#hot to use slash chords

[guitarguitarworld]

Modern Jazz Fusion Slash Chords

Modern Jazz Fusion Slash Chords

CLICK SUBSCRIBE! Modern Jazz Fusion Chords [Slash Chords] IMPORTANT: Please watch video above for detailed info: Hi Guys, Today we will look at Modern Jazz Fusion Chords. These are mainly based around a Triad over a different bass note commonly called “Slash” chords. Here are the main common slash chords employed in reharmonisation. The fist chord is C/F# and creates a colurful tri-tone…

[ma1dita]

when the curtains close

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.3k

summary: (post-tlt) The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Pollux, Annabeth, Percy, and Mr. D find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: yeah to me this fic sounds and feels like that tiktok of the girl humming to her microwave. split povs: pollux, annabeth, your depictions of the titular battle of the labyrinth at CHB, some blood/gore, death & grief. the usual. you forced me to by lizzy mcalpine. references to cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams if you squint

(posted 5/14/24)

—

The first time Pollux has a panic attack, time seems to stop and the world keeps moving on without him.

He’s reminded of a time when you rambled on about how anxiety takes possession of the senses like a moment frozen in a snapshot meant for you to identify. In the memory, you had your feet kicked up on the dash flipping through a DSM-5 while he and Castor took turns speeding up and down Farm Road (totally normal older sister behavior from you, and when a cop pulled you over, the three of you narrowly escaped a ticket by talking in riddles and godly smoke that smelled like grapes). Pollux still remembers the sound of laughter in the car blending like three different chords to an archaic melody (or squawking crows in the strawberry fields)— the bond between you three laid out before time knew limits and was always meant to be.

It’s still his favorite song. You’re their favorite (and only) sister, they love to joke. These are facts that will never change.

“You two have each other, and well, I’ve got this,” you had said, the Zippo flicking open and closed against your thumb in the blossoming darkness of the car. Pink and purple rays of waning light blanketed the old hatchback as it steadily made its way back towards Half-Blood Hill, comfortable silence shared in the way only siblings can stand to be quiet—when there are no words needed to get a point across. But you’ve always set yourself apart from the pack, not needing anyone like how they need each other.

Not since Luke left, at least. The growing distance between you three since your untimely resignation from camp was proof enough. Pollux’s eyes met Castor’s in the rearview mirror as they both noticed your sad smile. His brother’s voice broke through the silence then, having always been the one blunt enough to say what was on his mind, “You’ve got us too if you let us see you more often.” Your fidgeting stops.

“It’s not you two, it’s just hard to be back here sometimes. I see things for what they used to be instead of how they really are now. Now it’s just… it has to be all business.”

Pollux cracked a smile, “S’what you get for growing up. Soon we’ll just be annoying voices in your head like you are to us.” Shutting your textbook, you turned to look at them from the passenger seat, eyes that match theirs darting between their blond heads, “All of us have to grow up eventually. Except maybe you two— I prefer you in my nightmares like the kids from The Shining. Whenever you get sick of Dad, come see me. Gods know that camp deserves a break from the two of you too.” Your knuckles knocked against both of their heads affectionately as he put the car in park, “My built-in bodyguards, huh? Always looking out for me.”

All words and meaning escape Pollux now as he stands in the greenery of the North Woods with battle gear ill-fitted to his large frame. It’s the first siege he’s ever taken part in, the first time he’s had to use battle strategies outside of Capture the Flag and the first time he’s slashed his way through monsters and demigods with the intent to try and kill or be killed. Sword and Shield could have never prepared any of them for this—as his eyes meet Castor’s and then yours with all of you thinking the same thing, the three of you join the sea of iridescent orange through mind-numbing black moving like a sharp three-pronged sword.

This type of stuff isn’t typical for him, he thinks. He and Castor are used to being comedic relief— being the source of laughs and juice boxes for pesky little campers instead of facing the real world outside the boundaries of the Mist. Perhaps your father babied them to make up for the time he lost with you, but there’s a moment where he wonders how being kept soft will keep him alive in a world as harsh as this one.

Childlike innocence is ripped away from them in the bubble they’ve inhabited until this moment. Home is now a warzone and like lambs set up for slaughter, the twins both turn to look at you as a shuddering gasp leaves your mouth at the carnage in your surroundings, monster blood and fallen friends and enemies at your feet. Breaking away from formation to take a deep breath, he looks at the sky and wonders where your father is, but smoke and soot fill his lungs and he coughs desperately for a breath of fresh air.

Pollux thinks he must have stopped breathing before Castor took his last breath. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but sometimes life was just funny like that.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Just like you told him.

Castor was always the more manic one while Pollux knew how to endure. Children of Dionysus are forced to befriend insanity before it makes an enemy out of them—twisting the ugly into what’s real and creating something beautiful out of the deranged. You’ve shown the boys how you detach from emotion by recognizing the details—separating fact and fiction, a methodical process only describable by the blood that runs through your veins. Pollux doesn’t know where to start—everything happens so fast but it plays out in front of him like someone put the pieces together to a stop-motion animation.

He sees Castor’s sword fall to the ground when he gets slashed on the forearm and sees him get clubbed over the head with a metal weapon he’s only seen bad renditions forged for theater practices and hanging on the walls of the armory. Castor falls first to his knees, and then into the dirt with a thud. He never knew there could be that much blood coming out of a person, much less a mirror image of himself. Pollux sees your face come into his line of vision, deep maroon splatters on your face glittering with hints of ichor and then you’re moving because he can’t. The enemy is coming back for him now, and for a moment he wonders if Castor will be mad if he lets him. He sees you turn in an instant, swinging your sword down on the neck of the aggressor, a teenager not much older than he and his brother are—were. It’s funny how his brain immediately makes the switch to past tense, and how he can’t stop thinking about how he’ll now and forever be older than his twin. Pollux then sees you catch the body of the boy you just killed as life seeps out of him slower than it did for Castor.

It doesn’t make him feel any better, though.

His knees hit the ground next to his twin, touching the sludge of dirt soft like quicksand and moist with what he hopes is not blood, but Pollux is not quite sure of what else there is to hope for. His fist is wrapped around Castor’s shirtsleeve, touching faded orange and sweat as he holds on for dear life. Maybe if he tries hard enough his soul will still be intertwined with his. Your hand touches his shoulder, five fingers reaching out to brush the back of his neck and the feeling of your skin helps him refocus a bit, even if you’re saying something he can’t make out. Then the metal of your Zippo lighter feels cool to the touch within his palm and he knows what he needs to do.

The battle isn’t over, but for the three of you, everything stops here. There is no going forward without your brother. You were never meant to be children of war.

Pollux hears the sound of his heartbeat thundering through his ears, blood rushing through his veins and can’t help but notice the silence amid the chaos. There are no words fit for this—and even if there were, Castor and you were always the more talkative ones. He hears the spark of the purple flame between his fingers, blowing the smoke over him and his brother’s body, and their father’s powers blanket them like how you used to tuck them into bed, warm and safe. This is what your family is—unconventional and unending even in different realms of existence. And then Grover’s scream of panic echoes through the air and everyone hears that. Hysteria ensues as monsters and demigods alike run amok, and Pollux realizes he’s stopped shaking.

In his father’s domain, he will always find comfort.

You stand above him now directing campers calmly with a free hand—a brewing storm crackling underneath your skin that he now understands. Hidden by the illusion of smoke, Pollux’s tired bones rest alongside his brother’s dead ones— together as they always were meant to be.

The three of you together, his little family—that is a fact he hoped would never change.

The smell of grapes envelops him as he leans his forehead against your muddy leg… when did the battle end? It almost masks the scent of death that rips through the air as your hand brushes through his sandy hair. Pollux stinks of sweat and you stifle a laugh as you see him smell his armpit. You three were always the same type of fucked up. He doesn’t look down at Castor laid across his lap but knows he would’ve found it funny too. Ignorance of reality even for a moment serves as a comfort. Purple meets purple as he looks up at you with a smile that doesn’t fit his face anymore and he croaks, “Wonder what dad would say about our first battle…”

Glory was never meant to be this bittersweet—it tastes like blood in his mouth until he wipes it away from his cheek and realizes it’s Castor’s. In a way, it’s his too, everything about him and within him is exactly the same down to the star stuff the fates wove them from.

“I’ll be the one to tell him. You take care of Castor,” you answer, as if there’s anything else he would want to do and then he realizes you’re crying— and he’s seeing all of the pieces put together in front of him in this photograph in his mind.

Pollux blinks slowly.

Suddenly the image he has of you is more defined— there is new meaning to the sadness you could never shake off all these years, and he is too young to lose his greatest love, which makes him realize then that so were you.

How long does this have to go on? he wonders, grabbing onto your hand with an eagerness only comparable to the feeling he got when you and Luke whisked him and Castor away from Florida all those years ago. This punishment of living while half of his soul does not—what is he supposed to do next? This was supposed to be the safe place. There is nowhere left to run. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your shaking blood-soaked hand, a secret within the smoke.

Pollux thinks there will always be a part of him frozen in time now, a memory of this day hung up in his mind like a portrait as he holds Castor’s cold hand in his warm one.

—

Annabeth finds you in the middle of the strawberry fields before the sun sets. She knows you won’t be sleeping tonight, not if you can fight it— not when there’s so much to do. You’ve long grown out of your ripped-up and tie-dyed camp shirts, and the one slung on your frame is newly pressed and starchy from the storage room of the Big House, still stiff against your freshly washed skin. When she’s close enough to touch you, you’ve been scrubbed clean of today.

She doesn’t have to be a daughter of Athena to know that you know that she’s there even if you can’t see her, but for once she feels like she has to hide. For once, Annabeth Chase doesn’t know what to say. How can she explain the feeling of guilt that coils around her brain like barbed wire—how can she even begin to apologize for the thing wearing her brother’s skin, knowing that it killed yours? For once, her hubris is crushed by the sinking feeling of humiliation.

“Was your first quest all you thought it would be, Annie?”

As she takes her navy cap off, silver braided strands around her face wave in the wind as a reminder of what Luke put her through. Though as she looks at you now with your berry-stained fingers plucking at stems one by one instead of using your powers, she thinks that your mind is elsewhere—anywhere but here, where everything is a painful reminder of your five years as a camper.

Five years with Luke.

Mourning him isn’t a new feeling for either of you, even though he comes in and out of your lives like a poltergeist you want to bash across the head, just always out of reach. But he’s a constant, even when he’s not here and he’s what binds you two together as you huddle hidden away from the rest of camp.

“He did this for you.”

It’s not a question, more so a fact out of Annie’s mouth when you finally meet her eyes and sigh, “Luke’s always had a way going about things. The most stubborn man to ever live.” You toss another strawberry into the crate at your feet. No one’s working right now, trying to tend to the injured and the dead. Everyone’s doing their best to chase away the nightmares that are bound to come, and she knows you’ll be making rounds with her on the night shift to ease everyone’s anxieties. But there’s a thought so strong it makes her head hurt, bursting at the seams until she can’t stop with her last-ditch effort to fix her found family.

“Maybe if we find him, we can save—”

“He’s been out of time for a while now, Annabeth. We both knew that,” you say, voice firm and unwavering. You’ve never sounded so monotone before, and it hits her as her mouth falls agape, “You’re giving up on him? Why… why would you give up on him?” Anger courses through her veins like fire and she’s mad that she’s at the center of this prophecy, of Hermes’s anger for his doomed son who will love you until the ends of the earth.

And what of her?

What of the hope she has in happy endings, how is it that you’re so damn calm? Annabeth kicks at the crate, strawberries rolling out in different directions and your jaw tightens as you let her be petulant, let her scream and yell until her inner child can catch up with the reality of the world around you.

“How could you?”

Your name echoes as she repeats it, grabbing at your shoulders and she’s as desperate as the truth that shakes her when you cup her face in your hands and wipe her tears.

“You’ve carried the weight of the world Annabeth– you know what it feels like to let it go. It’s time to let him go. There’s nothing I can do or say to fix this.”

Then it hits her that you knew of his fate and yet this was still the outcome. There was nothing else to do but watch him be puppeteered by a Titan and have to fight evil while it wears his face.

“He came to you after he saw me, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you love him anymore?”

Because it wouldn’t have changed a thing, your eyes say. Instead, you grimace as you say, “Wouldn’t that be funny if it were true?” You lean down and pick up the fallen berries, some bruised and covered in dirt, and then you look at her again with teary eyes.

“Some prophecy huh? To lose a love to worse than death. What could we have done besides love him until the end?”

“He’s still in there. I know you know that too. Don’t talk about him like he’s not,” Annabeth insists, and a sad smile settles upon your face. It’s as gentle as the kiss of the breeze on your cheeks.

“I lost a brother today, Annie.”

“Me too.”

—

The funny thing about planning funerals is that with all the fuss it takes to organize one, you still find extra time on your hands. Barely getting any sleep and dragging yourself out of your dad’s bed, Pollux snores loudly next to you after hours of working on Castor’s shroud. Sleep wasn’t expected for either of you, but being unconscious was the only way of giving your brains a reprieve. The both of you have been busy doubling down on the preparations, even if it means Mr. D won’t be back in time while he’s out rallying gods for war.

The faster Castor’s earthly body is reconnected with his soul, the easier his trip will be into the Underworld, Nico says, and it’s funny how comforting the little emo pipsqueak can be when it comes to matters of death.

Perhaps this is the solace you bring to others with things you’re able to control—keeping camp afloat is something you were always good at, and helping every traumatized child that comes up to you for a juice box or a lullaby eases the guilt that follows you. Walking around Camp Half-Blood for more than a weekend made you feel like a judge, jury, and executioner. Though most of the campers from almost five years ago have either aged out, defected, or died—the ones that remain still look at you like you’re trouble.

Perhaps you always will be.

You even found yourself with the time to pray to Hermes last night for your brother’s safe passage into the afterlife, though if he’s angry at Annabeth, he must hate you for letting Luke go. Dinner didn’t seem appetizing enough anyway, so your whole plate was tossed into the hearth. You hope he likes chicken and rice.

But if a god can’t fight fate, what did he expect you to do?

The Iris Message to your dad last night was difficult, to say the least. Pollux’s hands shook as he continued to paint grape vines onto the silk cloth and the both of you didn’t say anything when your father started to cry. He out of all of the gods knows what it’s like to be tested to the limits—to endure pain and it’s a gift you and your brother are grateful for in times like these. Watching the god display the human emotion that either of you couldn’t as freely made it more real though.

There was also the interesting predicament of Chris Rodriguez being locked up in the basement of the Big House. Replacing screaming fits with serenity was almost second nature, and your gentle hands were what got Clarisse to truly respect you again for the first time in years. You could hear her sneak downstairs and talk to him while he slept (and the look in her eyes when you’d greet her with a cup of coffee made it known to you that she finally understands what it means to love someone who’s lost—two demigod daughters filled with a lot of rage and hurt were more alike than they think).

So the morning of your little brother’s funeral, you found yourself on the shoreline of Canoe Lake, setting your Redbull against the post of the dock and looking out onto the water.

You needed to do something with your hands. In the past few days, if your fingers were not occupied by pen and paper, a guitar, supply crates, or anything else that was helpful to others and all the more distracting for you, it’s been so easy to pick at any little thing. Perhaps it was your subconscious trying to reflect the damage on the inside, but today, your nail polish was chipped beyond belief. A small price to pay to not lose it without a signature boyish smile to ease your worries and amber eyes that could help you escape from the routine.

Running camp was always easier back then with your runaway boy and his scarred cheek.

How pathetic.

Crouched over in the sand, you plucked stones and filled your pockets with them. They knocked against each other — weighing your pockets down as you walked closer to the dock. Swinging your feet off the side and chucking them into the water, you could barely achieve a ripple.

It’s so quiet that you end up wondering if the rocks in your pockets would weigh you down to the bottom of the lake. It must be nice down there, to exist away from everything.

Bubbles surface slowly in front of you, then Percy’s head bobs in the water as he squints at you through sunlight.

“You chucked a rock at my head!”

A smile tugs at your lips, almost indiscernible but definitely there, “I was trying to skip them. Didn’t know you were doing water tricks in there, kid.” His grin gleams like freshwater pearls, pulling himself up onto the dock as his hand clasps yours. Shaking his sopping hair, Percy’s gangly frame sits next to yours like a wet bag of sand—all wrinkly and misshapen and sprinkling you with lakewater.

“Maybe next time don’t pick rocks the size of your fist. How many have you got in there? Your aim is scarily accurate,” he laughs and you huff and shake your head when his hand sticks into your pocket and takes out a few smooth ones to roll around in his hand. You mirror him, watching him skip a few stones into the water that reach a good distance before sinking into the depths of the lake.

There’s something sad about feeling comfortable to trauma dump on the teenage son of Poseidon, but with the way he grabs your arm at your third unsuccessful toss of a rock, you can’t do anything else but sigh.

“Why didn’t any of you call me, Percy?”

He was waiting for this question—it’s been banging around in his head since the beginning of Annabeth’s quest, and perhaps her talk with you yesterday didn’t go as expected so once again he’s left with the difficult part.

Things happen to turn out pretty difficult for him a lot, he's noticed.

Many things could have been made easier in the past few weeks: Ariadne being your stepmother and her blessing to you would’ve made the Labyrinth easier to navigate, and having another demigod to fight alongside him instead of a mortal girl would’ve been a plus too. But he looks at you with ocean eyes and a smaller smile that reminds you of how he looked at you when you dropped him off in Montauk the summer you met him and quit your head counselor job.

“You’ve already made a lot of difficult decisions. We weren’t sure if…”

The rotten wood beneath you creaks under your shifting weight as you turn to him, tucking your legs underneath your bottom.

“Didn’t think I could handle it?”

He shakes his head, “The opposite, actually. Annabeth has this notion that you’re the only one that can save him. You know, back on my first quest I met Luke’s dad and he told me something…”

You swallow instead of answering. There’s no way Percy is giving you Hermes’s advice right now. Somehow this feels like karmic retribution after years of spiting that asshole, and what he tells you next is more of a sign that it must be true.

“He said, ‘Do you know what that feels like? To be so close to someone you love knowing neither of you has any choice but to keep hurting each other?’ I didn’t get it then, but I do now.”

“With Luke and his mom?” you ask, picking at the remaining slivers of varnish on your thumbnail.

“With you and Luke. I didn’t call you, because… why would I want to see you hurt after everything?” Percy says this like it’s something he would do for everyone.

Perhaps it is, but the knot that forms in your throat feels as heavy as the boulder you almost sunk into his skull. He’s tall enough to lean your head against now, and you don’t mind the water spots that will form along the side of your funeral outfit. The shape of him it leaves will remind you of the little brother you gained through so much loss.

