#:: Side Muse; Shadow/Maverick ::

[galaxofmuses]

"....Disgusting. Who would want to kiss you?"

[galaxofmuses]

"No."

" It's okay. You can admit you're obsessed with me. "

[rikerxworf]

‧⁺✧ Worfriker Week 2023 ♡°‧

Day Six: Alternate Universe Title: doubt thou the stars are fire Tags: Library AU, Love Poems, Fluff Wordcount: 3,873

» also available on AO3

Worf’s steps rustle through the windowless canyons of the library like leaves through an alleyway. No visitors at this time of day; it is always quiet this late at night. Not even a raging storm could have been heard inside. Worf welcomes it – he cannot help but think that the books’ ghosts feel better in dimmed light and silence. He certainly does.

However, his steps are fueled by anticipation.

He tells himself he is not pacing, or procrastinating, but purposefully filling up time spent waiting until his human would arrive. There are many things to do, so he could just as well attend to them now. Battle Epos section VI needs dusting. Alternatively, he could clean up the visitant tables, in case his human would want to use them. Tip-top condition.

Worf fetches a cleaning rag to take care of them. As he does, his eyes ghost over the titles of the books he had already picked for his most favorite visitor. He has said he wanted to come tonight. So, Worf has prepared for him.

For his human – the tall one with the dark hair and the starlight smile. The broad shoulders. The wondrous stories and auspicious gaze. When he looks at you, it was as though you were his whole universe –

At least Worf likes to believe so. His hearts are blossoming and whispering sweet nothings to him, whenever his human smiles at him.

You are in love, dearest. This is what it feels like.

Worf knows it’s childish. He has never felt this way before, not for anyone who had courted him. No warrior, no singer has conquered his hearts, no matter their honorable efforts to build a life with him. A proper, dutiful, Klingon life.

And then, one day, this outworlder comes sneaking in here, smiles at him, and Worf finds himself wondering if after all it was a human who had dusted the sky with luminaries. A human who looks as though he knows Worf’s innermost worlds.

Worf halts. He knows that he should fight his hearts’ whispers and that all of this is just a ridiculous infatuation. With a traveler, a Non-Klingon no less, who surely would not stay on Qo’noS for too long. This will be over soon. Then he would no longer be his human. He can enjoy bathing in that smile as long as it lasts, and then forget about it.

He has been telling this to himself for weeks. Just on some nights, a romantic inkling itched him, and then he needs to remind himself. But it’s fine. With all these rationalizations, the situation is under control.

There are many who have wanted Worf before. Fellow Klingons. He supposes he would make for a decent spouse: he is tidy, has his priorities in order, and can make a nutritious meal without the use of a replicator. Some have even called him pretty.

Worf has only ever felt pretty once or twice though – and both times have been caused by a pair of human eyes lingering on him.

There is nothing wrong with being wanted by a human, Worf muses. As long as he would not openly reciprocate, he was in no danger of dishonoring himself so sorely. Humans are not built for a Klingon life after all. Those fragile creatures could never take the force of two Klingon hearts beating and roaring for them. There have been people trying to disprove this, but what had they achieved? Worf has no interest in aligning himself with those… unorthodox mavericks.

No, his path is a different one. The proper one.

His head turns when he hears steps on his left.

“Hi. Sorry if I startled you.”

There it is, that starlight smile.

Worf softens as his world comes to a halt. Finally.

He shows his human back to the visitant tables. Under his jacket, he is wearing a blue wrapped shirt tonight, Worf notices from the corner of his eye. Beautiful.

The sound of two pairs of feet in-between the shelf canyons is nicer than just one. All Worf has to say is, “Follow me,” and his human is bound to his side like a shadow. Worf likes his role as the guide. His human does not know much about Klingon libraries and their mysteries, and Worf enjoys showing him around and eliciting little sounds of awe from him.

There are times when he thinks of his human as a bit inane. There is something clumsy about the way he carries his otherwise graceful body, something that makes him look up at Worf from a tilted head, despite being the same height. With his arms always so weirdly positioned.

Like right now, as he observes Worf putting away some other books. Waiting for him.

It’s… charming.

Worf nods at him.

“All right. Here you go,” his human says and hands him the red leather-bound book from his visit last week.

Worf takes it carefully. “You finished it already?” he asks.

“Yeah,” his human says, “couldn’t put it away. Such an interesting read. Thank you for your recommendation.”

“You’re welcome,” Worf smiles. He has used that phrase more in the past few weeks than his entire life before. Human vocabulary.

Blue eyes shift in front of him. “I think I like this one better than the, uh, thirteenth century one.”

Worf gives him a smirk. His human has a peculiar taste, if you could call it that. Targ hunter comedies aren’t exactly highbrow.

The amusement does not escape his human. “Please don’t mock me,” he laughs.

“I don’t.”

Another smile. “Okay. I couldn’t have borne that!”

“I thought you would appreciate the… change in style,” Worf says truthfully.

His human gives him a shy nod.

Worf almost laughs. He adores this feeling, the playful movements around his hearts, like vines of flowers.

“I, uh, liked the landlady. She was fierce,” his human tells him.

“You will find many characters like her in that epoch. She has a long tradition of that fierce presence you are describing.”

“I see,” his human smiles.

Worf watches him closely, big hands folded so coyly in front of his body. He is large for a human. And persistent. It is a shame they have wasted so much time with Targ hunter comedies instead of –

Show him, Worf’s hearts whisper. Mingling with the voices of the ghosts inside the shelves, murmuring the secrets of the ancient books.

Be a man and read to him what you cannot say for yourself.

He will be gone in a few weeks, maybe even a few days, so what’s holding you back? No one will know!

“I picked a few more stories that might interest you,” Worf says way too loudly, making those nosy ghosts scurry back into their books. He puts his hand down on the table so hard it makes the lamp’s light flicker. His human grins and looks down at the books, then at the stool next to Worf’s. “May I?”

Worf nods. Watches as his human sits down, swinging his leg over the tiny backrest as if to mount an animal.

What a peculiar man he is…

Worf watches him run his big hands over the covers and inhales his tangy scent now that he’s so close. He smells so nice. Inviting, somehow. He smells like he looks, Worf finds as he traces the soft lines of his face with a careful gaze. The dark blue of his shirt makes his eyes beam like the summer sky as they skim the pages.

It takes Worf actual physical strength to keep him from complimenting his human. It would not be appropriate, and Worf did not want to send the wrong signals.

So, he just sits. And looks elsewhere.

Tell him!

It doesn’t work.

He should move away.

“I forgot one,” he proclaims, eloquently, half-gone from the stool. “A book. I will go and find it for you.”

He can hear the smile in his human’s voice when he answers, “All right. I’ll be waiting.”

Yes. He will. And that’s the problem.

The ghosts annoy Worf as he searches some faraway shelf for the false pretense he created.

He is wonderful! Handsome on top! Can you deny it?

Worf growls. For occasions like this, he wished he carried a mirror with himself, to be able to glare at himself.

He randomly picks another Targ hunter comedy from the thousand stories on the shelf. A large shelf, like all the others – walls in this marooned landmark that is the Fourth Library of the First City. A place with no one except him and this wondrous alien creature by the firelamp, Worf remembers with soft hearts as he returns the visitant tables.

The lines of his muscles are visible even through the thick fabric. Worf has dreamed of what it would feel like to have these strong arms wrapped around him – to melt into a touch without reserve or fear, to feel another so closely that he forgets where his body ends and theirs begins. A wonderful, warm security.

But a dream it remains.

He turns the book in his hands with unease. Ponders. Snaps back into reality when his human looks up from the table and flashes him another smile, full of blue starlight and glory and song.

Almost makes you wonder if humans invited smiles. Especially the ones that make it feel like you are the only other person in this human’s universe.

Where’s the harm in a compliment if they were all alone? Worf takes heart and says, “Blue suits you.”

The comment widens his human’s starlight smile even further, reaching to his eyes, his shoulders even. “Thank you. A friend of mine says it does something for me. She’s a Betazoid, so I guess she’s right.”

“She is,” Worf smiles, unable to look away. Those eyes – they shine upon him in a way he has never been looked at before. Like sovereigns one wants to be captured by.

So – ‘a friend’. That is the way Worf wants to speak to his human now too, not as a guide – not as anything but a friend. Friendship is what he will have with him after all, so he should nourish that instead of those… romantic frivolities.

“Here. I have picked this one for you as well,” he says, his voice warm and low to create comfort for his human as he steps closer to sit back down. Sliding right back into their affectionate familiarity.

“Thank you! You’re so thoughtful,” his human says as he takes the book in his hands.

The compliment warms Worf’s chest from deep within. “You’re welcome,” he replies quietly, trying hard not to stare at the long fingers handling this stupid book so carefully.

“What’s it about?” his human asks.

Oh, good question – maybe Worf should’ve read the title instead of staring. He hears the ghosts snicker in their bookshelves when he replies, “Another comedy featuring Targ hunters. I just… thought you might like it.”

Another soft smile. “Thanks.”

This time, Worf returns it.

They read a bit, side by side, just sitting in silence. It is nice. Now and then, Worf steals a glance. But nothing more.

It is different to read together in silence than reading aloud. Still, all of this feels dangerously tempting. But Worf can manage. This time, he will not give in to any impulses.

He will not read to him.

Once, when his human snickers and reads a passage to him, he just… hums. It is only when his human slides away the last book that Worf stars a conversation: “Did you get to see the tlhom chum fireworks?”

His human stretches in the chair. “I did! They were amazing. It’s hard to believe they’re putting on that show every single time. Felt like the finale of a huge festival, not something you do every month,” he says with a glint of conspiracy, appropriate to their solitary meeting. Worf could swear he could see the fireworks in those blue eyes right now. But they look a bit tired.

“I am glad you enjoyed them.”

“I really wanted to see those. Everyone kept telling me about them. Just like the Kannaga Mountains. I’ll be leaving for those tomorrow.”

Worf bites back an ‘oh?’ just in time, which causes him to just… fall silent.

See? See? He’ll be gone!

