The Ex Man With Doc Coyle – Ep. 27 – Steve Evetts (Producer of Dillinger Escape Plan, Suicide Silence) Doc talks with legendary record producer Steve Evetts about working on the 1st God Forbid album, Reject The Sickness, his philosophy on getting great performances, his role elevating the hardcore scene in the late 90s, his time as the bassist of the glam-ish band American Angel, how he got his start producing and working at Trax East studio, breaking out as a "big time" producer working with Ross Robinson, The Cure, and Sepultura, what the Steve Evetts credo towards production is, what he thinks about how technology has changed recording, and his relationship with The Dillinger Escape Plan.

COMING FULL CIRCLE, A CONVERSATION WITH FRANK IERO

Ricordo quando avevo 13 anni e pensavo che sarebbe stato figo se il mio lavoro fosse quello di parlare con i musicisti che amavo. Ricordo ancora chiaramente quando avevo 18 anni e mi trovavo in un moshpit del Big Day Out pensando che non ci sarebbe stata cosa migliore dei My Chemical Romance live. Tagliate a dieci anni dopo e mi ritrovo in un pub di Melbourne a parlare con Frank Iero riguardo il suo tour australiano. 

Bentornato in Australia! All’inizio dell’anno hai fatto alcuni set acoustici. Com’è questa volta con l’intera band? Frank: Si, quei set erano una necessità inizialmente. In pratica, trovammo finalmente un modo con il quale venire al Soundwave con l’intera band per un tour, ma ovviamente sono accadute delle cose ed è stato cancellato. Quindi o si resta a casa a lamentarsi e non fare quest’esperienza o … nessuno può dirmi che non posso andarci – abbiamo una fantastica etichetta e meravigliose persone che lavorano con noi, hanno detto che se avessimo voluto andare ci avrebbero trovato un posto in cui suonare. Cazzo, ho una chitarra – prendiamo il biglietto aereo. Come un’inaugurazione? Frank: Si, la cosa divertente è che è una creatura così diversa, arrivare e fare set acoustici. Non pensavo che queste canzoni l’avrebbero permesso – ed era la prima volta che facevamo performance acustiche tranne due o tre piccoli show, ma poi ha generato alcuni concerti una volta a casa. Ha aperto alcune porte. Quindi grazie Australia?  Beh, grazie a te. Hai un nuovo album in uscita il 28 ottobre, questi show sono stati una buona occasione per provare il nuovo materiale? Frank: Sai è un momento strano ora perchè, come hai detto, ho un album che uscirà tra due settimane circa e ci sono tutte queste nuove canzoni che voglio suonare – ma viviamo in un’epoca in cui se le suonassi finirebbero inevitabilmente su un telefono e l’audio sarebbe il peggio in assoluto. E’ così che funziona. Sai, tutto questo tempo ed impegno che ci sono voluti per realizzare queste canzoni e il modo in cui dovrebbero essere trasmesse all’ascoltatore vanno a farsi benedire e sono semplicemente video orrendi sul telefonino. Devi trattenerti e non suonare tutte le canzoni che vorresti fare. Quindi abbiamo iniziato a suonare quelle che sono state rilasciate prima. Senti di avere questo segreto che vuoi condividere così tanto e continui a guardarlo ma non è il momento. La cosa divertente è, che le canzoni che suoniamo qui sembrano nuove per le persone che vengono agli show e che non hanno mai sentito la band prima. Anche la roba vecchia sa di nuovo. Stavo leggendo che non avevi intenzione di rilasciare il materiale vecchio come un album. Allora scrivere parachutes è sembrato diverso? Frank: Quella è stata la differenza per quest’album, perchè ho scritto queste canzoni e non avevo predetto nulla di tutto ciò. La mia idea era ‘Scrivo queste canzoni perchè ne sento il bisogno’ semplicemente per toglierle dalla mia testa e per farmi sentire meglio. L’unica cosa che mi faceva sentire bene era essere creativo. Ho pensato di farlo e metterle su un CD. Chiuderle in un cassetto, poi 10 anni dopo, una volta che i miei figli sarebbero stati abbastanza grandi, dirgli “hey ascoltate queste canzoni” e loro avrebbero risposto “oh è così patetico”. Ma quello che è successo è che un mio amico, che è stato mio amico da anni e anni, arrivò da me chiedendomi cos’avessi fatto in quel periodo. Gli dissi che stavo scrivendo canzoni e mi convinse a suonarle per alcune persone – e prima di rendermene conto, ottenni un contratto discografico e un tour. Non sapevo nemmeno se l’avessi voluto o meno. La vita si è messa di mezzo, ho messo insieme una band, sono andato in tour e ho iniziato a divertirmi e poi ho realizzato ‘ok, devo farne un altro’. Ma poi ho avuto davvero l’intenzione di realizzare un album che le persone avrebbero ascoltato. Ho iniziato ad impazzire perchè non pensavo di sapere come fare – perchè non lo feci la prima volta, immagino che sia una cosa buona non sentire questo rilascio come un secondo album visto che non feci propriamente il primo. Non c’è nessuna pressione per un secondo album. Frank: Esattamente! Quindi l’ho potuto fare diversamente, ho potuto chiamare la band in modo diverso. Iniziai a pensare a quel tipo di cose, specialmente che se fosse stato sotto il mio nome, avrebbe dovuto essere diverso. Ma poi queste porte creative iniziarono ad aprirsi, improvvisamente le canzoni iniziarono ad uscire fuori e realizzai molto presto che non era affatto come il primo album e non avrei potuto realizzarlo da solo. Sento che dopo due anni da Stomachaches mi trovi in un posto completamente diverso nella vita. Creativamente, per un artista significa trovarsi oltre anni luce.  Quando ascolto l’album (Parachutes), mi sembra di provare un senso di crescita e realizzazione di alcune cose – come forze e debolezze e accettarle entrambe. Con il primo album, sento decisamente qualcuno che non ne ha assolutamente idea (ride).  Hai lavorato con i produttori Ross Robinson e Steve Evetts. Come trovi abbiano dato forma all’album?  