“Plus he has a new girlfriend. Absolute horse of a girl,” he jokes. It slips over your head but you still giggle, “I could’ve taken her.”

“I know, that was Grover’s worry. You’re prettier anyway…” Percy pauses, and then clears his throat, “You’ve always taken care of this place, y’know? Even after….I just think someone ought to take care of you.”

Your shoulder bumps against his as you finally skip a rock. It only bounces across the water twice and you think Percy might have had something to do with it, but you’re not bothered by the help this time around.

—

You wake up in the dark of night to see your dad looming in the doorway to his office. With drool and a post-it stuck to your cheek, he comes over to ruffle your hair in amicable silence.

“Hard at work or hardly working?” he chuckles, leaning over your shoulder to scan over the paperwork sorted into piles for him to sign from his absence.

“Hm. You wish,” you scoff, leaning against your arm as you look at him. He’s not in his usual eyesore of attire, wearing a clean-pressed suit with his hair slightly slicked back.

“You look good. The meeting went okay?”

“Grover will be fine. The Council of Cloven Elders? Not so much. Neither are the gods ready to take sides. Putting out little fires everywhere as we speak.”

The wheels of the office chair roll as you swing your feet, and if you both listen closely enough you can hear Pollux snoring upstairs. Chiron loved the earplugs you gave him.

Your father’s face smooths out a bit at the sight of you and the sound of his son’s breathing upstairs and he asks, “Are you? Good?”

A shrug slides off your shoulders, “How does one be good in a world like this one?”

A startling scream echoes off the walls of the Big House, rattling the floorboards from below as your father grimaces.

The work is never done for you two.

“Don’t look at me like that. It was worse when he first came here.”

“Don’t doubt it,” he mumbles, brushing lint off your shirt before he notices you’re donning neon orange. “Didn’t do laundry, princess?”

“Pollux and I haven’t gone back to our cabin since... I can wake him up if you—”

Mr. D shakes his head and goes to toss his body onto the couch against the window, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Dad? Do you think Chris is a bad person?”

A beat passes and you think he may have fallen asleep, but then his voice sounds like gravel scraping up his throat.

“I don’t think anyone can be bad, kid. I think it is more often that people get lost. What Rodriguez needs is someone to take hold of him gently, and hand his life back to him—you…Clarisse… that’s what we’re giving him.”

Now you’re silent, staring at the dust on his name placard at the edge of the desk.

“Do you think otherwise?”

He calls your name again, and you look up like you’re about to lie to him but don’t have the energy to.

“Princess, do you think you’re a bad person?”

He stands up and walks around to your side of the desk, sitting on the edge so you have to look at him.

“I killed someone. During the battle. Didn’t even think twice about it, slashed his neck as soon as Castor went down and…” you sniff. “I kill monsters, Dad, not children. How does that make me any different?”

The last time blood was on your hands like this it was Luke’s in the Garden of Hesperides. All these years later you ended up being right— the only person you vowed to get bloody for is Luke Castellan, and now in a twisted turn of fate, you’ve bloodied your hands because of him.

“Because you did it for your brother. There are no other explanations needed.”

He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the drop in your shoulders, but your dad also sees the strength in your bones that spans generations and he knows you and Pollux are strong because you are both his.

“Humans believe in life everlasting—glory, as some call it, but they’re too focused on achieving it on earth instead of enjoying what life has to offer,” he scoffs, “Everyone has the guts to die, but no one has the guts to truly live. How sad.”

“His name was Rowan. Son of Hecate. I taught him how to whistle the summer I left. This is all my fault, Dad,” you say shakily as he comes near and pulls you into his side. He shushes you but you relent.

“Luke’s killing all these people to fulfill a promise he made for me. I’m just fucking disgusted with myself for being the cause of it all. What good life can I deserve when wherever I go I leave a trail of blood?”

Love and addiction must be so alike; to know that to be sober you can’t indulge in the vice ever again—not only does it hurt you, but others around you. But through the years you’ve always kept the taste of his name in your mouth, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, and the knowledge of why he’s destroying the world so he can make you a better one. Insanity stems from fighting for so long that you embrace the pain; feeling something so intensely that when it consumes you you’re able to walk out the other side and wear it as armor.

Not everyone is hardwired to persevere.

There are moments like a night like these where it would be easy to give up. Instead, you pour two glasses of whiskey you’ve conjured and hand one to your dad. You both sip on your drinks slowly, embracing the crawling feeling of the burn.

“Liquor is one way out and death is another,” your dad sighs blissfully. He almost looks rejuvenated by the alcohol he knows he’ll hear about from Zeus later, but perhaps the death of his son is a good enough pardon.

“For some of us, we don’t have to think about the answer.”

Mr. D grabs a pen off the desk and starts signing papers to do something with his hands, and then you speak again, “I think I’d rather die for people I love,” and your dad’s attention whips to your blank face staring at the moon outside the window. “Instead of killing for them. I’ve never been a good soldier, Dad.”

Mr. D looks at you thoughtfully and wonders where all the time has gone that you sit there in front of him with more knowledge than him at your mortal age before saying, “You’re my daughter. You’re a fighter. Death is for chumps anyway.”

He lifts you by the arm to try to usher you up the stairs but you stay in his office chair swatting his hands away.

“Got work to do, you and I. Not getting rid of me until it’s done.”

“When are you going home?” he asks, pulling up a chair next to yours.

“I am home.”

You don’t look up from the papers you were filing, stubbornness leaking through your voice.

“If there is a war coming, I want to be home as much as I can. I’m finishing my last semester and I’ll be here before and after classes. You can’t stop me, dad.”

And he knows that too.

There is no such thing as leaving Camp Half-Blood for you.

Never for too long. Your love for it is scattered everywhere campers can see.

—

In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness. - Tennessee Williams

[deityoftherain]

chord crush - Scwhip Band AU Fanfic

Rating: Teen

Relationship: M/M, Gen

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 7,578

Summary: Being a musician himself, Fwhip often found himself admiring another's music, even if their style wasn't what he normally went for. When scrolling through their socials after practice, they stumbled upon an influencer who managed to peak their interest the moment he opened his mouth to sing for the camera. Fwhip had expected his infatuation to stop there, but, as luck would have it, that very influencer decided to visit Empires Nightclub during one of the nights WRA was working a gig there...

Written for @djpurple3, my artist, through @mcytblraufest!!!

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Fwhip ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

“Good practice, everyone!” Joey clapped his hands together quickly. “Gem, you were a bit pitchy, and there was some stumbling on timing from a few of you, but only a trained ear like mine would pick that up.” “...Thanks Joey,” Fwhip replied flatly, trying to keep the annoyance out of their tone. Joey could be frustrating to deal with, especially when almost every praise was paired with criticism, but Joey was a good employer and a pretty decent friend deep down. Fwhip tried not to let it bother him too much.

Wither Rose Alliance (WRA for branding purposes) was currently practicing at Empires Nightclub, preparing for the gig they had there the next day. Though they often practiced in Pearl’s garage, when Joey offered them the venue, they’d take it. Getting on the stage they would be performing at allowed them to get a feel of the room and also see for themselves how their new songs bounced off the walls.

Joey waved his hand dismissively. “Get some water in you and start wrapping up. I need you out within the hour so we can start opening. Cod Alliance is supposed to be here soon and I don’t need you all distracting each other.”

Cod Alliance was another rock band that played here regularly. They were more of a punk band, whereas WRA had more folk influences in their music, especially considering they had a violinist. The two bands have known each other for quite awhile, which was unsurprising considering the town they lived in wasn’t that huge and their music styles had some similarities.

“Distract each other?” Sausage gasped dramatically, even as Joey turned away to start setting up. “Why, I would never!”

“Uh-huh, sure you wouldn’t.” Gem snorted with a roll of her eyes. “Last time you and Jimmy saw each other, you got into an argument and ended up making out.”

“It’s not my fault you walked in on us!” Sausage exclaimed with a playful smirk. “You’re just jealous you’re not the one to kiss him. You know, he does this really hot thing with his tongue–”

“Shut up!” Gem pressed her palms against her ears, turning away from him. “Nope! I don’t need to hear this!”

“But Gemmm!” Sausage draped an arm over Gem’s shoulders, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. 

Jimmy and Sausage have a very messy and complicated dating history that honestly gave Fwhip a headache to think about. No matter how many times they fought, Sausage always managed to win back Jimmy, even if it was only for a night. Fwhip was aware that Jimmy’s other partners, Katherine, Joel, and Pix, disapproved, but they also couldn’t stop her anymore than the WRA could stop Sausage. Technically, what they were doing didn’t hurt anybody. It just made it extremely awkward for Gem and Pearl to try and foster a relationship beyond friendship with Katherine and Lizzie respectively.

WRA didn’t have any in-band dating going on– at least, not now, but anything could happen in the future– much unlike Cod Alliance. They were in a big string of polyamorous relationships, only further complicated by Fwhip’s bandmates crushing on some of them as well. Fwhip had to admit that he and Jimmy also had a bit of a thing going on at one point, but that had since ended.

Fwhip wasn’t necessarily against being in a polyamorous or open relationship, but he did tend to learn more towards monogamy himself. Part of it was probably due to their grayromantism, making it so they didn’t experience romantic attraction for others very frequently. When it did hit them, though, it usually came at them like a freight train, hard and fast. They still had a hard time identifying it when it came, unfortunately.

Sausage, Gem, and Pearl (they dragged her in at some point) continued to bicker, as they often did, while they put away their instruments. Fwhip shook his head fondly, but he didn’t engage. He would normally love to join in, but he wasn’t feeling up to it at the moment. He finished packing up his guitar before them, so he put in his wireless earbuds and pulled out his phone to scroll through his socials. 

Fwhip followed a lot of music related tags, especially ones specific to their area. When browsing through a series of photos and videos, he must have lingered too long on one because one of the videos started to automatically play. The video opened with a melancholic solo guitar, a much more moody style of country music than Fwhip typically listened to, but he found himself drawn in. The allure only increased when the artist began to sing, his voice enchantingly beautiful.

Intrigued, Fwhip clicked open his profile. Their jaw dropped at the follower count for just a second, before they quickly recovered, playing it cool before anyone could ask what he was looking at. He had several thousand more followers than WRA did! Looking a bit deeper, that was no surprise. The account was filled with aesthetic pictures and videos, usually including music and some sort of pretty imagery. WRA’s was more to share information about their gigs than anything else.

The profile belonged to someone named Scott Smajor. Fwhip left the app to search the name on Mezalea Music, the current top music streaming app. Unsurprisingly at this point in his search, Scott was there with a fairly impressive following for an independent artist. Fwhip pressed the shuffle button and they were instantly greeted by Scott’s pretty singing voice. His voice seemed to scratch Fwhip’s brain in all the right places, making them want to melt into it.

They switched back to their social app to put a face to the name and voice. It wasn’t hard to find for there were several recurring photos of who Fwhip assumed was all Scott. The music paused when the video started, showing the singer strumming on an acoustic guitar covered with custom decals. When the singer opened his mouth, Fwhip could instantly tell it was him.

Scott was as stunning as his voice would suggest. He had fair skin that was partly flushed red from exposure to the sun-- almost like he had done it on purpose with blush. His eyes were an icy blue, though his features were soft and sad, not cold. Fwhip wasn’t sure how, but he pulled it off. Scott’s dyed cyan blue hair was wavy and reached down to his shoulders. Fwhip could get lost staring at him forever.

The end of one of Gem’s arm crutches poked Fwhip’s side, startling them out of their trance. They turned off their phone and removed one of their earbuds, looking up at their sister, though music still played in the other ear. “Yes?”

“We’re ready to leave.” Gem jutted her head in Sausage and Pearl’s direction, who were chatting by the door. “I don’t know about you, but I would like to get home and off my feet. You can get distracted by your phone in the car.”

Fwhip opened his mouth to respond when Joey burst through the backstage door. 

“Don’t worry,” Fwhip told him, “we were just leaving.” “You’re running slow,” Joey huffed briefly with a shake of his head, “but no matter! Your tardiness benefits me this time. I wanted to be the first to inform you of the competition I’m putting on."

“Competition?” Gem parroted, furrowing her eyebrows. “What competition?”

“A coin flipping competition, duh,” Joey responded before rolling his eyes. “No, dumbass, a music competition. I’m a music gay talking to other musical queers. What else would it be? It’s in three months, but sign-ups are open now. Just got confirmation that we’re good to go, which is why I’m telling you all now.”

“Is there a prize?” Pearl inquired. Pearl had always enjoyed some friendly competition… maybe a little too much. Gem ended up keeping a running tally of stupid bets the band still had active on her phone, twelve and counting, and most of them were Pearl’s fault.

“What kind of competition would it be without a prize?” Joey puffed out his chest, looking extremely pleased with himself. “An old friend of mine is looking for some new talent for his record label, so I told him I have tabs on multiple other bands in the area, especially the ones working at my club. One thing led to another and we’re hosting a competition together. We will have a panel of judges, ticket sales, just everything! It will be absolutely gorgeous and bring in more business for me. It’s a win-win! So, you’ll sign up, yeah?” The four of them glanced between each other, looking for signs of protest, before Sausage spoke up. “Oh, yes, we would love to.”

“Okay, wonderful!” Joey grinned ear to ear. “The sign up form is on Empires’ socials, which I’m sure all of you follow. I expect to see your submission soon or I will have to talk to you again after your shift tomorrow!” “We’ll get right on that,” Fwhip promised. He took one look at Gem and realized by the way she was shuffling on her arm crutches that her fatigue levels were at their limit. It was clear to him that they needed to get a move on. She'd said it was a good day this morning, but rehearsing always took it out of her, and Fwhip could read that off her face easily– especially considering they still lived together. She couldn't hide it from him even if she tried. 

“Perfect, now shoo!” Joey flicked his hands out towards them twice. “I’m trying to run a bar here.”

Not wanting to get on his bad side, they did as they were told, scurrying out to Sausage’s car. The four of them chatted about the competition the entire car ride to Fwhip and Gem’s apartment, and Fwhip participated, but he still had Scott Smajor’s music playing in his ear.

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Scott ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Yelling was, unfortunately, something Scott Smajor was quite familiar with. For as long as he could remember, it had been part of his life. He'd always tried to avoid raised voices as best he could, hoping he'd stay under their radar and that they would forget about him just enough to help him stay out of needing the therapy he likely still should sign up for. His “golden child” avoidance strategy only semi-worked because Xornoth, his older brother, took most of the heat.

Xornoth protected him from a lot. Scott hadn’t always realized it, especially back when their father, Exor, and their uncle, Aeor, got into his head. They each wanted to mold Scott and Xornoth into their own image, absolutely stuck in their own ways. They'd hate to be compared, but they both had a god complex a mile wide and their egos were far too easy to inflate. It was... not easy to live with. 

Scott could recall several times (usually when the yelling far escalated beyond simply yelling) where Xornoth would promise that, once he was old enough, he would get them out of there. The yelling in Scott’s life had reduced significantly when Xornoth turned eighteen. He kept true to his promise, taking Scott with him when he left the small farm they lived at for most of their childhoods. They couldn’t afford to move very far (they moved closer to town than the more rural-esque area they resided in their youth) so “home sweet home” wasn’t too far away, but Exor and Aeor tended to stay out of their lives… for the most part, anyway.

“How many times do I need to tell you ‘no’, old man?” Xornoth snapped, his face contorting with fury. He tugged at his long, dyed purple hair, trying to ground himself. Scott noticed a few strands snapped by the action, but he didn’t say anything. He’d had the habit for years; Scott knew it would be hard to shake. “You may have been able to drag me into that shit when I still lived with you, but I’m not facing jail time because you need someone to take the fall.”

Scott quietly picked out a little musical line on his guitar, seeing if he liked how it sounded, before jotting it down in his songwriting notebook. Phrases and half finished phrases hummed from his lips as he thought out loud to himself. It was all a part of his process. Xornoth’s conversation with Exor was merely background noise; Scott was used to finding focus in their chaos.

“‘I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.’ Oh, you have other guys for that?” Xornoth mocked before scoffing. “Like I believe that, asshole. You know I’ve already been in juvie, I can’t risk– Exor, I swear I will– What kind of father gets their eleven year old to deal drugs? Or brings their thirteen year old along to a fucking armed robbery for ‘experience’? Go bother someone else and stop calling me. I’m tired of blocking your numbers and ignoring your calls.”

Xornoth hung up the phone and tossed it down on the couch. It bounced off of the cushions and landed on the floor, though it didn’t appear damaged in any way. He groaned loudly, practically stomping over to the alcohol cabinet and swinging the door open. Xornoth considered his options for a moment before pulling out some whiskey. He turned toward Scott and held up the bottle. “Do you want any?” “Nope, go for it.” Scott wasn’t in the mood for alcohol, especially not whiskey. His preferred choice of drink was vodka with some sort of fruity mixer in it. Maybe some sort of cocktail, if he was in the mood.

“More for me,” Xornoth murmured, twisting off the cap most of the way before flicking it off. He brought the bottle’s rim up to his lips and shot some back with a sort of gurgling noise Scott recognized as Xornoth’s response to the cheap whiskey’s burning sensation.

“What did he want this time?” Scott inquired, passively strumming a few more chords. Neither Scott nor Xornoth referred to their father as ‘dad’ for he didn’t deserve that title. Exor was strictly referred to with he/him pronouns or by his first name. Well, they occasionally threw in she/her pronouns if they caught him being transphobic. That method managed to kick that “nasty habit” out of him real quick.

“Someone to do his dirty work.” Xornoth plopped down heavily on one of the arm chairs. He took another swig of the whiskey before setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Tempted to block his new number too, but I don't want him coming over here again. I already had to change the locks this year and I don’t want to do it again.”

Nothing Scott could say would be new information, so he let silence fall between them besides the music coming from his guitar and the sound of pencil against paper.

“I like that tune so far,” Xornoth complimented after a moment, noticeably calmer than before. Either the whiskey had kicked in already or their time sitting peacefully allowed him to blow off enough steam. “Sounds good.” The ends of Scott’s lips twitched up at the praise, a warmth sparking in his chest. He knew his style of music wasn’t exactly Xornoth’s typical taste, so it felt extra pleasant to know Xornoth supported him and his dream of pursuing music. He always had, even when Scott was first starting out. “Thank you. One of the last songs I released got fairly popular, so I want to capitalize on its success and try to get something else out as well. I’ve been trying to fine tune some half-finished songs I’ve been messing around with for a while.”