“I gotta try out those hiking trails, and then maybe pay a visit to the Central Plains. It’s just a three-day trip though, I’ll come back here afterwards for the last day, when my transport arrives,” his human says and smiles at him just a millisecond too long – then his eyes are back on the table. And the stack of books. “These all sound so interesting. If I had more bags I’d take them all.”

Worf breathes in deeply.

Take him there, the voices whisper – read to him, before you lose this chance!

As Worf still tries to rally his strength, his human looks up at him again. “What was it where I found you, the Battle Epics? Can you take me there again?”

Worf’s eyes need a moment to focus. “Um – of course. There are a few volumes in section nine that have been translated.”

“Excellent,” his human smiles, all soft.

Worf’s jaw moves sideways as he stands up, inhaling deeply. “Follow me.”

With the whispers gone, Worf guides his human back into the depths of the library in total silence. Except for their steps. This walk is less pleasant than the first. It leads him closer to the sanctuary, that place of temptation.

But Worf remembers where his human will be going: The Central Plains – where you had been able to see Praxis before its destruction, a beautiful white shadow in the clear sky – and the location of the qeylIS loS monastery, right under the star that Kahless has pointed to when he had promised his return. Many religious texts are held in the monastery’s library. Texts that emphasize the importance of Klingon virtues and traditions.

No outsider may see any hidden texts. Worf must not show them to his human. That is his sacred duty, both as a librarian and as a Klingon, no matter how ardent his desire to read him those stories is.

This was a battle against his hearts. A true Klingon does not dodge a battle or succumb to his enemies without a fight.

But it pains him, to think of his feelings as such – as enemies. What does that make him?

“Can I ask you question?”

Worf blinks, straightening his steps. He is back in the dusty half-dark, breathing in the cold air. It is always too cold in here at night.

“Of course.”

His human’s voice is all soft in-between the high shelves. “I’m not sure how much of it is just people talking, or a spiel for tourists, but… They say there are secret sections in Klingon libraries. That no one is allowed to see.”

Oh, Worf could’ve pushed over a shelf. Just great.

He clenches his jaw and says, “There are hidden rooms meant only for… those who are special. Not many are allowed to enter.” And then, once more for himself, “It is my sacred duty to protect what is held in those rooms.”

“I see. Then it’s true? You’re a warrior monk as much as you are a librarian?” His human’s voice is laced with… amusement, much to Worf’s annoyance. “So, if I were to, say… try my way in forcefully…”

Worf turns to find him smiling at him knowingly.

Oh, he wishes it would be as easy as that! “I would have to fight you,” he says.

“Huh. Better bring my bat’leth next time.”

How relentless this human is! And audacious! Can’t he see that Worf is in conflict? Maybe that is the way of the humans, so agleam with their smiles but so ignorant as to where they shine their lights.

“I cannot show you,” is what Worf settles on. Primarily to himself.

His human nods. “Of course, I can see that.”

Worf hates that he is so troubled while showing him the section in Federation Standard. He cannot enjoy the last evening he will have with his human. Whenever the whispers try to sneak back into his hearts, he growls to keep them away. It makes his human frown.

“I better leave now,” he says when they are back at the reception. “It’s past midnight already. Sorry to have kept you up this long.”

If he knew how many sleepless nights Worf has had to endure because of him, he would not apologize – he wants to say, I don’t mind. I enjoy being with you.

But all Worf does is nod. It is better this way.

“Will you be here next week?” his human asks.

He’ll come back, for you, the whispers promise him. He knows it’s just his own yearning talking, but Worf still cannot help but soften.

“Yes. I will always be here.”

Another starlight smile, weaving its warm light around Worf’s hearts. “Lucky me. Then I’ll be seeing you again, hopefully. If I can make the time.”

Worf swallows. “I would be honored.” He gives him a sincere look. “Have a nice trip to the mountains.”

“Thank you.” His human nods, a glimpse of woe in his twinkling eyes. He holds up his bag of books Worf has given him and says, “I’ll be having it with these.”

“I hope so.” Worf bathes a few moments more in that starlight, savoring it, before giving him a nod. “Goodbye, then,” he says in the outworlders’ fashion.

The human, on the other hand, has a spark light up his face. He slams a fist against his shoulder and exclaims, “Qapla’!” with an anticipating grin.

Worf could’ve melted. Instead, he raises his chin and replies, “Qapla’.” And when his human leaves, it’s like the stars sinking over the horizon.

Worf turns around to put out the lights. But he is frozen in place.

Maybe, he thinks, his human is just another ghost from the dark recesses of the library. Always comes at night, always makes the sky jealous of his beauty. Whispering into Worf’s hearts.

He wishes it would just go away, this specter. To spare Worf of the heartbreak.

Or, even worse, to spare them both – all those smiles cannot be empty, Worf thinks to himself as he puts out the lights. Reading single lines to him in the half-dark. Maybe his human has given him all these yearnings to be held because he wants to hold him.

This is all so terrible. Worf has enough tasks to do in the library as it is. Martok will not be pleased by this week’s work. There is no time to swoon about someone who will be gone soon anyway!

So keep it together! Keep it together!

Worf tries keeping it together by flipping over the table. The fire crashes to the stone ground behind the wood, hissing. But it is unheard over his roar.

Heat rushes through him and settles in his chest. And like a flame, it flickers when he hears that voice again: “Um, sorry, did I…?”

His hair all wild, Worf whirls around to find his human ducking between the shelves with a nervous, raised hand. “I just – Are you all right?”

Worf cries out in frustration, looking away.

But his human’s eyes are relentless. “I’m sorry. I can leave. I just wondered if you… if you had another bookmark for me…?”

Worf grinds his teeth but fails to steady his flames. “Why are you testing me?”

His human’s eyes widen. “Pardon?”

“All this time, you’ve come back here to frolic around. Dancing around my mind!” Worf rushes into his personal space, glaring past the strands of hair that have fallen into his eyes. “You have no honor,” he growls, to the human as well as those ghosts of the night. Might as well say it now. He won’t see him again anyway.

Never again!

His intimidation works reliably. The Adam’s apple of his human bops as sweat gathers on his pale skin. His eyes flicker under the pants of rage from Worf’s nose.

Oh, but he does smell so nice…!

For but a moment, Worf falters. That is all the time his human needs to gain the upper hand: “Am I this obvious?”

Worf’s eyes narrow.

His human’s gaze flickers past him. “Did you flip a table just for me?”

Worf leans back – the audacity! “What? No, I” – he inhales – “You must leave!”

The human cocks his pretty head at him. “Or?” He licks his lips. “Will you kill me?”

Worf stares at him.

Now, you finally understand, the ghosts snicker.

As he averts his eyes, Worf’s jaw grinds sideways, just like his wrists. He must look terribly feral right now. In an attempt to calm himself, he sighs. “I will not fight you,” he lets his human know.

Disappointment shines from blue eyes. “No? That is the traditional way. Isn’t it?”

“No.”

“No?”

Worf growls. “Klingon women attack and roar without humor. Not like the ones in the hunter comedies.”

“I see.”

“Nowadays, many men try to copy their behavior. The traditional ways, as you call them, are getting lost.”

The human licks his lips again, then nods. “I understand. Poetry and flowers, hm? They could use a revival. I wish I could experience those courting rituals firsthand.”

Worf gives him a look. He couldn’t be that audacious. Could he?

But the ghosts beg to differ: Teach him the ways!

Show him the courtship!

Read to him!

The human shifts his large shoulders. “I’ll be out of your hair. Or, well – you know how I meant it.” He sniffs. “Sorry for intruding.”

He tries to shuffle away, but Worf thins his lips, then gives him a smile. “I will not fight you.” With a careful motion, he takes the bag of books from the human’s hand. “I much prefer reading. If you want to stay,” he adds meaningfully.

His human’s face rolls into an intrigued smile, like an ocean’s tide.

It is like a weight falls from Worf’s shoulders when he says, “Come on. Let me take you to the sanctuary.” He extends a hand, steadier now that he is certain they both want this.

His human takes it, warm and rough.

Not ‘warm’ if someone asked him – Worf simply guides this clumsy human through the sacred canyons, lest he’d bump against the ancient shelves. It is part of the touristic courtesy.

So now, there are two shadows crawling through the cathedral that is Fourth Library of the First City. Away from the gaze of the universe, since they created their own.

“I’m Will, by the way. William Riker.”

Worf scoffs. “Of course.”

“Sorry?”

“William. Like the Earth poet.”

“Shakespeare?” His human laughs, a hearty sound that Worf treasures in his hearts. “I guess so. If my memory doesn’t betray me, I could maybe recite a few of his lines for you.”

Worf strokes a tender thumb over his hand, gazing at him as they walk. “I would like that,” he growls.

“You would, big guy?”

Worf smiles. And when they exit the sanctuary at sunrise, full of song and glory, he tells him his name.

[diggydiggybot]

hard-hitting q's - 7 for umbran, 2 for phoros

7. what does your muse consider their comfort zone, ie. safest place?

"Mm, well, it was the slot canyons when I was maverick. When I first discovered the place years ago, I found out the entire slot canyon area was surrounded by a field of electromagnetic interference. Nothing harmful, just caused major signal interference for anything within the network of canyons and caves. I explored the whole maze top to bottom, but never did figure out the source for it. But it was a perfect place for a stealth reploid like me to hide out in. I could turn my ghost protocol off and not be able to be tracked at all out there, and because I knew the entire maze-like network of canyons and caves, it was too easy for me to lose any pursuers within them.

"I... do feel bad for the Hunters that tried to hunt me down in the early years. Most barely found their way back out after getting lost, a few... didn't make it. I left their bodies out where they could be found by the Hunter when I eventually found 'em... They stopped trying after a few years."

Umbran sighed and loosely wrapped his across his chest. "Obviously, now, I can't really go back there. Too far out. But... There is a place closer that I like to go to, especially at night, if I want to clear my head and find some semblance of peace.