Frank: C’è un certo folklore che segue questi due, gli album che fanno, il processo e quello che fanno passare alla gente – ed è ciò che mi spaventava. Del tipo, voglio davvero farlo e mettermi in discussione e avere qualcuno che mi faccia piangere ogni giorno, lo voglio davvero? Quando iniziai a scrivere queste canzoni – e ci credo profondamente, quando scrivi queste canzoni ti dicono cosa vogliono essere e quale sia il loro sound. Queste canzoni, richiedevano di essere portate al limite e anche oltre– perciò queste due persone erano necessarie. Non è un segreto che sono fan di Ross e Steve insieme e individualmente da moltissimo tempo. Alcune delle band che hanno aiutato e alcuni degli album che hanno realizzato hanno dato forma alla mia carriera musicale per tutta la mia vita, risalendo fino ai Korn – sono cresciuto negli anni 90. Andare in quello studio però, anche dopo tutte le storie che sentii non gli fecero giustizia, non erano dello stesso livello. Il punto è questo però, pensavo che Ross sarebbe stato questa figura aggressiva e imponente in studio. Un tipo fastidioso, intransigente. Ma non è stato così – è stato molto più positivo di qualsiasi altra cosa abbia mai fatto. Ho sempre pensato che era necessario demolire me stesso per ricostruirmi. Provengo da questa lunga linea di deprecazione – ‘non sei abbastanza bravo, non meriti nemmeno di essere qua’. Ma nulla di ciò è uscito fuori, riguardava essere il meglio che poteva esserci e la cosa migliore di te è che sei tu. Le cose che pensi siano carenti in te sono in realtà i tuoi punti di forza, perchè sono ciò che ti rendono unico. Ed ecco perchè sei fantastico, anche se potresti pensare che quelle cose non siano buone, ti mostrerò il perchè. Era qualcosa tipo merda, ‘non ci picchieremo per arrivare a quel punto? Andremo semplicemente d’accordo?’ e la risposta era, ‘perchè non dovrei dirti che non sei bravo abbastanza.’ Sei qui, stai facendo questa cosa, hai visto il tuo valore, sei bravo abbastanza. I musicisti non bravi non ottengono contratti discografici. Frank: Esattamente. Il punto è che era così strano, così semplice. Ma allo stesso tempo, l’album più difficile che abbia mai fatto. Mi ha fatto piangere ogni cazzo di giorno, ma in un modo che arrivava al nucleo di cose di cui non sapevo nulla. Inizi a risalire al perchè ti senti in certi modi riguardo queste cose e inizi a realizzare che forse le cose accadono per te e non a te. E quelle cose, beh forse avrai pensato fossero le cose peggiori mai capitate ma sono in realtà le migliori.. Non sarei in grado di rifare l’album in un altro modo. I My Chemical Romance sono stati un’enorme parte dell’alternative rock scene. Hanno lasciato una grande impronta in quel genere quindi è importante per te lasciare un segno come solista? Frank: Semplicemente non so se me ne freghi qualcosa. Penso sia una di quelle cose che pensavo per molto tempo fosse semplicemente qualcosa che facevo e che la mia persona fosse molto lontana e diversa. Poi iniziai a realizzare che non è semplicemente qualcosa che faccio, è parte di ciò che sono e tutt’oggi radicato nella mia genetica. E’ come pompare sangue nelle proprie vene, non realizzi nemmeno che lo stai facendo, ma è necessario per sopravvivere. E’ una parte di me. Mi trovo in questa strana posizione durante le interviste come artista attuale, con la ristampa di un album che ho scritto con i MCR, è così strano. Fa parte delle cose che ho creato. Capisco perchè le persone abbiano bisogno di distanziarsi, ma semplicemente creo cose. Forse piace, forse no. Non piacerà tutto ciò che faccio. Potrebbero piacere alcune cose più di altre, è quello che faccio. E’ come lottare contro il fatto di trovarsi al liceo – ecco come arrivi al college. Non puoi falsificare il tuo diploma del liceo. Non sarei arrivato qui senza quell’album. Abbiamo fatto alcune cose incredibili, è successo. E’ il decimo anniversario di The Black Parade, quando hai fatto quest’album pensavi che avrebbe avuto questo tipo di impatto sulla scena alternative rock? Frank: Cazzo no. No, decisamente no. Il fatto è questo: mentre realizzavamo The Black Parade sapevo stavamo facendo qualcosa di super importante. Non sapevo che cosa significasse, semplicemente sapevo che fosse veramente importante. A prescindere se sarebbe stato importante per noi o importante per milioni di persone, non ne avevo idea. Non pensavamo al successo commerciale o cose del genere perchè sarebbe stato semplicemente ridicolo a quel punto. Ma sapevo si trattava di qualcosa di speciale. L’altra cosa che dilagava in quello studio, era che avevamo l’impressione che qualsiasi cosa avessimo fatto la gente l’avrebbe odiata perchè le cose funzionavano in quel modo. Avevamo un album che da underground era diventato popolare e la gente ci ha odiati per questo. Quando avevamo un album underground la gente lo odiava lo stesso – non c’era modo di vincere. Alcune persone lo amavano e lo odiavano e avrebbero odiato l’album successivo – quindi tanto valeva fare qualcosa di completamente pazzo. Era molto radicalizzante.  Sono i miei primi 3 anni di liceo, in un album. Frank: Vivere in quel periodo, non tutti l’hanno capito, c’erano gruppi di persone che ci volevano morti. E’ divertente, o muori o ti sciogli affinchè la gente lo apprezzi. E’ così che funziona. Ero in auto con una delle mie migliori amiche quando avete annunciato lo scioglimento, ci sono state lacrime. Frank: L’abbiamo fatto per lei,semplicemente per farla piangere. (Ride). Sei a metà del tuo tour australiano, come sono andati gli show fino adesso?  Frank: E’ stato fantastico, è difficile indovinare cosa aspettarsi quando suoni canzoni in un posto per la prima volta. Alcune volte ti presenti e ti aspetti che verrà nessuno a vederti ma è stato così fantastico. Ci sono ragazzi ogni volta e hanno una connessione alle canzoni che ora sono considerate vecchie. E anche fare roba nuova, avere persone che conoscono le nuove canzoni, mi sento molto fortunato. Ho un buon presentimento al riguardo. Mi fa sentire bene. Come ti sembra il pubblico australiano in confronto a quello di casa? Frank: Ogni volta che si va in una parte del mondo diversa, diverse culture reagiscono in modi diversi e alcune volte è strano. Gli piace? Non gli piace? Oh! Okay è semplicemente come reagiscono. Perth è stata molto diversa rispetto a Adelaide, mi sembra che al primo show fossero molto riservati ma si stavano divertendo ma solo nel loro spazio. Non volevano entrare negli spazi degli altri. Abbiamo avuto fantastici show qui, ma sono stati tutti diversi.

