#Sebastian kropp

[so-emo-i-fell-apart]

I need to stop researching Palaye Royale lore because I keep getting stuck on that they used to be called Kropp Circle and they were a Disney Next Big Thing

[remingtonisleithal]

Morning Light

Chapter 3

Remington Leith x female reader

Warnings: vampire stuff? Not heavy gore or anything, just mentions of vampires feeding

Summary: Remington and Y/N meet again

A/N: sorry it took so so long for the next chapter!! Mental health has been failing and both of us have been very busy. This chapter is by me but the fic is a co-written series (check out @cursivetalk!!). this is kind of a filler, but hopefully I'll be writing more often <3 also the image is by the amazing @fedorable-killjoys, thank you!!

“This needs to be fast, I have to meet our fans after the show, thank them for coming,” Remington said, as he guided Y/N backstage to a cement brick corridor. “But I need to talk to you. I need answers.” Remington let go of Y/N’s arm and gently turned her to face him.

“Well, so do I.” Y/N said, in a harsh way, surprising herself and Remington by the bitterness in her voice. 

Remington furrowed his brows, facial expression asking the question without using his voice.

“I don’t-,” she paused for a moment, and huffed. “I don’t remember anything.” She looked away from Remington’s bright eyes, in an attempt to hide what could be seen in her own. “All I know is I was at a ball. And then some time had passed, I don’t know how much, but I woke up in the bed of a kind family who took me in. That’s all I remember. Before all this went down, you were the last thing I remember.” The way Y/N said this was more accusing than statement, causing Remington to raise his eyebrows and defend himself. 

“I’m sorry, are you blaming me? Because all I ever did was try to protect you.” The venom in his voice and protective glare in his eyes proved he was telling the truth. 

A moment of silence. The passion in his voice caused Y/N to wonder if something had happened between them in the time she had lost. 

Remington let out a sharp breath. “And what exactly ‘went down’?” Remington prompted.

“I don’t know. But now I feed. I’m assuming, just like you. Unless there is another way to live centuries without dying that I’m unaware of.”

Remington looked down, and nodded ever so slightly. Ashamed, somehow, despite it not being something he could help. 

“May I ask you something?” Y/N said, quickly before she could lose her nerve.

“Anything,” Remington said, quickly before he could stop himself. 

“I-Do you know anything about what happened to me? It had been… a while, that I don’t remember.”

“Unfortunately I was hoping to ask you where you had been for the last century and a half. I-” I missed you, he thought to himself. But how could he tell a woman he had but one evening with how she stayed in his heart for 166 years? He couldn’t. 

The backstage door flung open and Sebastian strode in. 

“Rem, we have to-” Sebastian stopped mid-sentence upon seeing Y/N. He had spent days looking for the mysterious woman his brother had fallen for, spent years singing songs his brother had written about her. Spent decades trying to block out the memories of that night. 

His face lost all expression as he gazed into Y/N’s eyes. For a second, a memory flashed through her head. A voice. ‘It was you?’. 

Remington looked back and forth. 

“Sebastian, this is Y/N, you might remember her from one of our affairs.” 

“I remember her. And don’t talk 1800s to me, we have well and truly aged past it. Come on, Emerson is facing the fans alone.” 

“OK, gimme a sec,” Remington told his brother, turning around to face Y/N. “Meet me back at this pub, tomorrow night?”

“Ah, yeah, sure! Around 7?” Y/N asked, as Remington got pulled out by Sebastian. 

He was already through the door when Y/N heard him shout “I’ll be here!”

—

Y/N had spent the day on autopilot, mind racing. She didn’t eat. She didn’t sleep. But she didn’t need to, she had enough yesterday to get by (the complications of being undead: you need things to live, food and water and sleep, but nowhere near as much as the living). By the time it was 6 o’clock, Y/N was pacing around her bedroom trying to figure out what to wear. 

It was times like this that she really wished she knew another vampire besides the one she was about to see. You can’t easily ask your best friend “what should I wear to see the guy that I met in the 1800s at a ball and I fell in love with then I became a vampire and didn’t see him in over a century?”. Alas, after enough pacing, she found the perfect outfit. All she needed was a little lipgloss and a lot of courage. 

When she got to the bar it was ten to seven. Enough time to panic, but not enough for a full blown panic attack. Her anxiety would just have to wait. She walked into the burgundy room, warm lights providing enough light to see but not much more, though this meant little to a creature of the night. She spotted Remington’s blonde hair immediately, despite the crowd. He was sitting down, knee-bouncing in the corner booth of the bar, obviously trying to calm himself down. Hey, maybe my anxiety and his will get along, Y/N thought with a wry smile. Remington noticed he was caught, and with a small laugh, he walked over to greet Y/N. 

“Hey,” He said. Y/N temporarily forgot words, instead just blinking at him as he went in for a hug. It was somehow cool and warm all at once, a soothing thrill being in his arms. 

“Uh, hi,” she said with a smile. Wow, nice recovery, Y/n. 

“So,” he said, walking back to where he was seated, “what do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t really know where to start. It’s not every day you meet a vampire that you hadn’t seen in over 150 years,” Y/N murmured, careful with her words. 

“166,” Remington blurted, as Y/N used all the care and there was none left for him. “Uh, it’s been 166 years. Since we met. I, um, did the math.” 

“Well, you already know more than me. Everything before… well, I don’t know. But the years after I was turned, and before, are all a blur.” Y/N replied after a moment, trying to remain cool. “Do you, uh, do you have any idea what happened. Did we meet again or something? Because I feel a very strong connection to you but I’m not sure why.”

“No, unfortunately not, though I would have loved to get to know you more back then.”

Do vampires blush? It was a question Y/N had never pondered, nor needed to until that very moment, when she got her answer. Even the undead can turn red with the right situation and person. 

There was a moment of silence full of discomfort, not because of the company but because of the emotion. Y/N put an end to it. 

“I think I’m ready to order. Are you?” 

“Yes, but only if you’ll let me pay.”

A smirk tugged at the corners of Y/N’s lips. How many times Remington replayed that imagine in his mind. 

“Ever the gentleman, my lord,” Y/N teased, returning to the lively person she used to be, and as Remington placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her through to the bar, time seemed to slip. 

