eurovision stage, who maybe even has a certain requirement from a female singer to be a Beyonce type singer?

BOJAN: My honest opinion is that Eurovision is the festival where unconventional acts have absolutely thrived the most so far, i.e. those who have managed to break through the boundaries of what we think of as ordinary. It seems to me that if in those three minutes it is clear to everyone that what you are presenting on stage is sincere, that is to say, that this mystery or complexity is part of you and that this is evident both in your performance and in your aura, then that is the only recipe for success, as far as I am concerned. That is to say, if it looks real, it is real. I think you know very well what you represent and what you are doing, so you just have to carry it through to the end and carry it through flawlessly.

RAIVEN: Hm, if you were going to Eurovision now, would you do anything differently? Or would you as a band have done something different?

BOJAN: I would definitely dress differently. I wouldn't change anything else, honestly. We were a bit too colourful maybe. But it was all part of the moment, we were having a blast, we were wearing the Garden of Eden colours, and it all happened as it should have happened. I wouldn't change anything else. We had a great team, we had great energy. Luckily I wasn't nervous on stage when I had to be myself, that's it. Obviously, a huge part of Eurovision is what happens behind the stage. The Eurovision community is very involved and they really love what goes on. Tell me, have you made any friends, at least through social networks or otherwise, with any of your fellow soldiers this year?

RAIVEN: Yes, I have. I met Baby Lasagna at Dora and we had a little chit-chat and I told him I was a big fan of his song and he said he was a big fan of mine. And then in another interview he said really nice things about me, so I've already gotten to know him and I'm also mutually following quite a lot of the artists on Instagram. There are a couple of them who are really inspiring me now that I've got to know their music.

BOJAN: Yeah, Baby Lasagna, is he still first at the bookies?

RAIVEN: I think so, I think that's pretty impressive, and especially that story of his is pretty cool.

BOJAN: Would you rather win the Eurovision and then not have much happen to you, as it goes for most Eurovision winners, or would you rather live up to the success of Rosa Linn, who was, I think, 20th, and then took the whole world by storm with her song?

RAIVEN: I would have loved to have had the success that you have had. I think you guys are a total inspiration to me.

BOJAN: Thank you very much. I also sincerely wish that it opens up for you in that direction, because our life has totally turned upside down in a very positive way. That dream that probably every kid has, once they start a band, to be able to play, let alone to be able to play in Europe; we've now managed to live and experience those things in one year. Without Eurovision, I'm sure it wouldn't have happened as quickly or as powerfully, so that's very nice and I believe you will do it too.

RAIVEN: But I think that you have given a lot of drive and pride to people on the Slovenian scene in general. What do you think about the young music scene in Slovenia?

BOJAN: We emerged on the music scene here, let's say, in 2014. That's when we started with our first band. I think we had already signed up for a gig in 2014 or 2015, with Apokalipsa. This was at a time when Kino Šiška was already running Špil Liga¹ and had newly produced a band called Koala Voice, which at that time gave a strong sense of something fresh on the Slovenian music scene. Koala Voice and Persons from porlock were probably the first two bands that managed to get a younger audience on their side and then the gigs started, the festivals booked the young artist, considering that the scene in Slovenia has been pretty much of the same colours and stagnant for the last 15 years. Then in 2016/2017 we formed, MRFY formed and I would say that then they and we, together with Koala Voice, became the carriers of the new wave of music in Slovenia. Then bands like Lumberjack and KOKOSY quickly joined, and now we have MASAYAH, so suddenly a lot of young artists started to appear, including Jet Black Diamonds, who managed to attract people to their concerts by themselves, which was not the case in Slovenia, let's say 10 or 15 years ago. I would say that the music scene in Slovenia is going through a total renaissance, so it's absolutely more than clear that the music scene has changed a lot in a positive way.

