#Hans Fauste

[bitchdafuqyousay]

Hans Fauste

An awful, metallic scent filled the hot air. Made worse by the heavy humidity that hung over their island so stubbornly, hanging around as stubborn as the beady eyed, cold, cruel people who’d made their homes here.

The closer he got the smell of cigarettes began to make itself known. The smoke from the little white and orange sticks twining and dancing with smoke from a gun. Or two. Depending on if the bastard he was marching to meet felt like drawing both this evening. Cigarette smoke, gun smoke, the salty air gently wafting up from the beach- and blood. Lots of it.

Blood, piss, tears, and vomit. 

“This place fucking reeks.” It always did.

Bronco stopped firmly before entering the pathetic excuse of an open air courtyard the complex boasted. Used to boast. It doesn’t anymore. Being a meet up for all the lowlifes on this side of the island culled any and all bragging rights. Not like there were any tenants here to brag anyways. Even the homeless avoided this place. The people who hung around here or crept over occasionally didn’t live in any of the buildings.

Roanapur’s “finest” used this place. He wasn’t one of them. And he’d never claim to be, the way others might. Don’t pretend to be something you’re not. That was a sure fire way to get a bullet to the front of your face and find your final resting place in a back alley dumpster. But he did know some, and he’d “work” with them on behalf of other people, if they paid him good enough. His eyes scanned the yard, glancing briefly over the two bodies across the way from him, heaped together. They’d either been dragged there or killed there. Bronco couldn’t tell; he didn’t really care either as he wrinkled his nose at the sight.

One of the poor bastards had pissed himself pre-mortem. Shame. That’s embarrassing, and unfortunate- but quite understandable.

And even more unfortunate than that was that they had to meet and see the man who’d put them in that heap. The one he was looking for right now. Absolute monstrous brute. He could smell the fucker’s cigarettes, but couldnt see him.

“Fauste!” 

He waited a second before inhaling deeply to yell again, “Hans-” and was treated to a face full of smoke. Cue disgusting, dramatic hacking to the backing tune of a dark, low chuckle.

“You dick-” he coughed again “-that went in my fucking mouth you fu-” 

“Loud.”

He cut himself off at the single word from the other man. It wasn’t a threat, just an observation, but better safe than sorry. And one would end up real sorry if they didn’t stop while they were ahead out here. 

“Whatever. I don’t need to ask you if you’ve done your due diligence. I can see it. Smell it, too.”

The other man smelled like blood, and that alongside the state of his knuckles screamed that shooting wasn’t all he did to those men. Fauste chuckled meanly and flicked his cigarette butt to the ground, stamping the cherry with the heel of his boot. The sides and toes of his boots also spoke of how much else he did.

“Somebody will ride by to pick those up, then hand ‘em off to Dr. Smiles to break up-” he gestured at the corpses, “Lord knows I don’t deal with that stuff and while you and yours are real good at leaving bodies you don’t do shit to pick em’ up.” 

He turned away from the courtyard to leave the damn thing’s entrance, and his nose brushed Hans Fauste’s chest. He wasn’t sure when the man had gotten behind him, last he’d looked the pale blonde was to his left. His new directional orientation aside, when’d he get so close- why’d he get so close?

“Fauste- '' he put a hand up on the man’s abdomen and shoved a bit. No give. “Fuck are you doing?” He pushed again, same result. The big bitch didn’t budge, just stared down at him with an odd look that made him sweat. His mouth twitched as Fauste’s brown eyes narrowed to slits so sharp he thought the gaze alone might slit his throat. 

“Bronco.”

The sweat turned cold, his name falling out from that man’s mouth made his stomach tighten. He wanted to get out of here. Get into his car and call the person he was third partying for and tell them to run the Maroon Company their goddamn check. Cut this interaction short as he could, he always tried to cut these things short as possible. He hated these types; people who’d been steeped in blood since they were kids and didn’t know anything else but it. Learned how to hold a knife when other kids were learning how to hold a pen. Brats from war sunk places- official and gang- who don’t know shit but kill or be killed. Sympathetic figures, honestly. But he hated them. They were barely people, they didn’t flinch at causing or receiving pain of some kind or another, devoid of empathy and had a real lack of concern for the sanctity of human life. 

Loyal though, if you could train them right. 

Hans was trained, followed around his boss like a big dog. A real big, real mean, violent, aggressive, and reactive dog. He was good to his team, though. Alex and Sam hadn’t a thing to worry about from him. Especially Alex, it seemed like he was a bit sweet on her. Hans would sink his teeth into anyone who had a pulse and said yes, hell, he’d even tried to fit his teeth into Bronco once or twice, but everyone knew he held a special place in whatever was left of his heart for the lady. And he was decent enough to Bronco cause they met every now and then. He’d mediated between people who wanted Hans and the company the blonde was with to do something for them. He’d done this several times so he was a familiar face.

Even nasty dogs are less likely to bite if they recognize you.

