#Cultural Echoes in Music

[josephkravis]

Ethereal Echoes: The Angel's Journey Through Life's Cosmic Heavens

The richness of human experience, symbols and metaphors reveal profound truths.

Unveiling the Angelic Metaphor The Angel in Our Midst: More Than a Celestial Being The richness of human experience, symbols and metaphors reveal profound truths. Among these, the image of the angel stands out—not just as a religious icon, but as a metaphor for life’s complexities. This exploration delves into the angel as a reflection of life itself: elusive, multifaceted, and…

[djhamaradio]

Eventually I would love to build a Soundsystem christen it cosmic slop and play nothing but tropical music, psychedelic shit of all styles and techno. Don’t know if it will ever happen but I’m compiling the journeys and ideas of people who have created soundsystems.

[townpostin]

August Echoes Festival to Debut in Jamshedpur on August 31

Music, food, and shopping extravaganza at Beldih Club promises family-friendly entertainment Jamshedpur’s inaugural August Echoes Festival will blend live music, culinary delights, and shopping at Beldih Club on August 31. JAMSHEDPUR – The city’s first August Echoes Festival, featuring live music performances, food stalls, and shopping opportunities, is set to debut at Beldih Club in Bistupur on…

[scribeofmorpheus]

Why Dragon Age Veilguard isn't a "Cathedral"

Concept art by Matt Rhodes

"To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals."

What is inherent with Veilguard that keeps bothering me is the fact that the world's choices truly didn't matter--and it doesn't simply bother me from a player perspective, it's not simply a grievance borne of frustration to what I (as a longtime fan) have lost. It's about the very culture of the arts under capitalism's new media habituation cycle [x][x].

Yes, I spent hours of my life playing and replaying each instalment of Dragon Age. Yes, I painstakingly curated a 'canon' world state by replaying what came before in preparation for Veilguard. Yes, I am even more unsatisfied with the end product--time hasn't helped, it's just widened the divide. But, and I can't stress this enough, these very personal gripes aren't what hit home the most. It's the inherent disregard of legacy. A legacy that the previous writers and game developers were building towards.

In the DAV artbook, "cathedral" is the word used to describe the process of making a game. Matt Rhodes' exact words are: "One artist can make a painting, but it takes a team to build a cathedral." Cathedrals took centuries to build. The architect who drafted the first blueprints would likely never see his work realised, he had to rely on those who came after him, like-minded and passionate, to see it through--for the culture, for the future, for legacy. Painters took on several apprentices for this reason too--giant frescoes were not completed by one man's hand, even if it is one man's name that immortalises them. Similarly, if you weave a narrative around choice, what good does it do to take it away at the final act if not to fall to caricature?

To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals.

Late-stage capitalism and profit-margin-obsessed game producers forcing developers to churn out meager content, to make a known brand into something it's not, to chase a fad or a popular trend... o, how reductive and cliche you've been forced to become Bioware. We have lost the cultural thought patterns relative to Cathedrals. We know only of barn-raised churches--done in a day but unlikely to last the turn of the seasons.

And don't even get me started on the music of Veilguard either. From Origins to World of Warcraft to Everquest to Baldur's Gate to Dungeon Siege, you can hear the intricate interconnected weave of sounds inspired by the Dungeons and Dragons-esque fantasy genre. You hear it in the repeated use of certain instruments, in the harmonic weeping notes of a bard-like singer or the foreboding echoes of drums as if of war. In tavern songs. But then, rather than hire someone who loves these worlds and this genre, who is a hungry artist looking to make a name, a legacy if you will, for themselves with a spectacular score, you hire any already sated composer, one well-into the encroaching years of career fatigue, whose notes repeat in countless projects, who feels less concise and more uninterested with each new project. One who has long since cemented his legacy. Someone in it for a paycheck and nothing else! And, to top it off, you let him compose something so minimalist? I am offended actually.

Cathedrals! We should have witnessed the final tile being placed on the Dragon Age cathedral. Instead, some architects walked up, tore down the interior and installed IKEA furniture and called it authentic before having to call the previous architects to come and fix the "load-bearing issues", forcing them to rush and add a coat of varnish and a few 'aged' details for authenticity.

[mangled-by-disuse]

TO ACTUALLY EXPLAIN MYSELF:

Ned Ludd was (in the relevant context) a fictional weaving apprentice used as the nom de plume/rallying point for various English weavers in the 1800s and 1810s to organise against the new spinning, sewing, and weaving machinery coming into use at the time. (This is where the word "Luddite" originates from, for someone afraid of new technologies.)

The Luddites argued - both in letters to mill owners and the press, and through direct vandalism (and sometimes violence) - that the use of mass-production machinery for textiles would not only destroy their jobs, but also reduce the quality of textiles available, damage the communities which relied on textile work (which was a huge part of the English economy, and always had been), and cause a permanent loss of traditional skills.

and

thing is

they were completely right.