Taglist: @sab-falco @smiling-girl @levyasakura @fedorable-killjoys @charlie-rulerofhell (idk if I should include you) and @fandomfoodiedancer

As always let me know if you want to be on or off the taglist, or just specific fics!

[bellltreee]

palaye royale/kropp circle are literally emo jonas brothers

[c0llege-the-r0se]

I wanna start a petition for palaye royale to re-release their kropp circle songs…..like please

I need to hear rem saying that he can’t stop the rain

And it’s impossible to find their songs so just pls palaye

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [4.6]

Masterlist

A/N: Christ on a crutch, here we are!! Thank you again to everyone for your patience! It was so tough writing a good conclusion to Eva's journey and over all I'm very happy with this! And I think considering that we're about to enter into another new Palaye era speaks volumes to this transition. Thank so much again for your patience! Happy reading!

Warnings: some emotional angst, fluffy reunion, Happy American Thanksgiving to those who celebrate

--

Thanksgiving was rarely ever a grand, extravagant affair in the Kropp family; nonetheless, subtle nuances from the previous year's celebration were easily discernible. Their once exuberant friends-giving festivity now found a cozy haven within the confines of Remington and Emerson's dining room. The smells of warm spices and gravy wafted through the air, a mouth-watering promise for what was to come. A select few friends exchanged shared, delectable side dishes amid clouded conversations, all the while Sebastian was attempting to carve up the turkey in the kitchen. He had only uttered a few cuss words so Remington figured it was going well enough.

He was only partially listening to Caity's conversation with his mom, catching up on work endeavours and whatever plans they may've had for Christmas. However, Remington couldn't help but keep glancing at his phone, once, twice, his mind racing as he wondered where Eva could've been. She told him she'd call him before their own Thanksgiving dinner, though he noted how quiet she'd been since the latest update on her mother's health. He wondered if he should just say fuck it and call her himself, though he'd panic before he could, assuring him that she probably just needed her space. She was supposed to be home in a day, and it felt like it couldn't come fast enough.

"Earth to Remington!" Caity waved her hand in front of his face and he instantly snapped out of his trance, “Copy if you read us,”

"What was that?" Remington asked.

"What do you want for Christmas, doofus," Caity asked, holding back a chuckle, "C'mon! You've been so quiet all night! I know we're still pandemic-struck but still!"

Stephanie simpered, "He's missing Eva, that's all,"

"Mom," Remington grumbled, "That makes me sound like a whiney pre-teen,"

"Well, you're certainly moping around like one," she replied, "Why don't you go help Sebastian?"

"Mom, he's supposed to be slicing turkey, not me," he replied.

Caity simply just rolled her eyes, "Oh, c'mon Remi! He's not gonna do that. Not with witnesses around, anyway," she joked.

"Speaking of your brothers, where's Emerson?" Stephanie turned her head, glancing around the room.

"Probably seeking refuge in his hobbit hole," Michael said as he passed by, crunching on a cracker with slathered in artichoke dip, "Great dip by the way, Stephanie,"

"Thank you Michael!" she beamed back.

None on them were the wiser to Emerson curled up on the stairs, sketching away in his notebook and far away from the camaraderie in the kitchen. He had Pluto nestled beside him, his leg still wrapped in the blue cast, though he was unbothered as he snored away beside the youngest brother. Emerson would pause between pen strokes to give the tabby an affectionate head pat, he figured this was the coziest the cat had ever been in the time he'd known him.

Emerson's train of thought was broken suddenly when the doorbell echoed through the hall, and his heavy eyes glanced up to the front door. Pluto perked up as well, raising his head and his ears sprung up. Emerson glanced over the railing towards the crowd, calling out.

"Hey! There's someone at the door!" though to no surprise, nobody could hear him. He figured he could've answered the door himself, but he was already comfortable in his spot and he didn't want to disturb Pluto, "Remington! Sebastian! Michael!" and still, no one could hear him.

And so, in true Emerson fashion, he whipped out his phone and began to type...

Remington had just finished pouring himself a glass of wine when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, whipping it out faster than a gunslinger in the west. However, he was dismayed when he saw Emerson's text:

Someone's at the door

With an eye roll, Remington texted back.

Where are you?

Sitting on the stairs

So why don't you go answer the door?

Because I don't want to disturb the cat

The cat with a broken leg, mind you...

It's sprained, not broken

Same difference

Remington huffed, setting down his wine glass and begrudgingly heading for the front door. Sure enough, he passed his little brother on the stairs, the tabby cat nestled against his legs. He glanced between him and the front door.

"You really couldn't make the ten foot walk to open the door?" he asked, tone verging on bitterness.

Emerson shrugged back, "Would you disturb this innocent child?" he pointed to Pluto with his pen, "Besides, our visitor is probably catching a cold out there,"

"They'd be catching less of one if you just got proactive," he muttered back, "Did we invite anybody else?"

"I don't think so," Emerson replied, "Maybe it's Amazon?"

Remington reached for the door knob, "I didn't order anything..."

He wrenched the door open, steeling himself to welcome a potential unexpected visitor or perhaps discover a package-bearing Amazon delivery person. Yet, astonishment washed over him as his eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of Eva standing on his stoop, luggage in tow behind her.

"-- Eva!?" his voice quivered slightly, yet the edges of his mouth tugged upward in a smile tinged with incredulity.

She locked her left right ankle in front of her left, smiling with giddy and a twinkle in her eye, "... surprise!" she half-sang, half-giggled.

Remington scooped her up in his arms without a second thought, hugging her tightly to his chest, inhaling her vanilla essence. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her cold nose pressed to his skin but quite frankly he couldn't care. He missed her so damn much.

"I thought you weren't coming home until tomorrow?" he murmured, relief laced in his voice nonetheless.

"I was, but I just... I needed to come home," she replied, "I missed you so much,"

"Fuck me, I missed you more," he kissed her, aching for the comforting familiarity of her chapstick's faint sweetness, the pillowy softness of those lips he could've spent hours kissing. Eva wound her arms around his neck and pulled him to her with an intensity that surpassed mere physical proximity, reveling in the sanctuary of his embrace.