But that flies out the window if you cross one the dog’s lines; step on a paw or the tail. And Bronco was straining to remember if he’d done just that. 

Hans tilted his head to the left, then leaned forwards some. It looked odd, him stooping like that while his head was at an angle. And damn did it highlight the height difference between the two men. He was a big guy, and Bronco knew he was intentionally playing on that by leaning forwards to meet his eyes. 

You’re small. So much smaller than me- look how far I’ve gotta bend. Ya see? How much I’ve lowered to meet you in the middle? 

It was an intimidation tactic, and sure, he’d been on the receiving end before, but it was different right now cause it was just the two of them. Prior to this, Hans’ boss was usually here, someone who’d tug his leash and tell him to sit. But now. Now it’s just Bronco, Hans Fauste, and two dead guys at the other side of the courtyard in the center of an abandoned apartment complex. A place where undertakers lurked in the basement and unlucky bastards got their shit rocked in the rooms where people used to sleep. A breeze pushed the smell of blood from the bodies into the small space between the men. 

If I wanted to hurt you, I could. I would. What could you even do about it? I’m armed, and even if I weren’t, I’m so much bigger than you. You can’t fight me off.

“Up it.”

“Pardon?”

Hans reached out and placed a heavy hand on Bronco’s shoulder, putting the other in front of his face and rubbed his pointer, middle finger and thumb together. Money. Then he pointed at the entryway ceiling above them. 

Ah, up it. The price, the cost has risen. Their employers were gonna have to lay out a bigger amount than had been agreed on prior. Bronco, to his credit, didn’t give a shit. Sure fucking thing you big bastard, fuck em’! Make em’ pay a million US dollars for it for all he cared. But they were paying him too. They were shilling him a handful to act as a representative. So he had to represent.

“But a price was already agreed on-”

Hans shrugged dismissively, that big pale hand not leaving his shoulder even as he straightened his posture. 

“I can’t just tell them to write a bigger check without telling them why, I’m gonna have to call Bast and ask her if she’s got you asking for more or if you want a tip for your good work.”

Hans rolled his eyes like some damn teenager before meeting the older man's gaze again, “I’m just doing what I’ve been told.”

His voice was a low, gritty whisper. He didn’t talk much, whether that was a choice or a result of the jagged, pale pink tear across the front of his neck he didn’t know, but regardless he half wished it’d affect him more and make the shithead totally mute. He didn’t like it when Hans spoke, nothing good happened. Plus, he didn’t like his voice. Sounded… wrong… in some way.

“Wow, I’m one lucky bastard, getting to hear a whole sentence from you. What a treat, you’ve used me to meet your word quota for the month.” 

Bronco huffed, turning his face away from Hans and planting his hands on his hips, then looking down at his shoes. They were all dusty now. Hans’ hand squeezed a bit before leaving his shoulder. Bast had evidently approved this, he trusted that Hans was in fact doing what he was told. 

“Ugh. Right. Well, I’ll call our beloved customers and tell ‘em terms have changed and that they gotta get in touch with Maroon Company now. Fuckin’ hell. Now I’ve gotta mediate a meeting. Phone or face?”

Hans screwed up his nose and snorted. 

Yeah, pointless asking him. He wouldn’t know, didn’t care either. That was between the clients and Bast. He just did what he was told. 

Sit, stay, bark, bite. 

Another long sigh left the shorter man’s lips, and he ignored the way Hans’ eyes focused on his mouth for a brief second before they drifted over his head. Probably to admire his handy work in the courtyard. The pale man snorted again, turning away and pulling out another cigarette. Horrible habit, chain smoking. It was rare to see the guy without one of the little cancer sticks hanging out his mouth. But, in turning away, he moved, and Bronco could scoot past him and start pacing towards his car. The man snorted when he went by.

Run, rabbit, run. So, so eager to get away. Rabbit running from the hound.

“I’ll see you around, Fauste. Try not to get fatally shot between now and then.”

[jelly-drop-buttons]

I’ve also been meaning to do one of these “Fav Character Bingos” for a while! So, here it is!

(click for better quality)

Blank Template Below:

[twelverriver]

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back / Mission Impossible: Fallout

[tuttocenere]

Something that bugs me about AO3 is that Goethe's Faust is tagged as "Heinrich Faust". That's not his name! The historical person was called Johann Georg (and as far as I know went by Georg). The Goethe character doesn't really ever say his full name but he does call himself Hans (short for Johann) in a monologue. Heinrich is a fake name!

Und träte sie den Augenblick herein, Wie würdest du für deinen Frevel büßen! Der große Hans, ach wie so klein! Läg’, hingeschmolzen, ihr zu Füßen.