"There's a cliff-side out in the wastelands. It's not too far out from the city, so I can easily and quickly get back if needed, but it's far out enough that the light pollution is minimal. The sight of the stars out there never gets old for me, and it's so wonderfully quiet... Even though it's completely out in the open, I've always felt safe and calm out there, even now..."

2. what is an action your muse regrets NOT taking?

Classic Verse: "There was a surgeon at the hospital Dr. Valheim works at, that immediately did not like me when I began to shadow my creator. He had great dislike at the idea of a medical robot like myself. He would not be swayed by Dr. Valheim's reassurances and argued I did not have the 'human factor' that made good medical professionals.

"When I began to get more involved, he would find ways to rebuke my assessments and challenge my treatment options when he felt he could. I was still technically learning, so rather than be frustrated, I would politely ask how I was wrong and what he would do. For some reason, that would only make him dislike me more, and often times, rather than answer, he would storm away. Dr. Valheim would reassure me I was doing nothing wrong when I would tell him of these occurrences, that the surgeon was letting his own biases and emotions get the better of him.

"This continued until an incident with an ER patient. I was becoming more confident of my abilities, but, perhaps, not confident enough. I had made my assessment and given a particular treatment option that I knew was the best option for them, and was given that surgeon to take on the operation. The surgeon immediately challenged my decision, and gave the patient and their family a different option, one I knew was riskier. He managed to convince them that because he was human with years of experience, he knew better what option was right, than a robot with hardly any experience or ability to know what was risky for a human or not. It was... humiliating, to say the least. Rather than stand up for myself, I reassured the surgeon and patient that due to my programming, I was meant to work with him, and conceded that if he was truly confident with his option, then I would accept his recommendation if the patient was also okay with that option.

"The patient went with the surgeon's option. And it backfired... The patient almost died, and a limb had to be amputated to save their life, something that would not have happened had I stood my ground and argued that he was wrong.

"The surgeon ruined his reputation and was eventually fired. The hospital apologised to me for not recognising his terrible attitude towards me before then, and I apologised to the patient and their family for the circumstances the situation between me and the surgeon had put them in. They, in turn, apologised to me, for they had felt something was off but the surgeon had made such a convincing argument to them who knew no better, that they felt they could put their trust in him.

"Though it was a profound learning experience for me, I still regret not standing my ground and believing in my own confidence, not for my sake, but for my patient's sake. I have made damn sure, and will continue, to never make that mistake ever again."

MMX Verse: Phoros was deathly quiet for several moments, with an air of melancholy hanging over him, before he answered softly, "I regret not being able to do more in the last moments of my life before. Dr. Valheim had not built me to be heavily armored, or for strength or power. It was all I could do to keep the rockslide from crushing us both. There was nothing more in my power I could do to help him out of the horrible situation we were trapped in.

"...I regret not having the strength or power to save him..."

[galaxofmuses]

stares back

staaaarrree...

[alexandriteobscuraarchive]

(　◕‿◕✿) (For Kariom 🫢)

Send (　◕‿◕✿) to crown my muse with a flower crown

The act of pressing his fingertips against his temple was starting to feel like a permanent thing. The sound---if you could rightly call the VOICES OF THE STARS a mere 'sound'---itself wasn't loud but it was constant; with the delicate noise filling in the gaps between words and breath alike, making it hard to concentrate.

"......" Dark brown eyes narrow into a squint of pain as the young man's free hand reaches for the chain looped about his neck, with his slender fingers hooking through one of the equally slender circles attached to the accessory. The Theater...the ringing wasn't coming from it, precisely, but it did amplify it. Kariom could feel it vibrating against his skin and no matter how brief the touch he can feel the reverberation deep within his skull scale in response. Listen to us. Listen to us. Listen to us. We're dying, please listen to us---

How was he ever going to get used to this....? It was---

Something new; a shadow passing over him and the sudden feeling of something soft touching the top of his head, causes him to blink and then focus on the world outside of himself. For a second or two he can't see them and then a humanoid shape resolves itself in front of him: a thin, youthful man with an outstretched hand and a small, somehow knowing smile. This person was a stranger to Kariom---not to mention strange in general because they looked....normal. A mortal in the Flat? That....wasn't right. They had to be something else.

"Uh...." Kariom moves to reclaim some personal space with the motion causing something to dislodge itself; a petal from a flower prominent in the Flat fills the newly created space between them with a graceful flutter. He's momentarily distracted by the bright blue petal as it drifts down towards his feet and then he looks upward fully feeling the crown that had been placed upon his head shiver at the sudden motion. Had this maverick? man given him a crown....? It was true that tonight was his Tigla-Dera; and a most important one at that, but was it normal for strangers to be present? He didn't know. He didn't know anything.

"......" Kariom's face twists, clearly confused, as his eyes dart briefly to one side looking for the familiar red coat and gray fur of the immortal Kariom knew wouldn't be too far away. Flynn would know what to do. Flynn would know who this was. Flynn would tell him things were fine and to enjoy himself. Flynn would stop the ringing. A few words of thanks; an undeniably melodic utterance when said in the tsourai tongue, leaves his lips before he bows his head to the stranger and then promptly takes his leave.

[natromanxoff]

How prog were Queen?

By Dave Everley

On 9 January, 1971, Kevin Ayers and Genesis played a show together at the Ewell Technical College near Epsom in Surrey. Ayers was 18 months out of Soft Machine, and making a name for himself as a psychedelically-inclined art-folk rake. Genesis had released their second album, Trespass, a few months earlier, and were carving out a place in the vanguard of the burgeoning progressive rock movement.

There was a third band propping up the bill that night, a bunch of transplanted Londoners calling themselves Queen. In contrast to the wilfully artful approach of the headliners, their music was more straightforward: a heavy, if ornate blend of Led Zeppelin’s earthiness and the flights of fancy of Yes.

Not everyone in the small crowd watching them was impressed, but they caught the attention of one person. After the show, Genesis frontman Peter Gabriel pulled Queen’s blond-bombshell drummer Roger Taylor to one side. Gabriel’s band were about to dismiss their own drummer, John Mayhew, and were looking for a replacement. Was Taylor interested in joining Genesis? The reply was instant: thanks but no thanks. Taylor was utterly dedicated to Queen – there were gigs to play, places to go, and many musical adventures to embark on.

Had Taylor accepted the offer, the course of music – and specifically prog – would have been very different. Genesis would have flourished with Gabriel upfront, though whether they would have survived and prospered as they did without a Phil Collins to step into the breach after their talismanic singer’s departure was another matter.

The knock-on effect on Queen would have been greater. Taylor was an essential part of their carefully balanced four-way chemistry; a chemistry that would go on to throw up some of the most ambitious and game-changing music ever recorded. While Queen weren’t a capital ‘P’ prog band, they were infused with the spirit of the movement, combining its forward-looking values with its absolute disregard for the existing rules. Taking their cues from the likes of Yes, Genesis, Van der Graaf Generator and even Pink Floyd, their flamboyantly cavalier approach would go on to inspire such modern masters as Dream Theater, Queensrÿche and Muse. And, in Bohemian Rhapsody, they ensured that one of the biggest-selling singles in history was, at heart, a prog song. Forget the luxuriant moustaches and sawn-off mike-stands that would come to define them: if the prog ethos meant avoiding the expected, then Queen were definitely a prog band.

“Diversity was probably their greatest asset,” says former Dream Theater drummer and confirmed Queen devotee Mike Portnoy. “From song to song, they could be so different. You could have something that was folk followed by something that was rockabilly followed by something that was metal. And that’s one of the biggest things about prog, having that open-mindedness.”

Queen’s schooling in prog came early on. Brian May’s very first band, 1984, played a 4am slot supporting Pink Floyd at the Christmas On Earth Continued all-nighter in 1967. A year later, his next outfit, Smile – also featuring Roger Taylor – played with Floyd again, this time at London’s Imperial College. By the time of their gig opening for Kevin Ayers, Smile had changed their name to Queen and recruited Freddie Mercury. Collectively, they admired Yes, Van der Graaf Generator and especially Genesis. “Foxtrot is a prog rock classic,” Roger Taylor later wrote in the sleevenotes to Genesis box set 1970-1975. “Arrangements were highly complex in these early days, setting a benchmark for the style of the times.”

When it came to finding someone to produce their debut album, Queen’s first choice was John Anthony, who had worked with both Genesis and Van der Graaf. With Anthony and co-producer Roy Thomas Baker behind the desk, the eponymous album trod heavily in Led Zeppelin’s footsteps. But there was another, altogether more visionary band straining to spread their wings: My Fairy King was a filigreed slice of flamboyant rock’n’roll, while Liar metamorphosised through several different time changes and timings.

Those wings were fully unfurled on the follow-up, 1974’s Queen II. The title was the most prosaic thing about the record: the music inside was as fevered and baroque as rock gets, informed equally by Zeppelin, Yes and crazed Victorian artist Richard Dadd, whose 1864 painting The Fairy Feller’s Master-Stroke inspired one of the album’s most prog-leaning tracks. It may have been rooted in the heavy rock of the times, but its cavalier approach and sheer sense of scale pegged Queen as a defiantly progressive proposition.

“Queen weren’t like Yes, who had a dualistic role of guitar and keyboards, where both shared the terrain,” says Yes guitarist Steve Howe, supported by Queen at Kingston Poly in early 1971. “Brian had the terrain to himself. The remarkable thing was that he was the front and the back man. It required him to come up with more than guitar solos… He had to come up with a semi-thematic approach to play the guitar. And what he did was keep colouring.”

Queen’s prog inclinations would be deeply woven into the fabric of their early albums, from the audacious multi-part theatrics of Queen II’s March Of The Black Queen to the schizophrenic attack of the two-part Lap Of The Gods from 1974’s Sheer Heart Attack. Even in their more commercial moments, they marched to the beat of their own drum. What other band would have dared serve up something so unusual as Killer Queen?