"Eva?" Emerson's voice suddenly rattled from behind them. The couple broke apart and glanced over, Remington was none too surprised to see Emerson hadn't bothered to move from his spot on the stairs. That didn't stop him from craning his neck like a giraffe to try and see what was happening.

"He's still not getting up!" Remington shook his head as he grumbled.

Eva tittered softly, "Hi Emerson,"

"How did you get a flight so fast?" he asked.

She shrugged, stepping aside as Remington moved to grab her luggage from out of the cold, "My sister's boyfriend has a cousin who works for the airline, turns out," she replied, "... I hope you guys don't mind having one more dinner guest?"

"Are you kidding me?" Emerson gawked back, "I'm willing to sacrifice Sebastian in order to make space for you myself. Right Pluto?" he glanced down at the tabby.

Pluto finally made the move from the stairs, slinking down the marble and hobbling over to his master. Eva was nevertheless quite concerned when she noticed the bright blue cast on his leg.

"What the -- Pluto!" she was careful as she picked him, cradling the big baby in her arms as she turned to Remington, "What happened?"

Remington smiled sheepishly, glancing between her and the cat as he nervously puffed his cheeks, "Ah... well, he -- uh... Emerson?"

"Nope, you're on your own here," the youngest brother muttered.

"Remington..." Eva stared up up at him, anxiously awaiting some sort of explanation.

Remington sighed, "He... it's a long story but basically your neighbour is insane and he fell off your balcony. But we rushed him to the vet as fast as we could!"

"I've never seen Sebastian drive that fast," Emerson tacked on.

Eva glowered at her tabby, who was none the wiser as he cuddled into her shoulder, his claws gripping tightly to her jacket, "Jesus Christ. Why didn't you call me?" she asked the brothers.

"Because you had so much you were dealing with and we didn't want to worry you," Remington replied, remorseful and uneasy, "But I should've called you. That's on me, I'm sorry,"

Eva shook her head, "You're damn right you should've! I have pet insurance!" she exclaimed, "I could've had the bill covered!"

Remington simpered, "Honestly Eva, don't worry about the bill," one hand moved to her waist and the other rubbed between Pluto's ears, "As long as Pluto's still running around, I couldn't care less,"

Eva's apprehension settled as she relaxed in his embrace, cuddling the cat closer to her chest, "You god damn chaotic mess of fur; I'm seriously gonna' get you a bell!"

"Wouldn't be the worst idea," Emerson said, finally making the move to stand, "C'mon, I'm hungry," and he started for the dining room, notebook still tucked under his arm. Remington simply shook his head as he walked off.

"You know, he just watched while Sebastian yelled at me about peeling carrots. Like -- it's not hard to peel carrots!" he said.

Eva shook her head with a gentle laugh, pressing up on her toes to press another kiss to his cheek, "I'm sure you did just fine. It smells amazing in here,"

"That's mom's artichoke dip,"

She followed Remington into the dining room, still holding Pluto in her arms as they joined their friends. Shy was the first to rise from her seat, rushing over to envelop Eva in a tight hug. Meanwhile, Sebastian poked his head out from the kitchen, curious about the sudden commotion. Eva wasn't surprised to see his apron draped over his stylish pinstripe suit underneath. Chairs were shifted, a new place setting was prepared, and despite Eva's offer to assist, Larissa and Stephanie insisted that she sit back and relax.

The turkey was brought out soon enough, accompanied by a spread of sumptuous sides and a delicious bottle of wine. The table was alive with chatter: Michael animatedly discussing the band's latest video plans, Caity and Hayden enthusiastically sharing their upcoming Christmas trip itinerary. Amidst it all, questions came Eva's way—about her mother, her early return home, her fatigue, and more. Yet, in that moment, Eva couldn't have felt happier. She basked in the warmth of the gathering, feeling entirely at ease, all traces of anxiety vanishing with Remington's arm draped casually across her shoulders.

Only a couple hours later the house was emptied, plates were partially washed and thrown hastily in the dishwasher, any leftovers were packed up and sent home with friends. And because he had shown the least amount of effort in prep, the brothers decided it was Emerson's job to tidy up the table. Remington meanwhile had hauled Eva's bag upstairs, much to her protests that she could do it herself but he remained insistent; he was just so happy to have her home.

Her bag was barely unzipped before Remington threw himself on the bed, chin cupped in his hand as he watched her begin to unpack. There were a plethora of questions burning in his brain.

"Soooo..." he trailed.

"So?" Eva queried.

"Why are you home early?" he asked, "I didn't want to pile on at dinner but..."

Eva placed down the shirts she was about to pull out, sighing as she took a seat on the bed, "Well... you want the long story or the short story?"

He simply shook his head, "Whatever you want to share, where ever you wanna' start,"

She shifted over so she could lay beside him, her hands coming to rest over her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling, "Well... we got a call from the hospital Friday morning..."

Eva's heart dropped when she saw the caller ID flash for the hospital, nevertheless she picked up the call and brought the speaker to her ear, hesitating before she answered, "H-Hello... yes, that's me..."

Magda, Greg, and Theo watched silently as Eva turned her back, her voice coming to a hushed octave. Impatient as ever though, the oldest sister turned to her brothers, "What the hell is going on now?" she asked, tone verging on exasperation.

Greg scoffed back, "Well, in not so many words, Eva's not a match for mom's transfer. But someone else is," he replied.

Magda glowered at him, "And are we waiting for a 90s soap-opera style dramatic pause, or...?"

"She's seeing someone else," Theo admitted, "I guess you guys already knew that -- but he stepped up as a potential donor..."

Magda's eyes went wide, "-- No... Greg!" she turned to him, "Please don't tell me..."

Greg nodded solemnly, "He's a perfect match for the kidney. They're gonna have him prepped this week, after the holiday," he confirmed.

At that, Eva got off the phone with a simple, "Alright, thank you..." and she turned to her siblings. She felt her hands shaking, her heart racing as though she'd had drank coffee on an empty stomach and the caffeine was just beginning to kick in. This whole journey, all of this fighting and tiptoeing and pillage of more trauma had all in turn been for nothing.