Casual band blogger, 17 ottobre 2017

According to JP twitter, today is apparently Kiss Day? Day for kisses? I'm not sure what the best way to translate it would be without it sounding stilted, but I think you get the idea. 🤣 But anyway, I woke up from an evening power nap and was like "YO I SHOULD WRITE A LITTLE DRABBLE FOR ALL OF MY GIRLS FEATURING DIFFERENT KISSES!!!!"

So I did. 😭 I'll be putting it all under a cut, because there's like 8 of these. They're all pretty short, but there's still 8 of them, and I'm not boutta inflict that on you guys out of the blue. But underneath the cut there will be:

OG Punchy/Vergil

Storm AU Punchy/Vergil

Punchy/Higashi AU

Liviere/Vergil

Evette/Credo

Violetta(Assistant)/Credo

Nobume/Higashi

idkmybffZhaoOC/Zhao (she's unnamed atm 😔 going the way of Punchy I guess.)

[ Shoulder Kiss | OG Punchy/Vergil ]

"You're out of your mind."

He is frank, biting; the way he has always been with her. That their relationship is subtly different to what it was a year ago does little to change that. She leans over the table some more, brushing a little closer to his side than is necessary, and studies the floorplan of the Coliseum in a thoughtful silence, the tip of her index finger dragging along the critical path she intends to take through the underground.

"You'll need to do better than that - people have been telling me that ever since I started picking fights with you."

Vergil draws in a breath, even and composed. And then he tries again, a little quieter than before. "Do you think they'll simply let you in after what you've caused? After what you've costed them? You'll be killed on sight."

And there it is, laid out for all to see; the words unsaid.

I don't want you to die.

Myra gathers up the plans on the table. All the documents, the evidence, the blueprints, arranges them all evenly and then turns to leave the Devil May Office. But before she leaves the pocket of warmth that is his side, Vergil feels her step close, breaching a distance they mutually understood was off limit for no other reason than they are both stubborn. It isn't an embrace, far from it, but she leans some of her weight into him and holds her lips against his bared shoulder; an act he barely recognises as her.

And then she's out the door.

——

[ On The Lips | Storm AU Punchy/Vergil ]

Accepting his invitation was a mistake. She isn't stupid. She isn't blind. She knows what allowing him to lead her back to his room means. She knows, and yet she's here, hurting somehow, in a way she can't explain, yet craving his warmth for a reason she won't admit. He's been nothing but gentle with her, this new Vergil. He's never forceful, eternally patient, even in the midst of her frustration at herself for words and feelings glossed over and suppressed. Every interaction with her revolved around giving; giving his time, giving his attention, giving her slivers of affection that, should she accept him, would turn into more.

But as he slowly leans in, eyes on hers the entire time, as if watching for any trace of reluctance (and finding none), he takes something from her for the first time.

Her breath.

——

[ On The Lips | Punchy/Higashi AU ]

The apartment smells like smoke. Always had, ever since he took up his role as a Lieutenant of the Matsugane Family, and always will, now that there are two of them who share the same bad habit, the same roof… The same bed.

Myra sits across the couch from him, watching the way his cigarette hangs from his bottom lip as he idly scrolls through his phone. The end of it glows in a slow rhythm, matching his breathing, exhaled smoke curling into the air from between his lips. She'd always thought his lips were a nice shape, even years ago when they first met; a strange thing to notice on a then complete stranger, but she recalls he was smoking back then too.

The couch shifts under her weight as she crawls toward him, and he only bothers looking up when she's almost in his lap. He lowers his phone and waits with a raised eyebrow for her to speak, to do anything. Slowly, but with a steady hand, she reaches up and almost tenderly plucks the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between two fingers somewhere off to the side. He loses track of just where exactly, because she angles her head just so in the next moment and shares in his second hand smoke.

It always tastes different coming from him.