English society was destroyed by the Spinning Jenny and the knitting frame and the cropper. The towns and villages which built their economies on the textile industry died. The Luddites lost their industries - and as a result, despite some of their calls (especially in the North-West) being for improved labour conditions and less child labour, they also lost their leverage over the bosses. When labour is unskilled and easily available, you can't say "give us what we need or we walk" - the boss will just say, okay, fuck off then.

There is a hard line between the society that came before mass-production and industrial mechanisation, and the one that came after. The Industrial Revolution did actually destroy its society. On every level - community, economy, religion, geography, even down to food and drink and housing - the England of 1850 is entirely unlike the England of 1750, and it is because of the technological advances that the Luddites fought.

To be clear: I am not saying that there were no benefits to the Industrial Revolution, that would be insane. But in terms of labour rights, community cohesion, the distribution of population, etc., it was catastrophic. Child labour became the norm, and undercut adult labour. Textile quality dropped, cost of living relative to household output rose, urbanisation and pollution changed the entire layout of the country. Everything "Ned Ludd" was afraid of, everything the Luddites were trying to prevent, came to pass.

And also: in the long run, I would argue that the mechanisation of the textile industry led to England's collapse as a textile producer after over a thousand years of being an international centre for weaving. I mean, don't get me wrong: in the immediate - in the 19th century itself - the English textile industry exploded, they went from a centuries-long decline (post losing the wool trade to the Dutch in the 1630s) to being the primary textile exporter in the world. production boomed! so many textiles! look, we have paisley now! we have aniline dyes! we can do cheap cotton print!

but

when you remove the skill from labour, you move the centre of the industry to machinery, and machinery is transferrable. As soon as you start to construct knitting frames in Bangladesh and cropper machinery in Indonesia, you find that the industry begins to bleed away. you don't need English weavers to make English wool. there is no meaningful distinction in product between a Chinese chiffon and a British chiffon. the labour is cheaper, and you can move fabric production nearer the raw materials if you want, and, oh, look at that, it's 2025 and the only notable British textiles still in common circulation are tweeds. Which are not machine-woven. What a coincidence.

(meanwhile in Bangladesh and China and Indonesia and everywhere else, the traditional textile skills there are lost in favour of the interchangeability of the mass-production machinery which is the great-great grandson of the cropping frames Ned Ludd smashed. weaving and sewing and hand-work become luxury skills, and they fade out, become expensive, become lost. it becomes a constant fight to maintain millennia-old production traditions which, as a reminder, do often produce higher-quality, harder-wearing, better textiles and clothing.

It isn't that the English textiles were better than the textiles in all those places - like, have y'all seen some of the Indian cotton weaves? Manchester could never - but they were different. They were distinct, depending on the loom and who was using it. They were made to fit the climate and the available materials, but also the skills and experience of the weaver and the cropper and the tailor. And we did lose that starting from the 1810s, and now we mostly have homogeneous machine-knit and machine-twill, and I think that's sad.)

Point being: the society was destroyed. The naysayers were right. And the fact that something else filled the void - that the destruction of a society doesn't leave an empty desert with only the howling winds passing through - doesn't mean that nothing was lost.

listen. please. I say this as someone who personally does not like AI art and hates reading AI-written content, but also as someone who earned my PhD studying cultural politics and technology: not once in the history of ever has a moral panic about how a new tech thing is totally irredeemably evil and destined to destroy society turned out to be correct. the chances that you've latched on to the one panic that will buck this trend are pretty small.

[misstycloud]

[Yandere.Rich man x ballerina reader]

(I don’t actually know much about ballet so forgive me if things are incorrect!)

—————

Rich. Yandere who was pestered by his friend and his wife to join them at the opera house and enjoy a performance. The couple had asked him numerous times before but he’d always declined. He was a workaholic and didn’t have any other commitments, so there was no need to break his routine. Although he would never admit it to anyone- he barely does to himself- he often find himself imagining a different life; one where he had a wife to welcome him home every evening. Perhaps a few children too. There was no sound besides himself and the staff in his home, it would be so very nice to hear the noise of running feet and happy chatter echo through the empty halls.

Rich. Yandere who is lonely above all else. His family is dead and he has next to no friends- the only one he has is married and devote all his time to keep him company. He knows that he doesn’t have the best track-record of being the kindest person in the world, and he might not be the friendliest or the most out-going, still, doesn’t he deserve some love too?

Rich. Yandere who eventually give into his friends demand and goes with them to the opera. As they took their seats- the expensive and best ones, of course- his friends wife babble on about her favourite dancer. They were regulars there and had seen many performances. He simply sighed and leaned back into his seat, waiting for the show to begin. He could only hope that it’ll be somewhat enjoyable since he doesn’t like wasting his time.