"Whelp, she struck again," Magda sighed with a head shake, "Crazy old battle axe did it again..."

Greg steeled himself against the wall, utter defeat overcoming his face, "So, is Julien asking dad for the number of his divorce attorney, or..."

"He has someone," Theo admitted, his eyes averted to the ground, "He said he's always kind of suspected something was up,"

Magda scoffed, "Not to be a downer but as the saying goes: if they cheat with you, they cheat --"

"Mags!" Greg stopped her with a swift glare, nodding his head to their younger sister. Eva was just frozen on the spot, dark blue eyes glazed over as she stared off into space. There was partial relief overwhelming her, she didn't have to go under the knife after all. However, so much had happened in three days, so much mental strain and it had finally taken its toll on her.

"Eva?" Magda stood up and approached her slowly, picking off the reflection of tears brimming, "Eves, are you okay?"

Eva didn't -- couldn't respond. For once in her life she was at a complete loss for words; and yet she had so many thoughts scratching in her brain, so much jumbled jargon to spew out in a twisted heap of nerves and fear but all she could do was give a silent nod, her eyes clamped shut in a futile attempt to stop herself from crying.

Magda caught her just before the dam burst, holding her tightly as the first few sniffles and sobs left her. The two sisters held each other tightly, the eldest not uttering a word as she just held her, rubbing her back as she cooed softly, "It's okay honey, let it out. It's okay,"

Theo couldn't stand to watch anymore, stepping forward to throw his arms around the pair. Greg followed suit, a solemn scene in the antiquated kitchen with the despair finally being lifted from all of them. Eva had so much anger she was still holding on to, but in this moment she couldn't care less. This mess was finally over, tremendously and brutally over, and all she wanted now was to go home...

"... we didn't really plan for a proper Thanksgiving, so we kind of threw some stuff together last night and called it a day," she finished off, her gaze having never left the ceiling, "And Magda's boyfriend got me a last-minute ticket this morning. I was on the second standby out of town,"

Remington stayed beside her the entire time, listening intently, his mind blown at the full revelation of Eva's trip. He was relieved on the one hand knowing she wouldn't have to go under the knife after all, on the other hand he could see how such a plot twist had rattled her, dredging up old feelings she was sure she didn't have to deal with again.

"Holy fuck..." he gaped in awe, "She just threw away her family like that? No explanation, no nothing?"

"Straight to the calculating point, it's her pattern," she sighed, chuckling with pity, "It's classic: she'll let him play as her white knight until she gets bored and finds someone else to pull into her web. She's never gonna' stop, Rem,"

"And that's not your problem," he cuddled up beside her, gently drawing his arm around her body, enfolding her in the embrace of his chest, "I'm so sorry, Eva,"

"Why?" she glanced up at him.

"Because, you went over there with the best intentions and it just -- I just don't want this to affect you more then it already has. I'm worried, is all," he explained.

"I'm okay, Remington," she turned over onto her side, coming nose-to-nose with him, "I'm okay, I swear to you. I'm a little worried about Theo, but Greg assured me he's gonna keep an eye on him. He's done nothing to deserve any of this,"

"Neither have you. I'm proud of you, though," he said.

"Why?"

"You made up with your sister. That's not nothing, believe me," he chuckled at the end, "And you and Greg got closer, and you gaped bridges with Theo and his dad, that's not nothing,"

Eva simpered quietly, "I think you meant 'mend bridges'? 'To bridge a gap' means having the qualities of two different groups or things or... stuff,"

All Remington could do was laugh, at her train of thought, at the sleepy slur of her voice, how her lips curled when she knew she was correcting him but she tried to play it off as no big deal. Words alone couldn't express how much he missed this girl, and how it would be a long damn time before he spent such time away from her again.

"There's my girl," he awed, pressing kisses to her cheeks and her nose, "I missed you so fucking much,"

"I missed you, too," Eva giggled, squirming in his arms but she made no move to push him away; she was just so happy to be home again. She sighed when he let up, pushing loose locks of blonde hair behind his ears, "Do you think you're ever gonna' cut your hair?" she asked curiously, "Not that I don't love this look on you,"

Remington scoffed, "It is getting a liiiiittle long," he admitted, "You miss my spikes?"

"Yeah! They're so quintessentially you!" she replied, "But then there's so many more layers to you than just your hair. I love every side of you,"

With no hesitation he buried his face in the crook of her neck, overwhelmed in her familiar scent, pressing soft kisses to her pulse point as she wrapped her arms around him, "You're so fucking cute. I love you so much," he mumbled.

Eva smirked back, her fingers threading through his hair the way she knew he melted at, "Mmm, I think I love you more," she said.

"Not possible," he squeezed her tighter to him to make his point.

"I don't know about that," she teased, "You're only the greatest thing that happened to me in my life, so..."

Remington couldn't keep the beaming smile off of his face, shifting up so they were at eye-level with each other. His next words spilled out before his brain could catch up, impulsively escaping from his lips:

"I'm gonna' marry you one day,"

To say Eva was a little taken aback was an understatement, "What?" it took her another minute to process what he'd just said to her.

Remington chuckled bashfully, "Not like -- now or anything. But one day down the line... when you're least expecting it, I'm gonna' ask you to marry me," he decided.

"Oh really?" Eva cocked a brow, resisting the urge to bite her lip, "And you just assume that I'm gonna' say yes?"

"Of course I do," with tender affection, Remington traced small circles under Eva's sweatshirt, his touch light and comforting. She turned towards him, a soft smile gracing her lips, and met his gaze with a warmth that spoke volumes, "I love you. I'm a way better person everyday because of you. You are every reason, every hope, every dream I've ever had and no matter where we go in the future, I will always be yours," he brought his hand up to her cheek, caressing the soft skin as though she were porcelain, "And you, my darling, will always be mine,"

Earlier that day, Eva had sworn to herself she wouldn't cry upon her return. Yet, despite her determination, she couldn't stifle the swell in her chest, the insistent pull at her tear ducts, nor the overpowering wave of affection she had for Remington. Each word he spoke felt like a lifeline, flowing from his lips in his husky voice, and she clung to them fervently.