Xornoth straightened up, his eyes brightening as Scott reminded him of something. He quickly got up to grab something before returning to hand Scott a flier. “There was a guy handing these out when I went to Empires Nightclub the other day.” “I thought you didn’t like that place?” Scott raised an eyebrow, partly amused as he took the flier from Xornoth. “Something about the nightclub’s owner coming on too strong? Or have you changed your mind?”

“Joey’s not that bad. I was just pissed off about something else that night and wasn’t in the mood.” Xornoth scrunched his nose. “I may have over exaggerated, but it’s whatever. Either way, nothing has happened or will ever happen between Joey and I, so don’t even think about it. They just have good drinks for a half decent price, and the music’s pretty alright as well.”

Scott turned his attention toward the flier. It was promoting a band competition with the prize being a record label. Scott would have to look into the fine print, of course, but the initial impression was fairly positive. They seemed to be looking for bands, which didn’t include Scott for he ran solo. Still, checking it out was an excuse to get himself to leave the apartment. 

“I’ll check it out,” Scott promised, setting the flier in his guitar case for safekeeping. “Thank you.” “No problem.” Xornoth appeared pleased with himself as he turned to grab the whiskey he had set aside before leaving the living room. He headed toward his bedroom, leaving Scott alone to work on his music in peace.

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Fwhip ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Fwhip knew they would never get over what it's like to play for a crowd. There was a special type of adrenaline that would pump through their veins that they couldn’t get quite the same doing anything else. Messing around with Gem, Pearl, and Sausage during practice was one thing, but these live gigs were something else entirely.

They were booked for three hours that night: three sets and got a ten minute break in between each. Reaching their first break, Fwhip wiped the sweat from their brow before chugging down a cold bottle of water Joey provided.

His eyes wandered over the crowd, not really paying attention to anything in particular until he caught a flash of cyan sitting in the corner. Fwhip squinted, attempting to focus on the figure and confirm his suspicion.

“Who are you looking at?” Gem asked, hitting the side of her arm crutches against his leg like she often did. Those things helped her walk, yes, but she enjoyed using them as assault weapons. Fwhip must have grown calves of steel at this point because it barely hurt anymore.

“I think the guy sitting over there is Scott Smajor.” Fwhip nodded in Scott’s direction– or they were fairly sure it was Scott, anyway. He had the same blue hair and fair skin. They tried to discern other details, but he was too far away and the lighting didn’t do them any favors. 

“That musician guy you’ve been obsessed with?” Gem gave him a knowing smirk before nudging his shoulder. “You should go talk to him.” “What? No!” Fwhip shook his head, waving his hands frantically in front of him. Scott looked busy writing down something in his notebook. Besides, they didn’t have too long before they had to start the next set.

“If you don’t go talk to him, I will,” Gem threatened with a gleam of mischief in her green eyes, and Fwhip couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. “I will tell him all about how you’ve developed a little celebrity crush on him–” “I have not!” Fwhip denied, wrinkling their nose. They stared at each other for a long moment before Fwhip groaned. He took another sip of water before pushing himself to his feet. “Fine, I’ll go talk to him. Just, don’t do that.” “Yay!” Gem cheered as Fwhip weaved his way through the crowd to get to Scott, very pleased with herself for her insignificant triumph.

Fwhip chose to ignore her, adjusting his signature red scarf. He paused for a moment, sniffing the scarf to make sure he didn’t smell too bad. The closer they got to the cyan haired man, the more they were sure it was him.

Before he had a chance to speak and introduce himself, Scott glanced up and noticed him. He gave them a polite smile before speaking in the very accent Fwhip had grown used to hearing from the speakers of their phone. “Hey, you’re Fwhip, right?” Fwhip blinked at him in surprise. “Yeah, I am. How did you know?” “I looked up who was going to be performing tonight before showing up,” Scott explained nonchalantly. “I’m impressed by your fingerpicking technique. Some of those songs moved very quickly, yet your fingers hit every note perfectly. I don’t think I saw or heard you stumble even once. You know, I wonder if that skill transfers to anything else.” Fwhip was caught off guard by the flirting tacked on at the end. He coughed to try and cover up his shock enough to respond. He didn’t wish to become a mess, at least not that quickly. “Thanks, I’ve had a lot of practice with it so I’m glad it’s paying off. That’s some high praise, especially coming from another guitarist.”

Now it was Scott’s turn to blink in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Your fingertips are calloused, so I would assume you play some sort of string instrument,” Fwhip explained, “but I also found your music recently. I love finding indie artists, so when you stumbled upon my feed, I had to check you out. Your style isn’t what I typically go for, but I'm always open to expanding my horizons.” “Well, I appreciate it.” Scott swirled his drink as a small, pleased smile grew on his face. “Fortunately for you and your band, I enjoy a diverse amount of music, including folklore rock. I don’t typically come out to these sorts of things, though, but I told my brother I would check it out. He gave me a flier about the competition Empires Nightclub is hosting, which I assume you know about already.”

“Yeah, we’re going to take a shot at it.” Fwhip nodded in the direction of the stage. “The possibility of a record deal is too big to pass up.”

“That’s why my brother told me about it.” Scott sipped his drink, mildly dyeing his lips red from the fruity drink. Fwhip wondered (though he wouldn’t admit it) what it would taste like to kiss him, the phantom taste of sweet cherries, strawberries, and raspberries on his tongue. “I don’t think I will compete though. I’m doing fairly well on my own without a company backing me up.”

“Has no one offered you one yet?” Considering Scott’s follower count and musical talent, Fwhip was sure producers would have approached him. In this modern age, music labels loved snatching up people who already had a devoted online audience to build off of.

“They have, but I haven’t found one that didn’t want to trap me into an awful contract.” Scott shrugged, unconcerned. “I read the fineprint for this one, and the deal is actually a good one, so I’m rooting for you and the rest of the WRA. I thought about going for it, but they seem to be looking more for bands, not solo musicians.”

“Nah, c’mon! You could and should totally compete. You would have a good shot at winning!” Fwhip was confident in that, but he wasn’t going to push someone who he was still getting to know too hard. “If you’re adamant about that, you could try just playing here. It’s a good, regular gig to land; we play here often. Have you talked to Joey yet? The club owner?”

Scott hummed softly, considering the prospect as he surveyed the crowd, before giving his attention back to Fwhip. “I haven’t, but I wouldn’t be opposed. I’ve heard things.”

“I’ll introduce you,” Fwhip promised. “Or, I’ll at least tell Joey ‘bout you. If you give me your number, I can share it with Joey.”

“Smooth.” Even Scott’s laugh was musical and practically addicting to hear. Fwhip grinned, proud that he made Scott laugh. He wished to do it again several times over. “I don’t normally hand out my number, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

“You’re just trying to butter me up so I put in an extra special word in with Joey.” Fwhip teased as he pulled out his phone.

“Is it working?” Scott fluttered his eyelashes, a playful smirk on his lips.

Scott’s icy blue eyes sparkled warmly at their back and forth– like moonlight through stained glass– and Fwhip wanted nothing more than to stare into them. His previous enchantment by the man standing in front of him didn’t feel as silly now that they were face to face.

“Maybe.” Fwhip passed his phone over to Scott, already open to the correct screen. As Scott typed in his information, Fwhip glanced back toward the stage. He knew he was pushing it on time already, but he did want to keep talking to Scott.

They made eye contact with Pearl, who tapped her finger against her wrist before mouthing “hurry up!”

They wrinkled their nose briefly before turning back to Scott, who promptly gave their phone back. “Are you planning to stick around?” Scott clicked his tongue in consideration, eyes shifting from Fwhip to the stage and back again. “I’ll be here when you finish your next set.”

“Awesome! See you then.” Fwhip grinned widely, suddenly feeling more energized than before. He headed back towards the stage, prepared to pour his heart and soul into his music as he often does, but even more excited to go back to talk to a certain blue haired guy.

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Scott ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Scott hadn’t expected to stay at Empires too long that night, but he did, hours past what he had anticipated. He allowed himself to fall under the Wither Rose Alliance’s trance, making him unable to focus on his own lyrical writing. Scott didn’t find himself minding, contently under their spell. Besides, if he were to give an excuse, he would claim that tucking his notebook away allowed him to take note of how they played to properly compliment Fwhip in even more detail.

After WRA’s last set, Scott and Fwhip managed to chat a bit more before the violinist (he soon deduced her name was Pearl) dragged Fwhip off to go home. She shot a few teasing jabs at Fwhip, which amused Scott, but he had also been subject to a few looks himself.

Needless to say, Scott headed back to his and Xornoth’s apartment with a bigger smile than he could remember wearing in a long time. Xornoth even commented on it, gloating a bit about being right about Scott enjoying himself. Scott couldn’t even deny it. It’d only been a few weeks since they met, but Scott felt like he had known Fwhip for years. It was a strange sensation, yes, but it wasn’t unwelcomed.

“You’ve been smiling at your phone a lot.” Xornoth clicked his tongue, reminding Scott of his presence. “Tell me, have you developed a little crush on that red-headed guitarist?”

Scott scrunched his nose, glancing back at Xornoth as he opened the tab on his soda can. “How do you even know that’s who I’m texting? I could be texting literally anyone else.”

“Because I know you, little brother.” Xornoth came up behind Scott and ruffled his hair with his free hand. “You’re too much of a workaholic to text people back. At least, you were until you met them-”

Scott swatted their hand away before combing their fingers through the blue locks to try and fix the damage inflicted on it. “He’s just a friend and a fellow guitarist. Plus, he got me a well-paying gig at the nightclub you liked so much.”

“Yeah, and I’m the protagonist of a preteen, slow burn, baby’s first monsterfucker fantasty romance.” Xornoth fake-gagged, plopping down on the couch nearby. “But, sure, don’t tell me. Just make sure to use protection.”

Scott tried his best to bite back his blush as he tossed a throw pillow at Xornoth. A surge of pride washed over him when the pillow hit Xornoth exactly where he had aimed for. Before Xornoth could protest more than a “Hey!”, Scott fled to his room, out of Xornoth’s pillow projectile range, muffling his giggles all the while. 

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Fwhip ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Fwhip wasn’t a songwriter and they were okay with that. It wasn’t their passion nor their strength, and that was fine. That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy messing around with chords and lyrics to try and create a song from time to time, even if it wouldn’t be something he could perform with his band.

They often stayed away from such a thing, but Scott’s encouragements were so genuine and inspiring (probably because they came from Scott Smajor, someone known for his sound and meaningful lyrics) that Fwhip couldn’t imagine abandoning any project they mentioned to Scott.

“It just isn’t flowing and I don’t get it,” Fwhip complained loudly. He was laying on his bed with his phone by his head and Scott on speaker. “It’s meant to be a duet, but the two parts aren’t complimenting each other like I intended. I’m honestly sick of hearing my own voice recording.”

“You? Sick of your own voice? I never would have guessed,” Scott teased lightheartedly with a laugh. Fwhip simply huffed in response, but he wasn’t upset at Scott’s words. “You’re at home, right? How about you go grab your guitar and we can fiddle around with it.”

Fwhip hesitated for a brief moment before propping himself up to go retrieve his instrument. “You’re lucky Gem is out on a date right now. I never would play something so rough around her. She would never let me hear the end of it!”

It was an over exaggeration, sure, but it wasn’t that unlikely. Poking fun at one another was just a thing they did. Gem wasn’t much help with his music because the stringed instruments Fwhip played had different techniques than the keyed instruments Gem specialized in. This just left them to vaguely pointing out things that sounded off and hoping for the best.

“Her date with Katherine, correct?” Scott asked to confirm, which Fwhip appreciated. He was slowly becoming a part of Fwhip’s friend group, yes, but even before that, Scott was making an attempt to keep mental notes on the people Fwhip mentioned. Scott actually did a good job at it, especially considering half of Fwhip’s friend group was in a sort of web composed of various polyamorous (both romantic and queerplatonic), platonic, and familial relationships. Even Fwhip struggled to know who was with who some days (especially with Sausage and Jimmy… doing their thing) and he’s known them all forever!

“Yeah, you got it!” Fwhip nodded as he settled back down on his bed and propped up his phone to video call with Scott. “Gem has been crushing on her for awhile, but chickened out on telling her several times despite me telling her to just do it already! Katherine clearly has a lot of love to give, considering she’s already dating Lizzie and Jimmy and is so affectionate with her friends. Katherine is also one of my closest friends out of the lot of ‘em, so, believe me, I would know.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Scott replied before sending the request through to Fwhip for them to switch to video. Fwhip leaned forward to accept it and waited for their phones to switch over. When it did, Scott was revealed to be sitting with his custom guitar already sitting on his lap. “Okay, show me what you got.”

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Scott ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Scott wasn’t sure when the switch flipped from not really having friends to suddenly being accepted into a gigantic friend group. It was sometime after meeting Fwhip– a good few weeks, that was for sure– but the line of them being Fwhip’s friends to being his friends was too blurred to pinpoint.

Seemingly without Fwhip’s knowledge, several of them DMed him and they got to talking outside of their relations with Fwhip. Not to mention that he’s gotten to know several of them face-to-face at Empires between gigs and simply being invited out. Scott hasn’t taken any of them up on that, though. He’s been keeping his distance, feeling as if he were intruding, but they weren’t ready to just accept Scott’s reluctance just like that.

That was proven by Joey insisting time and time again that Scott should go out on the town with him, which Scott always wormed his way out of. That was, he had succeeded until Joey showed up at his apartment one evening. 

“I can’t have my performers living like hermits!” Joey always had a sense for the dramatics, but Scott could tell he genuinely cared about those who worked for him even if he didn’t always show it like a normal person would. “You need friends and to have fun every once in a while.” “I have friends,” Scott insisted, though he knew that most of his friendships were still fairly surface-level. The deepest he’s gotten with anyone was Fwhip and, even then, there were still some walls up. 

Joey gave him a pointed look before pushing past Scott to slip into his apartment. “I know your whole thing is ‘gay moody country boy’, but the mood doesn’t have to be depressing all of the time!”

“Joey, you can’t just barge into my place!” Scott exclaimed, following Joey as he beelined to Scott’s room. His door was decorated, making it well-labeled. “How did you even know where I live?”

“I have connections,” Joey replied nonchalantly as he swung open Scott’s closet doors. He started to sift through Scott’s outfits with precision and skill. “Besides, if I don’t drag you out, you’ll never have fun!” “I have fun!” Scott insisted defensively. Still though, he switched out his piercings for something a tad more dolled up in preparation of being dragged out against his will.

“Mhm,” Joey hummed, doubtful. “Sure you do. Now have you agreed to come or am I going to have to get Sausage to throw you over his shoulder?”

“Sausage?” Scott echoed, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why Sausage? He’s not even here.”

“Void knows I won’t be doing it!” Joey huffed, amused. He gestured at himself, already dressed for going out clubbing. Granted, he was always dressed up like that. Scott didn’t know if Joey knew what a casual, comfort-over-style outfit was. “This body wasn’t made for manual labor. Now how about this one?”

Scott eyed the blouse Joey selected, considering it for a moment. “Yeah, okay, hand it over.” “Perfect!” Joey practically jumped for joy as he handed the blouse to Scott. “The pants you’re wearing now are fine, so just get some shoes on. We’re supposed to meet up with Sausage and Gem soon.”

Scott turned so his back was to Joey to secure himself that minimal amount of privacy before stripping himself of his top and pulling the blouse on. “They’re coming too?” “Yeah, Sausage and I are besties, so we go out frequently, but we wanted to switch it up a tad. Add some new faces, you know.” Joey whistled at Scott when he turned around, eyes wandering down Scott’s body. “Okay, damn! Hey there, sexy.”

“You say that like I don’t always dress well.” Scott rolled his eyes, not really offended. Joey was the type to comment on other’s outfits like that so he knew it was intended to be a genuine compliment over anything else. “We can go now. Just let me tell my brother I’m leaving so he knows I’m not home.”

“Xornoth, right? Hot goth guy with purple hair?” Joey straightened up at the mention. “Is he here?” Scott sucked in his lips briefly before deciding to avoid the question. “I’ll meet you outside, Joey.”

Joey was on his phone outside the apartment complex when Scott approached him, and, when Joey noticed Scott’s presence, he grinned widely. “Perfect timing! Sausage just pulled in.”

He grabbed Scott’s hand and dragged him along to Sausage’s sedan. Joey called shotgun and left Scott to sit in the back next to a ginger who reminded him a lot of Fwhip.

“Oh!” Scott put a few pieces together with the recognition of the woman sitting beside him. “Gem! Fwhip’s sister, right? The keyboardist of WRA?”

“Yeah, you got it,” Gem confirmed. She was wearing a green dress with purple crystal accessories and her hair was tied into a long braid. “And you’re Scott. My brother hasn’t stopped talking about you.” Scott ignored the heat he felt on his cheeks at that. “He hasn’t?”

“Nope.” Gem popped the P before lowering the register of her voice, leaning in toward Scott. “Hurt him and I hurt you. Understood?”

Scott blinked at her rapidly, caught a bit off guard. Her threat was clear, and Scott didn’t want to be on the receiving end of whatever that ended up being. Besides, considering how his relationship was going with Fwhip, he didn’t want to piss off their sister. “Understood.” “Good.” Gem brightened up before glancing at the two chatting away in the front seat. “Now do you know where they’re taking us?”

Scott had not known any specifics, leaving Gem and Scott left to the wills of their captors. He had learned that Sausage also dragged Gem out of her apartment to go out with them. They were both in this together, and it gave Gem and Scott a chance to get to know one another better.

They must’ve gotten to know each other a bit too well, because they woke up to birds chirping and the rising sun on their faces. Scott groaned, sitting up from the tree he was leaning against with a hand pressed against his head. It took a second to register, but he was near positive he was hungover and he was not enjoying the feeling.

Gem stirred beside him, muttering nonsense that Scott couldn’t understand. He poked her side and she woke up with a start. “What happened? Where are we?” “Shhh, not so loud.” Scott shushed her, his head pounding aggressively. He squinted at his surroundings. “Where are-?”

Before he could finish his question, Scott realized someone had spotted them. He squinted at them too, as the person approached, trying to place them in his foggy memory.

"There you two are!" the person called, their voice so very familiar.

Gem rubbed the sleep from her eyes before asking, "...Jimmy?"

“Yeah, yeah, I found them,” Jimmy spoke to someone who wasn’t one of them. That is when Scott realized she was holding a phone to her ear. “Here, I’ll put you on speaker while I check they aren’t hurt.”

The person on the other end spoke something to Jimmy before he placed them on speaker and set down his phone. The Caller I.D. read off Pearl’s name, but another voice came over the line that wasn’t Pearl’s, if Scott’s memory was serving correctly. It should be, but his mind was still hazy from inadequate sleep and alcohol.