“It was their diversity,” says Mike Portnoy, who first heard Queen as an eight-year-old in the mid-70s and covered many Queen songs while in Dream Theater. “Their albums took the prototype that The Beatles laid down with the White Album, where you had four different artists bringing in very different styles. Every song was so diverse. You get to A Night At The Opera, and you had this giant multi-layered epic like Bohemian Rhapsody next to something like Seaside Rendezvous or Love Of My Life.”

A Night At The Opera was Queen’s grand artistic statement and their most unashamedly prog album. Pitched around the epic twin tentpoles of The Prophet’s Song and Bohemian Rhapsody, it married their far-reaching vision to a distinctly British barminess. Taken on its own, the eight-minute The Prophets Song, with its incredible ornate a cappella middle section, would be enough to grant Queen access to the Prog Hall Of Fame. But even that sits in the inescapable shadow of Bohemian Rhapsody. Time and success might have lessened its impact, but that song remains the most dazzlingly unique piece of music ever to sell five million copies.

“There are epic things that come along every so often,” says Steve Howe. “There’s Sgt Pepper, there’s Bridge Over Troubled Water. And there’s Bohemian Rhapsody. I don’t know when I first heard it, but once it was there, it was such a formidable thing. You’re thinking: ‘How many tracks did they need to do those vocals? How did they write it? Who invented it? It really was astounding.”

Bohemian Rhapsody encapsulated one of the key things that gave Queen such a distinct identity. Like The Beatles and Beach Boys before them, they used the studio as an instrument – not least when it came to their vocals. And Bohemian Rhapsody raised the bar about as high as it could go.

“They sang each of those parts and triple-stacked them,” says Mike Portnoy. “You heard all three of their voices singing in all three vocal ranges. That’s what made the depth of their music so complex. It wasn’t the instrumentation, it was the vocals. That’s unusual for prog music. When I think of my favourite prog music, it’s always the musicianship that draws me. But with Queen, it was the vocals. It was so deep.”

For all its success, A Night At The Opera would be Queen’s grand kiss-off to their prog roots. Later albums streamlined their sound into a more conventional format. Much like Genesis, the 80s found them swapping experimentalism for chart rock.

It wasn’t until the end of their career as an active band that Queen would again sound so adventurous. During 1989 and 1990, the band began work on their penultimate album, Innuendo, in London and Montreux. In the summer of 1990, Yes guitarist Steve Howe paid a flying visit to the Swiss city, where a chance encounter with a former guitar tech found him being invited to Queen’s studio to hear the album as a work-in-progress.

“Inside, there’s Freddie, Brian and Roger all sitting together. They go: ‘Let’s play you the album,’” says Howe. “Of course, I’m hearing it for the first time: I Can’t Live Without You, I’m Going Slightly Mad. And they saved Innuendo itself until last. They played it and I was fucking blown away.”

If that was surprising, then what happened next was utterly out-of-the-blue. The members of Queen asked if Howe wanted to play on the title track. The Yes man politely suggested they’d lost their minds. It took the combined weight of Mercury, May and Taylor to persuade him.

“They all chimed in: ‘We want some crazy Spanish guitar flying around over the top. Improvise!’” recalls Howe. “I started noodling around on the guitar, and it was pretty tough. After a couple of hours, I thought: ‘I’ve bitten off more than I can chew here.’ I had to learn a bit of the structure, work out the chordal roots were, where you had to fall if you did a mad run in the distance; you have to know where you’re going. But it got towards evening, and we’d doodled and I’d noodled, and it turned out to be really good fun. We have this beautiful dinner, we go back to the studio and have a listen. And they go: ‘That’s great. That’s what we wanted.”

Released as a single in January 1991, Innuendo gave Queen their third Number One single. Like Bohemian Rhapsody 25 years before it, it was as unlikely as hit singles get: a six-and-a-half minute musical jigsaw, complete with flamenco runs, classically-inclined orchestral overloads and maverick 5/4 timing. Queensrÿche covered the song on 2007’s Take Cover album, while you can hear its echo in Radiohead’s Paranoid Android and Muse’s more elaborate sci-fi epics.

“In the world of rock, Queen stands out as a good example of the clash between guitar and piano in songwriting,” Muse’s Matt Bellamy has said. “I think that’s where you stumble across those more unusual arrangements and chord structures.”

Today, Queen have left a bi-polar legacy. They’re arguably best known for their pop hits – Radio Gaga, I Want To Break Free and of course, Bohemian Rhapsody, that ultimate prog Trojan Horse. But their spirit of adventure remains unmatched by all but the boldest of their peers.

“There was no rulebook for Queen,” says Mike Portnoy. “They broke most of the rules that existed, and then they wrote a new set.”

[galaxofmuses]

Shadow was just wandering around in a sleepless night. He rather not stay in his apartment in Station Square. Well he rarely stays in that tiny shelter. This planet is his shelter, his comfort, he appreciates the quiet night sky and away from the busy streets.

Then he stops to see an unfamiliar sight. Raising a brow as he was about to approach by taking one single step.

---- THE DARKLING did not sleep well. The night having been filled with terrors that crawled within the pit of his stomach. Masking themselves as the promise of dreams and well kept rest.

Now , he was just paranoid. Anxiety nawing at him as he watched over the horizon. making sure a certain Comet could not return. he knew it was impossible but ... the terrors had been so real. So real he had even clawed himself in his sleep. Tossing and turning as he shook.

... he can't come back , right ... ?

Doom can't come back....

[cherietm]

there's     cherie     hoxha     !     though     on    their     socials     they     go     by     @darling666     .     i     heard     she     is     originally     from     london     ,     england     ,     but     made     the     big     move     to     los     angeles     to     join     TWENTIES     .     you     haven't     heard     about     it     ?     well     ,     apparently     their     dream     is     to     become     a     notorious     makeup     artist     ,     but     they     have     no     chance     unless     they     quit     being     so     avaricious     &     mulish     .     that     said     ,     those     behind     the     scenes     have     said     they     can     be     ebullient     &     maverick     too.     guess     we'll     have     to     watch     and     find     out     !     ━     &     dancing     to     the      beat     of     your     own     drum    ;     precariously      navigating     a     world     in     which     you     have     never     felt     that     you     belonged     ,     relishing     in     the     spotlight      but     knowing     there     remains     a     side     of     yourself     that     you     must     always     keep     hidden     ,     90s     hairstyles     &     00s     fashion     sense     ;     always      fantasising     about     decades     that     have    been     &     gone     ,     cherry     flavored     everything     ,     &     a     wrinkled     nose     when     you     laugh     .     (     dua     lipa     ,     cisfem     ,     she/her     )     (     orla     ,     she/her     ,     gmt     ,     21     )

hiya     doves     !     i'm     orla     (she/her)     ,     i'm     21     ,     &     i'm     the     captain     of     this     ship     !     i     really     did     retype     this     entire     intro     because     i'm     never     satisfied     <3     but     i'm     forcing     myself     to     post     it     now     regardless     because     i     can't     wait     to     get     plotting     with     u     all     !!!     if     you'd     like     to     plot     pls     hit     the     like     button     or     shoot     me     an     im     !

down     to     the     𝓫𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓼...

full   name   :   cherie   mariam   hoxha   . nicknames   :   cher   . gender   &   pronouns   :   cisfemale   ,   she/her   . sexual   &   romantic   orientation   :   pansexual   . star   sign   :   aries   spoken   languages   :   english   ,   albanian   .   appearance   :   hair   dyed   half   black   &   half   blonde   ,   garish   eye   shadow   ,   smudged   mascara   beneath   the   lower   lash   line   ,   bushy   brows   ,   tattoos   with   an   ever-changing   story   behind   them   ,   cat   eye   sunglasses   ,   a   furrowed   brow   teamed   with   pouted   lips   ,     rosy     cheeks     .

the      𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂...

expectations     weighed     heavy     on     cherie's     shoulders     from     the     moment     her     parents     first     held     her     sonogram     .     she     was     their     rainbow     baby     ,     their     happy     ending     ,     everything     that     their     money     &     fading     fame     could     never     buy     -     and     cherie     has     always     been     acutely     aware     of     that     .     

much     to     her     parents'     disdain     ,     cherie     didn't     turn     out     to     be     the     perfect     cookie-cut     child     they     had     envisioned     .     she     was     brash     &     eccentric     ,     wanting     not     only     to     be     seen     but     heard     .     she     would     set     eyes     rolling     with     her     sharp     tongue     ,     &     it     was     attention     that     they     grew     to     resent     .     they     tried     ,     they     would     argue     ,     but     she     was     just     too     difficult     ,     always     too     much     .    

eventually     cherie     was     shipped     off     to     boarding     school     ,     only     to     be     swiftly     shipped     back     after     she     was     expelled     for     unruly     behaviour     .     the     final     straw     came     when     she     withdrew     her     application     to     university     ;     her     parents     deciding     to     simply     pay     her     off     to     move     out     &     tackle     the     world     solo     .     she     began     uploading     her     work     to     social     media     &     working     freelance    ,    slowly     gaining     moderate     attention     .      twenties     approached     partly     due      to     her      blossoming     potential     as     a     makeup     guru     ,     &      partly     due     to      their      knowledge     about     her      parents     own     fame     .      she      didn’t     give     it     too     much     thought     though     as     it      was     a     chance     to     escape     &     make     something     of     herself     .    

the      𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻     𝓪𝓷𝓪𝓵𝔂𝓼𝓲𝓼...

cherie     is     very     aware     of     her     privilege     ,     but     absolutely     despises     the     environment     she     grew     up     in     .     now     she's     finally     away     from     it     all     &     living     in     a     new     country     where     nobody     knows     anything     about     her     (     yet     )     ,     she's     planning     on     making     the     most     of     it     .     ask     cherie     about     her     family     &     you'll     be     met     with     a     blanket     of     vagueness     .      

that     said     ,     cherie     is     lowkey     kinda     ...     snobby     ?     she's     not     rude     about     it     ,     but     sometimes     she     can     be     a     little     ignorant     where     money     is     involved     .    