Rich. Yandere who was prepared for it to be a dreadful 3 hours, rubbing his eyes and suffering from lack of blood-flow in his legs. Oh how wrong he was. Instantly his gaze zoomed into you as soon as you stepped forward from behind the curtain. You were so beautiful and you moved your body gracefully to the music. It was magical. While he knew close to nothing about ballet, he knew that the point of it were for the women to look like they’re floating, and it’s exactly what you were doing.

Rich. Yandere who is instantly enamoured with you. As someone who’s never felt love this was all a brand new experience for him. He asked his friend and his wife if they knew who you were, since they frequent the opera so much. And turns out the wife did know who you were; you were her favourite after all. Rich. Yandere was never close with her or particularly liked her even, but he had to give it to her: she has excellent taste in performers.

Rich. Yandere who starts looking up information regarding you. It’s be your name, age, background, family, where you went to school and where you live. Everything. He also begins donating a lot of money to the opera house. In a short amount of time he’s become their nr.1 funder. The managers and owners are ecstatic at the news! They ask why he’s so generous and he simply answers that he loves culture and thinks it’s important it doesn’t disappear. Then, they wonder if there is anything they can do for him return, to which he smiles in response.

“Well, I do suppose there is one dancer I would be delighted to meet in person.”

Rich. Yandere who you feel uncomfortable around. He is so strange. You were just a normal ballerina, a dancer, no better or worse than anyone before your time. That’s why you can’t fathom the interest this wealthy man has taken in you. You two came form completely different worlds! But what can you do when your bosses not-so-gently urge you to see this man alone? You dont have any other skills and can’t apply to another job if you get fired.

Rich. Yandere who is determined to make you fall for him the way he has fallen for you. He’ll take care of you, love you and protect you. You don’t have to worry about a thing. He will do anything for his love.

“Don’t be scared, just keep on dancing, my little dancer.”

[evermarch]

now that we have sotr, i wanted to update this post about how katniss’ power comes not from her similarities to lucy gray, but in their differences. i’m still working out my feelings about katniss being canonically covey descended, because i don’t love the implications for the 74th reaping to begin with. but i am at least glad that the covey connection has no bearing on what makes katniss the symbol of the revolution.

lucy gray’s livelihood was music. she believed that her voice was the skill which kept her and her family alive. from the minute she started singing at the reaping, before they even met, snow recognized it as the only currency she possessed, and thus, the only power she wielded. it was her ticket to victory, and they both knew it. to her knowledge, it was her last line of defense in the arena against the snakes. in the end, singing to the jabberjays may have been what saved her from snow.

in sotr, we learn that burdock’s covey connection comes not from the everdeens, but from his mother’s side. unlike her singing voice, katniss’ skill with a bow is an everdeen characteristic, through and through. and archery, not music, is what katniss identifies as the source of her strength, as the skill which keeps her alive. and it’s true; she never would have been a real threat without that bow. she simply wouldn’t have survived long enough. not after burdock died, not in the arena(s), and not in the war. she also would never have been able to shoot coin and end the cycle of the dehumanizing “opinion” of governance.

yes, a lot of katniss’ “power” over snow comes from her connection to the covey (her name, singing their songs, girl from district 12 “pretending” to be in love with a blond boy, etc.). and there is no doubt that the covey connection is imperative to katniss’ cultural identity and her relationship to her father. but not one of the qualities which make katniss the mockingjay for the people, which is her real threat in bringing about the capitol’s downfall, has anything to do with lucy gray or the covey at large.

beyond the bow which keeps her alive, katniss’ power comes from a variety of non-covey sources. cinna’s costumes, while echoing lucy gray in unforgettability, make her not appealing, but striking, as the “girl on fire.” tying the district 12 tributes together comes from haymitch, the rebellion, and most importantly, her luck of being reaped alongside peeta, someone willing to give his life to save hers. her compassion for prim, peeta, rue, thresh, and even cato is rooted in her mother, who snuck into the seam to treat people for free and left her privileged life behind to marry a coal miner. even katniss’ ability to heal both herself and peeta, which keeps them alive long enough to hold out the berries, comes from asterid.

the covey and their legacy touches katniss more than most in district 12, but that isn’t part of her appeal to the masses. there is music class in district 12, and peeta, asterid, and maysilee recognize and feel emotionally connected to many of their songs. the galvanizing effect of their music could have come from any mouth singing banned songs with provocative words. that’s clear because it works when no one, not even katniss, knows of her heritage. when katniss sings, her beautiful voice is not what moves people—it’s the timing, the moments when she sings: to rue, and to pollux and the mockingjays. ultimately, katniss is not a performer, which is, as haymitch points out, explicitly what people respond to about her.

katniss’ similarity to lucy gray is undoubtedly a rose thorn in snow’s side, and most certainly leads to his recklessness in exacting his vengeance against her. in fact, it’s snow’s attempted exploitation of that connection by trying to force katniss to be a performer that is his predominant failure. but the effect on snow, personally, isn’t what ignites the rebellion. it certainly isn’t what makes the revolution successful. that is a concerted, unified effort of decades, which results in katniss and peeta holding hands at the opening ceremonies in burning costumes. in no one being able to blow katniss and peeta in the air when they hold out those berries. in giving katniss the wire to fire into the force field.