“Are you out of your mind?” Jimmy snapped at the person on the phone, causing Scott to wince. She muttered an apology to Scott before going back to her conversation with no-longer-Pearl and checking for wounds on Gem. “Sausage, you and Joey lost two drunk people and we couldn’t find them for hours.”

“I’m sorry, mi amor!” Sausage pleaded over the call. “Next time I see you, I’ll kiss it better.” “I don’t want to talk to you,” Jimmy grumbled, sounding totally over him. “Either put Pearl back on the phone or I’m hanging up on you.” “But, Jimmy-” Before Sausage could finish speaking, Jimmy hung up. Not acknowledging it, he turned his attention from Gem to Scott. “Okay, you both look fine. Can you walk?” “I can probably stand, but I don’t see my arm crutches….” Gem used the tree to try and push herself to her feet, though she was fairly unstable. “Ugh, I need some water. And a nap. Another one. Preferably in a bed this time.” “Me too,” Scott agreed, his body aching from sleeping on the ground.

“My apartment is nearby. I’ll just let Lizzie and Joel know that I’m bringing you, and you can nap the hangover off there,” Jimmy offered, moving Gem’s arm over his shoulders to help her walk.

Gem leaned into Jimmy’s support, leaving Scott to walk on his own. Luckily, he’s had his fair share of hangovers and was otherwise able bodied so he was stable enough to walk on his own. He was passively concerned where Gem’s arm crutches ended up though…  “Thanks, Jimmy.”

Scott was fairly sure Jimmy replied with “You’re welcome” or something along those lines, but he honestly wasn’t sure. That was the last thing he remembered before he woke up again, snuggled under the covers within an ocean themed bedroom. Scott didn’t dwell on it, keeping his eyes closed and relishing in the bed’s comfort. He would deal with the repercussions of whatever was waiting for him later.

𓆩♪⛧₊˚ Fwhip ﾟ₊⛧♪ 𓆪

Fwhip felt like they were on the top of the world. It may be a little silly to feel that way for winning a competition, but that competition was a big deal for his band! WRA was moving up in the world and it only filled him with determination, motivation, and energy. Cultivating that energy, Fwhip sat down to polish the song he had been working on for a while now.

Scott helped him out with some parts, and now, thanks to him, the chords flowed perfectly and the lyrics matched. The chords flowed perfectly and the lyrics matched. The song was a duet, and he’s heard both parts played together by recording himself and then layering them, but it wasn’t the same. Fwhip wanted to hear the song as intended, and he could only think of one person that would fit the part perfectly.

That led to Fwhip asking Scott to meet him at Empires during the day. He got permission from Joey, as long as Fwhip got the keys back in a timely manner. After all the continuous daydreaming of Scott, his singing voice, and his guitar playing skills, Fwhip finally worked up the courage to ask him and it was starting to pay off.

“Do you like it?” Fwhip asked shyly as Scott looked over the sheet music.

“Like it?” Scott parroted with a laugh. “Fwhip, I love it. This is amazing! It has the folk rock elements you’re used to, but there’s also inspiration from my style of music. Theoretically, it blends together perfectly.”

“Oh,” Fwhip blinked, before leaning forward to look down at his own handwriting again. “What would make it no longer theoretical?” If Scott had notes on how to improve it, Fwhip would absolutely take them into consideration.

“Playing it and seeing how it sounds together.” Scott grinned as retrieved his guitar, threw the strap over his head, and set the guitar in his lap. 

They didn’t waste anymore time to start playing. The spirit of the music overtook them, bliss swelling within them and being poured onto every stroke of the strings. Fwhip didn’t consider himself a good singer, but Scott had a way of complimenting Fwhip’s voice and making him sound even better than he actually was.

Fwhip knew the lyrics and chords by heart, so he didn’t need to rely on reading the sheet music to help guide him. This meant that they stared at Scott, all their focus on the beautiful man across from him. When the song ended, Scott turned his attention to Fwhip, catching them staring at him.

“You’re incredible,” Fwhip admitted with a breathless whisper.

Scott laughed an airy, baffled laugh, his cheeks flushing a light pink. “Me? Fwhip, this was all you. Sure, I helped a little, but this is still your song. I’m just honored you picked me to play it with you.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Fwhip asked, blushing dark red. Before he could overthink it, he took his shot. “It is about you, after all. About… us.”

The song was about new relationships and getting to know someone that they previously admired. It contained lots of subtle praises and compliments that Fwhip knew Scott was smart enough to pick up on. He just wouldn’t have known that Fwhip meant those things genuinely about Scott.

Fwhip wasn't sure when they had drifted so close to each other, closing the distance, but... here they were, only a few inches apart. His eyes flicked to Scott's lips, then back up to Scott's icy blue eyes. Icy yet glittering with such beautiful warmth.

“Can I kiss you?” “I thought you would never ask,” Scott murmured in return, leaning down to lock their lips together. As the kiss deepened, Scott climbed onto Fwhip’s lap with his legs around Fwhip’s waist and Fwhip’s hands supporting Scott’s back. A three-legged metal stool was probably not the best place for two people to make out, but Fwhip couldn’t care less right now. All he knew was that he felt happy. Everything was looking up for him and he couldn’t wait to see where everything led to next. The future held many opportunities and experiences to be had, and Fwhip was more than ready to brave the unknown with Scott by his side.

[raccoonfallsharder]

golden hour ☀︎ ⋆⁺☁︎⋆₊⊹ preview part three of sunshine ☀︎ book one of kinktober 2024

[anticipated 10/16]

sunshine masterlist | kinktober 2024 | navigation

rocket steals all the warmth he can get before the sun inevitably sets. aka, last call. KINKS/WARNINGS: free-use, mentions of sex toys, nipple-play, dom/sub vibes, pussy-claiming, shower sex, sensation play. 

“What are you still doing awake?” you’d asked, brow crinkled with worry as he’d crowded in with you, turning and closing you both inside the stall. Steam had already been pearlizing the air, turning it misty and opalescent, while the fall of water hushed against the ceramic tile. Bluesy electric chords teased through the vapor like a lover, then shifted into pensive, rhythmic lyrics. “Heard you padding around the hallway like a cute little mouse.” His teeth had gleamed up at you through the ribbons of fog: sharp and challenging. “Thought I’d come claim my cunt.”

Your eyebrows had swung upward, a ribbon of molten gold immediately unspooling in your belly. “Yours?” The slashing line of his mouth — somewhere between a smirk and a sneer — had widened. “Isn’t it? Unless you’re changing your mind, f’course. But you did say—“ “Sure,” you’d agreed breathily, before he could spit out another word. “It can be yours.” His own brows had arched briefly, surprise flickering through that shimmering, glinting red gaze. You’d swayed backward one step, then two — clenching your fingers into the hem of your towel, and teasing the opening between the edges of it. The teasing had been — not quite an accident, but a mask, perhaps. You hadn’t been reluctant — but hesitant, yes.  Uncertain, really. Maybe a little shy,  given his withdrawal after that night on the flightdeck.  But still. “How do you want me?” you’d managed to ask, your voice crimped and crackling, tumbled in the sudden rapid flutter of your heart and abdomen.  “In,” he’d rasped, twisting one fist in your towel. You’d yelped when he’d pulled it casually from your grasp, tossing it to the  floor. That feeling inside you — soft melted platinum, hot spun gold, muted wet sunlight — had sparked and sizzled in your belly, and then he’d advanced. Maybe, if you hadn’t been so dazed and hazy-eyes, it would have been shocking — how someone so small could suddenly seem so predatory. Hackles raised, claws curled, teeth bared — eyes gleaming — he’d stalked toward you through the moonstone-steam until you’d suddenly found yourself under the warm spray of the shower, squeaking and ducking when the fine torrent of droplets had suddenly danced on your skin.  “H—how—“ you’d started to repeat, but he’d lightly slapped your left thigh — a love-tap, really, but just enough to sting. Your words had staggered in your throat with a gasp.  “Up,” he’d said loosely, starting to unbuckle the straps of his jumpsuit. “Put that pretty foot on the bench and lean back.” Your thoughts had stuttered. “B-but—” He’d raised one brow — half a question, and half a warning — and your brain had blanked out completely. You’d leaned back against the cold metal wall, shivering, and let the raindrop-spray dance and patter over your skin. You’d barely been anxious at all in any of these exploits and adventures, since you’d met him — too caught up in the way he’d unspiralled all that shimmery arousal in your belly, too focused on helping him enjoy it as much as you were. But now — knowing what he’d been asking for — self-consciousness had rippled through you. He’d stilled, jumpsuit already shoved down around his hips, and blinked those red-bourbon eyes up at you. “You change your mind?” he’d asked, and somehow, it’s nowhere as bitter or sharp or annoyed as you might have expected. It’s — simple, and matter-of-fact. Not quite resigned, but certainly unsurprised. “All that wherever, whenever, however stuff — you change your mind?”

part three of sunshine ☀︎ ⋆⁺☁︎⋆₊⊹

kinktober 2024 | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

orange support/mdni banners and fairylight dividers by @/saradika-graphics | yellow flower dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[laineycaldwell]

who: Lainey & @tefibetancourt where: The Pour House

CJ had blown Lainey off for the night and she, bored of all the bars within walking distance of her apartment, wound up here. The Pour House. Sure, it wasn't really blowing off if they hadn't made plans in the first place... but Lainey was biding her time, especially after her run-in with Sebastian at the birthday. It was obvious he had a problem with her, and while it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why, Lainey didn't want to confront that just yet.

There were a lot of things Lainey didn't want to confront just yet, which was unusual for her. Dad used to call her a bull in a china shop-- tackling everything head-on. But she was tired. So tired that she was going out of her way to avoid her ex's roommate slash husband. How the mighty had fallen. It wasn't so bad, in actuality, especially after Lainey batted her eyelashes at the bartender and got unfettered access to the aux.

After her fourth vodka cranberry, Lainey was on her feet looking for someone to pester. A striking woman at the other end of the bar caught her eye, and she slid into the seat next to her. "I'm Lainey, and I think we're both way too hot to be drinking alone," she announced with a friendly smile. "Let me buy you a shot?" There was no sense beating around the bush. With the tequila blazing its trail down her throat, Lainey felt so much more herself. And maybe... a little sloppy. She got to her feet again, recognizing the opening chords of 'Witchoo.' "Shit, you know Durand Jones?" she asked her new friend, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her to her feet, too.

"It's illegal not to dance to this, by the way," she said, pulling Tefi by the hands to the middle of the bar. Lainey didn't mind making a scene-- especially not when she was absolutely sure the Pour House clientele wouldn't mind a bit.

[deadnburied13]

"Sweet Child o' Mine" is a song by Guns N' Roses. It appeared on their debut album Appetite for Destruction. The song was released in June 1988 as the album's third single, and topped the Billboard Hot 100 chart, becoming the band's only number 1 US single. Billboard ranked it the number 5 song of 1988.

The lyrics came from a poem Axl Rose was working on. He wrote the song about his girlfriend, Erin Everly. Slash came up with the riff when he was playing around on his guitar. He thought it was silly and wanted nothing to do with it, but Axl loved it and had him keep playing it. Izzy Stradlin added some chords, and the song came together. According to Duff McKagan's 2012 autobiography, Slash always considered it the worst Guns N' Roses song.

A third verse Axl wrote was edited out because the record company thought it made the song too long.

(Slash, Rose, Stradlin, Recorded 1987, Released June 1988 (US), May 29, 1989 (UK), Length 5:55 (album version)

#GnFnR

[evnovia]

— 8:54am

+ pairing. dabi x reader  + word count. 1.174 + warnings. kinda explicit mentions of violence/wounds + author’s note. that one scene from the new suicide squad movie had me rushing home to whip this very random and unneeded scene up

Slashing through the neck of another hopeless officer, you shove his limp form into another burly man headed your way. His breathless gasp is cut short when you skewer your blade through both their bodies and effortlessly flick their dead weight off to the side as you push open the front door.

The overwhelming brightness of the light outside burns your irises, having become well accustomed to the dim interior of the police station. Your narrowed eyes scan the length of the empty street before you, nonchalantly searching for a taxi.

Trying to rub off the copious amounts of blood staining your skin only spreads the crimson colour over a larger patch of your arm, countering your attempts to clean up your ragged appearance. The torture you had undergone is horridly evident in the tattered, grisly state of your clothes, unveiling the open wounds festering in the flesh underneath.

It’s sure to be a pain in the ass later, but the adrenaline high from your murdering spree leaves you up in the mellow clouds, where your nerves fail to report the presence of the many lacerations eating away at your skin. Right now, all your concerns lie with the pint of ice cream you left waiting for you in the freezer, warning everyone in sight that their necks were on the line if they so much as looked at the frozen treat the wrong way.

To your despair, not a single soul stirs nearby—no pedestrians for you to threaten, no vehicles for you to highjack, no shops for you to snag some spare cash from. You spin around to head back to the station filled with fresh corpses before you spot a lone policeman rounding the corner of the building.

“Thank fuck,” you sigh, whipping a dirtied blade out from your belt and beginning to advance on the unsuspecting man. “I really didn’t feel like walking all the way back there. Since you’re helping me out here, I’ll end this quickly.”

He evidently catches wind of your voice, stiffening at your rapidly approaching figure. An illegally high-pitched screech rips through his vocal chords as he shakes his fists back and forth, hopping from one foot to another with his harsh features scrunched up in… elation?

You aim for his exposed neck to end the torment he wreaks upon your unsuspecting eardrums, but he swiftly dodges out of your line of fire. Huffing at the man’s agility, you suppress the tick raging near your temples from the delay in your plans. The weaklings inside the station were nowhere near this stranger’s ability.

Today’s officers didn’t prove to be as challenging as Shigaraki made them out to be, leaving you sorely disappointed by both their cowawrdly methods of torture and their physical prowess—not that you minded ripping this man’s jaw off in exchange for all your troubles. “If you don’t stay still, this might hurt a bit.”

When everything from the strands of his scraggly, unkempt hair to the royal blue fabric of his uniform begins to melt into a gray puddle, you abruptly halt in your advance. “Toga-chan?”

She howls out your name as her stark naked figure bolts into your arms with a force that nearly topples the both of you straight to the rough pavement. You carefully pocket your knife and delicately wrap what’s left of your outer coat around her shoulders, wiping the grime off her soft cheeks. “What’re you doing here?”

Toga giggles, snuggling deeper into your chest. “We’re here to save you, silly!”

Your hands around her torso tighten, still unfamiliar with the sudden throbbing that hammers at the organs within your chest. “Save me? We?”

Two towering men appear from the dark shadows behind the buildings, sauntering up to you. From the tophat and the creepy mask, you detect Mr. Compress flanked by a startled boy with jet black hair and scars covering the lower half of his face. Mr. Compress accusingly points his cane at you. “And to think Shigaraki made us come all the way over here for this.”

“He told you to save me? Shigaraki did?”

Mr. Compress hums his affirmation, and—without waiting for a response—wanders off to inspect the body count lining your bloody trail of escape, most likely to report back to Shigaraki. You stay stunned in your spot, shifting your gaze between the three of them before lamely spitting out, “I-I mean I can go back in there, the chains and ropes and everything are still there. You can come and save me as planned!”

Dabi’s deep chuckle sends a chill down your spine. “I don’t know, doll. The lack of armed soldiers guarding your cell kinda kills the fantasy.”

You can’t rip your eyes from the piercing cerulean that stares you down hungrily, exasperation and pride swirling in their depths. Stroking Toga’s locks in order to feel the pleased purring rise from her chest, you outstretch your other arm and flick your fingers as a signal for him to come closer. “I’ll let those idiots catch me again if it means you’ll come to my rescue.”

“It’s not the same.” He wolfishly smirks at your wicked countenance, features glazed over in a dangerous desire. Dabi stalks over, circling around you to bury his chin into the crook of your neck with his excessively warm chest against your back. “Couldn’t you let me swoop in as your prince charming for once?”

You croon, “‘M not sure if prince charming would be very inclined to burn down a police station with dozens of people stuck inside.”

“Ah, it seems like I never fit into that role from the very beginning then.” His hot breath fans over your ear, a tingling sensation racing over the lengths of your arms as goosebumps follow in their wake.

One of his hands sneaks their way underneath your jaw, directing your head towards him to slot his plush, dry lips against yours. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth, resorting to firmly nibbling at the corners until you grant him access past your lips, which he immediately takes advantage of. You groan, pleased with the way his tongue meshes with your own.

“That’s enough of that, you sickos.” Mr. Compress pops back out of the empty station, a hand resting on his hip. “Go get a room, preferably somewhere far away from poor Toga.”

One idle glance to the girl wrapped in your arms, making a home in the space between your collarbones, and all three of you recognize the far-off look in her eyes, coupled with the light blush dusting her cheeks. Her mind is definitely filled with delight at the extensive rivulets of blood dripping off your wounds. You stroke her cheek affectionately. “Toga-chan’s pretty little brain isn’t able to come to the phone right now, please leave a message after the beep.”

Dabi scoffs, sliding off your shoulder to waltz up to Mr. Compress’ side. “Better hurry back before Twice eats all your ice cream for breakfast.”

Your enraged gasp spurs the villains into action.

[golden-mediocrity]

Channel

***Warning for self harm, violence, blood.***

The plush chair seemed to hug his form, something he had not been very accustomed to lately, the emptiness that had been consuming him from the inside was trying to fill it's own void.  Try as he might, the every-present pounding of his heart could be felt in his head and he attempted to isolate the sound's vibration in his horns, but it was no use. He channeled all he could of himself, his feelings, his emotions, his very soul into that point, desperately needing to silence the yelling of ten thousand voidsent screaming in discordant operatic melodies, giving a feeling of flesh rent from bone and tendon, but instead, applied to the inside of his mind unraveling his brain.

His blood boiled and he could feel the emptiness of the void overtaking every aspect of his senses. Mizuhiro struck out with clawed hands, and slashed at his own flesh along his chest and arms, causing rivulets of blood to follow in their destructive wake.  He could feel each and every ilm as they ripped through, he dug deep enough down to part muscle from vein, expose arteries that were normally hidden.  Even with as much pain and horror as it manifested in his mind, he still felt more in that moment, more than in recent memory.  The blinding white hot pain that pulsed in his vision, momentarily caused the screaming of the void to get washed out, the tinnitus in his horns rang out with every sawing cut and tear.  The hot drip-drip of blood tapping on the stone floor sounded like the second hand of the clock as the time of his life continued to tick on by.