[yorgunherakles]

duygularına boyun eğen kendi denetimi altında değil daha çok kaderin denetimi altındadır.

steven nadler - spinoza'nın felsefesi

[fatherentropy]

Been playing Palia w/ Hans so Hans & one Yorick Faust pre despair event horizon

[addictivecontradiction]

Faust: Eine deutsche Volkssage, 1926

[lunarcry]

såg en comic där tiretta såg SÅ mkt ut som rutile igår. dör

[musicwithoutborders]

Faust / Hans Joachim Irmler, Carousel I Ravvivando, 1999

[fallingforfandoms]

Day 24175 of me watching GOT and copying a majority of the lines into that Google Doc because it fits so bloody well to my story. What else is new 🙃

[cloudcountry]

i was talking to @dove-da-birb about traits we don't get to see in otome love interests since they all kinda have the same body type and face (no facial hair, no grey hairs, no acne scars, same skinny/muscular body type) so i'm going to share my headcanons on what i think each suitor would have!!

this includes ikevamp, ikepri, ikerev, ikesen, and mystic messenger ^^

definitely has a stubble that scratches against your cheek when they snuggle you:

leonardo, arthur, theo, faust, chevalier, nokto, silvio, edgar, zero, ray, dalim, zen, mitsuhide akechi, kenshin uesugi, sasuke sarutobi, motonari mouri, kennyo.

has smile lines and crows feet that make your heart skip a beat every time you see them:

napoleon, mozart, dazai, sebastian, will, vlad, clavis, jonah, luka, dean, blanc, saeyoung choi, jihyun kim, masamune date, yukimura sanada, yoshimoto imagawa.

has grey hairs...gee wonder why! doesn't matter because you're there to comment on how pretty they are:

comte, leon, sariel, gilbert, lancelot, sirius, oliver, jumin han, nobunaga oda, hideyoshi toyotomi, kicho.

they have some pudge. it can be around their thighs, chest, stomach, doesn't matter, you love it anyway:

isaac, charles, jin, yves, rio, keith, kyle, harr, loki, mousse, jaehee kang, yoosung kim, mitsunari ishida, keiji maeda, shingen takeda.

they have acne scars that you kiss every night:

jean, vincent, licht, luke, seth, fenrir, rika, saeran choi, ieyasu tokugawa, ranmaru mori, kanetsugu naoe.

[bitchdafuqyousay]

At Mami's

The house was almost uncomfortably warm, despite the windows being open and the loud grumbling of the old ac system. Sam was sitting on the couch; ramrod straight with his hands folded tightly in his lap. It wasn’t the heat that was making him so uncomfortable- it was the massive, scarred man sprawled out near him. He was reclining on the arm of the couch, his forearm tucked under his head with the other one folded over his stomach. The real problem was that one long leg was slung over the back of the couch, his muscular thigh bordering on touching Sam’s shoulder and the other leg was hung off the edge which resulted in their ankles touching each other. Practically caging him in on the couch.

He also had no fucking idea who this guy was. 

The blonde had just waltzed in through the door and dropped down on the couch right next to Sam as if he lived there. Which Sam was pretty sure he didn’t; he thinks the woman who took him in would have mentioned that she had a massive roommate who had actual guns, plus in the four or so weeks he’d been with Mami he’d never seen this guy. He seems like something someone would mention.

Or maybe not.

This whole island was a fucking nightmare so maybe this was just another normal thing here. He silently prayed Mami would get back from the market soon. Though he didn’t believe in prayer or God anymore. Not after his parents abandoned him here. Hardcore christians who thought that somehow all their white, bible thumping, protestant glory would bring God and salvation to this place. Allegedly at least. That’s what they said. Yet for some reason of all their eight children they only took their seventeen year old son with them, and after a month of yelling about God on street corners they suddenly disappeared. He just woke up in the apartment they’d rented alone, finding his parents and their stuff gone. His things had all been left, save his passport. That’d vanished alongside his mom and dad. 

He’d come to believe that they came here with the intention of abandoning him.

The big man shifted some, his head lifting slightly and looking in the direction of the door; which opened just seconds after.

“What’re you doing in my house, gringo grande? I don’t recall inviting you to see me.”

Okay, so she did know him. But he didn’t live here. Sam was right.

“Sammy, if he shows up just tell him to get lost.” The old woman strode past the couch where the two males were and dropped her bags on the kitchen table with a grunt

“Oh, uhm- I dun’ think I…” The boy trailed off, glancing at the man out of the corner of his eye. He just huffed dismissively and reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, but he didn’t get to take one out though because he got smacked on the wrist almost instantly by Mami, who’d gotten there so quick she may as well have teleported.

“Hans, que Dios te ayuda- do not light that trash in my house!” 

The man rolled his eyes but still closed the box and put it away, dropping his head back on the arm of the sofa with a groan. 

“You of all people should know that nothing gets lit in my house unless it's Cuban or pure cannabis.”

She turned away to walk back to the bag of produce she’d brought back when the man, Hans, spoke; “Sage. Incense.” 