——

[ On The Cheek | Liviere/Vergil ]

"Oh shit, don't tell me I dropped it back in the forest–"

To be honest, he had been waiting for her to realise her prized Assault scales were missing; dropped from her satchel as she beat a hasty retreat when another troupe showed up unannounced. Vergil scooped them up and tucked them safely into his coat, following after her for several paces before he decided the easiest way would be to fly back. She made no objections as he overtook her in a burst of blue flame, and there was no hesitation in the way she jumped into his arms, settling against his chest as he opened his wings and took to the skies.

But now that she's back in her apartment, she's panicked. Frustrated. She's turned her satchel virtually inside out, looking for what she was sure she had placed within it.

"Fuck, are you kidding me? After all that?"

Stepping over to her, he finally unveils his trump card, dangling the strip of Assault carcass before her eyes.

"Is this what you're looking for?"

Her eyes light up immediately and she snatches it right from his grip faster than he can pull it out of reach; he always forgets that about her.

"Oh my god, my saviour, thank yoooou." She's up on her feet in seconds, rushing by in a blur. But not before he feels a touch of pressure upon his cheek, and the lingering warmth of her lips. She's gone by the time he properly processes what she'd done, the door to her study already slamming closed when he turns to follow her movement. The spot where she'd kissed him out of the blue tingles faintly. He smiles.

——

[ Top of the Head | Evette/Credo ]

It's rare for her to sit still like this. Always filled to burst with an energy he struggles to keep up with, the only thing that can keep her in one spot for more than ten minutes is the lure of food, or the allure of nature.

Nestled within his lap, right there against the concave of his chest, she flips through the photos she developed only yesterday, showing him each one and briefly explaining why she took it; what she felt when she took it; what she feels when she looks at it now. It's mostly scenery, with a handful of native woodland creatures, and occasionally—not nearly as often as she would like—a demon or two, perched peacefully.

Evette sinks further into his chest, wiggles from side to side until she can feel his heartbeat against her back, raising the bundle of photos in her hands above her so he can see.

"They only attack if they're provoked or threatened you know - they're not much different from like. You know. Lions. And bears. When they're not ordered to by higher demons, they kinda just hang out. Like The Angel does."

Credo hums. She still doesn't know that he is her "Angel"; the longer this goes on, the more he wonders if he should simply tell her, and the more he worries that if he does, then what he means to her will change.

Oblivious, Evette flips to the next photo; a side profile of Credo himself, outlined by the afternoon sun, yet perfectly contrast. He doesn't remember her ever getting that close. He doesn't even remember when that was taken. Or where. He's barely given the chance to study it in fact, because with a surprised squawk she thrashes wildly in his lap and hastily tosses it across the room.

"–not that one, ignore that one, forget you ever saw it, I got no idea where it came from, I never seen it before in my life, it was planted on me, I'm holding it for a friend!!" Her outburst contradicts itself at every turn, growing more intense with every scrounged up excuse. She finally goes still, waiting for Credo to react, to perhaps call her out on her obvious lies.

But he only laughs—quietly, gently—feeling flattered and warm, and tilts his head down to plant a kiss atop the crown of her head.

——

[ Back of the Hand | Violetta(Assistant)/Credo ]

"Don't ask that of me again," she grumbles, voice tight, as she removes her earrings. They're dropped into the clutch purse at her side, stored away until the next emergency function he asks her to attend with him.

This marks the third time she has said precisely this, about precisely this; about having to smile politely through another night, exchanging pleasantries with people she knows little about, and cares even less for. And yet everytime there is another event marked on his calendar, she wonders. She secretly hopes.

In the darkness of the garden, away from the bright lights and the constant chatter and the music of the function—away from everybody she doesn't like—she lets herself unravel a little. Truth be told, she doesn't mind dressing up nicely every now and then, and she minds hovering at her Captain's side in this manner even less. The assurance of his hand across her shoulder, and increasingly daringly, at her lower back, is welcomed now. Soothing, and something she laments whenever he bashfully lifts it away, suddenly self conscious in the eyes of so many who are so eager to whisper rumours into the dark. It isn't his own reputation he seeks to protect whenever he does this; it's hers.

No matter how she might protest, she could never turn Credo away. And part of her thinks he understands this, because he reaches for her hand in the next moment, coaxing her fingers apart to slot his own between them. He smiles when she squeezes back. And then again as she looks away, embarrassed when he lifts her hand to press his lips to the back of it.

"Thank you for being with me regardless. For all the times past... and all the times to come."

Nodding stiffly, Violetta yields, making a noise in her throat that sounds like defeat and acceptance and acknowledgment all at once.

——

[ On the Forehead | Nobume/Higashi ]

He can't sleep. He's exhausted right down to his bones, and yet things beyond his control swirl endlessly in his thoughts, around and around until behind his closed eyes, he feels dizzy.

When he opens them, it's to her, awake and concerned at his side. She could always tell when he was just pretending to sleep; something about how he lies far too still, and breathes far too rigid for it to possibly be natural. He needs to work on that, not just for his sake, but for hers too. He can't keep waking her up in the middle of the night like this.

"There you go again, thinking about things you say you can't tell me." She's gentle even as she chides him, pressing the pad of her index finger where his eyebrows crease together; another sign that he's lost in his own thoughts.

"Sorry," he murmurs, his voice hoarse from his own fatigue. He must sound particularly pathetic, because she scoots closer to him, placing a soft kiss upon his temple before she wraps herself around him. She cradles his head against the base of her neck, and he unconsciously seeks her sleep-warm skin, breathing in the scent of her.

"Tell me." Ever gentle, she urges him. And it's the sheer exhaustion, the weight of it all, that finally makes him fold.