she     has     zero     filter     whatsoever     &     really     just     says     it     as     it     is     -     which     gets     her     in     trouble     a     lot     .     (     i     can     imagine     her     slipping     up     in     interviews     n     maybe     being     TOO     honest     about     what     she's     thinking     *side     eye*     )     similarly     ,     cherie     isn't     really     one     to     sit     &     think     before     she     acts     -     she's     always     been     driven     by     impulse     &     emotion     rather     than     logic     .

she’s     a     roller-coaster     of     emotions     ;     the     most     mellow     yet     upbeat     person     you'll     ever     meet     .     she     never     really     learned     how     to     control     her     emotions     ,     so     they     kind     of     just     flow     out     at     any     opportunity     ;     she     definitely     over     shares     .     although     she'd     never     admit     it     ,     her     parents     lack     of     approval     has     got     to     her     &     despite     how     she     appears     on     the     outside     ,     deep     down     lies     a     very     vulnerable     &     sensitive     soul     .

makeup     is     her     biggest     love     -     particularly     bright     &     bold     looks     .     she     also     adores     special     fx     makeup     (     hence     her     career     claim     being     abby     roberts     )

she's     also     really     into     her     art     ;     she     loves     doodling     &     photography     &     giving     herself     little     stick-n-poke     tattoos

it's     really     been     the     only     thing     she     can     see     herself     doing     with     her     life     ,     the     only     thing     that     actually     manages     to     capture     her     typically     fleeting     attention     .    

the     𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭     𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼...

connections     from     back     home     in     london     .    

a     budding     bromance

partner/s     in     crime

a     makeup     squad     ,     or     alternatively     ,     somebody     she     uses     as     a     muse/model     for     her     makeup     looks    

a     muse     for     her     other     art    

fwb    

unrequited     crush

will     they     won't     they    

frenemies     /     other     faked     connections     for     the     sake     of     the     show    

sibling     like     friendship

good     /     bad     influence

straight     up     just     ...     dislike

confidant 

[galaxofmuses]

".....I don't do Halloween."

"Ugh! Of course you don't Mavvy! At least Omega is having a fun time with it!"

In the background, Omega is handing candy to all the human and mobian children.

[m3chanical-rhythm]

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively? (For Axl & Aria)

Oh gosh, this one was such a tough ask to answer. Ive had the joy of interacting with a lot of wonderful Muns and their stellar writing, so my muses have grown considerably since I started the first Mechanical-Rhythm blog.

For Aria, I gotta say its a hard tie between Athena ( @snowandscience ) and Shadow Man ( @machinesandman ).

Athena is her best friend and most revered mentor--she’s pushed Aria to better herself and to carry herself with confidence. Aria sincerely believe she wouldn't be half the reploid she is without Athena’s guidance. Shadow Man has reignited that desire to fight back she lost after watching her partner die shortly after contracting the Maverick Virus. She admires his self discipline and readiness to defend what matters to him, and it inspired her to come out of hiding and rejoin Hunter HQ. She doesn’t want to hide behind her friends anymore--she wants to fight beside them.

Axl has many people who have impacted him for the better, but the biggest one of all is of course Hunter X ( @irregularhunterx ).

X gave him a second chance when the world was ready to turn its back on him. When he lost the only family he had known (Redd), Axl was lost and confused in every sense possible--who was he? where had he come from? who made him? would he ever amount to something? would he ever find a place to call ‘home’? X had barely known him, but still offered his help and protection when Axl needed it. Even after defeating Sigma (but not really), he offered the young reploid a way out, and opened a door that Axl thought he’d never get to walk through. And X still goes above and beyond to show him just how much he cares, and how valuable a hunter and a person that Axl is. He would for sure say that without X and Zero by his side, guiding him and caring for him, he wouldn’t be where he is now--and he’ll never be able to thank them enough for it all.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 47

Okay, we made it through the first six hours of the food festival, now for Sophia’s shift on the ground. I’ll be honest, when I started writing this chapter, all the characters just ganged up on me and decided to do whatever they wanted...

Needless to say, the results are interesting.  From what I can tell, no one is plotting nefariously in the background this time.

This chapter is dedicated to @parisconstantine, as always, for being an amazing beta and putting up with my shenanigans.  Also, @charlylimph-blog for Charly Harper, along with Coffee Williams, who was mentioned in the previous chapter.

Deep breaths, I reminded myself as I got ready to go back on shift for the festival.  This time, I would be in the crowd instead of holed up in my office, safe from the crush of humanity. GK will be there, I repeated for what had to be the hundredth time. So will Conor and Maverick.  It’s safe. Nothing’s happened yet, and it stands to reason that nothing will. I had been repeating the words in my mind like a prayer for the last hour, refusing to bow out of my responsibilities as a Councillor.  I could do this – I had to be able to do this.

Finally, I cracked a little. “Good Evening, Miys,” I asked the air hesitantly.  I was trying to be more polite and treat them the way I would treat another human. Results had varied. “Do I need to go to a medbay to get a mild sedative for anxiety, or am I allowed to get it from my console?”

“Good evening, Wisdom,” the reply hummed quietly. “Since it is a standard prescription in your medical file, you can request a half dose every four hours, or the full dose will otherwise be added to your meals. Since you are attending a public eating event, it is noted that you should take the half dose before the event and the other half after if needed.  Kim was notified to advise you when she arrived.  She also has moderate override authority should she judge that you need additional medication after the event, so long as Antoine Costa approves it himself.”

I felt both relieved and stung at the same time, like a too-old bandage being ripped off.  Conflicting feelings aside, I didn’t hesitate to request the medication from my console along with a glass of water to wash it down. “Miys, can you please notify Grandma Kim that I already took the half dose with you as witness? I don’t want her to think I’m trying to get out of my medications.” I was pretty bad about doing that as it was, so the odds of her believing me that I actually requested the dose were pretty slim.

“Yes, Wisdom.  I have notified her.”

“Thank you, Miys.”

“It is our… pleasure?”

“Pleasure means you gained enjoyment satisfaction from performing a task, rather than simply performing it out of obligation.”

“Then yes, it is our pleasure.”

I settled down on my couch as I waited for the rest of my ‘team’ to arrive.  I waited for Mac to bounce into my lap like he always did, but he was nowhere to be found. Probably begging food at the festival, the pig, I chuckled.  If he gained much more weight, I’d have to send out a ship-wide announcement that he was on a strict diet and not to feed him no matter how cute he was.  That, or send Mac to the quarters of whoever kept feeding him cheese and let them deal with the biological warfare that resulted.

“Maybe I can send the entire ship a video of Mac being treated, again, for obstructed bowel,” I mused at the thin air just as the door to my quarters chimed.  As expected, my two guard-shadows flanked a deceptively-normal looking older woman, the tableau completed by the enormous German Shepherd giving me a doggy grin at her feet.

With a look of pure mischief in his eyes, Maverick opened his mouth to say something.  Grandma Kim, however, beat him to the punch. “Two sides of beef in shining armor, delivered as promised,” she quipped without batting an eyelash.

The astonishment on the men’s faces snapped the last bit of tension in me and I started howling with laughter. Lyric was quick to support me as I went to my knees, unable to breathe from shrieking in amusement.  Unperturbed, GK left her two victims at the door and just stepped around me to get herself some tea.  “Are you released to drink coffee, love?” she called over her shoulder as though I wasn’t gasping and dripping tears on her dog.

I managed to give a thumbs-down and shake my head, hoping she could see.  Slowly, I got my breathing under control and wobble to my feet, face hurting from smiling so hard. “God, I needed that,” I chuckled, wiping the last tears from my cheeks. Glancing at the door, I noticed Conor and Maverick were still standing there, thunderous scowls in the place of their usual grins.  “Oh, come on, you goobers.  Stop being such sourpusses and get in here.”

Conor relented first, groaning and dropping his head back as he stomped into my quarters like a toddler.  Maverick finally shook his head at the other man’s theatrics and padded in, allowing the door to slide shut behind him.  He spoke first. “I thought you were supposed to be released to drink coffee today?”

“I technically am.” Looking down, I twisted my fingers and focused on my feet.  “But I’m nervous about all the people, and I couldn’t calm myself down for the past hour, so I took half a dose of my sedative a few minutes ago.  I don’t want the caffeine to get me keyed up and jittery again.”

I felt Grandma Kim pat me on the arm. “Well then,” she said softly before putting a warm mug in my hand. “Ginger lemon tea, it is.”  I took the mug and sipped it, grateful to have something to do with my hands as I walked over to where Conor had already slung himself across my couch.

As soon as I was close enough, he hooked an arm around my waist and tugged me next to him.  Without thinking, I snuggled into his side so he would stroke my hair. “Sophie, everything on Beta shift was smooth as glass.  I’ll be with you, this eejit will be there,” he gestured floridly at Maverick, who had just sprawled on the other side of me. “Xiomara will be on the ground, so will these two fine ladies.” He pointed at Grandma Kim and Lyric for emphasis.  The effect was somewhat undone by the fact that Lyric had chose that moment to lick a certain portion of her anatomy.  Rolling his eyes but not missing a beat, Conor continued. “None of us will let you get hurt, swear.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s nervous, Sophie,” Maverick added, reaching over to tap my chin. “We’re scared something is going to happen to you, that’s why we wanted to be there.  Yeah, we know logically that GK and Lyric are perfectly capable of keeping you safe.  But emotionally? We need to see it for ourselves.”  He paused to shoot a glare over my shoulder. “Shut up. She needs to hear this more than you need your dumb pride, Conor.” After another moment of silence, Maverick looked back to me. “Look.  We both already did our shifts. We could stay behind if we wanted, no foul. If we did, though, we’d worry to death about you until we barged down there, forced our way through the crowd, and probably scared the life out of you by abducting you to make sure you were okay.  May as well just be there from the outset and save ourselves from pissing you off.”

A glance back at Conor showed him biting his lip in embarrassment, a dead giveaway that Maverick was right.  I managed – barely – not to snort at the picture Maverick painted, only saved by how touched I was by their concern.  Squeezing both their knees, I smiled.  “Glad to know I’m not the only nervous wreck.”