as snow himself notes before her victory tour, no one would believe her death was an accident after she held out the berries. she is already a martyr before she really starts to perform. because, unlike for lucy gray, reaper, haymitch, finnick, and the other potential symbols, the people of the districts are already primed and ready to fight. katniss, in a burning costume, is the human manifestation of marching orders. she is a signal to something that already exists.

the kindling is laid. the logs are stacked. the gas is poured. the striker is not around her neck, but in maysilee’s pin on her shirt. all katniss would need to do to start the fire is find a striking rock on a berry bush in her arena. a striking rock which she could only recognize because of her father. whose true power she only understands because of peeta. power she only chooses to use because of her sense of justice, displayed through her solidarity.

solidarity, not an inherited musical talent, not twirling in a colorful dress at the interviews, not a “performance” as a lovestruck girl, is what lights the spark of revolution. it’s a quality katniss shares not with lucy gray, but with haymitch. of course, the difference between them is that haymitch did not have the benefit of a locked and loaded rebel movement in place to ensure the world would be watching. but snow’s lingering obsession with lucy gray is also not what makes katniss a success where haymitch failed. from haymitch, the rebellion learned that its symbol is needed not to build the fire, but to light the spark.

in a line of failed attempts ranging from beetee to haymitch to finnick, katniss is successful because, this time, the groundwork is laid to launch the districts into a planned, full-scale rebellion. in displaying her love for prim, for rue, and for peeta, her solidarity was the striker hitting the rock at just the right moment. katniss, the springtime daughter of asterid march, the prodigal archer of the everdeen line, the girl who fights not for herself, but for everyone else, is the mockingjay not because she bleeds covey blood, but because in selecting the moment she starts to burn, she is “luckier, [and] with better timing.” and that is a fire that even snow, the #1 peacekeeper, would never have been able to quell.

[captainmalewriter]

Made to Order

Franco pulled up to the apartment building of his latest client. He parked his car along the street and sent his client a quick text letting him know he had arrived. Franco then pulled out a pair of earphones from the glove compartment, connected them to his phone’s jack port, and put them on. He then booted up a survey app. It greeted him with a light blue screen and a ‘Hello!’ in a British accent. 

“Let’s see what kind of guy this dude paid good money to bang…” Franco muttered to himself as he pulled up the list of responses from the survey he sent to his clients. He scrolled to the latest data entry and skimmed it over. A grin formed on his face as he read it. 

“Alright then! No time like the present, let’s get to work.”

He downloaded the data entry into his phone’s local storage and composed it into an audio file. Once it was ready, Franco pressed ‘play’ and leaned back in his seat as the makeshift music began to fill his ears. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind of any and all thoughts, allowing the music to submerge his mind and body with powerful subliminal messaging. 

Gender: Male. Age: 24. Height: 6’4” ft. Weight: 170 lbs. 

Franco groaned as a cold chill ran up his spine. As he grew taller and heavier, the muscles in his legs rapidly flexed and relaxed. 

“Ohhh… Fuckk man…”

Franco couldn’t help but massage his aching body as he began to physically transform. He became hyper-aware of how his body felt and moved, which made touching his sensitive skin with his warm hands all the more pleasurable as it gradually changed. Franco moved the car seat back, as he needed the extra space to accommodate his sudden growth spurt. He gained several inches of height and about 30 pounds until he matched the size his client had requested. 

Hair Color: Brown. Eye Color: Green. Facial Hair? Mustache only. Body Hair? Yes.

The next few details of Franco’s client’s request rang in his ear and reverberated throughout his body. He gripped the sides of his seat as he felt his body working overtime to pump out heavy quantities of hormones. He winced in pain as his dark brown eyes changed colors. They became lighter and lighter in hue until they were a brilliant shade of green that glimmered in the sunlight. 

Franco’s hair was next to transform. The straight, black hair on his head grew lighter and curlier until he had wavy, brown hair. The skin on Franco’s upper lip tingled and itched as the hair follicles began rapidly growing in. Franco let out a heavy moan as his mustache hairs kept growing and growing until he had a thick mustache that hung over his lips. Once he had the right mustache, his underarm hair began growing, too. Franco only had a light dusting of pit hair, but thanks to his strange audio files, he could grow well past his natural limits. His armpit hair grew longer and thicker until he had a jungle of brown pit hair in his underarms. His pit hair had become so long that it even peeked out when Franco had his arms down!

Ethnicity: Mexican. Language: Spanish, or English w/ Accent. 

Franco let out a sigh of relief as he heard the next three lines of the audio file. Thankfully, the next transformation would be more mental than physical, which gave Franco a chance to take a quick breather. 