He only gets as far as Matsugane passing away before he finally drifts off.

——

[ On the Cheek | idkmybffZhaoOC/Zhao ]

"Hey," Zhao waits for her to turn towards him, eyes wide in an unspoken gesture to continue before he does, "apparently it's like… a day for smooches?"

She blinks, nose scrunching in confusion. "A day for what?"

"A day for kissy wissies. Here–" He holds up his phone, turning it around for her to see a Chatter timeline full of posts—photos, art, and everything in between—all tagged with a phrase that even her eighth grade self would have been able to read.

"キッスの日?"

He gives an affirmative hum as he withdraws his phone, beaming.

She doesn't appear phased, but this too is part of the game they constantly play; the perpetual chase and endless mischief. "And?"

The smile drops from his face, his lower lip protruding in a playful pout. "And I want my smooch." He taps his cheek, leaning toward her, even puffing it out for good measure. "Right here. Like I deserve. Because I've been good."

She makes a strained noise, somewhere in between a beached whale and a struggling engine. "Do I have to?"

"Yeah. Or else I give the pups a refresher on how to howl in the middle of the night."

"Blech." A poor excuse of a faked gag, really. But she concedes nonetheless, scooting across the carpet towards him to give him what he wants; a peck on the cheek. "There, happy?" She doesn't give him a chance to answer, already pulling away and getting to her feet, patting the back of her shorts to rid it of dust that isn't there. "And now I'm gonna go get some snacks from Poppo. Call me if the pups start crying for me, okay?"

A suspicious silence answers her, tripping a plethora of mental alarms, because a quiet Zhao is a scheming Zhao. When she turns to where he sits, she yelps in surprise to find him already directly in front of her, hand sliding casually around her waist.

He chuckles, a soft, yet unmistakably self-assured sound. "Trying to run away?" His eyes twinkle with something playful that she reciprocates with arms slung over his shoulders, and a smile returned with equal mirth.

"Why on earth would I do that?"

He's already leaning in as he talks, head tilting, lips parting. "Because it's my turn~"

Apricity

(noun) ; the warmth of the sun in winter

Evette x Credo

So a while back, I slapped some tags onto this post, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since, so here I am with another short ficlet to get it out of my system, so I can concentrate on more important things. 🤣 Not posting it to AO3 just yet, just in case I want to refine it a little. 🤔

Photo by Eduard Gordeev

--

Unsurprisingly, the cold had snuck up on them.

Well, perhaps only for one of them.

For those unfamiliar with Fortuna's climate (in plainer words, people like Evette) they would be forgiven for thinking the island is of mild temperate all year round. The port city reaps all the benefits of the ocean breeze, but the further from the city one moves, the more erratic its weather; all side effects of the dormant hellgate beneath the city. The perpetual snowfall upon Lamina Peak is one such miracle. 

But Credo had known that once the sun dipped below the horizon, soft and slow, as intimate as the tide, temperatures would drop within the hour. He'd known Evette, dressed as she was, was ill-equipped to deal with freezing temperatures. He knew - all of this - and yet he still made no indication of such. Did not hurry her home, even as the sky darkened and her breath began to fog. As the stars began to light up the sky; as a gentle snowfall began to settle, a sprinkle of stardust in her hair at first, and then in thick sheets over the ground and canopy of trees; as the moon rose, and her gaze lifted skyward in awe, it had slipped his mind completely.

Is it selfish of him? That he clings more and more to these moments with her? As a human, as

Credo

, he only knows her as loud. Boisterous. Childish, untamed and wild. But as he is now, an Angelo, the very last in a long and tragic line, he sees her in her silences, more telling than the stream of unconscious thought that she deals in. The way light reflects in her eyes. The respect she has for the uncontrolled, and the uncontrollable.

He sees her.

And he would give, more and more and ever more, to be with these parts of her that only ever bubble to the surface through the lens of her camera.

So he does nothing, merely letting the snow fall in silence. It is a blanket. A buffer, a shroud that will hide them from the rest of the world, isolate them from their normal routine. Whatever this is, whatever is budding in this cold winter, he wants it to flourish.

And he thinks, he hopes, that in her silences, the way she takes his outstretched hand, and lets him lead her into the hollow of a once great tree, that she's putting her hopes into this bloom too. The chill is unforgiving, and the night has only just begun, but tucked away in secrecy under silver moonlight, by the flickering glow of a campfire, they sit and watch the snowfall together. He knows this moment is fleeting, a temporary pocket of time that will disappear with dawn, but that's a problem to face several hours from now. For the moment, Credo is happy to sit and watch her lift her camera to her face, clicking intermittently between careful shuffles across the floor. He loves the sound of that shutter now; it tells him that she's losing herself to her surroundings, capturing on film to keep forever, that special way she views the world.

There is much that Evette is; slippery as an eel; immature; silver-tongued, always outlandish, fabricating excuse after excuse as to why she hasn't eaten, or why she hasn't bathed in days, or why she doesn't do any of the things any upstanding person would. But she is never more honest than when that shutter blinks.

She will never again be more mild than when she takes his hand again and climbs into his lap. Curls right up against his chest, warmed by flame and by feather, and sleeps.

--

When the morning comes, Credo's lap is empty.

Evette is gone.

He's briefly alarmed; it speaks to just how lax he grew that somebody shifting, moving, leaving, in such close proximity would go unnoticed. His eyes travel to the charred remains of the fire, nothing but a smoking pile of cinders, then to the entrance of the hollowed tree, where the freshly fallen snow lays puffy and thick.

Where a set of boots have left deep depressions.