The two words sounded rough; a harsh, whispered growl as if it was hard to get them out of his throat. Mami glared at him over his shoulder and Sam flinched a bit. He wanted to get up and step outside but alas, he was still trapped between this bastard’s legs. He couldn’t leave without clambering over a large thigh and Sam was humiliated at the thought.

Yeah, ‘scuse me big guy I'm just gonna climb over you real quick dun’ mind me as I scramble over your thigh to run out of here.

Absolutely not. 

“If you’re gonna be cheeky then get out of my house, pendejo.”

Hans grunted out something like a laugh, “¿Usted casa es mi casa, no?”

“No. What do you want?”

Sam followed Hans’ arm as he lifted it off his stomach and pointed to an envelope on the table. Sam hadn’t even noticed it, he had no idea Hans had even brought anything besides his twin guns. Though he supposed anyone normal would be more focused on the weapons a man was carrying and not a fucking piece of mail. Mami huffed and shuffled over to snatch it up; tearing it open to examine the contents- a piece of paper and a flashdrive. She scrutinized the paper and looked over the top of it to glare at her uninvited guest. If looks could kill, Hans would’ve exploded right there on the couch and taken Sam out with him. 

“No haga este tipo de trabajo, Hans. Y tú lo sabes.” 

Sam ducked as the man quite literally slung his leg over Sam’s head so he could plant his foot on the floor and sit up fully. He held up his hands in a placating sort of way. The old lady looked at the flashdrive in her hand and sighed loudly- running a hand down her face in exasperation. She stared at Hans for a second and Sam was surprised to see a soft look pass over her features. 

Then Mami waved a wrinkled hand dismissively, “I’ve gotta make a call, get out for a moment.”

Hans stood up and headed for the door, then looked over his shoulder and sighed before striding back to grab Sam by his collar- pulling him out as well. Sam didn’t protest. He had a feeling this guy wouldn’t listen to him and there was no way he would be able to fight him off.

Once they were outside with the rickety door shut behind them the other guy took his pack of cigarettes out again, tapping the bottom on the palm of a large hand before pulling one out and placing it between his lips. He paused and turned his head slightly to look down at Sam, quirking an eyebrow curiously. Sam hadn’t realized he’d been staring and started to stammer an apology.

A cigarette was held out in front of his face before he could get out a whole word, though. Hans must’ve thought he’d been looking at his smokes, that was good. Sam had actually just been staring in general, but this little misunderstanding was better- he was sure of it. 

“I’ve never smoked before.” He blurted out while taking it from him anyways. Hans shrugged and pulled out a lighter, lighting his before passing it to Sam. Sam flicked it, but startled at the spark and almost dropped it instead of successfully lighting the cigarette. His face burned, but not from the heat outside as Hans took the lighter and lit the cigarette for him.

Sam had seen people smoke before, breathe in then exhale the smoke. It seemed simple, and the guy next to him made it look really, really easy. So it’d probably be fine. Sam inhaled deeply.

It wasn’t fine.

Almost immediately Sam began to cough, it tasted awful and burned in his chest. His eyes watered up and he doubled over a bit. He was humiliated, honestly.

This is the worst I hate it here why did I take that thing he’s gonna laugh at me oh my god-

He felt a hand on his upper back, patting him as he choked. He glanced up though teary eyes and was almost more embarrassed to see that the man wasn’t laughing; his face was almost totally blank and unmoved, like he’d been expecting this outcome. He needed to detract from this moment; he needed to divert the attention, even though it was barely even there.

“So, uh, I’m seventeen.”

Hans stopped patting his back and looked down at him quizzically. ‘So what?’ was written on his face.

“I’ve only been here a few months. Mami took me in, she’s really good. I dun’ think I’d still be alive if she didn’t find me and decide to help me out.” He was blabbering, Hans just nodded.

“I’m seventeen-” shit, he’d already said that “-how old are you?”

Hans held up two fingers, then eight. Twenty-eight. “Woah!”

The pale man’s head whipped around to stare down at him- giving him a very sharp look. 

Fuck you mean ‘woah’!?

“I mean, uh, it’s not like you look old- or something like that, you just look tired? The people that I knew who were in their twenties were all just, peppy. Bright eyed and stuff. Though maybe that’s cause they're delusional. Culty. I dunno. Sorry.”

Hans looked away and sucked his teeth before he took a long drag of his cigarette. 

“You seem to know Mami, pretty well, I mean.”

“Stayed with her.” Sam perked up at the older guy’s gritty sounding response. Finally something in common. He could try to work with this.

“Like I’m doing now? When you were young- I mean when you were younger you stayed here? Does she take in kids and stuff often?” Hans grunted, turning to face Sam fully, leaning on the wall and pointed at it, before placing his hand on his chest and drawing it forwards slightly while bringing his index finger and thumb together. Sam paused and squinted a bit; Hans repeated the motion, slower this time, a halfway hopeful look on his handsome face. 