He relaxed against the headrest as the audio file echoed inside his mind. The more Franco heard his client’s preferences, the more his psyche changed to match his request. Suddenly, Franco was no longer a middle aged man from Midwest U.S.A. but a young Mexican man who had only recently immigrated into the country. His mind became filled with all sorts of new knowledge surrounding his Mexican heritage and culture, such as the Spanish language. 

“Mmm… Que rico…” Franco purred sensually as his throat muscles broadened and his vocal cords thickened, granting him the heavy accent his client had requested. The audio file also gave him a deeper voice too. Although that detail was more for Franco’s personal enjoyment than anything else.

But despite his newfound knowledge, there was only one thing the newly transformed Franco desired: to fuck as many men as physically possible. There was nothing he loved more than seeing a man pressed down against a pillow as he railed them to the next Tuesday. Just the thought of a man’s bubble butt swallowing his dick was enough to make him start leaking.

Size: 7.5 inches. Breed: Dom top. Body odor: YES.

While Franco was busy relishing his new voice and fantasizing about his next bottom, the next line of the audio file played, triggering the final piece of the transformation. Franco threw his head back as the next wave of bodily sensations caught him off guard. He let out loud, guttural groans as his manhood grew obscenely erect until it filled in his underwear. Franco massaged his sensitive, throbbing member as it grew longer and fatter than what he originally had. Before he knew it, Franco’s new endowment ripped the fabric of his briefs. His dick sprang to life like it was just begging to be released and played with as soon as possible! 

Franco wrapped his hand around his new dick and gave himself a few strokes just to test out his new tool. As he did so, a rank smell began to fill his car. It was sweaty, smelly, and addicting. That scent was none other than his natural body odor but kicked up to 100%. With the windows rolled down, Franco was becoming hot-boxed off his own tantalizing smell. Not that it really bothered him, as he was too busy admiring the glorious sight of his new, hung cock standing at full mast with a healthy bush of thick pubes to complete the look.

A tap on the window interrupted Franco’s moment of self-admiration. He glanced over and saw his client watching him with hungry eyes and a hand stuffed down his pants. Franco smirked, then rolled down his window.

“Hola papacito. ¿Te gusto?” Franco flexed his arms and winked at his client. The man nodded vigorously like a dog begging for a juicy steak. Then, he took a heavy whiff of Franco’s potent body odor and sighed, satisfied. 

“I can’t wait any longer! C’mon, let’s get you inside!!”

Franco grinned. He loved the whiny sound of a man begging to get fucked. He tossed his phone and earphones to the side and followed his client up to his apartment, where he proceeded to show him the dom Mexican top he requested to fuck him hard and raw. Another man made to order, another man satisfied.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🌟 Creating Character Names: A Non-Basic Guide for Fantasy Writers 🌟

Listen up fellow writers! aggressively slides into your dashboard with chai in hand Let's talk about one of the most CHAOTIC yet FUN parts of writing - naming your precious book babies!

👀 First things first - throw out everything you know about "normal" naming conventions because honey, we're going WILD today!

Here's the tea: Your character's name is literally their FIRST impression on the page. It's their brand™️, their essence, their whole vibe condensed into a few syllables. And in fantasy? The rules? We don't know her.

🔮 Non-Basic Methods for Name Creation:

The Vibes-Based Approach

Close your eyes and picture your character

What color are they giving off?

What texture?

Now translate that into sounds

Example: A character who feels like liquid silver might be named Sylthra or Mercurine

2. The Meaning Mashup Method

Take 2-3 words that represent your character

Break them apart

Frankenstein them back together

Example: Brave (Fortis) + Storm (Tempest) = Fortempest

3. The Aesthetic Alchemy Instead of just picking random syllables, think about:

How does the name look on the page?

Does it have strong consonants or flowing vowels?

Would it look good written in blood on a magical contract? (IMPORTANT)

🌙 Pro Tips That Nobody Talks About:

Test Drive Your Names

Write them in different fonts

Yell them dramatically

Whisper them mysterously

If you can't dramatically whisper "Lord Xylophone the Terrible" without giggling, maybe reconsider

2. The Name Evolution Game Your character's name should have:

A formal version

A nickname

What their enemies call them

What their mom yells when they're in trouble Example: Theodora → Thea → The Midnight Witch → THEODORA BLACKTHORN GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT

3. Cultural Consideration (but make it fantasy)

Create naming patterns for different regions/species

Maybe elves use lots of 'ae' and 'th' sounds

Perhaps dragon-folk names always start with a hiss

Desert dwellers might have names that sound like wind through sand

🔥 Advanced Name-Crafting Techniques:

The Emotional Echo Method

Write down the key emotion of your character

Find its opposite

Create a name that somehow bridges both Example: A character who's both gentle and fierce → Lysander (means "liberator" but sounds soft)

The Musical Approach

Names have rhythm

They have melody

Try singing your character names

If it sounds like a spell, EVEN BETTER

💫 Remember:

Names can be weapons (looking at you, True Name magic systems)

They can be prophecies

They can be curses

They can be LIES

🚫 What to Avoid (but like, in a non-basic way):

Names that look like you headbutted your keyboard

Names so complex your readers need a pronunciation guide every 2 pages

Names that are just regular names with random 'y's thrown in (looking at you, Kathryn → Kathyryn → Kathyyryn)

✨ Final Thoughts: Your character's name is a spell you're casting on your readers. Make it memorable. Make it meaningful. Make it YOURS.