There was no music, only the screams, but even with so many of them calling him home, he felt the thumping of a drum beat, the raising of another scream began to resonate separately and purposefully.  The wailing began to overtake the chorus of the rest, and it's familiarity haunted him, stabbed at his heart.  It was as if his entirety was spinning, round and round and over and over, causing his dizziness to increase.  He needed to know where it was coming from, this low guttural growl, harmonizing on it's own with itself, with a scraping blood-curdling shriek that echoed like a bat locating it's prey in the darkest of caverns, he could feel the hard pangs of hunger welling, driving him to feed, nothing was clear, his vision all a blur... He took one step, then another, and another, and on and on...

It didn't matter where he looked, walking along the nearly empty streets of the Goblet, but there were beacons out here, signalling for him, coaxing and calling him home, like the sirens of old, demanding sacrifice of ship and sanity, to crush them both on their rocky shores.  Mizu could feel the smashing of his will and rationality against the sharpest of objects, a slivered, shattered anvil, wrapped in barbed wire, ripping apart his lucidity and all reason... The rise of the chorus had matched his screaming now, pulling the ten thousand cacophonous voices into one, coordinated, identical song... The burst of white light had sprung forth in front of him, the beacon lit and answered, he bolted quick and dexterously to capture it in his arms, claws digging deep into it's flesh, along with his horns and teeth goring the entity of light, cutting it open and allowing him to feed freely on the pure fount of aether he had seized for himself.  

But in few, short moments later, the song ceased, the beacon fell dim and dull, along with everything that he had been conducting, the orchestra stopped, instruments clanged to the ground.  He crouched over the poor man, body now shriveled and desiccated, his aether fully removed so much that only a blood covered shell of what he had been remained.  There was another scream, a mortal one this time, one that shredded vocal chords and throat-flesh in a horrific display of regret and sorrow.  The Himaa dropped the corpse and stood above, tears streaming down his face along with the blood that trailed down his extremities, "No... no.... no......... no............," he continued to repeat over and over, his black-lit eyes glowed as they sought a way to escape.  He was flooded with self doubt and mortification at his actions, he had been past all of this, hadn't he? He had fallen asleep, something he had been doing more and more lately, and woke up as if from a nightmare that just didn't stop when his eyes opened, and revealed the fact that he had done this, he had let himself go, allowed his weaker nature to prevail...

He could not hold back the floodgates of pain and regret, but knew he needed to run, there was no explanation for what had happened other than the obvious, and he needed to distance himself from it as soon as humanly possible.  He picked up his feet, one after the other, faster and faster and finally until he found the end, he vaulted over the railing and down into the chasm, sliding with the rocks, and he prayed desperately he would not stop until he hit the abyss.

[musiceater]

Scorpions "Rock Believer"

Probablement si fos una altra banda, aquest àlbum pasaria desapercebut, però que a aquestes alçades els reis del 'Heavy Pop' continuïn fent àlbums és d'agrair i bé mereix la sentida.

Que no us faci mandra sentir-ho perquè sona molt bé, gràcies a la labor de producció i la contundent conjunció entre Mikkey Dee a la bateria i Pawel Mąciwoda al baix, als que se'ls uneixen els originaris Rudolf Schenker a la rítmica, Matthias Jabs a la solista i Klaus Meine a la veu.

Arrenca l'àlbum amb un "Gas in the Tank" de riffs poderosos, ben destacats i una tornada major característica, amb un solo, en progressió i so, molt Slash. Els riffs de la intro de "Roots in My Boots" ens recordaran al mític "Dynamite", això ens agrada, i donarà pas a "Knock 'Em Dead" on fan gala, una altra vegada, d'aquest stacatto d'acords (Rudolf Trademark) mentre el baix roda a tòniques. El tema que dóna titol a l'album és, com el seu propi nom indica, tot un himne que ens recordarà al "No One Like You" però amb una altra finalització d'acords. "Shining On Your Soul" sorprèn per la seva barreja de ritmes: per una banda la intro amb power-chords de interval menor i el estil reggae del vers que mariden força bé. Li segueix el mig temps "Seventh Son" de pic-i-pala amb una intro 'a lo' "Running With The Devil" i un vers més proper al "The Zoo". Quan pensava que el "Hot and Cold" el passaria, em sorprenc sentint un vers que camina a la perfecció seguit d'un pont tan estrany com agradable i culminant en una tornada hard-roquera molt bona. L'esbojarrada i roquera "When I Lay My Bones to Rest" (on la tornada em recorda als Mötorhead) dóna pas al "Peacemaker", un tema de caire més dur. Proven sort amb "Call of the Wild", molt fora del seu estil, on aproven amb escreix per fer-nos caure a la 'seva' balada (que seria dels Scorpions sense una?) en "When You Know (Where You Come From)" on el baix no deixa de roncar fent que, en certes parts, no sigui tan embafadora. Quedava clar (com a mínim per a mi) que no es podia acabar aquí, com la discogràfica ho va pair, haviem de despertar d'alguna manera i no l'haguessin pogut fer sense el que l'edició deluxe ens ofereix: 5 temes més que comencen pel "Shoot For The Heart" de tall més clàssic i molt trepidant, seguit de "When Tomorrow Comes" que, tot i que comença bé, es torna una mica desconcertant, ja que s'allunya de la comercialitat a la que ens tenen acostumats, i el mateix passa amb "Unleash the Beast" sense deixar de ser bons temes. Un "Crossing Borders", en el que podria entrar a la guitarra Joe Satriani, però en tempo més lent i que ens fa moure el cap amb el seu groove. Tanquen paradeta amb la versió acústica del "When You Know (Where You Come From)", tot i que pels més fanàtics, encara hi ha la versió japonesa amb 1 pista més: "Out Go The Lights".

Els riffs de Rudolf són poderosos, els solos de Matthias, brillants (tant en so com en execució), el baix de Pawel, rodó, metàl·lic i gruixut, la bateria de Mikkey, contundent i la veu de Klaus està en perfecta forma (més reposada i no tan nasal).

Des del "Unbreakable" del 2004 no els hi sentia res decent, però amb aquest 20è. treball d'estudi, els Germànics s'han superat: mantenen la seva frescor més clàssica amb un so i producció contemporània.

[98prilla]

Deathworlder Down

Next

Previous 

AO3

based on @delimeful wibar

Warning for some disturbing imagery/body horror this chapter. Virgil’s having nightmares.

...

Fear.

 Pounding, aching fear.

 Shadowy figures surrounded him, discussing him in words he could almost hear, hushed voices he could almost understand, and it grated at him, it hurt his ears. He tried to cover them, but found he couldn’t move, not a muscle, his eyes were open but he couldn’t even blink, his fingers wouldn’t even twitch, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, but despite his panic his breathing remained steady and even. The shadows moved closer, their whispers growing louder, echoing in his head, screaming tempests against his ear drums, and he wanted it to stop, he needed it to stop, but it just grew louder, and louder, and then it was the suited beings again, holding a scalpel, and he screamed, as his chest was sliced open, the flesh peeled away to reveal the organs beneath, his heart visible through the blood leaking from him, and he realized though he was screaming in his mind, he wasn’t making any sound, his vocal chords as paralyzed as the rest of him, and he couldn’t look away, as they started ripping out his insides, tearing him apart, the pain splintering through his being, blacking out his vision, and he tried, he tried desperately to writhe and claw and fight his way free, but couldn’t even lift his head, and he was aware of them adding new parts, shoving metal and wires and circuit boards into him, the pop and crackle of electricity against his skin shocking him, sending him into spasms that somehow defied whatever drug they’d given him, back arching at the intense, radiating heat flowing up his spine, and he finally did break free, break out of whatever drug they’d used, a keening, desperate wail shoving past his lips as he shoved himself off the table, as he snarled and clawed and bit and slashed, anything, everything, to get free, until he’d fought off the beings, his breathing ragged and uneven as he looked at the monster they’d made him, all mechanical parts and twisted limbs, broken bones and spasming muscle.

 “Virgil?” Suddenly a shadow Logan was there, looking down at him, head tilted and eyes empty, hands strangely still, assessing him like the specimen he was and he shuddered, twitching uncontrollably.

 “No. That isn’t Virgil.” Patton, voice hollow, and he screamed again, because his feathers were torn from his body, bent and broken nibs trickling blood down his wings, though he didn’t seem to care. “Virgil wouldn’t do this to me. And he did.” He shook his head, trying to deny it, but memories rushed back, his hands, moving against his will, the metal twisting around his bones, jerking him around like a marionette, Patton, begging, pleading, but he couldn’t stop, the single thought in his mind echoing destroy, destroy, destroy. His hands, ripping handfuls of feathers, feathers flying around the room, getting stuck in his grinning teeth, his manic laugh, his twisted soul.

“No… nonononono…” He curled tight on the ground, ignoring the fire racing through him, the intense, burning, heat, trying to make sense of this, of anything, noticing for the first time his hands were stained red, seeing Patton’s agonized face in his head, his hands on his throat, pressing down, down down-

 “Virgil!” Roman’s voice rocked his world, and suddenly his eyes snapped open, hissing at the sudden brightness, too confused to understand anything, vision blurry, from tears, he realized, his breathing stuttering in and out, barely enough to keep from passing out, his throat tight, barely a pinhole of space for air to wheeze in and out of, his chest felt so tight, so constricted, and there wasn’t enough air, and he was hot, why was he so hot, the wires, the wires twisting through his veins, no, he had to get them out, they would make him hurt them, hurt Patton, he couldn’t hurt Patton!

 He started scratching at himself, clawing at himself frantically, uncaring of the wetness slipping down his face, he had to stop it, he couldn’t-

 Bloody feathers, crushed neck, broken wings, shattered body, he couldn’t-

 Hands. Hands on him. He hissed, growled, tried to shove them away, but he was weak, so weak, he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t get away, and they were stopping him, and he was going to hurt everyone, he had to let go, he had to stop himself, he was just a monster, just a toy, just a broken sack of bits and pieces that didn’t even fit together right anymore, why couldn’t they just let him stop?

 “please. Please, I can’t, I can’t, I won’t, i… i…” He doubled over, curled into a ball, shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, feeling as if he was shattering into a thousand pieces, broken and stomped on and wrecked.

 “kiddo. I need you to breath.” He flinched back, away from Patton, eyes wide with fear, shaking his head frantically, as he scooted away, the grip on his hands letting him go.

 “n-no… no! I’ll h-hurt y-y-you they’ll m-make me h-h-hurt-“ he broke off, running out of air, all of it dedicated to keeping the spots in his vision from growing larger, from taking over and plunging him into black.

 “virgil. You have never, never ever, hurt me. And they can’t hurt us, anymore. Do you remember that? We’re safe now, remember? You broke us out of there, and kept us safe. You’re safe, Virgil. We’re safe. We’re ok. We’re ok.” Patton repeated softly, using the gentle chirp of his native tongue, ruffling encouragingly when Virgil finally looked up at him, struggling for a few moments, before tentatively chirping it back.

 “We’re… we’re… ok.” He echoed slowly, tongue thick in his mouth, head pounding, it hurt to think, it hurt to do anything, but he forced his mind to remember, to remember what he was missing, flashes of a slim, multi armed figure, of a bulky, scaled one, of a… a ship, and he managed a slightly larger, shaky breath.

 “M-Mindscape?” He managed, and Patton nodded, eyes soft with worry.

 “That’s right, kiddo. You got sick, do you remember that?” He remembered feeling not great, but that was normal. He remembered being dizzy, but that was all. He shook his head, feeling confused again, feeling slow and tired and hazy.

 “That’s ok, Virgil. I just wanna help, ok? Will you let me do that?” Patton asked, taking a small step closer. “Will you let me help?” His gaze flicked to the others in the room, pulling at a dull memory, at familiarity, he knew them, knew them and they didn’t spark… fear. Not quite. But the scaled one’s gaze was sharp and angry, and the crystal one’s gaze was sharp and piercing, and both sent unease tingling down his spine. But Patton was asking, and he trusted Patton, and if Patton trusted them, then they couldn’t be bad.

 “O-o-Ok.” He managed, letting out a soft sigh when Patton closed the distance between them, resting a hand on his leg, and instantly, the fight and stress drained out of him, eyes fluttering shut.

 “You’re gonna be ok, kiddo. I promise.” Then nothing.

…

“He's hotter, Lo.” Patton said, voice shaking, as he felt Virgil's forehead. Sweat coated his skin, and he was panting for breath, shaking, obviously in pain, not just from the lines of red up and down his arms, where he'd started clawing at himself, before Roman stopped him. “he’s getting worse."

 “We need to get him to drink. He’s severely dehydrated. I… hate to suggest this, but IVs may be the best option here. I know, it will cause added emotional strain, but his body does not have the strength or resources right now to fight off this illness. And I’d rather have him be upset or afraid than… than dead.” His words caused Patton to draw in his feathers, shrinking to nearly half his normal size, and he buried his face against Virgil’s side. Roman’s scales shifted, scraping against each other as they flattened, conflicting emotions racing through him.

 He didn’t like Virgil. Didn’t trust him, wouldn’t have him here, if it had been up to him, but the thought of him… dying, still sent a spike of unease through him, one he could pretend was just for Patton, who was so attached to Virgil.

 “ok. If it’s the only way, ok.”

 He disinfected and bandaged Virgil’s arms first, before letting Roman shift him back onto the couch, fetching the medical supplies and hooking up the bags. Finally, he was standing over Virgil with the IV line in hand. All he had to do was insert it. He found himself incredibly resistant, now, to the idea, now that he actually was doing this, mind flashing to the moments he’d seen in the vidi, the pain and agony that had accompanied nearly every experience with a needle, but this was different. This was to help.

 So he swiftly located the vein on the human’s wrist, slipping the needle in and securing it with gauze and tape, relieved when Virgil did no more than moan slightly, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball. He doubted the reaction would be so placid when he actually woke up to find a needle in his arm, but that was a future worry.

 “Alright. That should help hydrate him, as well as give him some of the basic nutrients he is sorely lacking in, as well as some very moderate medicines. I doubt anything we have would do him any harm, but I don’t want to take chances and accidentally make things worse. Patton… you need to sleep.” He added, looking at the disheveled ampen, who shook his head.

 “No, no, no! I have to stay! What if he wakes up?”

 “He won’t for a few hours, at the very least, which is long enough for you to get some sleep. You haven’t slept since we found him.”

 “Well neither have you! You’ve been pacing yourself silly!” He sighed, shoulders slumping.

 “Alright. You’re right. If Roman stays on watch and promises to get us if anything changes, will you come rest with me?” he asked, knowing Patton wouldn’t turn down that offer, not with how rarely he was willing to offer tactile comfort, but they could both use some, right now.

 “Ro? I know you don’t like him, but-"

 “I’ll take care of him. I promise, Patton.” Roman swore, kneeling down so Patton could hug him, smiling as he butted against the underside of his chin, before stepping back, chirping an ampen thanks, hesitantly following Logan down the hall and into his room, Roman hearing the door slide shut.

 He let out a low breath, scales flattening as he tried to calm himself, staring down at Virgil’s unconscious form.

 “I don’t know what to make of you. I will never say this out loud again, but you terrify me. And I will not lose another family, to humans. But… every time you panic or lose control or lash out, it’s always at yourself. It’s always to protect Patton. You always choose to harm yourself over any of us, but you’re still a human, a death worlder, a dangerous, violent, creature.” He said, though it sounded much less convincing now, that it usually did in his arguments with Logan or his silent fuming.

 Virgil moved slightly, his breath hitching, and his face creased, as if sensing Roman’s displeasure.

 “no… please… m-mom…” Virgil mumbled, trying to reach out to something that wasn’t there, something only in his mind, and after a moment, Roman realized Virgil was crying, curling tighter.

 He’d known Virgil had been stolen off his planet, but he’d never thought about the implications of it. He hadn’t considered that Virgil had clan, would have a mother or a father, that he’d lost everything, to aliens, without even having a chance to fight to keep it.

 Roman knew how it felt, to lose everything, in the blink of an eye.  

 “and then you go and say something like that.” He sighed, shifting into the chair left beside the couch, hesitantly reaching out to brush back the human’s hair, mimicking the motion he’d seen Patton do countless times, to soothe or relax the human, surprised as Virgil instantly settled, a shaky breath escaping him before his body seemed to go lax once more, leaning into his touch.

 “this doesn’t mean I like you. It’s only because I promised Patton.” He grumbled, not moving away, despite himself.

[gullethead]

Writing In Eternian

Hey! I made a post about a little season 5 easter egg yesterday (not linking it here because for some reason it blocks the post from showing in the tags)and while I was poking through the tags, I noticed that a lot of people want to learn how to use First Ones writing! Writing and orthography are actually things I'm really interested in, so I decided to make this guide for people. It's a bit more in-depth than the official press release, so if you just want to use that, feel free!

Here’s the original tweet from the She-Ra Twitter account, which has more examples: twitter. com /dreamworksshera/status/1055474341553623040

Here we go! Putting it under a break so it doesn't eat up your whole screen.

THE SOUNDS OF ENGLISH & THE IPA

So first of all, we need to start with a brief introduction to the IPA. (If you’re already familiar, you can skip to the next big heading.) Lots of languages use a lot of different letters or other characters to represent certain sounds, but when you're working with linguistics, you need to be able to say exactly what you mean. So, we made the International Phonetic Alphabet. This is a long list of individual letters and markings that represent very specific sounds, and you use them by placing them between slashes, like /d/, and sometimes to distinguish, you place the actual writing between corner brackets, like <d>. So for instance, /t/ and /h/ make the same sounds that <t> and <h> make in English, but <th> (usually) makes either the /θ/ or /ð/ sounds. These change based on where you live, but in general the consonants are the same for all English speakers.

Knowing this is important, because something I love about the First Ones alphabet is that it isn't just a letter substitution! Many "secret language" alphabets I've seen in kid's series (like Artemis Fowl, for instance) are just simple one-to-one substitutions for the Latin alphabet we use. But First Ones writing is actually very different! It uses the actual sounds made in the word. So if you wrote "cat" in the First Ones script (which I'm gonna call Eternian, after Eternia from He-Man, which flows better than "First Ones script"), it would actually look like "kat", because the letter c can be used for the sounds k or s, so it doesn't translate.

The alphabet we're using right now was created for the Latin language, derived from the Greek alphabet, which itself has a very long history behind it. English is NOT descended from Latin - it's a Germanic language, and the Germanic family is only kind of related to the Romantic family that developed out of Latin. However, a lot of our vocabulary has a Latin infusion because of mixing with Old French in the 1000s-1100s, and even before that, we used the Latin alphabet because it was the most common. This means that in order to express all the sounds we have, English speakers writing English had to combine different letters together; this, plus over a thousand years of different spellings and dialects, means that our orthography - our way of writing the sounds we say - is FUCKED. The Eternian alphabet is actually a much more efficient way of writing these sounds!