He feels himself relax, eyes sliding closed momentarily as he breathes a silent sigh. Then he rises to his feet to follow the trail she'd left behind, ducking through the opening in the tree. He's greeted with an instant chill that ruffles his feathers, the residual warmth of their little refuge chased away by a crisp brisk, just as the night is driven away by the beginnings of the sun peeking over the horizon.

Her tracks are erratic, sometimes looping around, sometimes swerving madly, but her intent is not to mislead; Evette follows the lens of her camera first and foremost. And on this still morning, where frost still clings to the trees, it leads her to the swell of a brook where she sits crouched by the edge. Her camera hangs around her neck, and though there's no chance that she didn't hear his arrival - he is, after all, double her size - she makes no acknowledgement of his presence. Her element is her own, and that too, Credo finds he respects.

She dips the very tip of her finger into the running water, flinching back immediately perhaps in surprise at how brisk the water is, laughs to herself... and then does it again. She only looks toward him when he lowers down onto one knee behind her, smiles in a way that she only ever shows to Credo Angelo, warmer than the glow of the sun, and then flicks some of that water into his face.

Even her laughter is different here. A little more subdued, but no less sincere, and against the backdrop of sunlight on fresh snow, he thinks for the first, but not the last time, that there is beauty not only in how she sees the world, but in her too.

Fortuna's winters no longer seem so harsh.

And for today's opening work shift idea, here's a quick Evette/Credo piece that I need to get down before the idea drifts away.

[[MORE]]--

Credo tugs at the collar of his shirt, feeling a wave of heat surge through him. His eyes flicker up and over to Evette, chatting animatedly as she always does, about this and that, about one of her expeditions in Africa, and how she wound up with an Assault tangled in her tent.

Blissfully ignorant, in other words. Utterly oblivious to the effect she's having on him. How does she not see?

Even looking at her makes that ugly feeling rear its head, and though he pointedly looks away from her, the smell of her, invasive and powerful, drifts into his senses. Oh, it's maddening. Completely and absolutely. He grips at one leg of his trousers, tenses his thighs, his entire body, hoping to distract himself from this feeling.

But it consumes him. Slowly at first, and then so very suddenly.

The scrape of his chair against the floor silences the room, even Evette who blinks over at him, and for the first time since she showed up, since that feeling first began to gnaw at his sense of self, he locks eyes with her, stern and demanding.

"You. Come with me."

"Wha-"

She isn't given the opportunity to finish her exclamation; Credo's already grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to her feet, driven, consumed by this one need.

The door to the bathroom slams closed, he doesn't even think to lock it before he shoves her, where she lands, with an unglamorous and undignified squawk, on her hands and knees before the bathtub.

Without waiting, Credo rolls up his sleeves, turns the water on, and reaches for the shampoo.

When was the last goddamn time she'd washed her hair?

Gökotta

Evette/Credo

So I had a nap today, and when I woke up, this idea wouldn’t leave me alone, and so here's some rushed version of it. 😭😭 The only real context you need is that it borrows heavily from this post that I made yesterday. And as with most of my works of this nature, it’s not really editted or anything either 🤣 I wrote it up more to just get it out of my system sdjklfh. Maybe one day I’ll polish it up properly and post it on AO3 like I did with Argent Energy, but for now, I have other things *cough*PACT16*cough* to focus on.

E-enjoy this random fluff? 💖🙏

---

Despite a lack of proper verbal communication, it's surprisingly easy for Evette to pick up on the cues of Fortuna's Guardian Angel. To her surprise, it wasn't her (admittedly rather limited) knowledge of demonology that granted her this bounty of wisdom, but rather her experience in bird watching. Whatever the Angel really is, however he came to be, he borrows more from avians than mere feathers and wings; the curious tilts of his head; the indignant ruffling of his feathers (Evette gets the distinct feeling that particular trait is unconscious); the molting; and most oddly pleasant of all, those deep, rumbling trills. And perhaps lending further to these tells and peeks into a carefully guarded personality, is how he's willing to show these to her. Upon the battlefield, he is swift and graceful, but like this, atop a cliff within the Ancient Battle Grounds of Mitis Forest, he sits by her, shoulders relaxed and perfectly at ease, content with feeling the wind filter through his wing.

It's almost a ritual between them now. An unspoken, yet mutually understood promise to meet up twice a week at this very spot. How this came to be, neither would be able to tell you, but they both settled into the routine with shocking ease. Almost as if meeting up with a ten foot tall demon - Fortuna's very own cryptid - was normal. But then again, much of Evette's life lay beyond the realm of conventional. What is all this, but another tale for her to tell in the future?

For some reason, the idea that he may one day exist to her in the past tense makes him a little sad.

He watches in silence as she weaves in and out of the shrubbery, somehow always managing to find something new to photograph. Sometimes it's a hummingbird, sometimes a shy dormouse napping in the warm afternoon sun, but mostly, it's scenery. Her ability to work with perspective and composition is astounding to behold, not that he's ever made mention of this to her in this form. He knows that if he so much as says even a word to her, in that voice he knows she has memorised, she'll discover who he really is. And so the most that Credo does whenever she waves her camera at him is cock his head and lean closer to the tiny screen, his tail swishing in an idle interest. Maybe it's this gift of perspective, this ability to really see, that keeps her coming back to meet with him - who else but her would be so eager to meet and sit and talk so animatedly to someone who can barely respond?

When she emerges from the underbrush, all manner of sticks and leaves in that unseemly mop of hair, she makes a startled noise, bracing both of her hands out in front of her as if to ward off a predator. Immediately, Credo is defensive, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head, seamlessly reverting to that dignified pressure he so effortlessly exudes. But Evette, with her eyes wide, desperately waves her hands at him before raising one to hold one finger over her lips.