And remember, if all else fails, you can always name them after what they had for breakfast. (Looking at you, Toast the Dragonslayer 👀)

sips chai aggressively

That's all for today's chaotic naming advice! Drop a 🌟 if you're gonna rename all your characters now! - Rin T.

[Note: Feel free to reblog and add your own chaotic naming methods! Let's build this resource together!]

[elliebarker]

yessss cc fic plz there’s not nearly enough

fuɔk me. ( c. clark )

category: caitlin clark x girlfriend!reader (angst, fluff)

summary: after seeing you talking to another after one of her games, caitlin goes into an obsessive spiral of jealousy, unknowingly sending you down your own rabbit hole.

warnings: way sadder than i intended 

word count: 1.2k

author’s note: i tried capital letters, y’all fw it?

_________________________________________

“I mean, it was electric, truly.”

Caitlin’s voice echoed into the microphone of a random media reporter who was interviewing her. She tried her best to stay focused on the questions whilst the camera clicked and pump-up music blared. Iowa had just won a home game and she knew you were in the crowd. She regained consciousness with the present and began answering the interview questions with basic textbook answers about ‘the Iowa culture’ and how great her shots felt, whilst scouring the stadium for you. You interlocked eyes and waved to her. She waved back and politely wrapped things up with the media girl (hehe) and headed your way. 

In the minutes she had spent with her eyes off of you, an umich girl from the opposing team had walked up to you. She was, in Caitlin’s eyes, getting a little too friendly. Smirking, and smiling too wide. Caitlin backed away, choosing to head to her teammates instead and pose in photos with fans. See… people love me she thought. And we literally bet them and that fucking umich girl had the nerv-

“Caitlin!” you ran, hugging her from behind. “You do so good, omg!” 

“Thanks, babe.” She slipped away from you, cold and isolated. Caitlin spent the night with the girls on her team, which wasn’t irregular for away games, but you were looking forward to getting to spend time with her when she was actually in town. You were slumped in your apartment, staring at yourself in the mirror, picking a pulling at your skin, hair, and hair. Meanwhile, Caitlin was glued to her phone in the corner of the room her teammates were in. Staring at that umich girl’s stats and Instagram. Caitlin knew she was a good player, she knew she was a good girlfriend, she knew you. She knew you wouldn’t do her wrong but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. About finding someone different. She knew she wasn’t there for you all the time, on account of her schedule with basketball that seemed never-ending. She felt like a bad girlfriend. You deserved the world, more than she could ever give you.

Sounds of shoes squeaking and balls dribbling filled her ears as Caitlin entered Iowa’s gym. After nights of stressing, overthinking, and flashes of your interaction with the umich girl appearing in her head, Caitlin was ready to clear her head with some practice. She stretched, dripped the ball a bit, and began shooting. First shot, miss. She went and grabbed the ball. Second shot, miss. Everyone has bad days. The third shot, she could barely focus, overwhelmed with this stinging feeling of inferiority as she missed that basket. “Fuɔk me,” she muttered under her breath. She suddenly turned around when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Kate was standing, now facing her. “Hey Caitlin, can we talk?” 

“Yeah of course, what’s up?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been kind of off…down, you okay?”

“Um yeah,” she tried to hold her guard up, “yeah, I’m fine.” She smiled, “Need to lock in.” Kate laughed, agreed, and went on with her practice.

Later that day you, being friendly with the Iowa team, reached out to Kate. You texted her, 

You: hi kate!

i haven’t seen caitlin in a bit and just wanted to check in and make sure she’s doing okay

Kate: Hey! Thanks for reaching out, she has been acting a little weird. 

I was going to ask you but I guess you don’t know what’s up either.

You: no, i don’t know

has she talked about me?

at all?

Kate: No, not really. Is everything okay?

You: (…)

You stared at your phone for a solid five minutes attempting to keep your emotions under control.

You: yep! everything's good

just been a hot minute since ive seen her

but thats prob just cause shes so busy lol

Kate: Fair. But if anything does you can always talk to me.’

You: awww thanks kate! that's so sweet.

Days passed and you finally got a day to spend with Caitlin. You had invited her over to your apartment. You had excitedly and worriedly done up your hair and makeup, cleaned and refreshed every inch of your apartment: fresh sheets and fresh flowers, and made sure to wear an outfit you knew she liked. You felt it in your bones that your behavior was suspicious and 100% fueled by insecurity but you told yourself that you were doing this to make Caitlin feel comfortable, let her relax from working so hard. Totally not convincing her to want to stay with you. 