"Oh my God," her eyes fluttered closed as she tried to bury her face in the sheets, "I take it back: that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard you say,"

Remington's expression softened, a gentle smile gracing his lips, "Better than William Blake?"

"So much better,"

Closing the distance between them, Remington reached out to brush a stray tear from Eva's cheek. His touch was tender, his fingers lingering against her skin as if tracing the delicate contours of her emotions.

Their connection intensified in the silence that followed, a subtle electricity lingering between them. Remington gently tucked a loose strand of Eva's hair behind her ear, his touch a tender gesture filled with unspoken affection.

Eva's gaze met Remington's, a softness in her eyes that spoke volumes. In that moment, amidst the quiet intimacy of his -- their bedroom, they shared an unspoken understanding, each wordless glance conveying a depth of emotion that transcended spoken language.

[grav3yardbb92]

Sebastian Danzig x f!reader

"We're the Baby Bats, thank you so much for having us. " I shout to the crowd of the sold out show " now, I'm proud to introduce, the real reason you guys are here....Palaye Royale"  the crowd erupts in loud screams as my band mates and I pack our instruments and exit the stage. We are met with smiles and high fives from the Kropp brothers as we pass them. But I'm suddenly stopped by Sebastian,  when his hand grasp my wrist.

" your voice is amazing" I studdered  out a  thanks, and I'm sure my face is cherry red right now, thank God for the darkness of backstage. " I'm seb..." his introduction is interrupted by Emerson yanking on his ear.

" I'm y/n" I shout back, hoping it wasn't drowned out by The Royal Council.

*6years later*

" y/n, I know you're nervous, but if you don't  quit squirming,  this iron will burn you" my best friend warns me, as she holds a fistfull of my hair, attempting to curl it.

" I'm sorry, I can't help it" I explain, trying my best to be still. I look down at my phone, smiling at the picture of me and my fiance, then quickly glance to my left at my wedding dress. Oh. My. God. I'm getting fucking married.

Hair. Curled.

Make up. Perfect

Dress. Laced up

Flowers.  In hand

Music. Playing

Here I come Sebby.

My father and I make our way down the gold carpet in the tea room of a gorgeous, vintage style Hotel  I smile wide and concentrate on breathing slow and steady. In, out, in ,out. My e/c orbs meet his beautiful green ones, and his smile mimics mine. I fall in love all over again. It seems like forever before I am finally beside the man of my dreams and my father removes my hand from his, placing it in Sebs.

Twenty minutes, vows, tears,  two " I do's"  and one deep passionate kiss later and I'm walking back down the isle, hand in hand with my husband.

The reception is just as insane as I expected. Pictures, cake, toast, dancing, laughter, and many more kisses. Hours passed and my shoes are now in my hands as we say goodbye and goodnight to all the guest. Seb and I have the honeymoon suite for the night before leaving tomorrow for our honeymoon, to where? Only Seb knows. He insisted on planning it to a surprise destination.  And I'm so excited to find out where we will be spending the next two weeks. But,  that will have to wait till morning, because the night is not over.

We walk hand in hand, to the elevator, which we have to ourselves and of course he takes the moment to share our first private kiss since we tyed the knott. The doors open and our fingers are intertwined again and he leads me to our  grand suite .

He slides the card, opening the door slightly before smoothly scooping me up into his arms. I giggle softly and kiss his neck as he enters and closes the door behind him. He then places me back on my feet and i immediately connect our lips.

His scarf is removed and his shirt is unbuttoned and he slowly unlaces my dress, and it becomes a pool of lace at my feet. His eyes widen at the sight of my light purple, lace lingerie, and I smile at his reaction.

" see something you like Mr.Kropp?"

He pulls me close, leaning into my ear before responding with a whisper..

" you are stunning Mrs. Kropp"

[dweemeister]

All Quiet on the Western Front (2022, Germany)

As a film buff, I retain a preference to reading a book first before seeing its adaptation. But with how many movies I see in a year – sometimes not realizing that a movie is a literary adaptation before starting it – and given how many original source materials are out-of-print or little-read (let alone how slow a reader I am), this is often too difficult a proposition. I make an attempt, however possible, to learn about the themes of an adapted book I was not able to read before heading into a film write-up. Strict fidelity to the text is not a requirement; yet a film adaptation should adhere to the spirit of the text. Any significant changes to that requires the change be done with artistic intelligence and sensitivity. Especially when the adapted book in question is significant in a peoples’ or a nation’s consciousness. Published in 1929, All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque is a landmark novel in anti-war literature and remains – for its depiction of World War I on the bodies and minds of the young men sent to fight it – an important part of modern Germany’s sociopolitical identity.

Lewis Milestone’s 1930 film adaptation at Universal with Lew Ayres was the first cinematic masterpiece following the introduction of synchronized sound and the era of the silent film. Now steps in Edward Berger’s German-language adaptation for Netflix, starring Felix Kammerer, in hopes of reminding viewers that Im Westen nichts Neues (roughly “Nothing New in the West”) is, despite its universal appeal, fundamentally a German story.  Berger’s All Quiet is a stupendous technical masterpiece – harrowing visual and sound effects, overflowing with blood and mud. It is among the most technically accomplished war movies this side of Saving Private Ryan (1998). Along the way, Berger’s All Quiet tries for too much, and betrays the characterizations and the intent of Remarque’s novel. With some of its violent scenes shot too aesthetically pleasing alongside an offensive and disrespectful electronic score, 2022’s All Quiet casts the French civilians and soldiers as “the enemy” rather than fellow victims. It veers perilously close to fetishizing the violence within.

Before a brief synopsis, it seems appropriate to reproduce Remarque’s epigraph to All Quiet on the Western Front here:

This book is to be neither an accusation nor a confession, and least of all an adventure, for death is not an adventure to those who stand face to face with it. It will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war.

