conduitandconjurer
and now i kiss, i kiss the earth; rise up, rise up
Indie| Selective | Netflix TUA Klaus Hargreeves rp blog | Multiverse and multiship | OC and Crossover friendly | Est. September 2020 | Loved by Ambs | gif (c) i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky.
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HALLO.
If I've just followed you, it's because @ofyorkshire ( + many other great muses) recommended you directly. Go thank her. X) <3
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Klaus: Guess what?
Five: With the way you live I have no fucking idea.
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HALLO.
If I've just followed you, it's because @ofyorkshire ( + many other great muses) recommended you directly. Go thank her. X) <3
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"....Actually? Yeah."
Klaus turns to Nathan with something like pride.
"I don't usually wanna be like, wanton destruction guy. Not fer years. I dunno if this is a good or bad sign, but let's do it!"
He's on his feet before he adds,
"Uh. Maybe not right at people. Maybe cars? Or. Or Nerf rocks? Does Nerf make rocks?"
"Mmmmmyeahhhh today's forecast is real fuckin bleak, cause I've got a hankering fer oxys." A blink. "I think Billie Eilish wrote a song about it."
Klaus rolls away from the rainy window, his glossy shock of curls silhouetted wih an appropriate degree of the otherworldly by the streetlamps that labor against the battering of the downpour.
His whole lanky frame is so languid that it hides his mounting agitation. There's an angry red crayon squiggle-mark in his chest, right where a stray arrow once killed him. Fingers, the black nails chipped, scratch the spot, rub it, rest over it, palm splayed.
HELLO, it says. Hello, bewildering arsenal powers making me a human doorway between planes.
He licks his lips and peers ruefukly through his curls. Such big glassy green eyes. He whines.
"Hellllp. I'm so boooored, don't lemme use. I don't wanna lose my job. I like this job. Don't let me leave alone no matter what I tell ya."
#ic#immortalled#lmao)#drug use cw#relapse cw#drug mention cw#my garbage stinkbaby (nathan)#misfitted umbrella in space
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If anyone is capable of seeming untroubled by toe-curling vice--or its direct effects on its survivors--it's Klaus. Klaus has mastered the dinner table shit-goin-down pokerface of Ever-So-Slightly-High and Exceedingly Impartial since he was, eh...ten, eleven? Too young. That's the point: too young.
But go figure, it's sure coming in handy now!
"You're worth plenty, rough n' Northern or...shit, I dunno, silky smooth and below the Equator?" He shrills a laugh, still sliding that affirmation into the conversation. He tilts his head, and offers a sympathetic pout.
"Be safe fer me? ....anyway, humor the question, but...if you're dreading it, is it....really worth the money?"
"I know, rich comin' from me, the junkie that woulda boinked anyone for a Xanny...er, you knoowwww uh, somethin' that totally exists in the seventies, which is....right the fuck now!....buuuut?"
"Well it's one way t'get your attention, Tangerine Dream! You'd ascended t'some other plane, staring out that window."
Klaus lights a cigarette, tucks away guilt with the thought that smoking's a necessary prop in the 70s, and the little Ziggy Lamb will never trust an elder bohemian who doesn't have at least a few active addictions.
He hands BJ back his lighter, seethes out a clouded breath, and tilts his head.
"What d'they call pennies over here across the pond? Uh. Pence. Farthing? Farthing fer your thoughts, bean."
The disarming weapon of those big sad eyes descends on BJ's features. Klaus smiles softly.
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"....um, besides the usual question I ask, when you're in deep shit?"
Like the time we were kids and got our umbrella tats and we cried holding each other in the dustiest corner of Dad's study?
Like the time I helped you get rid of some big blond dudes you'd made kill each other in your living room?
Like the time you and Viktor almost killed each other and I still escorted you to Luther's weird, sweet end-of-universe wedding? And officiated it, then busted a hole through my sobriety with Ben's evil twin.....? What a fuckin night.
Focus, Klaus.
He huffs heavily, and lofts a brow.
"Sooo. 'We burnin' or buryin'?'"
Let's not be Dad's eager playthings anymore, Sis.
@conduitandconjurer sent 🔪 for Klaus to find Allison after she killed someone.
-----
There are some people who speak about how hard killing is, emotionally and physically, but for Allison Hargreeves, it was so easy. All it took was a few words - one little rumor. It even made her feel proud once, the way a passing report card should have been if she had been raised as a normal little girl. She was good at it. It made her feel accomplished, it made her feel seen by a father who otherwise did not seem to care about his children.
Eventually, she did grow up. She ventured out into the world and learned what life was supposed to be. Not missions and bloodied uniforms, but friends and parties and romance and quiet apartment buildings free of robot mothers and talking chimps and training equipment. Or maybe she always knew and now, she just didn't care what Reginald Hargreeves thought of her anymore. Now, it was the rest of the world's attention she craved.