You and Caitlin were in your bed watching a tv-show and you could sense something was off. “Hey baby, can I get you anything?” you ask, trying to make yourself useful. 

“Um, yeah sure,” she replied, “water works.” You scoot yourself off the bed and head to the kitchen. Caitlin watches as you walk away, thinking about how you’re perfect in every way. She pulls out her phone, and her most recent search on instagram, umich bitch, is controlling her thoughts again. 

You come back with a glass of water for Caitlin and see she’s engulfed in her phone. Goddamnit you’ve bored her.

“I’m sorry,” you muster out. The stress of the possible end of your relationship that you conquered up in your head makes you almost fold into tears.

Caitlin sprung up, “Sorry, babe, sorry about what?” she went to hold you. You slithered yourself out of her arms,

“You’re probably sick of me, I need to stop holding onto you.” 

“What?” Caitlin asked, “Okay, first of all, I would never be sick of you. You are the most gorgeous, fearless, kindest, perfect girl I’ve ever seen. I would be crazy to ever let you go. But I know you deserve, you need better than me.” your tears turned to happy ones as you exclaimed,

“Caitlin what? You are the best girlfriend in the whole wide world.” You grabbed her face in your hands as hers found their natural place around your hips.

“I love you,” she whispered before moving her face close to yours and kissing you passionately. Your arms wrapped themselves around her neck as you leaned into the kiss. You slightly pulled away, whispering back, 

“I love you too.” Caitlin then pulled open her phone, to delete the umich player from her search history, but not without catching your nosy eye. “Wait. This was about her?” 

“What?” Caitlin said, trying to sound clueless.

“I spoke to her for five seconds? Wait…you were jealous?” you inquired. 

“No- I- who-” she stuttered, trying to deny it. “Also, I don’t get jealous.”

“You goofball,” you said, pulling her into a deeper kiss, to which Caitlin picked you up and plopped you back onto your bed, pulling you into her chest, and kissing your forehead.

“I don’t get jealous” she re-enstated.

“Mhmmmmm…” you replied, nodding your head, in a non-believeing tone. “Got it. Not jealous.”

“I’m being serious,” she said. You, too lazy to lift your head, nodded and closed your eyes falling into a deep sleep, to which Caitlin would follow you.

[helps-the-writing-brain-go]

Based off @the-fyre-flie's post where Billy learns his Patrons' culture and music.

Barry, armed with snacks galore races through the Watchtower's hallways, itching to make it to his room before Bats finds him and gives him another job to do.

Not that he doesn't like doing his part!

But work had been more mind-numbing than usual, and his rouges more creative (damn Snart and his jelly-like ice infusion, Barry's ass and pride were still smarting something fierce from his repeated falls and he wasn't sure if he was ever going to get the bright blue stains out).

Barry really just wanted a couple of minutes to himself to scarf down a pastry (or dozen) and lick his wounds in private.

His racing (hah) thought are brought to a screeching halt by the sudden interruption of a powerful scent cutting through the aroma of vanilla suffusing his person.

"Grapes...?"

His feet skid to a halt, tongue sticking out a tad to better catch the air.

Sun warmed grapes on the vine to be precise; as heady as the bottle of wine he and Iris had shared on their last anniversary, bursting with juice as sweet as the kisses they'd shared that night.

Now that he's stopped, the gentle strains of an unfamiliar melody on a stringed instrument filtering through the halls catch his ears, lending a peaceful, dream-like quality to his surroundings, easing the irritation bubbling in his heart.

The atmosphere seems too delicate for his usual run and Barry too curious to leave it be, so he allows himself a soft, slower (for him) tread instead, following the meandering tune.

Absently, he notes that his steps now echo oddly, like sandals on tile, but when he glances down, the metal flooring is the same as always.

Barry looks up, only to see the Monitor Room door slightly ajar and more surprisingly, Diana by the crack, reclining against the wall nealy all the way relaxed, eyes closed as she basks in the music.

Barry has a feeling he knows the source of the strangeness now.

Diana cracks an eye on at his approach.

"He in there?" Barry mouths at her.

She nods.

He peeks into the room to see Cap with his feet up watching the monitors, huge fingers deftly strumming a lyre, idly humming along to his still nameless tune.

Barry swears he sees laurels on his head, but they are gone when he blinks.

The song ends, and Cap turns, unerringly meeting Barry's eyes.

Golden eyes, bringing to mind to mind beautiful people with coiled hair, whisps of clouds, and golden amphoras pouring all manner of drinks serving- serving-

Cap blinks, grinning at him, and the moment is broken.

"Hey man, need something?"

[artoile]

Redraw of some of my older azjm art because I'm always weak for this kind of firework setting. Concept based on a fic I will never write, but details under the cut.