This is the total list of English consonants:

A few notes here:

To make sure you're not lost, /ŋ/ is <ng>, /j/ is <y>, /θ/ and /ð/ are <th>, /ʃ/ and /ʒ/ are <sh> and <zh> (the French <j>, not usually distinguished in English writing) respectively, and /tʃ/ and /dʒ/ are <ch> and the English <j> respectively.

Most consonants can come in voiced and unvoiced versions (although, because English is weird, these are called "fortis" and "lensis" because we pronounce them with different amounts of energy). /b/ is /p/, but pronounced using the vocal chords. Only the nasal sounds, the "approximants", and /h/ don't have pairs in English, although /h/ DOES actually have a common voiced pair, and you can technically pronounce the others voiceless in some languages although it's very rare.

The /x/ sound, famously the end of the Scottish word "loch", is only found in Celtic accents (Scottish, Irish, Welsh) and in the South African accent (because of influence from Dutch). Other English speakers realize it as /k/.

The /r/ sound is weird. What /r/ technically represents is a trill, like in the Spanish <rr>. However, in English, that trill is very rare; what we use <r> for is called a "postalveolar approximant", [ɹ̠]. However, it is usually easier just to write the letter r, so that's how we transcribe it for English's IPA.

English also sometimes has what are called "syllabic consonants", which are consonants that can act as the center of a syllable in the place of a vowel. In English, these are mostly /l/, /m/, and /n/. For instance, the word "bottle" is technically pronounced [ˈbɑɾl̩] in General American English, and the same goes for words like "rhythm" and "button"; however, because this would complicate things a lot, phonologists consider it to include a very small vowel, so with the example of "bottle", it would be /ˈbɑtəl/ instead.

The vowels are a bit more weird than the consonants. Our alphabet was originally created for Latin, which only has ten vowel sounds, long and short a, e, i, o, and u (although technically the short vowels are /a ɛ ɪ ɔ ʊ/ instead of /a e i o u/, because fuck it I guess). However, we have a MUCH different vowel "inventory" in English - instead of the uniform 10 paired Latin vowels, in General American English we have anywhere from 11-13 vowels depending on your interpretation along with three diphthongs (combinations of two vowels used as a single vowel):

If you look at the British (Received Pronunciation) chart it's much different from that, which is why the accents are so distinct; however, Eternian is made with GA English in mind, so I'm just going to focus on that.

More notes:

/ə/ (a schwa, like in "uh"), /ɜ/ (very similar and hard to distinguish in writing), and /ʌ/ (something between an "uh" and an "ah"), are all very close to each other and sometimes interchangeable, especially between the first two.

/oʊ/ is usually simplified to /o/, and /eɪ/ is sometimes simplified to /e/, since the normal versions of those sounds don't show up so we don't have to make the difference clear.

A lot of accents in North America make /ɔ/ sounds (similar to "aw" or "au", like in "caught") into /ɑ/ sounds (the o in "hot").

Now, let's move on to the alphabet!

ETERNIAN GLYPHS & SIGILS

The "letters" of the Eternian alphabet, in my opinion, are better described using the more general term "glyph". This is because, while they are distinct shapes that mean specific sounds, they are used kind of artistically and variably within one large interconnected word-shape called a "sigil", much different than we would consider letters in the English alphabet. These glyphs are organized in words by lines starting at the basic shape of the sigil and stringing them together in order.

Eternian glyphs are split into two major categories that differ by shape: consonants and vowels.

CONSONANTS

The system of glyphs for Eternian consonants is actually very easy to remember, once you get the shapes down! Let's go back to the voiced/voiceless pairs. English has eight pairs of these, four plosives (made by quickly starting and stopping air with your mouth) and four fricatives (made by constantly moving air through your mouth). These eight pairs - along with another pair for /r/ and /l/ even though they aren't voiced/voiceless, because they're also closely related - make up most of the sounds in English and most of the consonant glyphs in Eternian. In each of these pairs, the voiceless (and /l/) have a basic, empty polygon shape; the voiced pair (and /r/) use the exact same shape, but with a dot in the middle. Like so:

Outside of this, English has four more vowels - /m/, /n/, /ŋ/, and /h/ - and two "semivowels", which can be used either as a vowel or a consonant. One of these semivowels, /j/ (the English y), is used as a vowel in Eternian, while the other, /w/, is treated as a consonant. Except for /w/, these remaining consonants are all marked by the fact that they’re solid color; they also all use the same basic shapes as many of the others, but aren’t related to the sounds which share their shape:

Pretty simple once you get the hang of it! Excuse the messiness; if you want a more precise rendering, you can reference the original release at the top.

I'm pretty sure this is all accurate, but there's one thing that seems weird to me. In English, <th> can be used to express either voiceless /θ/ or voiced /ð/. However, in Eternian, they gave us a "dh" glyph. I assume that this is meant to represent /ð/. However, in Wrong Hordak's "Smooch The Chef" apron, "the" is spelled with the glyph used for /θ/. But honestly I'm just assuming human error on that one, especially because /ð/ is very rare at the beginning of words except for articles or pronouns like the and these, most cases of <th> at the beginning of a word are /θ/ like in "thorn".

Now, for vowels!

VOWELS

Like I said earlier, this bit is much more complicated to get than the consonants, but luckily, this is actually much better for English than Latin letters!

Eternian vowel glyphs are divided, seemingly at random, into two subsets with a single exception. First are line-glyphs, which are formed by altering the connective line between two geometric glyphs. The others are circle-glyphs, the ones used for /ɛ/, /i/, /u/, and /o/. These function in the exact same way as the consonant glyphs, except that they are all circles where none of the consonants (except /n/) are.

There's a few issues here with transcribing words, but they mostly come out of simplifying English's horrible vowel fluidity. For instance, there's no distinct letter for writing the schwa /ə/, but it can be folded into the letter for /ʌ/. That, and combining /ɔ/ with /ɑ/, simplify 16 sounds into 13 letters. The last letter, /j/, is the other semivowel I mentioned above; <y> in English can be used for either /j/ or /aɪ/ and /ɪ/, but this letter specifically represents the /j/ sound like in "yes" or "yak".

BRINGING IT TOGETHER

This is where things get very interesting. Let's start with the basics, walking through how to write the word "Adora".

Eternian, as a writing system, is much more artistic by design than Latin, and words and sentences can be constructed in many ways which are all read the same way. Eternian words - better called "sigils" - are read right-to-left, like Hebrew, Arabic, or traditional Japanese and Chinese. We form the sigils starting with a line sloping down in that direction book-ended with dots. The exact angle and length doesn't matter, but the right side is always noticeably higher than the left, like this:

We then add two additional decorative lines built off of that base, which end in dots:

These flourishes can be curved, geometric, or a mix of both, and often inform a lot about the "personality" of both a sigil and its writer, and can distinguish one sigil from another. They're like the sigil's signature. They can be any shape or length, but never overlap with themselves or other lines.

The next step is to begin adding the sounds. Much like the flourishes, these are constructed differently for every sigil, although again they are all read from right-to-left and the symbols are placed with that in mind. These are strung down from the sigil's base, connecting with straight lines. Let's start by placing the a-sound in "Adora" near the right-side edge of the line (this is the /ʌ/ line-glyph, like the u in "fun"):

Because the /ʌ/ glyph is a line, it replaces the normal connecting line. Let's finish this syllable line with the /d/ glyph:

...and then add another line with the glyphs for /orʌ/:

Generally, when a cluster ends with a line-glyph, it connects back to the base line. Clusters not at the end cannot end on a line-glyph (though I'm not sure about what to do for line-glyph-only words like "I" or "a" - perhaps the base line is changed, the line curves in an arc, or it ends at the changed portion?). Additionally, line-glyphs are always turned in the direction they're going - the beginning and ending /ʌ/ glyphs are flipped from each other, because the ending glyph is turned upwards going towards the base line while the beginning is stemming from it.

The important thing to remember is that sigils can be formed in a variety of ways - the flourishes, line angles, how you structure the syllables, all of these are dependent on the writer, so long as they follow those general rules. I constructed that sigil “AD.ORA”, but it could just as easily be “ADO.RA”, and in larger words there’s much more potential for structural changes.

Sigils in a sentence are connected through lines which meet the word next to each of the flourishes, and which bend to fit the shape of the sentence. Sentences are not read in any specific direction, but words are clustered in aesthetically pleasing ways and sentence order is shown by these connecting lines. However, The initial word in a sentence only has a line connecting on its left side, the final word only has a line on its right side, and words in between connect to the previous word on their right and the next word on their left.

Let's try extending this to a simple sentence - "Adora is She-Ra." We already have the She-Ra sigil from canon, so we just need to connect them with the word "is".

First, let's write the next word, below and to the left:

And connect the two with a line:

And then repeat with the "She-Ra" sigil.

...and finally...

There we go! You've officially written a sentence using Eternian glyphs! I hope you have fun with it! If you have any questions feel free to shoot me an ask. Thanks for reading!

[teyvat-temptations]

Betrayal: A Twisted!Kaeya Scenario

Inspired by Vili’s art on Twitter

A/N: Hi there! This is a new Genshin Impact imagine/scenario blog because I couldn’t resist the urge anymore. I’m still working on it, but I wanted to post something I worked on today for a friend. I hope you all enjoy!

Characters: Kaeya, Traveler/Reader (Gender neutral) Word Count: 1328 Genre: Angst Warning: Violence mentioned throughout Summary: None of this was supposed to happen. You couldn’t bring yourself to hurt Kaeya, but you knew it would be the only way to save him from himself.

This was madness. Reality mixed in with the twisted soul of someone loved by many, with little to be done other than to end it here and now. What stared back was not the man you had drinks with on your first night in Mondstadt, nor was it the man whose poetry confused you, yet it plucked at the harp strings in your heart to play a melody only you know.

What stood before you was betrayal.

As you stood in the dark, lantern-lit area, Paimon tried to shake your shoulder to ground you.

“Y/N, Y/N please!” Paimon pleaded, but your focus was on the tears pouring through his left eye. You wanted nothing more than to wipe them away, to tell him he never had to hide the truth from you.

“Y/N!” Paimon yelled again. That snapped you back to the present. “We can’t stand around here any longer!”

The whispers, oh the whispers surrounding you made your heart beat faster and your lungs tighten up. What are cries for help to the possessed, if not a cry for mercy? To end it all and release them from the pain they inflicted onto their loved ones- you shook your head to clear your mind of the whispers, but they never seemed to go away.

“Color me impressed.” Kaeya runs his long, sharp fingers over the edge of his blade. The way your face shone on the metal surface was haunting. Where it brought you comfort from the first time you trained together, it now brought sorrow.

“You made it to the very end, haven’t you? The end of peace in our nation was only the beginning. You’ll bear witness to a new era- and I am going to be front and center so you can see my good side.”

You remember what led to this. One by one, you saw your friends fall, crumpled in pain as Barbara and the other nuns desperately transported them to the cathedral for healing. Amber was the first, followed by Bennett-

What hurt you the most was Jean and Diluc falling from their wounds. The scream that teared through your vocal chords, your knees hitting the cold ground as you begged for this to stop. Nothing was real. It was a nightmare, wasn’t it? The second you would wake up, it would end!

Except the nightmare continued. When Paimon slapped you back to your senses, you felt the sting last on your cheek. You knew what had to be done.

“Help…” Was that Kaeya? You drew out your sword, glaring at this demon.

A demon- that was the man before you. Not the anti-hero with an attitude problem. No longer was there a charm to his presence, but rather an aura that screamed agony surrounded his being.

“Scared to step forward?”

“Run.”

“Afraid you’re going to fall, just like your little friends?”

“Are they safe?”

“Well… are you going to stop me?”

“Please.”

You slowly rose your arm, pointing the tip of the blade towards him. You were the savior of Mondstadt now. If anyone could stop Kaeya from committing further harm onto the people, it was you.

“So brave for a small body like yours.” Kaeya licked at his lips, the black liquid escaping his right eye dripping off of his tongue. “Shall we start?”

“End this… now.” No. You stood firm, shoulders back as hot tears now ran down your face. You ignored the whispers in your head and focused on Kaeya.

“Not running? I admired that about you.” You two started to walk around in a circle, neither making the first move.

“Never running from danger was something I found beautiful about you. No matter what we threw at you, you found your strength and even became an honorary Knight. Aren’t you proud of yourself for such an accomplishment? Gaining the trust of so many people that know your name- it must put a lot of weight on shoulders, no?”

“Don’t listen to me, Y/N.” Two voices, speaking at once. It was a battle for his soul, and you were going to make the final judgement call.

The air grew still. No one spoke, and the whispers stopped.

Clang! Swords struck each other- you made the first move, but he blocked it with ease. You were pushed back as he swung back. His sword was coated in the black liquid. His left hand held the sword as his claw reached to scratch at your eyes. Your sword was up and blocking his claw, the scratching sound on the metal irritating your ears as you jumped away from him once more.

“DON’T RUN ANYMORE, Y/N!” His small smile was replaced with a wicked grin, his eyes widening as he ran towards you. “AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE THE SAVIOR? THE ARCHONS BLESSED YOU, DIDN’T THEY?”

A cold laugh escaped from his lips as you moved away from his claw once more, but something caught your leg- a black tendril. Swinging your sword down, you managed to cut your leg out of it before Kaeya could strike with his sword.

“Save…” The last part was ignored as you swung and slashed at his chest. You left an open wound there, right above his heart as he growled from the pain.

“Congratulations, Y/N. Isn’t it satisfying being the first to land a hit on me?” He bared his teeth at you and rushed forward. The room was growing cold, but you had to ignore it. Moving away once again, you used your Palm Vortex to push him away.

It brought you enough time to breathe, but not enough to think of a strategy. Kaeya was back on his feet and bombrushing you once again, landing a few hits before grabbing at your throat and throwing you against the wall. His cold laughter only grew in volume as it bounced off the walls.

“GET UP!” You let out a strained cough and rose to your feet. “We’re not done here, Y/N. Not until one of us is dead!”

This was a game for him. You brought your sword up once more and let out some more coughs before breathing in fresh air. Kaeya would give you no time to think as he pushed himself towards you once more. Metal hit against metal as you moved underneath him and stabbed at his stomach. He slashed your back as you moved away, making you seethe in pain as you two circled each other again.

Something started to change about him. The blue veins that were present on his body began to glow along with his Vision. He stepped forward in long strides, fog rolling in beneath your feet. What was dripping from his eye ran all the way down his body onto the ground.

“Watch your step, Y/N.” Something cold wrapped around your legs and slowly crawled up to your body. You swung your sword and cut off the tendrils, but they grew back in no time. He was growing closer as you wasted your time on these tendrils, trying to break free from their grasp. Kaeya only laughed at your struggle.

“You seem caught, Y/N. Do you need assistance?”

“Run, please.” You managed to get away just in time as he tried to freeze you on the spot. That was too close. However, just as you thought you were safe, the tendrils began wrapping around your legs once again.

Their job was not to hold you in place. You felt yourself sinking into the ground, desperately cutting away to bring yourself back up to the surface. Kaeya grinned as he started sinking as well, embracing the cold and slimy touch of his creation.

“I’ll see you on the other side, Y/N.” You sunk further into the ground until you no longer saw the floor. Where he was taking you now was only a guess, but you knew one thing:

Kaeya’s still in there.

[aion-rsa]

How Final Destination Went From Real-Life Premonition to Horror Phenomenon

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The year 2000 was a scary one for horror films and not always in a good way.  

While American Psycho and The Cell offered up visually striking nihilistic thrills to genre fans, the majority of horror movies released at the dawn of the new millennium were at best forgettable and, at worst, lamentable – yes, we’re looking at you, Leprechaun in the Hood.  

This was the year of duff sequels like Book of Shadows: Blair Witch 2, Urban Legends: Final Cut and, though it is painful to admit, Scream 3. Horror fans were screaming out for something different, something exciting. They found it with Final Destination.  

Discarding the stalk-and-slash thrills that had enjoyed a revival in the years following the release of Scream, Final Destination centered on a group of high schoolers who end up avoiding a fatal plane crash thanks to a premonition, only to discover there is no escaping death’s plan as one by one they are offed in a variety of brilliantly inventive “accidents”.  

Released in March of that year, Final Destination was a sleeper hit with word-of-mouth helping the film to clean up at the box office, earning $112 million off a $23 million budget with more than half of that coming internationally.  

To date, it has spawned four sequels as well as a variety of novelisations and comic book spin-offs while a franchise reboot is also on the horizon.  

Read more

Movies

The Final Destination Movies, Ranked

By Sarah Dobbs

Jeffrey Reddick has worked on several films during his career to date but he’s probably best known as the creator of Final Destination. It’s something he has come to terms with.  

“It’s probably going to end up on my gravestone, it’s such an ironic title,” he tells Den of Geek.  

“Sometimes I’ll be out and I will hear someone say ‘you just had a Final Destination moment’ and it will make me smile. The whole thing just took on a life of its own.”  

Nightmarish Origins  

A screenwriter and director, Reddick recalls how his neighbors in rural Jackson, Kentucky, would laugh when his six-year-old self would tell them about his plans to work in the movie business.   

An avid writer and reader of Greek and Roman mythology, he recalls spending his formative years watching horror movies with his friends. His mother was only too happy to indulge his burgeoning interest too, knowing it kept him out of trouble elsewhere.  

Reddick’s life began to change after he saw A Nightmare on Elm Street.   

“That film cemented my love of horror. I was this 14-year-old hillbilly from Kentucky but I decided I was going to write a prequel. I went home, banged it out on my typewriter and sent it to Bob Shaye.”  

The legendary head of New Line Cinema initially dismissed Reddick’s draft out of hand, returning it with a note explaining the studio did not “accept unsolicited material.”  

Undaunted, Reddick sent the script back with a note telling him “Look mister, I spent three dollars on your movie and I think you could take five minutes on my story.”  

Shaye was impressed and struck up a bond with the youngster that saw him sending everything from scripts to posters to Reddick during his teenage years.  

When Reddick moved to New York to study acting, age 19, he was offered an internship with New Line, which would become a full-time role despite acting being his “main passion.”  

“Diversity in casting was not a thing at that time,” he recalls.  

“My agent was like ‘I don’t know what to do with you as an actor. We can’t put you up for gangsters or pimps and you don’t rap and you don’t play basketball.”  

“So  I figured, screw it, I will just write stuff and put myself in it.”  

Reddick was present at New Line during their company’s early 90s creative heyday and credits the experience with helping him get Final Destination off the ground.  