That was when she vowed she would never rumor anyone again; that and when she saw the positive pregnancy test, felt the flutters of movement in her own womb, and held a small and squirming bundle of pink blankets in her arms. But maybe that vow was just something she said to fit in, to find the blissful normalcy she craved. Maybe Number Three never really left her. Maybe she never would.
And what was the point in all that anymore anyway? Everything that ever prompted this new standard of morality had been stripped away more than once.
This felt good in a way. Cathartic. And it didn't matter what anyone else thought of her now. All she had left were her siblings, and their hands were covered in the same blood.
Of course, when she turned to meet the sympathetic gaze of her brother, she had to remind herself of that sentiment.
"You don't get to say anything," she says, "unless it has something to do with helping me take care of all this."
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@ofyorkshire continued from X
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Klaus's indignant anger recedes like a surprise gale in spring, cold and pierced by the residual flashes of bright lightning, and then, quietude, as his composure returns.
"Ah shit," he seethes softly between his teeth. Louder, "Beej. Sweetie."
He doesn't know exactly what rapturous fever dream is crucifying BJ, but he knows enough. He knows about the kid's line of work; he's been there, for the same false and horribly temporary escape. He knows from a thousand scraps of conversation stitched together, he knows from his own experiences on this side of the veil and the other, from family and from strangers, what it is to be forced. He knows what it is to see "no" stomped violently out and disregarded, with violent hands all over you. All over you, when you are still a child.
"Hey."
He kneels and opens his hands, HELLO and GOODBYE, safely empty. BJ has told him to leave; Klaus doesn't touch him, but doesn't move, either. His tool is his voice, high and soft, a tremulous and soothing flute song.
"Hey, you're tripping. Literally, you took somethin. It's not real. Just follow your breath. Beej. C'n you do somethin for me? Draw a square. Follow my finger, like this, do it too. In the air. Do not look at, or listen to, or think about, shit. Just draw the square."
His neck still stings, but he's already forgotten why.
#ic#tangerine dream (BJ)#implied sexual abuse cw#sexual abuse cw#religious trauma cw#child prostitution cw#crossover: red riding
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Klaus shrugs.
"Mkay."
And he doesn't pursue it. In a perfect world, his son would understand these various terminologies aren't some distant academic debate, but a daily reality, for innumerable people like Klaus--and that Nathan is welcome there.
But the medium's usual solution is surrender; being deeply breakable, being sensitive to frequencies beyond the living, and yet capable of indefinite survival, means you learn how to conserve energy.
The faintest laughter lines pucker the corner of his eyes, as he analyzes Nathan, puffed-put chest, bombast and all, in the peculiar light of London beaches: that is, an undeniable glare, despite the uniform gray of the sky.
Ah, well. Everyone has to look in the mirror without squirming too much.
In the end, his nose wrinkles and he snorts. He scrambles to his feet and snatches up Nathan's phone.
"What-ever! Nuns don't go commando! Even I know that!" He juggles the device with his own, and beams. "Funny story--might tell ya someday! YEET!"
Off he trots, flinging Nathan's poor much-abused electronic right into the meat of the action down the shore.
conduitandconjurer:
Klaus watches the “demonstration”–of what, he’s uncertain–wanly. He rises and waves at Kelly, shrugging an apology, and thinking it as loudly as he’s able.
He waits until Nathan’s rowdy friends have turned away, to rest one palm over his son’s. He doesn’t need to point out that he can feel that quaking underneath.
“…babe.”
He tries, and fails, to hide the quiver of amusement in his voice.
“That’s…..real considerate of you, fer all the ladies of Wertham, but I’ve hung out with Simon a lot. He seems pretty rad t’me.”
Okay, recon time. Don’t ask, just offer.
He flops back in the sand and crosses one long, long leg over the other, ankle twisting, toes wiggling.
“First time a guy gave me a genuine hard-on…I was like….pllffft, I dunno. Fourteen? Rock Hudson, on a beach actually, in an old movie. Had t’put a pillow over my lap. Lucky fer me, if there was one thing my horrendous father didn’t give a shit about, it was who I clocked t’sleep with.”
He pulls a Caramello bar out of his pocket, peels it open, and takes a bite.
“How ‘bout you? Cuz. Y’know this kinda thing isn’t like ordering a coffee at Starbucks, right? ‘Gimme cis male with light hetero an’ a dash of bi.’ It’s not like, clear-cut categories or…ingredients in a recipe.”
“Cis male with light hetero an’ a dash of bi”? The fuck is that supposed to mean? “Bisexual” was just another word for “desperate” so far as Nathan was concerned, and he was not desperate. He had a girlfriend, and they shagged several times a week. Seven, if Nathan could have it his way. He was very straight, and very happy, thank you veeeerry much!
But.