Between the medication and the knowledge that my shadows were just as worried as I was, I managed to make it all the way to the area of the festival before I balked again. I silently thanked the medication I had chosen to take, knowing that I would be much worse off without it. Deep breaths. “Okay, crowd or no crowd, there is food in there, and I’m going to have some,” I said aloud, mainly to myself.

Just then, my data band chirped with a familiar voice. “Delta Shift, please report when you are online.”

“Sophia Reid, Resource Observation, online and en route to relieve Eino Wiitala and Evania Josue.” I managed to sound calm.

“Grandma Kim and Lyric, Crowd Control, online.” She quirked an eyebrow and smirked at me.

“Maverick Okima, Support Personnel, online and en route to relieve Eino Wiitala and Evania Josue.”

“Conor MacMaoilir, Support Personnel, online and en route to relieve Eino Wiitala and Evania Josue.”

“Wait, what the hell?” I gaped. “I thought GK was my support?”

She shook her head with a chuckle.  “Misters Okima and MacMaoilir convinced me to let them register as your support, so that they could keep a better watch on you. I’ll still be close by, as we have the same route, but this frees me up to act as crowd control if you are safe and there is an issue that needs to be addressed nearby.”

I whirled around to face the two men behind me. “And what exactly do you plan to do if I’m attacked?” I asked scathingly.

Unimpressed, Conor pointed at Maverick first. “Pick you up and take you to a safe location.” He reoriented his finger to himself. “Restrain the attacker until Xio’s people arrive.  You tend to overlook the fact that I’m one of the bigger feckers on this boat, and as much as I don’t like to, I can beat the breaks of a body if I need to.” With a pointed look that he clearly picked up from my sister, he dared me to argue.

“Whatever,” I grumbled, refusing to admit defeat. Instead, I squared my shoulders, chin up, and turned toward the festival.  “Okay, food. Let’s find Eino and Evan and get this show on the road.”

We managed to find the pair without incident, although Grandma Kim had to wrangle Conor away from a few vendors and remind him that we need to relieve Gamma Shift first.  Finally, we were ready for handoff, and both shifts held our collective breaths.

True to her nature, Xiomara had already spent Gamma Shift as Crowd Control Command, but was handing off to Simon as Resource Command for Delta.  When I had questioned her about working two sessions back to back, she had simply waggled her eyebrows at me. No rest for the wicked, Sophia, she had laughed. She wasn’t laughing quite so much now.

“Xiomara Kalloe, Crowd Control for Delta Shift, online.  Also, as Crowd Control Command for Gamma Shift, reporting for handoff to Resource Command. Simon, confirm handoff?”

“Simon Rodriguez, Delta Shift Resource Command, confirming handoff.”

Xiomara shook her head with a scowl before turning a bright smile towards me. “I don’t think I’ll ever get use to him being back on the Council.  How are you?” Briefly, she held and squeezed my shoulders – her version of an arms-reach hug.

“I’m okay,” I exhaled. “Still not sure I’m ready to be around so many people, but if I can’t be safe with so much security around, when can I be?”

“Truth,” she nodded before turning to my ersatz guards. “Conor, Maverick.  Good to see you two.  I know Sophia is here in an official capacity, but please make sure she has some fun.  Stuff her full of food, take her to the pub, whole shebang.”

“You’ve got it, Commander,” Maverick saluted crisply. Some habits died hard, and he refused to stop treating Xio as his commanding officer.  She took it with as much grace as she could muster, which wasn’t much. She’d stopped scolding him, though, so that was something.

The next several hours after that were a whirlwind of flavors and smells, briefly punctuated by stops in the various quiet rooms. Conor and Maverick took turns dragging me to the different vendors they had discovered on their previous shifts.  Some of the foods offered could only be described as artistry: an amuse-bouche that still managed to capture the flavor of an entire bowl of ramen, meat with actual marbling, bubbles of soup that exploded in your mouth. Several times, they had to haul me away from badgering the vendors for their secrets.

My data band showed we were just over halfway through our shift as the men dragged me into one of the Green quiet rooms.  “You don’t understand how hard it is to get properly marbled prosciutto from the consoles!” I argued for the fifth time as they gently shoved me onto a beanbag.

“Probably not, but I understand that you need some water,” Conor insisted.  “We’re glad you’re having fun, believe me, but Tyche gave us strict instructions not to let you get overwhelmed.  And before you say you aren’t, your hands are shaking and you started swaying a bit back there.”

“Fine,” I sulked, gracious as a toddler.  “You’re all conspiring, I just know it.”

“Yep,” Maverick agreed cheerfully. “We’re conspiring to make you take care of yourself.” With that, he dropped a bottle of water in my lap.  “Drink, please.  At least half.”

Grumbling, I opened the bottle and took a swig. “Big talk coming from the guy who requires a prescription to eat.”

“Sophie,” Conor scolded. “That’s low, and you know it.”

My immediate shame showed how right he was. “I’m sorry, Maverick. That wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t,” my target confirmed. “But, you and Antoine did that to make sure I took care of myself.  Now, Conor and I are doing the same.  Just the fact that you’re being such a brat shows that you need a break.”

I gaped for a second before snapping my mouth shut.  Maverick had a point – he usually did, much to my frequent consternation.  When he started spending more time around, a bit of digging in his file showed that he shared the same Clarity I possessed, but it was by and far his strongest trait.  Where Conor was too kind to call me on my bullshit, Maverick had no such compunctions. That, combined with a startling lack of self-preservation, was largely the reason Tyche and I had swept him up in our family.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Maverick started humming as he looked around the room.  Suddenly, he whirled around with one finger jutting out in weaponized precision. “Conor. You designed this room, didn’t you?”

With narrowed eyes, the other man answered slowly. “Yeaahhh, I helped… why?”

Maverick reached out to flick a vine of what looked like green bubbles. “String of pearls. My aunt grew these.  They’re difficult to get this big.”

“They’re succulents, yeah,” Conor started warming to the topic. “They didn’t take well to hydroponics, and the aeroponics were incredibly finicky.  We had to design a completely new setup for them.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” I turned my head, wide eyed.  “You just showed up with them.”

He blushed slightly. “There wasn’t any point in figuring out how to grow them if no one would see them,” he admitted. “But they’re poisonous to cats, so I couldn’t put any in your quarters or Tyche’s.”

“Oh. I think I would kill them, anyway,” I admitted. “I’ve never been good with succulents.”

“That, too,” he winked at me.

After a few more minutes of idle conversation, we braved the crushing throng of humanity in the corridor again. We had barely made it twenty feet before Conor tugged on my hand and steered Maverick by the shoulder to a stall.  I assumed it was to try another tidbit of the wares the festival was centered around, but to my surprise, he walked up to a tall black gentleman in a pink, short sleeved shirt. Just before we reached them, he called out cheerfully. “Coffee!  Is that Charly with you?”

The man – who had to be Coffee Williams – turned around with a broad smile, as did the petite brunette next to him. “Conor! Good to see you, man,” he chuckled, clapping a hand to Conor’s shoulder. He glanced at me and Maverick. “Miss Sophia, it is delightful to finally meet you.  And you must be Maverick Okima.”  He gently squeezed my hand in both of his larger ones before giving Maverick a firm handshake.  He gently – almost reverently – brought the young woman with him to stand in front of him. She glanced down nervously and started rubbing her hands on her skirt.  “Sophia, Maverick, this is Charly Harper.”

She shot a look up at me and glanced at the shortest of the three men present. “It’s nice to meet you,” she nodded before turning, the delicate smile brightening her face again. “Hi, Conor.  I’m glad we ran into you.”  When she tipped her head back to see Conor’s face, and I caught a glimpse of something brown circling her throat.

“Oh! Is that a new collar?” Conor asked with genuine enthusiasm as he crouched to get a better look.  She obligingly kept her head tipped slightly back so he could see better before standing back up again. “That’s beautiful!  Well done.”  The second part of that seemed directed at Coffee, and I puzzled at that before suddenly something clicked in my head.

Oh. “May I see?” I asked politely. She glanced up at her companion before giving me a nod and tipping her head for me.  To err on the side of good manners, I made a point not to touch the collar.  “Oh, wow… that’s really lovely.”  I wasn’t exaggerating.  It looked softer than butter, in a warm brown leather with an intricate pattern worked into it.  It was clearly made by hand.

“I’m sorry, what – “

“We’ll explain later,” I cut off Maverick as gently as possible. “I promise.  But I assure you, it’s very pretty.” The last was directed at Charly and Coffee.  The latter nodded his thanks, although I wasn’t sure if it was for complimenting the collar or for keeping their business private.

Charly suddenly bounced a bit.  “Oh! You three should try this stall! It’s chocolate, all kinds.  Milk, dark, plain, fancy, you name it! They swear they have chocolate for every taste on the ship.”

Conor and Maverick groaned in unison before shaking their heads at Coffee.  Charly looked confused before I shot her a shark-like grin.  “I love trying new flavors.  Challenge Accepted!”

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[r6shippingdelivery]

Can I get some nsfw cowboy Maverick writes?? uwu

I am not taking request, but you are damn lucky that with the new event I’ve been musing about Cowboy Six Siege a lot recently 😂 I have no idea of what you had in mind, so I’ll keep this non-smutty, just to be safe.

EDIT: I just realised you said nsfw, lmao sorry 😅 That happens when you give it a quick read and your brain is already plotting stuff, oops. I’ll write a sequel probably  😂

—- (where has the separation line gone? come back, pls!) —-

He had been certain he was going to die. It was a dangerous line of work being a bounty hunter, even when you worked alongside the law, and the Graveltop Gang was infamous by taking no hostages. Maverick had opposed Ash’s idea to attack them in Fort Truth, but as Deputy Sheriff her word was law, since the old Sheriff was now another of the bodies in Fort Truth’s graveyard. Maverick’s bounty hunter partner, Twitch, agreed with Ash, as she had done ever since arriving to this cursed village. 