It is 1917, and the Great War has been plodding along for three years. Along with his friends Ludwig Behm (Adrian Grünewald), Albert Kropp (Aaron Hilmer), and Franz Müller (Koritz Klaus), student Paul Bäumer (Kammerer) enlists in the Imperial German Army. They all receive uniforms that, unbeknownst to them, belonged to German soldiers killed in action. Skipping almost entirely over basic training, Paul and his friends deploy to the Western Front, on the French side of the Belgium/France border. There, they befriend Stanislaus “Kat” Katczinsky (Albrecht Schuch) and Tjaden Stackfleet (Edin Hasanovic), who are several years older and have been fighting since close to the war’s beginning. These young men muddle on in drenched trenches, freezing weather, and their comrades’ horrific deaths. Parallel to the plight of Paul and his fellow soldiers is German politician Matthias Erzberger (Daniel Brühl), who secretly travels by train to the Forest of Compiègne to negotiate with French General Ferdinand Foch (Thibault de Montalembert) an armistice.

Also featuring in this film are Devid Striesow as the so-villainous-he-must-be-a-moustache-twirler General Friedrichs, as well as Andreas Döhler and Sebastian Hülk as two German officers.

This All Quiet on the Western Front occasionally frames its violent scenes as too painterly, the combat infrequently choreographed too closely to action movies (e.g., 2017’s Dunkirk is sometimes more of a suspense movie than it is a war movie and Sam Mendes’ 1917 from 2019 is an aesthetic challenge and action movie first, war film second). The opening moments are a dolly shot that linger over a patchwork of corpses strewn about No Man’s Land, with the dull rattle of machine gun fire occasionally disturbing the soil. There is an almost gawking approach to how cinematographer James Friend hovers over the bodies. One character’s death is shrouded in a blinding angelic light – applying too picturesque a technique for a non-fantastical moment.  Some exceptions to this voyeuristic, perhaps fetishistic approach to framing warfare appears, including the frightening emergence of French tanks through a cloud of gas. Berger succeeds in displaying war for all its brutality. The film’s sheen, however, comes off as too aggressive and its camerawork reflecting a Netflix-esque polish.

The most glaring misstep from the screenplay by Berger, Ian Stokell, and Lesley Paterson is to include any perspectives not involving Paul and his most immediate comrades. Depicting the insights of Erzberger, Foch, and the fictional General Friedrichs removes one of the central pillars of why All Quiet on the Western Front was such a revolutionary piece of literature. Remarque’s novel, at a time when “anti-war” narrative art was in its infancy, was one of the first war narratives that concentrated entirely on common soldiers – not the officers that commanded them or the politicians that guided them.

Before focusing on Paul and his friends, let us get the officers and politicians out of the way first. The insertion of the armistice negotiations and Gen. Friedrichs’ beliefs over politicians selling the Germany army out – more on this fiction shortly – stunts Paul and his friends’ respective character growths. And despite a decent performance from Brühl, these scenes (except for the final time the elite appear) play out repetitively: Erzberger pleads to Foch for a ceasefire, Foch demands a conditional surrender that will heavily punish Germany, and Erzberger mulls over the terms of surrender. This is all distracting from the common soldiers’ experiences, and provides as much cinematic or educational value as an amateur historical reenactment.

Berger’s stated justification for including these scenes – and letting them drag on too long in the film’s second half – is reasonable. Over the last decade, the actions of far right political groups in Germany have become more visible. These contemporary groups espouse the myths that some in 1920s and ‘30s Germany used to justify the nation’s actions leading up to World War II – all which monolithized and exploited German WWI trauma to serve repugnant purposes. The emotional imbalance of the Erzberger*/Foch scenes paints France and the Allies as an unforgiving “other”, as well as the war’s eventual “victors” (the Allies did prevail in WWI, but Remarque sees no winners in warfare).  For a work never meant to be an accusation and written in between the World Wars, the proto-fascist Gen. Friedrichs spits out an early form of the stab-in-the-back conspiracy theory‡. His behavior and appearance, eerily reminiscent of Allied propaganda of Germans as “the Hun”, casts him as the film’s obvious villain. These decisions all provide Berger’s All Quiet with a juxtaposition of morality more appropriate in a WWII movie than one for the Great War.

Beyond the implications of historical morality, Berger, Stokell, and Paterson’s screenplay undermines, at almost every juncture, Remarque’s critiques of the nationalism that began World War I. The decision to have Paul and his friends join the military in 1917 rather than 1914 (as it is in the book) makes it more difficult to have Paul and his friends to have conversations about the nature and the origins of this war. Instead, the screenplay keeps such dialogue to a minimum. As a result, Berger relies on cinematographer James Friend (in his first motion picture of note) to show us close-ups of Paul’s face to reveal his thoughts. In his film debut, Felix Kammerer is doing all he can with his facial and physical acting, but after a certain point this take on Paul results in him being an empty vessel.

Indeed, in Remarque’s book, Paul Bäumer is very much a reactive rather than proactive character. But that does not mean he is without deep introspection, as he is in this 2022 adaptation. Rather than someone who slowly realizes the nationalistic folly of WWI (“We loved our country as much as they; we went courageously into every action; but also we distinguished the false from true, we had suddenly learned to see.”), muses on how wars begin, and is anything but resigned to war’s inevitability, Kammerer’s Paul emotes and says nothing about these aspects of the war. Any critique from nationalism comes not from Paul in this adaptation, but from Gen. Friedrichs’ cartoonishly villainous behavior and Paul’s teachers in the film’s opening minutes. Paul and his friends are no battlefield geniuses, nor are they intellectuals. But the monotony of war – in the absence and presence of violence – grants them knowledge no classroom can give, wisdom that no elder can impart.

Berger, Stokell, and Paterson have the gall to delete entirely arguably the most critical passage in the book: Paul’s return home after being granted time for rest and recreation. After a lengthy spell fighting in the trenches, Paul’s leave completes his development as a naïve and adventure-seeking student to a detached, disillusioned man. Nationalism manipulates his father and others – mostly older men – into believing the justness of the conflict, that serving one’s country in warfare is glorious.