“Oh! Oh, I know that! That’s ‘like’! She likes to!” Sam had taken an asl course in highschool, and felt a surge of pride when Hans reached out and ruffled his hair, clearly pleased with him. “What does she like about it?”

Hans signed something else, but it was more complex than Sam knew, and after a bit Hans re-signed ‘likes’ then put out his right hand palm down and raised it slowly. Sam appreciated that, even though he was essentially being talked to like a toddler. Simple words in broken sentences. 

“Mami likes to see kids grow up, okay. That’s pretty nice, fits with the sort of tough love personality. But uh, why? I dun’ mean to pry, I'm just asking but it’s not serious though.”

The pale blonde paused, and his brown eyes visibly saddened.

Hers’ never got to.

Sam sagged against the wall when he figured out what Hans had signed, "Oh..."

“That's why she doesn’t work, now.” The man seemed to have found his voice again, he’d used his hands to give himself a break, probably. He sounded like he had trouble speaking. There was a little stretch of silence for a bit before Sam tugged Hans sleeve.

“Could I, uh, could I try another cigarette?”

Hans ruffled his hair again, and the weight of his hand made Sam bend over a bit. His request was granted; the man reopened his pack and held one out to him. And it was at that exact moment the door opened behind them.

“I’ll hold it for you, for now, but- Hans!” Mami lifted a hand and smacked him on the shoulder with a resounding slap, “You’ve lost your mind! Giving a boy a cigarette!” Her hand kept falling over his shoulder; Sam was surprised by the amount of power in them given the fact that she had reach up and stand on her toes to actually hit him. Hans made a something of a “weh” sound as he leaned away from her, but he didn’t actually make any real effort to actually get away. He was even smiling softly.

“It’s not his fault Mami! I asked for one- I wanted to try!”

“Gringo grande here is grown! Someone at his big age ought to say no, be an adult!” She ended her attack and crossed her arms, “Both of you get inside. It’s almost dinner time. Hans you’re prepping all the vegetables as penance for acting like a fool. It’s also tax for showing up here asking for a favor.”

The big man grinned down at her, all sharp teeth, and Sam was reminded of a snarling dog, despite the genuine happiness in his face. Sauntering into Mami’s house Hans bent down and pressed a large, dramatic kiss to the woman’s cheek.

“Aye, pendejo, don’t act sweet with me now-” She swatted at him but her eyes were filled with undeniable fondness “-now put your knife skills to work and get to cutting. Sam you set the table then go sit down and recover from dealing with this brute.��

Sam nodded and briefly wondered if he should also kiss her cheek before walking in; he debated and nodded in affirmation before gently pecking her cheek and jogging in after Hans. He didn’t see the large smile that took over Mami’s face as he went by her, not that she’d have let him see.

“Hans! I go by Sammy, that’s my nickname! Do you have one? Cause I’m Sammy!”

He'd already said that. Damn

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Fragile - a Malevlent fic (Intermezzo spoilers)

Arthur got low in Larson’s house. He hit bedrock; he admitted, brokenly, that they won.

John didn’t let him drown. Which is ironic, because John was already drowning.

Spoilers for Intermezzo.

AO3

———-

Humans were fragile.

John knew this. He’d known it since before he was ‘John,’ when wicked memories seeped through the torment of loss and damnation.

Arthur was fragile, too.

John did not know this, and this new and acidic knowledge threatened the unset foundation John had built his everything upon. 

#

Your hands, Arthur. You have broken pieces of his eyes under your thumbnails.

Hardly like John hadn’t done things like that  when King, hadn’t done things like that for Kayne, hadn’t torn people apart until he knew them down to the cellular level. It wasn’t that eyeballs were gross, or the violence was too much; it was that Arthur was the one who did it.

Arthur. Who’d stayed so strong through cult and coma. Who’d kept his head in the prison pits, and forgiven John more than any saint could.

Who’d cut his own damn throat to keep the King from winning.

John knew it had been less than a day for Arthur. (It had been… longer, for him.) Less han a day. How could Arthur change so much in less than a day?

“I…” Arthur sounded fucked.

Instinctively, John tried a lever, tried to use that name to prize Arthur from the mud. Imagine what she would think. Faroe wouldn’t want her father to be this. To lose himself in this way.

The lever did not work, and Arthur slumped down, bleeding, and wept. “I’m lost,” he said, and It was a terrible sound. “I’ve lost. I’ve sunk too far.”

Less than a godsdamned day.

No, said John, scrambling in the wake of shock. I know you, my friend. You are in there. You saved me before. (Arthur had, everything he’d done, everything he’d said, had saved John in the Dark World, had kindled his only lingering light and hope. Arthur could not lose. He could not sink. If Arthur did…)

John vowed: I will not let you drown.

Arthur sobbed.

A good sob? A broken one? Don’t be scared. 

“They’ve won, John,”  Arthur wept in a high, unrecognizable voice. “He won. Faust. I… I wanted to kill him. I wanted to fill his blood within my hands. I wanted to feel the crunch of his bones beneath my palms. They won.”