Starts at the end of third year and goes throughout fourth. 

Azul manages to get an internship with a company seeking to establish trade routes between the Coral Sea and Scalding Sands to guarantee he’ll work alongside Kalim and the Asim family (and Jamil by extension) 

He sees this as a win-win situation because he gets to establish a proper connection with the Asims which will be beneficial for business later. He definitely did NOT do this because he was afraid that his time with Jamil was running out and that they’d go their own way after graduation and never speak again without school as a common ground or anything!!!

When the paperwork has been finalised, he goes to Scarabia to celebrate with Kalim and thank him for his help in securing the position. He’d requested Kalim keep it a secret from Jamil until it was official, so this is the first time Jamil’s learning about it.

Jamil uncharacteristically drops a cup and spills some tea when he hears this. It’s odd, but Azul brushes it off to the news catching him off guard and doesn’t dwell too much on it. 

After the current third years’ graduation ceremony, Azul goes to congratulate Idia but overhears Leona and Jamil talking about how Kalim interceded with his family on Jamil’s behalf to get him an independent internship outside Scalding Sands. 

It seems Jamil is doing his internship in some sort of archaeological dig and exchanging quips about it with Leona. It’s the first time Azul is hearing of this and his heart sinks.

Haha, it doesn’t matter that Jamil isn’t going to be around. He did this with the Asim family in mind, not Jamil. It doesn’t matter!!! His plans are still on track!!! (Uh huh. Very convincing.) 

Twins come along because of course they do. 

Anyway, he goes off to do his work and excels at it. He’s satisfied from a business standpoint but he feels a little hollow. Slowly becomes acquainted with the culture of Scalding Sands. 

The time for the fireworks festival comes around. Kalim shows the three of them around before they go to the spot reserved for the Asims to watch the firework show.  

The fireworks are nice but it’s not really what he expected. Come to think of it, he doesn’t know what he was expecting at all.  Well, whatever. Given how popular fireworks are with merfolk, creating and advertising some kind of travel package to those first arriving on land is an excellent business opportunity. That’s all that really matters here.

Just as he’s thinking of excusing himself to go work some more, he receives a call from an unknown number. He steps aside to pick it up, it’s Jamil. It’s been a while since Azul has heard anything from him so he’s a bit at a loss. 

Jamil is unfazed though. He says that Kalim isn’t picking up so he’s calling Azul to make sure everything went smoothly. Azul feels oddly irritated by this. 

While they’re talking, he hears fireworks echoing from Jamil’s end of the line. He also hears some music similar to the one he heard earlier while Kalim was showing him and the twins around and  realises he must be nearby. He pinpoints his location somewhere around one of the canals with ships coming all the way from the sea based on some music playing in the background and immediately runs off to find him. Twins stay behind with Kalim. 

Azul can’t pinpoint the exact reason as to why he’s so annoyed, but the idea of Jamil hanging around all day without showing his face really ticks him off. 

(He’s irritated at himself  because he feels he’s been missing Jamil one-sidedly all this time while Jamil seems to be avoiding any chance to meet)

His stamina sucks so he gets to the canal all breathless and pissed. Because some sounds on the phone are becoming more distant, he surmises Jamil is probably on one of the boats.   

He very, very briefly (and reluctantly) considers swimming all the way to the boat to give Jamil a piece of his mind, but Jamil cuts him off and tells him not to move.

J: Not another step. I won’t forgive you if you miss it. 

A: —What? 

J:  Burn this memory into your mind, Azul. 

Fireworks time!!!!!!!!!!  The point of this concept is that Jamil prepared fireworks specifically for Azul from a distance because he couldn’t be there in person due to his current job (which forces him to be at sea).

Anyway the overarching plot for most of my azjm stories is Jamil researching the old maritime routes first taken by the Asim family generations prior and roughly identifying the site of major recorded shipwrecks over the Coral Sea so that he can propose doing an internship in marine archaeology seeking to recover artefacts relevant to the legacy of the Asim family and the history of Scalding Sands from the bottom of the sea

Haha he definitely DOES NOT set this up hoping to get the chance to learn as much as he can about merfolk culture and get to see Azul every now and again during his internship haha no sir he would never! 

………………..and then Azul says he’s doing his internship in scalding sands instead (EL. OH. EL. )

Anyway, it’s dokidoki hours for Azul when the realisation Jamil did this for him sinks in (how do I write sappy stuff, I don't know actually)

J: Oi. What’s up with you? What, are you crying?

A: …Perish the thought. 

J: (SNORT) Next time, getting to see your face in person wouldn’t be so bad. 

A: …Is that a promise? Let’s get that on paper, Jamil. 

J: Don’t push your luck.

A: I’ll make sure to repay the gesture next time we meet. Please look forward to it. 

J:  There’s nothing to repay— I didn’t do anything. 

A: Ever so modest, aren’t you? 

Something something the end