And so they attacked, without waiting for the reinforcements the old Sheriff had requested and that were supposedly coming from the nearest town. It went as well as Maverick imagined, which was to say, not well at all. When they arrived, Fort Truth seemed deserted except for the crates of gold, but then the shadows came alive and he saw how Caveira, the Brazilian blade, cut down poor Twitch before any of them could react. All hell broke loose, two more of the Graveltop Gang blocking their exit and shooting at them, while Ash and him tried to scramble for cover. Maverick felt a twinge of guilt at leaving poor Twitch on the ground, gasping for help as blood poured out of her wound, but if he went to drag her out to safety, he would be the perfect target to shoot at.

In the chaos of the battle, amidst shooting and screams and curses yelled at each other and God, Maverick suddenly found himself outside, circling the building to surprise the strangely dressed young man who had Ash cornered. The half broken wooden walls gave him a good view of what was going inside, but perhaps he should have paid more attention to his surroundings.

“It’s just you and me now,” a woman whispered behind him. 

Maverick quickly moved to the side, trying to turn around. He wasn’t fast enough, not this time. There was an alarmingly loud shot and then everything went dark. 

When he awoke, he was dizzy, the room spinning out of control just from looking around. What the Hell happened to him? Maverick tried to move, but somehow he wasn’t able to even raise his arm.

“If you keep squirming, the ropes will leave a burn.”

Confused as to who said that, Maverick tried to sit up. His efforts were in vain, until someone roughly yanked him upright, pain flaring up in his side. A waterskin was approached to his parched lips, and Maverick greedily drank from it, uncaring of who was helping him or why, at least for now. Once he quenched his thirst somewhat, he felt his head getting clearer too, and he finally noticed the man crouching next to him. That ornate leather armor and that Sheriff hat, it could only be the leader of the Graveltop Gang.

“You shouldn’t wear that hat,” Maverick said, glaring at the man who presumably was the culprit of him being bound and thrown in a dark… mine? Damn, he had no idea where he was.

“Why not? It was a gift,” The Italian outlaw grinned at him, bringing the waterskin up to Maverick’s face again. 

This time, instead of drinking, he looked at the man known as Maestro with suspicion. As if to mock him, Maestro took a gulp of the water before putting it away. An array of questions burned at the tip of Maverick’s tongue, like what happened with his companions, but he went with the most pressing matter of them all.

“Am I your prisoner?”

“I prefer to call it our permanent guest, at least until the next showdown.” Maestro lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in Maverick’s general direction, mainly because of how close he was to him. “We might have buried one of yours and one of ours, but the Deputy will be back sooner or later. My friend is still pissed I kept you alive, but she sees the sense in having some leverage against the law. Call it our Plan B, until the rest of our Gang arrives.”

Closing his eyes at the confirmation that Twitch was dead, Maverick reassessed his situation. He was injured, probably from a gunshot to his side, at the mercy of the Graveltop Gang, God only knew why.

Maestro grabbed Maverick’s hair and yanked his head up so he was looking at him. “Now, you and me? We’re gonna become friends, capisce? I’ll bring you food and water, and change your bandages, and you will tell me what I want to know.”

Maverick understood perfectly the threat behind the words. The moment he wasn’t useful to them anymore, he would be dead meat, another anonymous grave behind Fort Truth. He didn’t know when the Deputy would come back, if she was even interested in saving him, so Maverick nodded. Maestro released his hair and patted his head, as if he was a dog, almost.

“I knew you would listen to reason, cucciolo.” Maestro’s smirk was hungry and foreboding, and Maverick almost shivered. He would do whatever it took to keep alive, as he had always done, and perhaps later he could have his revenge.

[mknzi]

「 lindey morgan. female. 」have you seen Mack Taylor around yet? i hear she/her decided to be in OFF CAMPUS for their SOPHOMORE year as a BIOCHEM major. the 22 year old SHEEP is known to be intelligent, compassionate, audacious and underestimated. ➨ the muse is written by sami. she/her 30, NZdst

‘ello ! just a few points. i’m going to keep this brief while i get a more details about page up and running !! hit the little heart for me to IM you to plot !!!

Born: Mackenzie Taylor

Year: Sophomore

Age: 22

From: Santa Monica California, Annapolis Maryland. (freshman year only)

Sexual Orientation: Lesbian

Pronouns: she/her

Major: Bio chem

Minor: Physics

Sports: Lacrosse, Soft ball, Volleyball, Surfing, Skateboarding.

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Alignment: Chaotic Good

MBTI: INTJ

Traits:  (+) intelligent, colorful, loyal, compassionate (-) passive, underestimated, audacious, private. 

triggers: death, violence, drug abuse, animal violence mention, neglect, abuse, suicide.

Born Mackenzie Taylor, January 3rd in Los Angeles California. She grew up never going further than Santa Monica where her single mother settled down with her. Her mother was a striving actress and due to a fling with a casting director Mackenzie was conceived. While her mother wished for the relationship to develop and continue, her father wanted nothing to do with her once he found out a baby was on the way. He stuck around barely through the pregnancy but once Mackenzie was born and he saw the way she looked nothing like him ethnically, he cut ties with her mother and agreed to write the checks for the next eighteen years so long as he wasn’t asked for any further involvement. Struggling as her mother was she accepted this offer, but it wasn’t without leaving it’s marks on and thus on Mackenzie. 

Mackenzie was raised indirectly resented, and her mother continued to try to keep them on their feet so that she could maybe one day cut up the checks from Mackenzie’s donor. She worked real estate in the area, but her habits of turning to men and relying on them for emotional and physical support only increased. Many times Mackenzie was dragged along so that her mother could show a house to a wealthy man, often left wondering why she met with the men and not in the company of the men’s wives. Due to this unsteady fluctuation of money Mackenzie saw more corners of Santa Monica that maybe anyone; one day they’d be living in a wealthier neighborhood and weeks later moving to downsize into something smaller and more affordable. 

Over the years and as Mackenzie grew she immersed herself in her schooling, while her mother immersed herself in men and the nursing of prescriptions with wine. She was often left home alone unattended to fend for herself, and though she learned very quickly how to cook for herself, while her independence grew stronger, while she grew to be known for her academics among her classmates, her mother’s neglectful and unattached parenting left a longing for all she was lacking and a deep seeded anger towards her mother.

Mack was contacted by a her father at the age of 18, as he’d given up his ‘younger’ ambitions for film and had instead stepped into law and defense. It was finally time, he decided, to stake some claim on the person Mackenzie was turning out to be. Academically she was at the top of her class, valedictorian at her private school, captain of her school’s lacrosse team, advancing into science programs and now being offered scholarships. Every offer that came was a promise to take her away from her mother’s house. Her father’s offer would send her across the country to the east coast, an ivy league college with a rumored society that could open every door in life that she could ever dream of. Learning that her father had attended and made the cut into this society, only further pushed Mack to go herself and make that cut too. She packed and as her father had attended the college, she was listed as a Legacy student, learning the expanse of her father’s side of the family had attended as well. None before her father had obtained the status of being a caged member of the secret society. maverick von braun alumni of the 120, known as the kestrel.

They stood for three things.

Privilege, Protection, Power.

Challenges required of her to prove her worth commenced the moment she arrived for her first interview as a potential candidate. The theme of the society? Birds. Hawk presided over the interviews, and behind shadows the other standing members, cloaked in black and masks of the plague, stood waiting and witnessing. Mackenzie’s interview befell on the ears of The Swallow, and the graceful and talented ruling member...was the bird that nominated Mackenzie to continue along with the 50 others chosen to advance based on that first interview. It was a vouching of sorts, The Swallow looked over her progress through challenges and rooted her on, as the other members, eagle, hawk, hummingbird, albatross, seagull, peacock, pigeon and mallard stood in support of their own few nominations. The Swallow stood by only one. The potential parrot. Challenges completed knocked out the competition, texts and letters sent to test and torment the candidates, from the murder of animals to vandalism, russian roulette to near overdose, blackmail and sabotage to other candidates, not limited to violence and bodily harm just to disqualify. all challenges were voluntary and not required of Mackenzie or the others, though most were carried out because little could they know that the Cage was also scoring the manner in which they made their choices based on the convictions they believed in. One by one candidates were knocked out of the running, all by quitting and refusing to continue with the hellish activities. By the end, Mackenzie and 8 others stood standing and would, the next year, be the next Cage to follow in the footsteps of the ones who had tormented them, set to torment their own next group of potentials. 

Through this process of Mackenzie’s entire freshman year, she grew to know The Swallow as Hana. Outside of the society the relationship flourished though upon her acceptance into the society it was clear the dynamic within the cage was crumbling under the chaos the process had created. The Cage was always to protect themselves and each other, but betrayal lay in their midst and all that Mackenzie had seemingly fought towards ruptured from the inside out. Hummingbird already walking a fine line with their own sanity, kept a bucket list of things he was to accomplish by the end of the school year in order to keep living. He failed in completing his own bucket list and as a result, fulfilled a suicide pact made with himself, and carried that out in front of the student body. Quickly the remaining caged birds attempted to rally, calling for alumni from older generations to come to their aid. 

The alumni did not answer the Cage’s call for help as they hoped for, and instead came to a decision to disband the society for gaining too much attention. The Society was no more, but wherever Mackenzie goes in the world, all the doors that she wanted open so badly that she’d stop at nothing to prove herself, are now open to her. 

Now? Well, Mackenzie is seemingly unphased and ready to continue with her studies, determined to work for what she wants the way she always has. Through hard work and dedication. She dreams of working for NASA one day. 

[agentannakelso]

⭐️ MUSE’S THREE ARCHETYPES ⭐️

47% Advocate

The Advocate is the one everyone wants on their side. In the name of justice, they are not afraid to challenge authority or speak up for others.

Archetype Family: Advocate

Other Expressions: Naturalist, Defender, Champion of a Cause

Life Journey: To act as an agent for positive change.

Unique Challenge: To find causes that engage my strengths, not my personal agenda.

Lesson To Learn: To do what I can, even if it doesn’t feel like enough.

Defining Grace: Hope

Challenge To Self: I will commit fully to a cause, even if it means pledging my time, energy, and money in order to make a difference.