By contrast, Lewis Milestone’s 1930 adaptation takes Paul’s reunion with his teacher a step further than the book. In that version, instead of a chance encounter at a parade ground, Paul visits his teacher during class, with his newest students a rapt audience. The scene that follows is not subtle. But in the context of Milestone’s adaptation, the film earns it. As Paul, Lew Ayres refuses to gift his former teacher the heroic narrative he requests – paraphrasing Horace, decrying nationalism, and simply stating: “We try not to be killed; sometimes we are. That’s all.” One figures these are the words, delivered in sullen fury, by WWI’s veterans. Berger’s adaptation again leans too heavily on Kammerer to relate any semblance of the above ideas. There is no analogue scene to juxtapose the behavioral and psychological differences between battlefront and homefront, no character or even a faraway figure for Paul to verbally challenge. Kammerer’s Paul does undergo a behavioral and cognitive shift by the conclusion of 2022’s All Quiet. Yet, his transformation is not nearly as dramatic as the narrative needs it to be. These failures all stem from a screenplay that might as well have been titled something else. It is damningly incurious about Paul and his friends.

Major movie studio film scores are moving in a particular direction: amelodic, electronic, experimental, metallic, and minimalistic. It seems, by how awards voting bodies and audiences are reacting to such music, what I am about to write paints me more of an outlier than ever.

Composer Volker Bertelmann (also known as his stage name Hauschka; 2016’s Lion) concocts an anachronistic score that includes all these elements. Devoid entirely of recognizable melody (droning strings), Bertelmann’s score has one repetitive three-note idea – I refuse to call this a motif, as it lacks any sense of development from its first to final appearances – that damages and dominates the movie. Inserted in strangely timed moments and meant to intensify dread, Bertelmann’s idea begins from the root note (B♭), up a minor third (D♭), then descends a minor sixth (F). Bertelmann plays these three notes fortissimo, with synthesizer mimicking blaring brass – trust me, you know the sound and you may know its worst practitioners. When recurring underneath the strings, the idea modulates. Memorable as it may be, this metallic sound is more appropriate for hyping young men before a battle or at a rave rather than suggesting dread. Even worse: this is disruptive music. There is a healthy balance to when music should or should not accompany the imagery onscreen. One should notice music in a movie, and it should empower – but not completely overshadow – the emotions and ideas in respect to a certain scene. Bertelmann’s interruptions appear mostly in calms before the proverbial storms. These are the moments the characters and the audience should collect themselves before the killing restarts. Thus, his three-note idea abuses and instantly overstays its welcome.

Is there a place for such colorless, obnoxious, and offensively manipulative music in film? Certainly. Just not in anything entitled All Quiet on the Western Front.

On its surface, a German-language film adaptation of All Quiet on the Western Front would restore a cultural and linguistic authenticity to Remarque’s text, one of the most important literary works in German history. To some extent, Berger succeeds. His All Quiet is a technical wonder, but its human interest is nil. Remarque’s prose is not the most accomplished, but his subjective descriptions of trench warfare and his characters’ philosophizing in moments of boredom and quiet were unlike anything almost any Western reader ever encountered. We, the readers, grow alongside Paul and his friends. In 1930, the viewers saw a small group of friends – Milestone’s adaptation is unique in that Paul does not truly emerge as the main character until halfway through the film – see their youth and optimism pummeled away with each shelling and charge. A humanity remains, but tenuously. Berger’s adaptation treads an easier path by inserting a reenactment of the armistice negotiations and expediting Paul’s characterization by immediately dismantling his inwardness and sense of hope.

As a document of a generation’s experiences, a critique of that era’s nationalism that led to the conflict, and a common soldier’s processing of the war’s origin and purpose, this is a poor adaptation of Remarque’s novel. It clears the hurdle in anti-war narratives by decrying warfare as ugly. Beyond this basic expectation, it accomplishes little else.

My rating: 6/10

* Erzberger was assassinated by the far-right terrorist organization Organisation Consul (OC) in 1921. The group was disbanded the year after, but its former members were absorbed into the Nazi Party’s Schutzstaffel (SS).

‡ This conspiracy theory was primarily associated with Jews, but the Nazis also extended it to the political elite that negotiated the surrender. And as if it weren’t obvious enough, one of our German characters is stabbed in the back in the film’s concluding minutes.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[the-world-is-spinning-round]

Cold - Emerson Barrett fan fiction (Spooktober Writing Challenge)

It was unseasonably cold, even for October.

Even as a vampire, and therefore usually impervious to temperature, Emerson was feeling the chill in the air. He stayed inside the house as much as possible, and tried to keep himself either in his bedroom or the family parlour, where there was always a fire roaring in the fireplace.

Sebastian and Remington were much the same - Sebastian remaining in bed with his newly-turned wife, and Remington skulking around wrapped in at least one blanket on top of his usual clothes.

Truth be told, it was an idea Emerson was about to steal for his own use.

He didn’t care about how many strange looks Remington received from the staff, or how many strange looks he would receive if he were to take up the same practice. It was almost unbearably cold - and only getting worse.

At night, more snow blanketed the ground. Each morning, there was a thicker layer of frost on the windows. Every time Emerson emerged from his bed, the air felt even more frigid.

It was miserable, and Emerson hated it.

Because on top of everything else, it was getting harder and harder to feed. No-one wanted to come to a party in this weather, and there was only so much four vampires could feed on the same household, even with multiple members of staff on hand to drink from - especially when one of those vampires was newly-turned and only watched over by her adoring husband, who would never, ever want to upset his wife.

Emerson was happy for Sebastian and Larissa, he truly was, but if they killed another maid or scullery boy…Emerson was going to be pissed.

And at a loss for how to explain a third mysterious death.

Two was more than enough, and most of the staff were already on edge from an unfortunate combination of fear and the cold - it wouldn’t take much to turn them into an angry mob, and prompt them to come after Emerson, Remington, Sebastian, and Larissa.

Of course, the four of them would likely be fine; there wasn’t a lot two dozen humans could do to four healthy vampires, but Emerson didn’t want to turn on the staff.

Or, perhaps more accurately, Emerson didn’t want to turn on a specific member of the staff.

“Good morning, Miss Francis.”

Miss Francis, Cora, one of the new maids, turned to Emerson with a polite smile: “Good morning, Mr Kropp.”

Emerson smiled as Cora crossed the room to where he was sitting in front of the fireplace with a silver tea tray balanced carefully in her hands.

Like most of the other women in the house, she had taken to wearing as many layers as possible - her nightdress under her summer uniform under her winter uniform, but despite the amount of clothing she was wearing, he was still hit with the scent of lemon soap, clean cotton, and something that was indescribably her.