¹Competition for student bands organized by Kino Šiška, which Joker Out won in 2017

RAIVEN : How would you say pop artists are perceived in Slovenia and what is Slovenian pop like? Because most of these new artists that you mentioned are mainly from the band category.BOJAN: Slovenia is very different from the Balkans here because Balkan pop is more kafana/club pop, which is not the case with our pop. We have, or always have had, a lot of artists who have a media presence and appear every year, for example at the traditional Portorož² festival, or at these events that we have, but they never have their own concerts. In the Balkans, I don't think this is the case, because the performers are really very regularly playing at locations, whatever those may be.

² Kafana pop is a genre of music typical to the Balkans, and mostly consists of commercial folk/turbofolk songs. Kafana is a distinct type of local bistro, common in some former Yugoslav countries, which primarily serves alcoholic beverages and coffee, and often also light snacks.

³ The Portorož festival that Bojan mention is annual pop/ballad competition called "Melodije morja in sonca" (Melodies of the sea and the sun).

RAIVEN: What do you think is the reason for that?

BOJAN: For me, the reason is that there is no audience for the pop music that exists here. It seems to me that it's not music that you can transfer into some kind of a location and that somebody will actually go and listen to it; it's music for radio, for TV shows and so on. Folk music is performed, folk bands are by far the most present on the live music scene here, but pop artists are not, because it is very difficult to get that kind of music on the stage. I think most pop artists in this country don't even have a band or a concept, so they're practically just media personalities as far as I'm concerned. There is absolutely a very interesting difference between Slovenia and the rest of the Balkans. Club culture doesn't exist here, pop artists are more or less doomed to radio.

RAIVEN: How do you see the difference between how male or female performers are perceived in Slovenia, do you think there is any difference between how they are perceived? What are the demands on male and female lead vocalists?

BOJAN: Jeez, I don't know, In Slovenia we have a very specific problem when it comes to female lead vocalists, because it is very rare that a female lead vocalist dares to smash the stage. One true female lead vocalist was Nina from Tabu, after her Tina from Tabu, and now there is MASAYAH. In the Balkans they really don't lack in that regard, in the Balkans female performers are very sharp, with lots of character, very strong; you have the feeling that they don't care about the system; you can't come along and act clever, because you'll get a slap. But here it's all taken with laughter and joy, everything is nice and right, which is the difference between Slovenia and the Balkans. It seem that the audience here eats it up if a woman knows how to totally smash it when she comes on stage. Manca from Koala Voice is a pure example of that; she came on stage and she owned the stage so that we were all impressed, it's the same with Helena Blagne, she's a diva and the stage is hers, I think female leading vocalists with character are very well received. You absolutely have that, but you're in a different genre, you're not in a position to come and start jumping on stage, but you still take your stance. Of course, there are still singers, male and female, and bands that are great, but I can't mention all of them right now. I would also like to mention Nina Pušlar, who is absolutely by far the most active pop singer in Slovenia. She knows what she is doing. It would be bad to leave her out, To get back to your song, I have one more question, how did you come up with the title Veronika?

RAIVEN: The song was originally written about Jeanne d'Arc, but after I started thinking about entering EMA and Eurovision with this song, it seemed to me that I should choose a female character who is important for Slovenia and for the Slovenian space as an inspiration for the song. Veronika Deseniška (Veronika of Desenice) was the first woman accused of witchcraft in Slovenia, and I feel that I am very understanding towards people who are rejected or not understood by society, so there is a personal connection that I have with Veronika.

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credits:

PHOTO: MARKO SUVIĆ

Creative director: FILIP KOLUDROVIĆ

Fashion: ANA NIKAČEVIĆ

Makeup: NINA BURAZOR

Hair: ŽIGA ABRAM @ MARE DRESURA

Assistant stylist: KRISTINA VRDOLJAK

Note from JokerOutSubs: Photos for this post were provided by TWT dejanacm, text was provided by an anonymous fan. Thank you!

#joker out #bojan cvjetićanin #raiven #eurovision 2024 #slovenia #baby lasagna #croatia #teya dora #serbia

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