In the Light - Meet the members of the Advocate Family.

THE HERO: Heroes know how to stay true to their mission and pursue their goals without succumbing to naysaying or fear.

THE CRUSADER: Crusaders are brave, articulate, and moral people who will risk everything for their cause. They are strong and charismatic leaders who use their brains and bodies to achieve their goals.

THE VEGAN/ORGANO: Articulate about their beliefs yet realistic about what the rest of the world is willing to do, they live by example rather than scolding.

THE LAWYER: Intelligent and disciplined, lawyers are high-powered and thick-skinned, qualities that make them game for challenges that frighten others.

THE FEMINIST: Feminists are avid listeners who work well together and understand that the more opportunities they have, the better their lives will be for their children and their families.

THE HUMAN RIGHTS ADVOCATE: Human Rights Advocates have the highest of moral convictions and a hopeful but realistic sense of what can be done to aid the oppressed. They are as brave as they are selfless.

In the Shadow - Meet the Shadowed members of the Advocate Family. Everyone has a dark side.

THE OBSESSIVE: Like Addicts who count the hours before the next drink or cigarette, Obsessive Advocates are always itching to take up arms and fight, even at the most inappropriate times.

THE OPINIONATOR: Because Advocates work hard to understand their causes, they are knowledgeable about matters that many people intentionally ignore. This can make them opinionated and judgmental to the point of belligerence.

THE HACTIVIST: Tech-oriented Advocates tend to feel that in the Internet age, all information should be free. But when they end up sharing confidential information or content that is protected by law, they run into trouble.

THE ANARCHIST: When Advocates lose a sense of perspective because they believe so firmly in their cause that they are willing to invoke violence to promote it, they become Anarchists.

37% Rebel

The Rebel is comfortable throwing caution to the wind—and bucking the system—if that means getting their point across.

Other Expressions: Maverick, Feminist

Life Journey: Break barriers that restrict the human spirit.

Unique Challenge: Discover a creative, dynamic, and productive way to make your voice heard.

Lesson To Learn: Avoid engaging in power struggles as a way of expressing authority. Know the difference between rebellious reactions and rebellious decisions.

Defining Grace: Justice

Challenge To Self: Understand when the rebel in me is controlling my emotions.

In the Light - Meet the members of the Rebel Family.

THE WARRIOR: Warriors are brave and attractive people who are willing to put themselves on the line regardless of consequences.

THE WILD MAN/WILD WOMAN: Wild men and wild women are the most outrageous of Rebels. These are the people who are in touch with the side of themselves that doesn’t want to settle or be forced into any box.

In the Shadow - Meet the Shadowed members of the Rebel Family. Everyone has a dark side.

THE CRIMINAL Because Rebels by their nature push at boundaries, they can easily go too far and break the law.

THE SABOTEUR Like their archetypal cousin, the Jokester, Rebels live to upend anything that smacks of banality or conservatism.

THE FIGHTER Sometimes a Rebel becomes too aggressive in their various pursuits, and turns into a fighter who won’t back down and won’t stop arguing.

16% Caregiver

Friendly, sincere, and compassionate, the Caregiver finds their reward in helping others. No one could ask for a better best friend.

Archetype Family: Caring

Other Expressions: Nurturer, Mother, Lover, Sister, Teacher, Rescuer, Homemaker, Heroine, Best Friend, Companion

Life Journey: Care for others in ways they are unable to care for themselves.

Unique Challenge: Fear of being thought of as selfish.

Lesson To Learn: Learning to help when it’s really needed.

Defining Grace: Compassion

Challenge To Self: How can I dedicate more time for myself so I have more stamina to care for others? Can I give myself the freedom to explore what truly makes me happy?

In the Light - Meet the members of the Caregiver Family.

THE PARENT: Parents are reliable, compassionate, stern but yielding, and very organized, with an unsurpassed ability to listen without imposing their own point of view too quickly.

THE RESCUER: Rescuers are courageous and selfless, throwing themselves into dangerous situations because they genuinely want and need to help, not for fame or glory.

The BFF BFFs are the people you know you can turn to at the worst and best of times. They are there when the going gets tough and ready for fun when the living is easy.

THE MENTOR Unselfishly open to those hungry to learn, great Mentors give confidence to those who need it.

THE NURSE Nurses are able to stay calm and function in emergencies. They have strong powers of endurance as well, so that they can continue giving care over long periods of time.

In the Shadow - Meet the Shadowed members of the CAREGIVER Family. Everyone has a dark side.

THE VICTIM Whether enslaved or codependent, Caregivers who go too far will end up Victims, not just of the people for whom they are caring but of their own guilt and feelings of inadequacy.

THE CODEPENDENT Caregivers can become ensnared in situations beyond their control and wrongly take responsibility when things go badly.

Take the quiz HERE!

Tagged by: @sonofrusalka Tagging: @ameasureofpower @epistaxisxjensen @cokebottleglasses @ladykxtrina @betterhealing @dasbetruger @thorndale-industries @tinkertailorsoldiersasspy @slprimus 

[yessadirichards]

From the highway all the way to church

Psych-funk trio Khruangbin and soul revivalist Leon Bridges come together for a joint EP that pays tribute to their Texan roots

This year's first unlikely collaboration has officially arrived courtesy of Houston trio Khruangbin and their fellow Texans, Leon Bridges.

Having met while touring together, both parties found a musical affinity that led them to the studio which gave birth to a four-track EP entitled Texas Sun. Like the name implies, the collection aims to encapsulate their shared love for the so-called Texas sound laced with Khruangbin's groove-laden global flavours and Bridges' soul sensibilities.

Lead single/title track promptly sets the tone with an invitation -- "Say you wanna hit the highway while the engine roars/ Well, come on, roll with me 'til the sun goes down," Bridges croons. What follows is a breezy road trip anthem that showcases the globe-trotting psychedelia favoured by Khruangbin's Laura Lee, Mark Speer and Donald Johnson.

The escapade gets location-specific on the sensual Midnight, a mid-tempo psych-rock offer set against the backdrop of Texan towns ("You stayed up in Poly/ I lived in Crowley Town/ Needed me to get you/ From your mother's house/ Baby, I'll be there"). For these love birds, escapism is on their mind -- until the sun finally sets and things get a little sultry.

Which brings us to next track C-Side. Set to a lilting Latin funk groove, the song finds Bridges is his sweet vocal spot, singing about making sweet love to a "Melanin lady covered in all-white lace". This whole sexy vibe, however, is disrupted by closer Conversion, which suddenly insists on taking us to the house of God with its many biblical allusions. "Holy spirit penetrated my stone," Bridges sings, switching from a lover to a believer. "At the cross, where I first saw the light/ And the burdens of my heart rolled away/ It was there by faith, I received my sight."

The verdict: Texas Sun may be this year's first unlikely collaboration, but the marriage between Kruangbin and Leon Bridges' musical palettes feels (and sounds) like it's destined to be.

Quotable lyrics: "Fading lights from town I know you can't stay too late/ I'll have you home in time/ Let's find a place of silence/ Beyond the county line" (Midnight).

Listen to this: Texas Sun, Midnight, C-Side.

THE PLAYLIST

The Weeknd / After Hours

After the forgettable lead single Heartless, The Weeknd bounces back with After Hours, the title track of his recently released fourth studio album. The six-minute song finds the Canadian R&B maverick revisiting the moody vibes of his early Trilogy materials and swapping the usual drug-fuelled hedonism for some good old romantic devotion. "I'm fallin' in too deep/ Without you, I can't sleep," he confesses as the bassline swirls in on itself in much the same way as that on The xx's Intro. In fact, this whole vibe can be described as a hybrid between The Weeknd, The xx and Lana Del Rey, which is not that surprising considering the two -- The Weeknd himself and Del Ray -- have previously collaborated on the latter's 2017 single Lust For Life.

Torrayot / The Way You Want

Though primarily known for fronting Thai outfit The Yers, Yosathorn "Aoo" Bunyatanapiwat is also a legit solo artist in his own right. Here, we're treated to The Way You Want, a new single under his solo project Torrayot. Stylistically, the track marks quite a departure from The Yers' post-punk inclination with its doom metal parts underpinned by buzzing guitar riffs. As soon as the chorus hits, the instrumentation turns less murky, allowing melodic guitar lines to shine. "Leave me right here/ Just let me die right here," Aoo muses with great clarity. "Don't you worry/ I won't be resurrected tomorrow."

Sam Smith / To Die For

"It is if everyone dies alone/ Does that scare you? I don't wanna be alone," Sam Smith's latest To Die For opens with an excerpt from 2001 cult classic film Donnie Darko. It's a fitting intro to the song dedicated to heartbreak and the scary prospect of being all by your lonesome self. "Pink lemonade sippin' on a Sunday/ Couples holding hands on a runway," the UK singer croons atop wistful piano chords. "Whilst my world's crashing down/ Solo shadow on a sidewalk/ Just want somebody to die for." Fans of Smith's soulful balladry, this should be right up your alley.

Jake Shears / Meltdown

In anticipation of the summer heat (and the planet literally burning), Scissor Sisters vocalist Jake Shears cranks up the temperature on his new single Meltdown. The song, described as "a little burnt pop confection with a sinister edge", glides with a fiery disco shimmer that's not too far removed from the Scissor Sisters sound. "This is the dawn of Hades/ This is the end of times," he sings in his signature head tone. "I'm too damn hot, better cool me off before a meltdown!" It's a fun, climate change-conscious number aimed at the dancefloor.

Ghostpoet / Concrete Pony

It's been three years since we've heard from the twice Mercury-nominated Obaro Ejimiwe, aka Ghostpoet. Today, finally, marks the return of the British singer-songwriter and the imminent arrival of his fifth album I Grow Tired But Dare Not Fall Asleep. Lead single Concrete Pony reintroduces us to the Ghostpoet's brand of indie rock-infused electronica we've known and loved while hinting at a much darker sonic palette than anything that came before. He also beefs up his hypnotic speak-singing style to the maximum, adding a layer of trip-hop menace to the track that could potentially get under your skin.