It had taken him a while to not be stunned by Cora whenever she came into a room - not just because of her scent, but because of her…everything. His brothers may laugh at her inarticulateness, but Emerson didn’t care; he was stunned by everything about May, and he didn’t care what anyone had to say about it.

Or he wouldn’t, if he was actually brave enough to ever speak to anyone about his infatuation.

He wasn’t, and was sure he wouldn’t ever be, especially not to Cora herself. Despite what people may think of him - the artist, the eccentric, the addict - Emerson was not stupid: he was very aware of the power imbalance between himself and Cora: he was her employer, and a creature from her nightmares, and she was a young human who admitted herself that she didn’t have much of a life outside of her work.

Emerson might be what many people called a monster, but would never want to abuse his position of power over Cora, or put her in a situation where she was uncomfortable. He was a vampire, not a bastard.

“Would you like me to pour you some tea, Mr. Kropp?” Cora asked, putting the tea tray on the low table in front of the sofa he was sitting on.

“Yes, thank you Miss Francis.” 

Cora smiled, and busied herself with pouring a cup of tea for Emerson.

Emerson pretended to be absorbed by the book in his hands, but the whole time he watched Cora, fascinated with her every action, just as he always was.

Normally it was because he was just fascinated with her in general, but today he couldn’t help but see the faint trembling of her hands, the frighteningly pale ends of her fingers compared to their usual warm tone.

A second more inspection, and he saw the shivering racking her whole body, even with all her clothes, and the drawn expression that she was trying to hide under her usual polite smile.

Emerson had been thinking of how cold he was, even as a vampire who was somewhat immune to temperatures, but he hadn’t thought for a second how the humans in the house had been handling the sudden drop in temperatures - especially when they had no choice but to be away from the warmth of fires and extra blankets.

Guilt and shame brought a lump to his throat - and before he could even think he had opened his mouth and started speaking: “Would you join me for a cup, Miss Ferguson?”

Cora looked up: stunned: “Excuse me, Mr Kropp?”

“I asked if you would like to join me for some tea,” Emerson repeated, deciding that as he’d already potentially crossed a line, he may as well be clear about it…and equally clear that it was completely her choice: “And only if you want to, of course. Or you could take some tea with you. I just noticed that you appeared to be cold and thought some tea may serve to warm you. I don’t mean to be untoward, please do not think you must tread lightly here, if you do not want to join me then - ”

“I’d be very happy to have tea with you, Mr Kropp.” Cora gently interrupted, smiling.

Emerson, deciding that he’d spoken quite enough and certainly made a fool of himself, silently shifted over on the sofa to create some room for Cora as she made up a second cup of tea.

She sat next to him when he gestured to the space he’d created, and even with the distance between them, Emerson was painfully aware of the shivers still coursing through Cora’s body. He wanted to ignore it, sure that it would ease after a few moments of the fire and some tea…but he couldn’t.

“Would you…” he swallowed his nerves and stared down into his tea cup, finding himself unable to look at Cora as she looked at him: “...would you like a blanket?”

Cora was silent for a few seconds.

Emerson didn’t blame her; he was being strange. He knew he was being strange, but he…he didn’t know how he could help her without behaving oddly. It wasn’t normal for someone in his position to try and help someone in Cora’s position - but he couldn’t not try to help her.

He might appear strange. But he’d rather she think him mad and be warm than stick to status quo and leave her cold.

Eventually, Cora did reply, her voice soft and uncertain: “I would, thank you.” 

Desperate to end this awkwardness, Emerson hurried to wrap a blanket over Cora’s shoulders…and found himself with his arm (and the blanket) wrapped around her.

He knew instantly he should move away…but he didn’t…and neither did Cora.

They looked at each other for a few long moments, before Cora nervously turned back to her tea…and leaned into Emerson’s side.

A stronger man would have subtly leaned away: politely rejecting Cora and remembering his desire to not put Cora in an awkward situation, no matter how much he himself may enjoy that situation.

But Emerson was not a strong man.

Emerson genuinely did not want to make Cora uncomfortable, not in any way, but he couldn’t bring himself to reject her. He didn’t care if this was just an attempt on her part to warm herself up, he would take any form of affection she had to offer him, for however long she was willing to offer it.

And he’d enjoy every second.

[palayeroyalemerch]

Palaye Royale Merch

Palaye Royale is a Canadian-American rock band from Las Vegas, formed in 2008 by brothers Remington Leith, Sebastian Danzig, and Emerson Barrett. The brothers' surname was Kropp; each one's stage moniker makes use of their respective middle names. Buy Palaye Royale Merch Here!

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#palayeroyalemerch #palayeroyalemerchandise

[so-emo-i-fell-apart]

Laying awake wondering how disney channel would have differed if Kropp Circle won NBT and we had a show on them instead of the Jonas Brothers

[ourlittlevampire]

Imagine a soulemates red string AU, but with the Kropp brothers. Remington is born, and a red string connecting him to Sebastian immediately materializes connecting the two. Their parents are confused by what this means. The red string is supposed to connect soulmates, but it's connecting their sons? They think it's some sort of mistake and try to ignore it. Then Emerson is born and a red string of fate connects him to both of his older brothers. Sebastian is old enough at this point to start asking questions. Questions about if he's going to marry his brothers, because that's what the string signifies, right? These questions make his parents angry and he doesn't understand why. They tell him to ignore it, and he does.... but other people don't. Other kids were bound to notice that his string is connected to both of his brothers at some point and they're not nice about. He starts getting bullied pretty heavily because of it. Sebastian begins feeling alone in this world; he is cursed with something he never asked for and can't control. He isn't alone, though. He has two people going through the exact same thing he is. His little brothers understand. They're treated differently, too. This causes them to become closer as brothers and, eventually, lovers :)

[palayeroyaleblog]

[jovialhorsehandsbailiff]

Palaye Royale Vans Warped Tour: Day 01 • Pomona, CA

Photos: @luisrodphotography

[ratofages]

[simonrriley]

you’re laughing. i’m dying in a hot tub, and you’re laughing.

[mysadblacksoul]

Royal Television s4e3- Sebastian Danzig cut