This couldn’t be happening.

No.

No.

Arthur was his light. Arthur was his hope. The source of a purpose in a life so short, the proof they didn’t have to win!

Kayne’s voice might only be in his head, but it rang cruelly true: If he was this wrong about not letting them win, what does that say about his hope for you?

No!

Humans were fragile. Arthur was less fragile than most, but still human, and John...

John knew what to do. 

He was ashamed of it, this innate, easy understanding of manipulation, of control, of (pleasure it had always brought him pleasure as the King) pretty words to make Arthur do what he wanted, to shift Arthur’s sails and steer him from the rocks.

He felt ill. Sick. He shouldn’t do this. Good people did not think like this.

Would it really be “good” to let Arthur wreck on the rocks of himself?

It would not (and John told himself it was for Arthur’s sake and not to shore up his own cracking foundation), and so John made his choice. Followed his instinct, and manipulated. How could they have won? We’re nowhere near finished.

That was the exact right delivery, and it snagged Arthur’s attention like a lure (fish, Arthur, now caught). 

Next, communication the way Arthur thought in his quietest hours: Whose woods these are, I think I know... Because Arthur thought in music and poems. Because Arthur’s sobs slowed as John quoted, pulling the verses from the shared well of their mind. 

My horse must think it queer, to stop without a farmhouse near... Because Arthur might deny that gloriously artistic part of himself (of which John, as King, was keenly aware), but he could not resist the siren-song of rhythm and introspection and beauty, and he’d listen to this when he’d kick all else in the teeth. 

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep… and miles to go before I sleep. He would not lose this man today (maybe if the King had used poetry instead of compound fractures, he would have gotten somewhere). And miles to go before I sleep.

It worked. (Of course it worked. It had to work. It was back to the Dark World if this didn’t work.) Arthur, as John knew he would, responded. “I’m sorry, John,” he said, and he finally sounded like Arrhur again. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

(He’d missed him so much, his changeability, his chosen softness.) I’m sorry, too.

“Why? For what? You…”

For what?

For what he’d done to get back here.

For the lies he’d told.

For the wickedness he’d wrought.

For—

For leaving you for so long. But that was too close to the truth of things Arthur must never know. Now. Let’s leave this place.

“No,” said Arthur (because his stubbornness took no time at all to reassert itself). “We need to help those people. Down in the mines.”

And there he was. The Arthur Lester of John’s imagining. The flawed but willingly good human, the anchor to which John clung, the mortal for whom he’d debased himself, for whom he’d died.

He’d done… so many things to stop being dead. Arthur (canonized in memory, precarious on his pedestal) would never understand.

How could he? Arthur was human. Humans were fragile. And even Arthur had people he would not forgive.

He could never know. It’s a new beginning, Arthur. A clean slate. For both of them.

“No, no. Not a clean slate.”

John’s metaphorical heart clenched. No? I thought that’s what you wanted.

“That was easier than to remember what I’ve learned, what I’ve preached, not only to you but myself… that we can’t escape these things we’ve done,” said Arthur, fragile human, with no idea he was telling John that John was beyond hope.

John had to escape the things he’d done. He had to.

This confirmed it all: If Arthur knew what John had done, he’d never forgive him, and that flickering hope-light in would finally go out.

John couldn’t really reply. Okay.

“But it still is another,” said Arthur, sounding like his soul had shed a thousand pounds. “And I’d rather greet a new day like an old friend—with fondness and appreciation.”

Oh, Arthur. How did that fragile hope always survive? (He could never know.) Okay, Arthur.

“My friend. Let’s leave this place.”

And of course, Uncle’s body was still there, still shaking Arthur with reminders of savagery.  “I… I lost…”

Damn it. You’ve beaten yourself up enough over this, Arthur. It’s fine.

It clearly was not fine. “You’re right,” lied Arthur Lester.

Nope. Misdirection time (and John refused to think how easily the manipulation came). Oh! There’s a corpse in the bed.

And just like that, the detective switch was flipped, and finally, Arthur actually was fine.

It would all be fine.

It had to be fine.

The danger was past. John would never, ever need to tell him what he’d done. Arthur would continue to hope in John. It would be fine.

He couldn’t handle all that horror, anyway, John told himself as they dove into mystery and memory. Arthur was fragile, after all.

[thenoeyebunnynobunsusmaingallery]

Limbus Company Oc : Cry of Abyss (Special Canto)

I thought I want to finished it first, but I really want to share Anderson's story with you guys. So here some details I have been working on.

Warning : Thalassophobia, Mutation, body horror, violence, mature content (Blood and gore)

reference and inspiration :

Little Mermaid (By Hans Christian Andersen) And Disney's animation)

Shadow Over the Innsmouth (By HP Lovecraft)

Bloodborne

Reverse 1999

Junji Ito

Story : LCB got a new location of the golden bough, which is located under the great lake in U Corp. How is that possible? U Corp's law would be a huge trouble for them to get there. Nobody can go under the sea without special equipment.