But it was distracting. Barry, that is. Sat there, all muscular and pale and shit. That shouldn’t be attractive. None of Simon, realistically, should be attractive, gay or bi or straight or not. But Alisha’s coming over now with two ice cream cones in hand, and when she bends to pass Simon his, Simon kisses her. Right on the lips. And Nathan… god. It makes him sick to look. His face burns as he turns his head away. Definitely doesn’t feel like shades of heartache. That’d be even stupider than the rest of this conversation.
“Boners happen all the time, man,” Nathan insists, suddenly casual. He joins Klaus on his back and squints into the sun. At least if he goes blind he won’t have to see his friends sucking face. “That’s Basic Bloke Biology 101. I get them all the time over ridiculous shit. Marge Simpson, Mr. Tayto, a really weird dream I had about a koala…”
If Klaus suspects him of bullshitting, he might be half right. The truth of the matter is that Nathan can’t think of a time when he’d felt genuinely aroused by another guy. At least, no celebrity on the screen.
There’d been Adam. The scruffy, up-to-no-good handsome bastard that he was. They used to skip classes to smoke weed together, and after that, Adam had shown a very angry-at-the-world Nathan the wonders of party drugs. Looking back, he figured Adam only hung out with him because he knew he was desperate enough to belong to buy something. But back then, Nathan didn’t care what Adam sold him. He’d made him feel heard and to a teenager who felt horribly alone, Adam had looked like a saviour, and Nathan sought him out for the ecstasy in his smile just as much as the ecstasy in his pockets.
They’d been good mates for a while, him and Adam. But as friendships often did for Nathan, something was said, something went wrong. Nathan thinks that was about the time Adam had started dating this girl, Michelle-something. And any feelings that he may or may not have had for his charming, pill-dealing saviour were chalked up to just that: some weird, Pavlovian response to the relief getting high for a while could offer him. All the butterflies in his stomach when Adam leaned a little too close, or passed him a joint? Imagined. Totally, 110% imagined.
So Nathan couldn’t tell Klaus about Adam. Not because of the drugs, though. Klaus wasn’t as fragile as all that. But because Adam had felt real. He wasn’t a face on a screen, he’d been someone Nathan had known, and that was dangerous.
Nathan sighs and snaps his fingers expectantly for a piece of Klaus’ Caramello.
“Anyway… why are we talkin’ about boners?” he asks. A sudden flash of paranoia has him glancing southward to his blessedly loose swim trunks. Nothing. Thank fuck. “Unless you really wanna hear about the time in school when I accidentally saw up Sister Agnes’ robe. Kind of a let down, honestly.”
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I’m sure late seeing these. Oh well.
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out of the wind by Audre Lorde
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i’m here to have a good time, not a canon-compliant time.
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Being each other's safe space while dealing with life.>>>
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Whispers mutuals !!!! Ask me about my Discord rp server.....
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🙌 oh why not. might have to get creative, though.
Send 🙌 to strangle my muse (no longer accepting)!
It's Reginald's clipped, nasal voice in his head.
The first line of defense upon attempted strangulation is to blind your opponent!
Klaus isn't exactly the type of person known for fighting back against adversity: not with the more conventionally recognized forms of battle. But it's even harder to fight off this spindly, bruised child who will never know the exhilaration of living in a safe skin, the way Klaus, after years of the hard-to-recognize type of fighting, has.
He can't fight a protege who, if time for Klaus were linear, would have been his mentor.
He can't push his goddamned fingers into BJ's sad scared eyes and scoop them from their sockets. Like, fuck training, Jesus. The kid's crying, right now, while assailing him.
Get with the program, Number Four!
Shut up, dad. Remember your "gift" to me: it's not like it'll be permanent.
"Beej...!"
His own voice is haggard. Dissociation tries to bleed into the corners of his thoughts, makes him wonder, not for the first time, lately, why so many people feel entitled to lay their hands on some part of his body.
"Beej--Tangy--hk!...Dream, what'd I do? Stop...!"
He smacks the young prostitute's cheeks, imploring gently, and then insistently, and then a little savagely.
Klaus begins to black out; his eyes glow a veil-piercing teal and he is out. Bright light, the same hue, his ribcage its lantern, and then an explosion. The force throws BJ back a good six, seven feet.
Klaus collapses awkwardly on his face. He sits up and gawks through a mop of curls.
"The fuck--? Did I just go into the....fricken....Avatar State, or somethin'?"
Green eyes shift toward the waif's face. Anger and grief sink in, rapidly clouding over the comical shock.
'Why'd you hurt me, man? Whatever you needed, you coulda just asked! Like, damn! I'm super fuckin' chill, okay?! "
#ofyorkshire#ic#tangerine dream (BJ)#crossover: Red Riding Trilogy#implied abuse cw#strangulation cw#assault cw
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"Maybe I should lean a lil more into the 'death' side of my identity, ater all."
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HERE ON THIS BLOG WE GIVE A FUCK!! APATHY FEEDS THE MACHINE! WE ARE ALL ABOUT LOVING AND CARING DEEPLY FOR HUMANITY HERE!
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