Don't move, the gesture screams.

And so he doesn't, immediately freezing in place. If Nero were to see him now, he would laugh and laugh until his stomach ached, and tears stung his eyes… and perhaps he'd have every right to. Seeing somebody normally so proud and authoritative bow their head to somebody quite literally half their size… Agnus would probably be furious that his glorious Ascension Ceremony had resulted in this pathetic exchange.

Luckily, Credo couldn't care less for what Agnus would think.

Maybe deep down, he doesn't care for what Nero makes of this either.

Isn't his own happiness more important?

Evette takes great care in sneaking over to where Credo sits on the floor, almost to the point that it's comical; walking on the very tips of her toes in exaggerated steps, as if the slightest disturbance will ruin the moment. She reaches for her camera, still dangling around her neck by that worn leather strap, and flicks it on. The lens whirrs to life, sliding out of its casing, and she holds it up to her face, adjusting her own height, the zoom, and snaps one picture.

Is she… taking pictures of him? Wasn't this one of the boundaries that they'd set? When he lifts his head, letting loose a slow rumble, Evette silences him with a grave look, and another flailing of her hands in silent protest. Once again, he obeys. Once again, he doesn't really know why. Behind him, perhaps in a gesture of defeat, Credo's tail drops to the floor with a quiet, lifeless thump. She steps lightly over to him, camera still in hand, standing between his legs, and he notices for the first time that like this, she's nearly face to face with him. The epiphany is lost on her however, because the camera is being raised once more as she rises up on the tips of her boots, snapping another set of pictures of… the top of his head?

What on earth is she–

Credo jolts when she suddenly drops the camera from her hands, letting it dangle freely from around her neck. She shuffles even closer now, the distance clearly only awkward for one member of the party; Credo tries to lean backwards, but as always, even back before they began meeting regularly, wherever he goes, she follows. Her hands lift, slowly and gently, up and up until she scoops something up from within the base of his upturned halo. She smiles down at it with a tenderness that typically hides behind her camera, and then shows it to him; a swallow, still a mere fledgling, that had nestled into the down upon Credo's head. It chirps quietly, soft trills that speak to how it too, is completely at ease.

"The demons don't like you much, but the fauna around here sure does, huh?" With the bird still in her hands, she plops herself down on his thigh, not noticing how he tenses underneath her weight. She thumbs gently at the tiny ball of downy fluff in her hands. "You're a lucky guy, you know that? Wish I could get animals to like me this easily - would probably make all my expeditions out in the wild a little easier."

Credo shakes his head. Whether he means to say that animals don't like him, or whether animals don't like her, he isn't sure.

This limited communication has its perks, Credo supposes, because moments where he isn't certain exactly what he wishes to convey to her are an increasing occurrence.

A worryingly increasing occurrence.

But as usual, Evette takes the liberty of filling in the other half of their conversations for him, and he realises that… maybe he just likes listening to her talk.

"Maybe they know they're safe with you? You know, because you're always there to protect them."

His ears perk up a little at that, rather pleased that his efforts to protect the island are felt by all who inhabit it. Strange how this notion was never really present back when the Order was still Fortuna's governing force. Strange how Fortuna is better without it.

"But you know what…" Credo turns his attention back to Evette, perched on his thigh, so casual and unafraid even though he looms so much higher over her. "I kinda think I get it." She looks up, notices that the parents of the baby in her hands have now landed upon his shoulder, and smiles again; a deep and warm curve of her lips that creases the corners of her eyes. She shifts in Credo's lap, raises both her hands, and the fledgling within it hops up to join its family.

"I feel safe when I'm with you too."

So Evette keeps copies of every magazine she’s ever featured in. None of them are with her - they’re all packed away in storage back in Red Grave - but it’s quite a varied selection: occult journals, tabloid magazines, and even a few national geographics (or the DMC equivalent thereof).

Out of curiosity, there is one such occult journal that was confiscated back in the Order days when many mainland “goods” were prohibited (mostly harmful items, honestly, the Order wasn’t that strict about imported goods), and Credo’s kind of surprised at the level of quality of her work.

She didn’t come to Fortuna with nothing but hopes. Evette herself may not act like it, but there is pride in what she does.

Probably has something to do with that journo she idolises...

After writing that one shot yesterday about Credo Angelo and Evette, I actually started thinking about their height difference, so I went to compare them and.... ya know what, m-maybe they shouldn’t bone like this.

Because she will die for sure.

And I would like for her to not die. 🤣

This being said, I should try and see if I can cross reference some pics and get an actual height for the SDTs. I’ve never actually known how tall the boys’ SDTs are. 🤔

More Evette/Credo content absolutely nobody asked for, but I'm doing anyway because I am allowed to indulge myself. 😤

So after Credo (forcibly) moves her into an actual house that isn't falling to pieces and dilapidated within Fortuna's City center, Evette peeks into the bathroom like "haha haven't seen one of these in months" to which Credo feels some of his soul crumble to dust and then he just shoves her into the tub and starts washing her hair....... which is matted and gross because Evette is a goblin who's been living in the abandoned areas of town ever since she arrived as a stowaway absjka

To Evette, the treatment feels like this

And this is what it feels like to Credo.

Literally Evette/Credo.

Me typing this up directly into tumblr on my work break because it won't leave me alone.

---

By now, everybody has simply accepted that, not unlike a roach from underneath the fridge, Evette will simply show up unannounced at the orphanage and make herself at home. Nero attributes this to Credo's constant babysitting, but can never seem to find it in him to shoo her out whenever she drops by. She's proven herself to be rather harmless by now, photojournalist or no. It's just like having another kid to look after, honestly.