However, Faust has good information for them. The sinners won't work alone this time and they will team up with "The Oceanic'' The Organization who does the researching in the special area of the Great Lake called "Seden"

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[Location that appeared in the story] Seden : the special area of the great lake which doesn't have the effect of U Corp's law. It is like The Nest, but not under control of the City. So this place is like a paradise for those who wish to run away from the big city to find peace for themselves. However, those who can afford that could be only the rich people... Note : Seden is a mixing word of Sea and Eden

Atlantica : The only island in Seden Area which is the destination of all rich people who wish to escape from the chaotic city to find their peace. However, it has been abandoned for some reason.

[The organization] The Oceanic : Organization who does the research in Seden. They study the secret of this paradise. How does this area not get any effect from the Great Lake's law? They also do the experiment on the sea creature they have found. Which appeared to be abnormalities.

Marine Rearaching Corporation (MRC) : Former researcher Organization who builded the city under the sea in Seden. Later becomes ruins and a home for sea creature.

[Abnormalities/ Creatures/ Enemies] Mare : The group of sea creatures that mix into one. It has a similar form to humans. Could it possibly be that they try to become human?

Sea Mother : ???? (WIP)

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Character introduce Cordelia : The ex- color fixer who was a friend with Vergilius. She was as known as 'The Siren'. After retired from her fixer job, Cordelia is now the director of The Oceanic. Appeared to know Anderson and for some reason, she could understand what Dante said.

Vaness : ???? (WIP)

Hans : ???? (WIP)

Mr. Andersen : ???? (WIP)

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I'm not sure how I gonna tell the story, maybe as the CG artwork? I don't think I have enough power to working on Comic. Anyway thank you for reading until the end!

[streda]

Conrad Veidt

Actually Hans Walter Conrad Veidt, was a German-British actor, born on 22 January 1893 in Berlin. initially became famous in Germany, thanks to films such as: "Different from the others", "Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari" or "The Hands of Orlac". After a career in silent films, he became a best-paid star UFA.

As a child, he lived in the family home at Tieckstraße 39 in Berlin with his mother, Amalie Marie, and Philipp Heinrich Veidt, a former military man who became a government official. his father was strict unlike his mother who was caring and sensitive. He came from a Lutheran family in the Lutheran Church and was baptized on March 26, 1893. He also had an older brother, Karl, who died in 1900 of scarlet fever at the age of 9. two years after Karl's death, his father became seriously ill and required heart surgery. As Conrad's family was not wealthy and could not afford such an expense, the doctor only demanded the fee that the family could afford. Young Veidt was delighted with the surgeon's kindness and swore to follow the example of the man who saved his father's life, from that moment on he wanted to become a surgeon. Niesetu's dream of becoming a surgeon was thwarted when he graduated in 1912 without a diploma and placed 13th out of 13 students, and was also discouraged by the amount of study it took to get into medical school. However, a new career path opened up for Conrads during a Christmas performance in which he delivered a long prologue before the curtain rose. The performance was bad, but the audience thought that Veidt did really great. Conrad became interested in actors, but his father considered stage artists to be outcasts and often called them gypsies. Thanks to part-time work and pocket money from his mother, Veidt was able to afford to attend theaters in Berlin. After each performance he stood in front of the Deutsches Theater waiting for the actors or hoping that he would be mistaken for an actor. At the end of the summer of 1912, he met a theater porter who introduced him to the actor Albert Blumenreich, who agreed to give Corad acting lessons for six marks. He was given 10 lessons before auditioning for Max Reinhardt reciting Goethe's Faust. Reinhardt offered Veidt a contract as an assistant for one season from September 1913 to August 1914, with a salary of 50 marks per month. During this time he played episodic roles as spear carriers and soldiers. His mother attended almost every performance of her son. After a successful career, they decided to extend his contract for a second season, but World War I broke out and on December 28, 1914, Conrad was enlisted in the army. In 1915 he was sent to the Eastern Front as a non-commissioned officer and took part in the Battle of Warsaw. In the meantime, he contracted jaundice and pneumonia and had to be evacuated to a hospital on the Baltic Sea. While convalescing, he received a letter from his girlfriend Lycie Mannheim informing him that she had found a job at the Front Theater in Liepāja. This news prompted Veidt to apply to the theater. because his condition was not improving, the army allowed him to join the theater so he could entertain the soldiers. While working in the theater, his relationship with Lucie ended. In 1916 he was examined by the army again and found unfit for service; On January 10, 1917, he was granted full parole. Conrad returned to Berlin where he was accepted back into the Deutsches Theater. There he played a small role as a priest which earned him a favorable review - the reviewer hoped that "God would save Veidt from the cinema" but luckily this did not happen.