“I learned a lot about how to get a movie made. I knew that to make a movie that connected with an audience you had to tap into something that was universal. Death is the ultimate fear.”  

As luck would have it, the idea actually came to Reddick while on a flight back to Kentucky.  

“I read about a woman who was on vacation and her mother told her not to take the flight she was planning to take home as she had a bad feeling about it. The woman changed it and the plane she was supposed to be on crashed.”  

At that point however the idea wasn’t Final Destination. It wasn’t a film either. It was an episode of The X Files.  

The Truth Is Out There  

“I was trying to get a TV agent at the time and they recommended I write a spec script for something already on the air. I was a huge fan of The X Files and thought about a scene where somebody has a premonition and gets off the plane and then it crashes and used that as the plot.”  

“It was going to be Scully’s brother Charles who had the premonition. He gets off the plane with a few other people but they start dying and Charles blacks out every time there is a murder so people suspect he is doing it.   

Read more

TV

I Still Want to Believe: Revisiting The X-Files Pilot

By Chris Longo

“The twist at the end was that the sheriff who had been investigating alongside Mulder and Scully the whole time had actually been shot and flatlined at the same time as the plane crash.  Death brought him back to kill off all the survivors, including Charles.”  

It would have made for a great episode except it was never submitted to The X Files. Reddick showed his spec script to some friends at New Line who were so impressed, they told him to develop it into a treatment for a feature, which was eventually purchased by the studio.  

Producers Craig Perry and Warren Zide were brought onboard to develop the story and set about tweaking his idea.  

“Originally the cast of survivors were adults because I wanted to explore more adult themes but Scream had come out and teenagers were hot again so New Line got me to change it”  

In a twist of fate, two established writers from The X Files, James Wong and Glen Morgan, were brought onboard to rejig Reddick’s script.   

“My version was definitely darker and more like A Nightmare on Elm Street,” he says.  

“In my script, death would torment the kids about some kind of past sin they felt guilty about. They would then die in these accidents that ended up looking like suicides.”  

For example, Todd’s death saw him chased into the family garage by an unseen specter where he accidentally ended up rigged in a noose triggered when his dad opens the automatic garage door.   

Death is all around us  

Ultimately that death scene and several others were ultimately scrapped in favour of what would prove to be the franchise’s calling card.  

Reddick credits Wong and Morgan with coming up with the idea of having the film’s key death scenes kicked off by a Rube Goldberg machine-like chain-reaction that would see everyday things colliding to create a lethal scenario. It was nothing short of a masterstroke.   

“It created this notion that death is all around us,” Reddick says.  

“Death would use everyday things around us. It made it more universal and allowed us to set the deaths in places where people go all the time. The payoff would be fun but it was the build-up that had you on the edge of your seat.”  

There was one major sticking point for the studio though: the presence of death, or rather the lack of.  

“I fought really hard to make sure we never showed death because for me, if you didn’t show it, it could be something someone, no matter their belief system, could project onto our villain. That was a tough sell for the studio. They would be like ‘this doesn’t make any sense, you can’t see it and you can’t fight it’ but that’s the point, it’s death.”  

“Luckily both James Wong and Glen Morgan were very insistent we never show it and tie it in to a specific belief system.”  

Reddick credits the move with helping Final Destination become “an international phenomenon”.  

“It struck a chord with people around the world. It broke out beyond the horror audience.”  

Casting dreams   

When it came to casting, Reddick had a clear idea of who he wanted in the lead roles, even if the studio’s opinion differed drastically.  

“I had a wish list with Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst as my two leads but New Line was like ‘well…’”  

He might not have got his first pick but Final Destination boasted an impressive cast of up-and-comers who had already made waves among teen audiences.   

Devon Sawa had starred in Idle Hands, while Ali Larter was known for Varsity Blues and Kerr Smith was a regular on Dawson’s Creek. There was even room for Seann William Scott, fresh from his breakout turn in American Pie who was drafted in on the recommendation of producer Craig Perry, who told Reddick “you’ve got to get this kid, he’s going to be huge.”  

Even so, Reddick was left a little unhappy.  

“One of the conversations we had early on was like ‘Just remember this is set in New York, which is one of the most diverse cities in the world so let’s make sure we have some diversity in the cast’ and they were like ‘oh we will’ and then there wasn’t anyone who wasn’t white in it.”  

New Line chief Bob Shaye did find a way to make amends on some level at least, casting Candyman horror icon Tony Todd in a cameo role as a mysteriously foreboding mortician.  

“He called me up and said they had got Tony Todd and I flipped out. He is an icon. Such a talented, serious actor.”  

As well as co-write the film, Wong took on directorial duties while each of the film’s death sequences would require careful planning, his first aim was to have the film start with a bang by creating as terrifyingly realistic a plane crash as possible.  

“We want to do for planes and air travel what Jaws did for sharks and swimming,” he declared in one interview.  

Yet the film would later garner criticism for its eerie similarities to the explosion and crash of TWA Flight 800 off East Moriches, Long Island, New York in 1996 where 16 students and five adults died.  

“There was some criticism that the movie was written to exploit this real-life crash,” Reddick recalls.  

“I even realised later they used footage from one real-life crash which I wasn’t particularly happy about.”  

Indeed, much of the news footage shown in the film actually came from the 1996 crash.  

That didn’t stop the film becoming a major hit and spawning a sequel within three years.   

Final Destination meets Game of Thrones  

Reddick returned to write the treatment for Final Destination 2, determined to move the franchise away from its teen Scream origins.   

“We had tapped into that zeitgeist and didn’t have to do that again. I wanted to expand the universe and subvert it, so I had it open by following a bunch of teens who are then killed off.”  

Once again, divine intervention led to divine inspiration for the opening set piece.  

“Originally, I was going to have it open with some kids going to spring break and they stop off at this hotel and there is a fire but the producers were not sure. Writers always say you should go out and live life – life informs you and a lot of inspiration comes out when I go out for a walk.  

“I was driving back to Kentucky to see my family and I got stuck behind a log truck and the idea just came to me. I pulled off the highway and called Craig and was flipping out with this idea for a log truck on a freeway.”  

The resulting freeway pile-up that leads to multiple deaths is one Reddick ranks as his “favourite scene in the entire franchise.”  

“The second film is my favourite. I wanted to create a sequel that didn’t feel like a remake of the first. It went in a more fun direction – but it’s still scary.”  

That first sequel also represented the last of which Reddick was formally involved in, though he remained very much in the loop as the Godfather of the franchise, revealing that producers had been “looking at scripts before Covid hit.” 

He also revealed that, at one point, things looked to be heading in an altogether different and thoroughly fascinating direction.  

“There was talk about setting a Final Destination back in Medieval times. Like Game of Thrones in Final Destination. Craig Perry worked with a writer and they talked about the idea and put a teaser trailer together [which has leaked online].   

“I would go and see that movie in a heartbeat but the studio said that the reason Final Destination was so popular was that element of deaths in normal, everyday situations.”  

Future Destinations  

Reddick hasn’t given up on a return to the franchise though, hinting at a “unique” idea he has for a new film that is simply too good to reveal yet.   

In the meantime, he has been busy writing and directing Don’t Look Back, a film that shares some surface similarities with Final Destination and is painfully relevant to society today.  

“It’s a mystery thriller about a group of people who witness someone getting fatally assaulted in a park and don’t help the person and somebody films them and puts it online. The public turns on the witnesses and someone or something is coming after them.”  

Eager to make more horror films and celebrate diversity in his work, Reddick remains immensely proud of Final Destination and the impact it has had on audiences.  

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

“It’s cool. To have one movie that is going to be talked about after you die is a life goal. If that’s what I leave behind as a legacy that’s enough – but I still want more.” 

Don’t Look Back is available on DVD & Digital from 14th June

The post How Final Destination Went From Real-Life Premonition to Horror Phenomenon appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3oUb1UD

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 53

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I descended upon an alley. It was near here that Aurum said Tyrian was seen patrolling. It was down in Mantle and the grime for the mines was already getting in my hair and making it greasy.

I watched a small hotel from the Alley where I was setting up for my stakeout. I pulled my pipe and began to smoke as I watched. The smell was lost in the fumes from the mines. I pushed my hair back up out of my eyes with an open palm.

I was in it for the long haul and I watched people come and go. Hunters, maybe, came in and out of the hotel I was watching.

Neo offered to come with me but I had her infiltrating that Sinovial Bunker dressed as Winter Schnee to see what she could find. It should be fine. If Winter Schnee was anything like her sister she wasn't a talker so I doubted she'd run into trouble.

She just needed to confirm the presence of that maiden then get out. An old woman, Aurum had called her. That was pretty successful for a maiden career. I was willing to bet that, much like hunters, most died young.

So that's what she was doing. I was leaning in an alley, relic of knowledge by my side and my half cape pressed against a wall. I waited with my broadsword over my shoulder.

Eventually I was rewarded. Tyrian came crawling out of the hole. He was looking around warily. Like he could feel a predator's eyes on him. No sense in pretending to try and keep an element of surprise. I pocketed my pipe, I let the high ride over me. He was too wary for a sneak attack.

I stepped up and out into the street.

He saw me and he looked surprised.

"You…"

He stepped opposite me in the cobblestone street. Preparing for the eventual violence that would break out in a moment.

"Me." I agreed. I tried for ominous but I was willing to bet it came off as a touch pretentious.

I could probably have twisted Aurum's arm into making this a favor for him. Serial killers and mad men were bad for business but I wasn't interested. Plus this was personal.

"You're the son of our goddess. My lady told me about you." He crouched down, his tail whipped about over his head slowly. "You didn't bring her the relic," he sneered. "You denied her."

"No I didn't and I'll do it again, too."

"You willfully deny our queen?"

"I certainly hope so. Or else I've been doing it for nothing."

He snarled and brought out his blades. I slowly drew my broadsword and we stared one another down in the middle of the street. I held the comforting weight easily in one hand and put the other in a pocket.

"You still have the relic. It's not too late for you to give in," he murmured.

“Give in.”

A voice in my own head beckoned.

“Give in.”

"No. I don't think that I will," I retorted, both to him and that insistent voice. "I think I'm going to kill you."

He growled and lunged forward, crossing the gap and opening fire on me as he did.

I let a laugh burst from my lips. The sound was a touch insane and a lot bitter.

I squeezed a dust crystal to glass in my pocket and whipped my hand forward from my pocket.

The bolt of lightning struck him but he crossed his arms to defend himself. I slammed into him a moment later, I flew forward on a pocket of air. The combination left his weapons smoking and my blow rang against his weapons and sent him sliding back. It tore up the street a little at his feet.

A mad giggle of his own left his mouth. He grinned at me. "Good. I was worried this would be too easy."

I activated Limit Breaker, the power strummed throughout my body. It was present in the full otherworldly flames that wreathed me. He stepped back, wary of the power of Limit Breaker. As well he should be. I almost beat him before. This should be a cinch.

I pulled a red dust crystal from my pocket. I cracked it and the power ran up my arm. I threw the fire bolt at him and he stepped to the side. It splashed against a brick building further down the street. He let out another insane laugh.

"Your power. I remember." He tapped his forehead. "But you don't know anything about mine."

"My power grows," I said. "Your semblance doesn't concern me." I was bluffing a little. I was a touch worried about his trump card. I still had my own though. I had power in spades with the glow active.

And it was starting to affect my base state. I was able to fly around without Limit Breaker active now. It was growing. I was growing.

I held on to the limits of my soul. The elevated state made the world slow down around me. He fired his machine gun at me and I twirled my blade before me and blocked the bullets easily. It was better than letting him chip away at my aura.

He came at me low across the ground and I flew right at him. His blades came up and met my sword where I tried to hammer him. He stepped inside and tried to get in my guard. It was transparent to me and I blocked and immediately spent my semblance. I slashed him across the chest and followed it up with a flurry of blows and ended it with one last swung across his stomach.

"Ruh!" I grunted as I slung him to the ground.

The scintillating attack knocked him back and I had time to take in the scars on his chest as I knocked him to the ground. I had my own matching set of marks on mine that he left on me when we'd last crossed blades.

I jumped forward at him and the entire time I was airborn I was just threatening him with a falling aerial. I landed and jumped again and once more I threatened him. As soon as he made anything other than a defensive option. I slung him hard into a wall.

I walked slowly forward at him, sword raised. I smirked down at him. I could win this.

I felt my semblance leave me. The power, the rush, was gone. I'd have to fight him fairly until I got my next charge, which was fucking bullshit. I hated fighting my opponents fairly. That was when they could win. However, I could still get several more Limit Breaks this fight if things went my way.

Our blades met again.  And he swept his leg over at my head. I blocked it and he stabbed low with his left hand, then high with his right. Then he cartwheeled at me and brought his stinger at my face which I sidestepped. He jumped and kicked me in the face with both feet.

"Haah!" He called.

I grunted from it. I swept my blade back at him in a wide tilting slash that went shoulder to waist.

He was forced to block and he slid over my blade and jabbed at me with his stinger once, then twice, then three times. His fist glowed purple for a moment and he jabbed it at me but I sunk my sword into his aura for it. And I spun, bringing my blade with me and clotheslined him. He ate cobblestone. I swept my hand by my side and drew out a crystal more of what was becoming one of my favorite types. The energy ones. It was lightning and not fire. The easiest to use raw to greatest effect.

I cast the bolt on him and lightning jumped from me and struck him high. The bolt knocked him back down.

I slid tractionless across the ground and three-sixtied in a sliding forward tilt. My baseball style diagonal swing that I was able to put so much force behind. I whipped him to the ground again. Sliding forward tilt was gross.

"You don't even want to know why I'm here?" He asked. A lilt of laughter still to his voice. He flipped back onto his feet, nice and low.

"It probably has something to do with the relic up here. And the maiden."

"Winter. And it's the staff of creation. They will soon both belong to my queen."

"Good to know. But why you're here won't matter once I've killed you." Steam rose into the air from his hot weapons where the bolt struck him and he'd tried to shield it again.

"You think you'll kill me?" He giggled.

"Depends."

"On what?" The entire time we were talking I was charging my semblance.

"This." I answered. Limit Break activated again. The blue light was back and with it came the familiar chord of power. It was like lightning running down my spine. As much or even more so than using lightning dust was. The flames poured over me and I attacked him with increased vigor.

I swept my sword out and front-flipped bringing the blade down. He blocked but the force bent the cobblestone street downwards.

He grinned right in my face and punched me. He jabbed me with his claw in the stomach and he stabbed at me with his metallic tail. It hit me in the shoulder and I spun with the motion to the side. He kept on me. He kicked at my face and tried to send my aura with his claws again. I blocked and twirled Crocea Mors.

I slashed at his face and he was forced to duck. Then I cut at him lower at the leg and he jumped high over it and came to kick me in the face again. I grabbed his leg and bodily slammed him into the street. Limit still roared in my veins and I picked him like a vegetable, dropped him, and swung Crocea Mors like a baseball bat and caught him across the back.

He bounced down the street and I hovered after him. I backflipped at him, sweeping my sword at him vertically from low to high. He sidestepped. His fist glowed with purple aura once more and where it touched me my aura disintegrated.

I swore and swept my blade upwards and popped him into the air. Then I bench pressed him with a jumping lift of Crocea Mors. Then I brought the sword forward in a giant swing which he barely avoided.

He kicked me in the stomach and I grunted and stepped back. He tried to push his advantage with a snarl. His ponytail whipped about as he pressed forward.

He jabbed at me with his right claw. Then his left connected with my nose, which stung. I reeled backwards but he was on me. I brought my weapon between us and he pressed both claws against it and shoved me backwards. I was off balance and couldn't use my enormous strength. I stumbled back and his tail caught my leg and I started to fall.

I caught myself on air and swept my sword in a circle around me as I readied myself. It caught him in the legs but most importantly it forced him back a little.

He snarled at me. "Sarhh," a sort of half growling noise in frustration.

So far I was beating him. He had shown off his semblance too. Some kind of aura disruptor. And I was making him eat dirt anyways and he couldn't even appropriately capitalize on his advantage state because I was a hovering badass. Limit still coursed through me. I had every advantage.

I hit him with an aerial attack that bounced him off the pavement and spent Limit in a bladebeam that caught his roll.

He roared again. A noise that promised vengeance and violence and I stared him down unafraid as I charged up the next Limit Break.

He rushed me. He was a blitz of claws and tail and kicks. I blocked the first slash and he clipped me with the next when I couldn't react in time without Limit.

I front-flipped away from his next flurry of right legged kicks. I flew back at him and cut twice at chest level horizontally. He was forced back by the massive range my sword offered me. He tried to duck under but he just ate a knee to the face for his troubles.

Soon I would have Limit again. Whether from damage to him or damage to me. I mimed like I was going to aerial him again but he saw through the feint and jumped on me.

He knocked me to the ground for real and straddled me. He went for my neck. His glowing purple hands descended on me and ravaged my aura. In a moment he would cut my vulnerable throat with those sharp blades. My hands dropped my sword and caught his wrists.

That was when his tail came up and around. It stabbed at my face but I craned my neck to the side and it sunk into the cobblestone street.

It reared back and stabbed down again and once more I twisted my head out of the way.

I swept a leg up and wrapped it around his throat. He choked on my calf for an impossible moment and I rolled to my feet, my foot on his neck.

I dived to the side and picked up my sword. I abandoned my advantage to reclaim my weapon. I rolled back to my feet and was met with two boots to the face.

It was like a bell rang as Limit once more flowed through me. He growled again, part howl and backed off firing bullets at me. I blocked them easily enough and glid at him with one arm forward and my sword arm back.

I back-flipped at him after I reversed. And I slung my weapon against his hard enough to knock him back. I landed and swept my own kicks at him. I then brought my weapon around to take his head off and he caught it on both of his. I had Limit and leverage and I forced him back.

I drove my blade forward and rose up into the air before I slammed back down on him. My landing threw up cobble from the street. Our fight was turning the passage into a mess.

But it was nearing its conclusion. His shirt was starting to get torn up by the battle. The straps coming loose. My heart beat faster. I could feel the battle drawing to an end. And I wasn't losing. That dive onto me had been a desperate effort. I was going to kill him.

I slashed two times with a shout. The first he fought but the second landed below his ribs and knocked the wind out of him.

I stepped and pivoted right inside his effective range and swung upwards.

I threw him up into the air with a golf style swing he couldn't block. Then I followed him into the air and I Octa-slashed him. I hovered in the air and went through all eight swings. I slashed vertically twice at the end to finish things off and he was hurled eight feet straight down.

He landed and I brought my blade straight down on his chest. It sunk into his purple crackling aura and then through deep into muscle and cracking bone.

It was more satisfying than sex, watching him cough up blood as he choked out his last.