Today however, she sits slumped at the kitchen counter, face buried in her arms, paying no mind to the sweet smell of a several pies baking away in the oven. Normally, she'd chatter, asking question after question with no direction, no real flow in conversation, but on this bright afternoon, picturesque and idyllic, she sighs, forlorn.

And keeps sighing. Louder and more dramatic until, with a light roll of his eyes Nero finally picks up her obvious cues and asks her what's wrong.

"I think I'm in love." She announces, voice muffled by her own arms.

Nero notices that over by the oven where Credo and Kyrie are both inspecting the pies through the oven window, that the ever stoic, ever serious elder sibling goes completely rigid. Oh, he already knows exactly where this is going.

"Oh yeah?" Nero masterfully masks his playful tone, sipping casually on a glass of apple cider. He distantly thinks they should patent this stuff and ship it off to the mainland. Fortuna's apples are a local delicacy with a unique flavour. It could mean some extra money for the island, and lord knows they could use it. He gently places the glass back down onto the counter. "Didn't think you'd go for a country boy. Who is it?"

"You're gonna laugh at me." Her reply is nothing but a pathetic whine, childish, but oh so like her.

Staring into his bubbly drink, Nero fights back the smile that's threatening to creep across his face. "What? No, I'd never. Kyrie maybe, but not me." From across the kitchen, his girlfriend sticks her tongue out at him, but Nero simply waves it off, dipping his head to try to get a glimpse of Evette's hidden face.

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

A blatant lie that everybody in the room is aware of.

Evette makes a noise that Nero can't put a name or real description to. It's something like a long, drawn out bellow of a whale, distressed and vaguely in pain, before she concedes.

".......it's the angel."

And true to expectations, Nero does laugh. Both at the pitiful whine Evette makes, but especially at the way Credo suddenly finds a keen and unshakeable interest in a canister of flour.

"Incredible." He breathes.

I’ve been thinking a TON about Evette/Credo tonight for some reason so here’s this that I made because I’m allowed to indulge 👉👈

Please also allow me to gently plug that rough Evette intro I wrote a while back again...! 💖

Don't know if this was brought up but also sorry for the formatting haha....Credo: "Wanna know how I actually hurt my wrist? I was hula hooping, I take a class for fitness and fun." Evette: "Why are you telling me this?" Credo: "Because no one will ever believe you." Evette: "You sick son of a bitch."

Sjkdksk a nonnie bless you omg 😭💖

And after that, her focus shifts from "Guardian Angel" to Must Catch Credo Doin' Da Hula Hoop 😤😤😤 She's in full camo gear, with warpaint on her face, doing a stakeout on the orphanage with like binocs and everything. Gurl is determined to catch it on camera herself.

And when she's finally got it, she just sorta goes ".....ok.now what 😶"

♡ for Credo/Evette!

AND ONE FOR MY GOBLIN THANK YOU BUN..... 😭🙏

♡: who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?

Openly? Evette. Secretly? Credo. But lemme explain dead quick.

Evette doesn’t shy away from physical contact, as Credo is very well aware after he starts letting her get close to him while he’s Angelo’d up. She touches his feathers, rubs at his ears, for some reason really enjoys the contrast between his harder plating and his feathers, has straight up curled up in his lap and slept once. She occasionally murmurs that he’s beautiful and soft and so gentle and that he can’t possibly be a demon when he’s so gentle with her... she’s very open when gushing about him. Even when she’s talking about him to Nero (and a very awkward Credo who is listening in complete silence)

But since this is Credo we’re talking about, who is 100% aware of what’s going on, and comes to know this quieter side of her and maaaaaaaaybe sort of starts to like her... actually starts taking her out on “““dates”””. They watch the moon together, they stargaze together, he shows her the more isolated parts of the island where nature flourishes and he lets her take pics (of their surroundings, not of him)... all while just being a (mostly) silent 10 foot tall angelic demon. So yes, Credo is secretly the bigger romantic. 🤣

...also watching the moon together is their first date, hence why Dancing In The Moonlight is Their Song™. 😤

Sorry if this has already been discussed!! But I was curious, how would vergil react to evette? 😂

Omg that's definitely a new one nonnie djsksk (and thank you for bringing up my stinky goblin woman it means so much to me 🥺🥺💖)

But Vergil would be something like this

Not so different to Credo at first tbh, but unlike Credo, Vergil doesn't warm up to her because he's not the natural caregiver that Credo is and thus misses out on a lot of her nuance? 🤣 Evette's man just has that innate Mum Vibe, you know? Vergil lacks that for people he doesn't already kind of care about,and he'd legit want nothing to do with her. And if she rocks up covered in dirt and has sand down her pants (how did it get in there?????) that makes her keep adjusting her underwear, he'd probably just leave the room LOL. If he was friends with Credo (and I do love to HC that they would be amazing friends and lovers if they got to meet), he'd tolerate her at best, but he absolutely would not like her. She's just too unrefined and too... gross? Woman bathes maybe like twice a week. Keeps stealing out of people's private gardens. Never apologises for it. Has minor proficiency with firearms.

But now that you've brought it up, nonnie, Evette's parents were killed when Vergil raised the Temen-Ni-Gru, she'd probably be a little sore if she found out he was the one behind that. 🤔

Thank you for this avenue nonnie, this was fun to think a out 🤣💖💖

Evette: I love all of my new Fortuna friends! The Angel, Nero, Kyrie, The Angel... *looks at smudged writing on hand* ...greato