One of his first and most important films was the role of a sleepwalker in "Das Cabinet Des Dr. Caligari" (1920) directed by Robert Wiene, which became a classic of German and expressionist cinema. The film also changed a lot in cinematography and was quite controversial for its time, but now it is well known to us and appreciated by every fan of cinematography. he also first starred in the film "Anders als die Andern" (1919) in which Conrad and Reinhold Schünzel played the main roles. All copies of the film were corrupted by the Nazis because the homosexuality depicted in the film was considered a disease at that time. Currently, only a small part of the film can be watched, that is, the part of the film that was saved. In 1924, he played in the film "Orlac's Hands" based on the book by Maurice Renard. It's time for Conrad's great success outside Europe. In 1928, he played the role of Gwynplaine in the film "The Man Who Laughs" based on the book by Victor Hugo (I recommend watching the film, it's really great. Conrad's role in this film influenced culture, Joker's appearance is inspired by the Veidt. Of course, it is worth mentioning roles in horror films, e.g. "Der Student Von Prag" (1926) and "Das Wachsfigurenkabinett" (1924). He also starred in the first German film with sound. "Das Land ohne Frauen" (1929). At the end of the 20s he went to Hollywood where he played a few roles, but with the advent of sound in films he had to give up acting in America and returned to Germany. During this time, he became a teacher for many aspiring artists, including Lisa Golm.Interesting fact: the role of Dracula was written specifically for Conrad, but Veidt was afraid that his English was too poor, instead the role of Dracula was played by Béla Lugosi, whose English was not better.

Veidt did not support the Nazi regime and sent funds to help the British during the German Blitz bombings. Shortly after the Nazi Party took power in Germany in March 1933, Joseph Goebbles purged the film industry of political opponents and Jews. In April 1933, a week after Cornad's wedding to Prager, a Jewish woman also known as "Lilli", they emigrated to Britain before any action could be taken against them. Goebbles imposed a "race questionnaire" in which every actor employed in Germany had to declare his "race" in order to continue working. When Veidt filled out the questionnaire, he answered the question about his race by writing "Jew." Veidt was not of Jewish origin, but his wife was, and Veidt would not abandon the woman he loved so much or cooperate with the regime, as many others did. Veidt was against anti-Semitism and showed it publicly and said it loudly. he supported Jews who were deprived of German citizenship in the spring of 1933. Conrad was informed that if he got a divorce and declared support for the new regime, he would still be able to operate in Germany, which he rejected because, as he claimed, nothing could cause him to divorce Lilli. After arriving in United Kingdom, Veidt improved his English and starred in the original anti-Nazi films The Wandering Jew (1933) and Jew Süss (1934). On February 25, 1939, he received British citizenship. During this time, Conrad made films in both French and English.

I think these are the key and important moments in Conrad Veidt's life.

Trivia

Conrad, through his lawyers, gave children locked in shelters in London 2,000 tins of sweets, 2,000 large packets of chocolate and 1,000 gift envelopes in the form of British currency. all to improve their mood during the Christmas :)

Veidt helped his parents-in-law from Austria get to Switzerland and in 1935 he managed to obtain permission from the Nazi government for his ex-wife and their daughter to move to Switzerland. He also offered to help Felizitas' mother ( his ex-wife's mother), Frau Radke, leave Germany. but she refused, saying "no damn little Asutrian Nazi corporal will make me leave my house." Apparently she survived the war, but Corad never saw her again.

"There are two different kinds of men. There are the men men, what do you call them, the man's man, who likes men around, who prefers to talk with men, who says the female can never be impersonal, who takes the female lightly, as playthings. I do not see a man like that in my mirror. Perhaps, it is because I think the female and the male attract better than two men, that I prefer to talk with females. I do. I find it quite as stimulating and distinctly more comfortable. I have a theory about this - it all goes back to the mother complex. In every woman, the man who looks may find - his mother. The primary source of all his comfort. I think also that females have become too important just to play with. When men say the female cannot discuss impersonally, that is no longer so. When it is said that females cannot be geniuses, that is no longer so, either. The female is different from the male. Because she was born to be a mother. There is no doubt about that. But that does not mean that, in some cases, she is not also born a genius. Not all males are geniuses either. And among females today there are some very fine actresses, very fine; fine doctors, lawyers, even scientists and industrialists. I see no fault in any female when she wears slacks, smokes (unless it is on the street, one thing, the only thing, which I don't like), when she drives a car... when men say things like "I bet it is a woman driving" if something is wrong with the car ahead - no, no. These are old, worn out prejudices, they do not belong in today"

~°~

Conrad died on April 3, 1943 from heart disease.

(Sorry for any mistakes, remember I'm not from an English-speaking country, the information comes from Wikipedia and various websites that you can easily find :)

[yorgunherakles]

insanları sürekli mutlu olmaları gerektiğine inandırmış bir çağda yaşamak, durumu iyice ağırlaştırır.

wilhelm schmid - mutsuz olmak