I just stood over him and began charging my next Limit. I clapped my hands once, slapping one off the other like I finished a hard day's work and pulled my weapon out of his chest.

He leaned up with it and spat up a lot of blood.

I laughed and he died. He laughed a little too which ruined my moment a little.

I got close to activating my next charge. First responders would be here soon and I had better be gone before they arrived. I sheathed my weapon over my shoulder and it folded slightly into the form I used to carry it around in.

I tapped the side of Tyrian's face with my boot and stepped back. I pulled his weapons free and put them in my deep pockets. Our battle had really done a number on the street around us. His bullets had shattered windows and my fire spell had left a building splattered with flames.

Oh well. One down. Three to go. Cinder, Merlot, Hazel.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

[drabbledragon]

Linktober: Pumpkin

Hi guys, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve been having some trouble with personal matters for like the past year and a half and of course the virus has shaken up  everyone’s lives for the worst but I believe now I’ve gotten a chance to start writing again and finish all the WIPs as well as requests I still have in progress.

Regardless, the LinkedUniverse discord is holding a prompt challenge for artists and writers alike and I decided to join in on the fun and get back into the swing of writing and posting again. So expect daily posts from me all the way until the end of October (unless another monthly challenge pops up)!

By the way, I have an archiveOfOurOwn account now so if you feel that you would like to read the story there, here’s the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749021/chapters/65257171

Summary: On the way to Malon’s house, one of the Links could have sworn they saw a familiar enemy.

Warnings: None

Day 1: Pumpkin

It was a blessing that Hylia had shifted the Links close to Lon Lon Ranch this time; it had allowed them the perfect opportunity to finally relax and free themselves from all the physical and mental tolls countless battles had put on them. The group trudged forward in a disarrayed line with Time eagerly leading them towards the approaching farmhouse. 

“It’s always nice to see the Old Man so happy.” Twilight smiled in Time’s direction, and from his peripheral, he could see Four nod in response.

“Yeah, it’s not very often that you see the guy crack a genuine smile.”

They were just at the foot of the doorstep when a sudden yelp and draw of a sword caught their attention. Each swordsman swiveled on their heel in an instant, with some even going so far as to pull their weapon of choice out; as soon as they saw the scene before them, they all froze.

“Legend,” Time called out, one eyebrow raised in quiet confusion. “ What are you doing?”

It was a simple question, really, but somehow, Legend was still sputtering to find a proper answer. With half of his sword buried in a pumpkin, he titled his head up and panickingly yelled out, “Idiots, don’t just stand there! Come over here and help me kill these spirits!”

The Links stood there in varying states of confusion and amusement and Legend was more than sure Warriors was chuckling at his expense. He watched as Wild crouched on the opposite side of him and experimentally gave the vegetable a poke.

“It doesn’t look like a spirit to me,” He frowned, and he silently directed a worrying glance towards the veteran. “ You didn’t get sick from my stew last night, did you? I know there's a couple of plants in there that are known to cause hallucinations but I didn’t -”

“What? No! These are all Pumpkin Heads! Don’t you guys recognise them?” Legend said as he slashed through a couple more of the vegetables. When he looked back at the others, he seemed to deflate a bit when all he received were blank stares. “ Really? Big spirit that possesses a pumpkin as a head? No, nothing?”

“Just looks like regular old pumpkins to me.” Time drew back and let his shoulders drop in relief. Good, no real danger here, and he was especially happy that he and the group didn’t lead any real enemies towards his wife and home. A sudden thought came to mind and he pressed his lips into a tight frown. “ Although once Malon finds out, she most likely won’t treat it as such.”

As if on cue, Malon rounded the corner of the Cucco’s coop with a bucket of water in hand, absentmindedly humming a familiar tune. She lit up as she saw her husband and her self - proclaimed sons waiting by the door, but her expression dropped to unbridled horror once she saw what the Links were staring at. The bucket she was carrying slipped from her grasp and thudded mutely to the ground.

“My pumpkins!”

All faces turned to her in alarm with Legend’s expression harboring the most guilt and panic out of all of them.

“Ms. Malon, I -”

Whatever Legend tried to say was completely lost to the commotion as the redhead rushed to the scene of the crime, hands trembling as she slowly lifted up one of the destroyed pumpkins.

“These pumpkins were raised from the few seeds I was able to get this year; now all them are completely ruined.” The quiet sorrow was quickly replaced with barely - contained fury as she directed a glare towards her husband. “ Link, explain.”

“I believe it was a misunderstanding,” Time began calmly, but underneath that facade, Legend was more than sure their leader was just as frightened as the rest of them. “ Legend thought the pumpkins were an enemy that only seemed to appear in his Hyrule. I doubt he was truly trying to ruin our crops, but rather trying to protect all of us.”

“Is that so?” Malon drawled. 

There was a moment of pause between the group and for some reason, the air seemed thicker to Legend. All throughout their time together, Malon has been nothing but hospitable toward them. Whenever the group stumbled into Time’s Hyrule, she was always there to cook them a fresh hot meal, always there to patch up their wounds and provide them with as many potions as they needed, always there to provide them with warm and comforting beds in a house that was free from Moblins and Keeses. What would happen now that Legend single - handedly destroyed that trust? Would Malon openly show her hatred? Would she kick him out of her house? The millions of panicked thoughts began to make him dizzy.

The silence ended with a long tired sigh. 

With hands placed on hips and a small pout on her lips, Malon said, “ Well, then I guess it can’t be helped. You boys have been on a lot of adventures and whenever something strikes a bad chord in you, you just can’t help but go and defend yourself.” She crouched down to the Hero of Legend’s eye level and smiled warmly. “ It’s alright to mess up, hon; I know you didn’t mean anything bad by it and I’m not gonna hold this little mishap over your head. What’s done is done, and the only thing to do now is move on.”

Slowly but surely, the feelings of dread plaguing Legend seemed to disappear like a fog clearing up. He hadn’t destroyed Malon’s trust; he hadn’t lost one of the few people he had met that was willing to love and care for him like their own son. He hated the Goddess and everything she stood for but maybe once, he could offer her a little thank you for making sure that this trivial situation didn’t ruin one of the places and people he had to call home.

Malon rose up and crossed her arms over her chest, surveying what was left of her pumpkin patch. “ Now it looks like the only thing left to deal with is all these destroyed pumpkins.” She frowned in thought. “ I guess I can just turn these into compost.”

“Actually,” The group turned to see Wild with pieces of pumpkin held in each hand and Twilight right beside him picking at the flesh and seeds of another large piece. The Hero of Wilds’s eyes seemed to twinkle with a particular shine, one that usually came whenever he was about to cook. “ I think these pumpkins are just ripe enough to be used in cooking. We could make stuff like pumpkin stew, meat - stuffed pumpkins ...”

“Pumpkin pie,” Twilight added in between mouthfuls. “ Pumpkin muffins.”

“Pumpkin soup, pumpkin bread - really, anything you can think of, we can make!”

The group rose up with quiet murmurs of agreement and some were even so bold as to shout out more recipes they could make. Legend carefully removed his sword from his latest vegetable victim and sheathed it, listening silently to the excited words from the others around him. He quietly let out a sigh of relief; perhaps the situation wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

“Then it’s settled,” Malon proudly announced with a smirk on her lips. “ We’ll have a pumpkin feast tonight!”

The group erupted into cheers.

Next>

[kleptic-writes]

Drop ‘Em Out (Let Me See Them Knockers)

“Well, this is a cover of the song “Drop ‘Em Out” by Wheeler Walker Jr,” Kara says to the camera, her striking blue eyes staring into the camera as if trying to get it across that she is really saying this to Lena. She hums a note, before pausing, and saying, “I really hope you enjoy this, Lena.”

Kara strums a chord again and hums for about two seconds. She takes a deep breath and nods to herself, her left leg starting to bounce up and down as if keeping time. Kara looks like a real musician.

--

A one-shot where Lena is having a dilemma surrounding Kara. But, to be honest, when is she not having a dilemma surrounding Kara?

Word Count: 2134 words

Rating: T--but talks about boobs, so... take that how you will.

Read It Below or on AO3.

Sam exits the elevator quickly, her heels tapping against the floor. Her long legs stride towards the door to the CEO's penthouse, the urge to run bubbling up from deep down within her soul. She pulls her spare key out of her pocket, hands shaking as she clicks the door open and walks inside.

She nods at Jess, who is sitting and scrolling through her phone on the couch. “I came as fast as I could,” Sam says, almost yelling as her eyebrows furrowing together with worry. “What do you mean that Lena is ‘having a moment?’ Is she alright?” she asks.

Jess leans closer to the taller woman, but her eyes glance towards the closed bedroom door. “Go in for yourself and talk to her,” she whispers. “There’s just no logic and reason going through her head right now.”

Sam sucks in a deep breath and nods, mentally preparing herself for the absolute worse. She turns on her heel and walks to the door of the bedroom, pushing it open to see Lena staring wide-mouthed at her computer screen. She obviously hasn’t changed for the day because she is still wearing her morning red silk robe—not that there is much of the day left.

It’s already 3:53 according to Sam’s phone.

Oh, this is a lot worse than what Sam thought. She sighs and steps further into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

“Lena?” Sam asks, turning around to fully survey the situation.

The young CEO glances up at her with a glazed look in her eyes.

Sam bites her lip, studying Lena for a second too long so that it passes over the point of ‘      I am being a great friend    ’ and into ‘      I am a concerned mother looking over my child    ’ territory. But, to be honest, Lena is acting very similar to when Ruby came home lamenting over how cute her crush was three weeks ago.

Sam frowns. “Is everything alright?” she asks, stepping closer into Lena’s personal space.

Lena shakes her head as if she were shaking the cobwebs free from all the crevices in her brain. Her bright green eyes finally land on Sam, her eyes widening to almost a humorous degree.

“Sam,” Lena says, her voice cracking like a teenage boy going through puberty. Sam frowns as this is so much worse than what she thought it would be. “I think it finally got through to Kara that I’ve been flirting with her,” the CEO squeaks.

Sam tilts her head. “Why do you say that?” She quickly glances around the room for any signs of romance: flowers, cards,      anything    . She looks back at the CEO and raises an eyebrow at Lena when nothing appears to Sam right away. Her eyes flicker down, briefly, to the computer before Lena, and a thought pops into her head that makes her shiver.

Did Kara send Lena a sex video?  

 Sam shakes her head, that would be ridiculous. Kara is in isolation according to Supergirl’s twitter page.

 (“Lmao guys, I might have an alien virus!! I’ll keep you updated!!” it had said. Sam still balks every time she thinks about that. Who says LMAO when they have a potentially deadly virus?)

 “Just start from the beginning, Lena,” Sam ends up saying, trying to coax the CEO into telling her what’s wrong.

 “I am the product of a sordid love affair and my mother hates-”

 “Lena.”

 “Fine, fine,” Lena huffs and crosses her arms, staring Sam in the eye with obvious annoyance on her face. “It all started this morning when Kara and I were supposed to have our daily Zoom call with one another. She might’ve been exposed to an alien virus, you know.”

 “I heard.” Sam feels her eye twitch.

 “Anyway, this morning…”

--

 Lena sips on her morning coffee while her fingers rapidly click against the spacebar of her computer, coaxing the machine to wake up for the day. It blinks awake and she quickly types in her password.

--

 “I don’t need like a fucking novel,” Sam groans, her left hand flying up the air as a feeling of exasperation settles in her stomach. “Just tell me what happened!”

 “I’m getting there,” Lena snaps, “Hold your horses.”

--

 Lena hums and softly blows the steam away from her face as she refreshes her email inbox, waiting for Kara’s email to the Zoom room link.

 She looks out the window, frowning when a red dart--sadly, not Supergirl--flashes across the sky. Must’ve been a bird or something. Oh, Lena misses Kara like a fish missing water.

 Lena opens her phone and clicks on the texting conversation between her and Kara.

 “where are you??” Lena types, before deleting, pausing, and looking out the window once again so she can think of a better text to send to her best friend. She bites her lip, every possible message running through her mind rapidly and slowly at the same time because this is Lena’s most anxious part of the day, despite what anyone else thinks.

 She looks back to her phone and sucks in a breath, sending “are we still on for zoom?” to the blonde, quarantined superhero. “i can also do it later in the day if you can’t do it right now,” she adds in quick succession.

 “Check your email! :D” Kara quickly responds not a second later, and Lena feels her heart flutter as she stares at the cute emoticon. It is so Kara. “But could we possibly Zoom later? I have some lab tests about to be done on me” and “I don’t want our time cut short” comes in two messages back to back.

 “then why am i checking my email,” Lena almost asks, before deleting the message. She sighs, bringing her cup back up to her lips as her fingers fly to click the reload button. She clicks and anxiety starts to build in her stomach.

 She frowns as an email from Kara loads with the title:  Watch Me!!!

--

 Sam puts her hands on her hips and looks up at the ceiling. “So,” she says, interrupting Lena’s story. “you’re freaking out slash mildly upset because you didn’t have your daily Zoom call?”

 Lena sputters. “N-no,” she says while her eyes fly around the room rapidly as if the young CEO wouldn’t dare look her friend in the eye. Sam raises an eyebrow at the action and hums, trying to figure out what is going on.

 “Let me just continue with my story, Sam,” Lena whines, “Then, you can offer your genius or whatever.”

 “You’re damn right I’m going to offer my genius after all this,” Sam nods, motioning for Lena to continue, “please tell me more about why you’re so freaked out right now.”

 “Well, I clicked on the email which had a YouTube link sitting inside...”

--

 Lena almost chokes on her coffee once the video loads. Her green eyes squint together, amused, as she stares at Kara smiling widely into the camera.

 The blonde is wearing an      interesting     outfit, to say the least, and it makes Lena wonder if Alex decided to get Kara’s clothes for her--but at a steep price. But, like always, Kara still looks like the perfect mix between hot and cute. Maybe it’s an alien thing.

 Well, to put it plainly, Kara looks like a Cowboy. And, it is making Lena feel      things    .

 Her taut white t-shirt is covered by a blue and red well-worn flannel, and a straw cowboy hat rests on top of her head with her blonde hair down and semi-wild. Since Kara isn’t wearing her glasses, she looks as if Supergirl decided to go to a rodeo and just fought an evil bucking alien.

 “Hey, Lena,” Kara says, grinning into the camera. She reaches one of her hands up as if wanting to fix her glasses, but then coughs, and fixes her hat instead. “I haven’t seen you in person for a few weeks now,” the blonde muses, her blue eyes dropping to her lap as if extremely disappointed.

 . “I really hate that,” she continues, “But, nevermind that. I have something to show you! Something that I hope--oh, golly--I hope you’ll like this.”

 The CEO raises an eyebrow at the screen, silently wondering if Kara is going to use her superhearing to listen to Lena’s reaction.

 “Anyway,” Kara continues, “I’ve had a lot of time on my hands recently. I’ve really enjoyed our Zoom calls, but they’re the only thing that I really look forward to nowadays. So, I decided to learn how to play some country music. One sec,” she stands and exits offscreen.

 Lena bites down on her lower lip, slamming her eyes together so a groan doesn’t escape from her lips. Sure, Lena would love to watch Kara’s serenade from the DEO, but she doesn’t really care for country music.

 “Well, here is a song that I hope that you enjoy,” Kara says, and Lena slowly opens her eyes. Kara is holding a guitar with a shit-eating grin on her face.

--

 “Wait,” Sam interrupts again, “This all about a      song    . You’re freaking out over a song?”

 “Let me tell my own story, Sam,” Lena sniffs, crossing her arms. “It makes more sense if you just listen.”

 “Jeez, okay.”

--

 Kara clears her throat, and strums such a beautiful chord that Lena suddenly gets the urge to listen to more country music--but, only if Kara will listen to it as well. Her blue eyes shimmer and shine almost as if she had caught stars and put them in her eyes.

 “Well, this is a cover of the song “Drop ‘Em Out” by Wheeler Walker Jr,” Kara says to the camera, her eyes staring into the camera so she could get it across that she is really saying it to Lena while strumming another angelic chord. She hums, before pausing, and saying, “I really hope you enjoy this, Lena.”

 Kara strums a chord again and hums for about two seconds. She takes a deep breath and nods to herself, her left leg starting to bounce up and down as if keeping time. Kara looks like a real musician.

 Lena leans closer to the screen, enraptured by what she sees. Maybe after Kara gets out of Quarantine, Lena will just ask Kara to play guitar chords while the CEO happily (and hornily) drinks wine.

 Kara plays another chord and opens her mouth, her bright voice echoing in the bedroom.

 “Drop 'em out,” Kara’s voice is angelic, Lena thinks. “Let me see them titties. Gonna take a long look at those tig 'ol bitties. Areolas lookin' nice, nipples lookin' real pretty…”

 Lena gasps, shock ricocheting throughout her entire body as she watches Kara… sing about boobs? Kara would never do that.

 “Come on let me gander at your boobs.”

 Scratch that. Kara wants to see her boobs..? What in the--

--

 “No way that happened,” Sam says, rolling her eyes. “Kara can barely even say boobs, much less ‘titties.’ And that part with the Areolas? Bah!”

 “She did,” Lena says, nodding her head. “I’ve been watching the video all morning in fact. Do you want to see it?”

 Sam pauses, considering her choices very carefully. “I’m good,” she decides.

 “Are you sure?” Lena asks, looking worried and unsure as if she were afraid that Sam doesn’t believe her. “All I have to do is just click--”

 “Do      not     click that button,” Sam says, firmly, her hand almost slapping herself in the face. “I don’t want to hear it.”

 Lena pauses, biting on her lip. “What do I do, Sam?” she asks, her voice small. “I’ve never been in this situation before.”

 “Honey,” Sam sighs, “I don’t think anyone has been in this situation before. But you know what?” Lena perks up and stares at Sam with an extreme fascination. “You can do exactly what Kara told you to do… show her your boobs!”

 “Really?”

 “Yes,” Sam says, and then she hesitates. But, then she shrugs and agrees with herself that this might be the fastest course of action. “Yeah, show her your wonderful boobs.”

 Lena nods. “Okay,” she says as if trying to psych herself up, “I will. I will show Kara my boobs. But,” she pauses staring at Sam with an extremely pitiful gaze, “I will only do it if you help me make sure that they look perfect. Help me with lighting and whatnot.”

 Sam looks up at the ceiling and closes her eyes. The fate of her friend’s relationship is now in her hands, no matter how much she doesn’t want it to be. She sighs and looks back down at Lena.

 “Sure,” she says, “Let’s make sure your boobs look great for Kara.”

 “Our zoom call is at 4:30.”

 “You will look like Kara’s personal cam star at 4:30, then.”