#Death Metal (early); Progressive Death Metal

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Death - Within The Mind

#Death #Spiritual Healing #Within The Mind #Full-length #Release date: #February 16th #1990 #Genre: #Death Metal (early); Progressive Death Metal (later) #Themes: #Gore #Horror (early); Society #Enlightenment (later) #USA

[reiding-writing]

AHH YAYAYAYAYAY I LOVE THIS SERIES SM IM SO GLAD YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTSSSS!! okay sooooo, i was wondering if you could do a lil continuation of the last part where spencer visits reader in prison and reader’s all confused because they never get visitors and then they see it’s spencer and get all excited (maybe spencer comes to tell reader that he spoke to the court or wherever is considering their appeal, idk how that whole process works lmao, and he’s told them that he believes reader isn’t a threat and that they should be moved to a psychiatric facility instead of staying in prison)

AHH OKAY LUV U BYE 🫶🫶🫶

THE FIRST VISIT

spencer reid&gn!unsub!reader || 2.2k || bloodied roses event!!

WARNINGS: sociopathic!reader, prison guards being dicks, early-seasons!spencer

a/n — thank you mllll 🫶 glad you like the series <333

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ unsub!reader masterlist!!

It’s been almost eight months since you returned to the California Correctional Institution. Back to the familiar concrete walls of your own personal hell and practically sitting stationary as the world span around you.

It was arguably worse than just giving you the death penalty, forced to live in a stupidly awful state of limbo where you did nothing but languish in your own boredom for 23 hours a day without so much as a pen and a piece of paper to satiate you—lest you stab someone with it during your ‘recreational’ hour outside your cell.

The progress of your appeal was slow, basically static, and whilst you weren’t surprised, it was beginning to frustrate you. Why would they drag everything out when you knew they were just going to reject you anyway?

It was stupidly idiotic and a waste of everyone’s time, including yours.

There’s a sharp knock on the door of your cell, then someone slides open the metal hatch, leaving a grating sound in its wake.

“Hands.”

The borderline condescension in his tone makes you want to shove his tongue down his throat, but you know when to pick your battles, so you stick both of your hands through the slot palms up and wait for the familiar cold metal of handcuffs against your wrists.

They’re far too tight as they’re clamped shut, pinching your skin uncomfortably to the point where you’re sure it’ll leave marks, and you bite back the urge to curse out the guard his clear incompetence as he unlocks the door and pulls you out by the metal connecting your hands.

His expression matches his rashness as he forces you down the corridor with another guard to his side, and you swear that if you weren’t acting on your best behaviour for the minuscule chance that they did actually approve your appeal you would’ve given the two a piece of your mind already.

“Where are we going?”

No answer.

“Why am I out of my cell?”

“Shut up before I muzzle you.”

Oh the urge to punch that man in the face.

You settle for a side eye that would probably be the only thing the State Officials needed to reject your appeal knowing how much they despised you for existing, and the rest of the walk is finished in a thick blanket of silence.

The room they lead you into is technically two, lined by a thick pane of glass that splits the room in half, an uncomfortable looking metal chair and floating table with a rotary phone on either side.

“Sit down.”

A small flare of your nose is the only display of your rising anger, your paper-thin composure shrivelling millimetre by millimetre every second you’re forced to look at his stupid face.

You sit down with an air of curiosity. It was very clearly a visitation room you’d been led to, but who in their right mind would choose to visit you? Who had the leeway to get to visit you from inside one of the highest security prisions in the state when getting access to do so was almost impossible?

You just hoped it wasn’t someone from the appeal board. They were always so monotonous and boring.

You sit waiting for almost five minutes, watching the barred clock on the wall tick away until there’s a click from one of the exterior doors and then the door on the other side of the room opens.

And the vexation in your expression shifted into something much more resembling amusement.

The sounds of the chair being dragged out from the table is muffled through the glass, as is the sound of him sitting down, but when he picks up the phone on his table a sharp ringing echoes through the one on yours as a physical show of his presence.

You watch it ring for a few seconds before you turn your attention to the guard standing behind you, and you hold your wrists up towards him expectantly, watching the indignation rise in his face as reluctantly pulls out the keys to remove your handcuffs.

The freedom of your wrists is short-lived though, and almost immediately after you’re uncuffed, your dominant hand is dragged back down to the table to be cuffed against it, a loud thud emanating from it at the edge of your hand catches on its edge.

You’re less perturbed under the presence of your visitor, but you’re sure the seething anger is present enough in your eyes for the guard to see it nonetheless.

Regardless, with one hand free of restraint, you pick up the ringing phone and hold it to your ear, leaning back in your chair with an almost entertained expression.

“Doctor Reid, came all the way to California to visit little old me?”

There’s a small twitch in the corners of his mouth as he restrains himself from smiling at your tone.

He shouldn’t be smiling at a serial killer. Especially not inside a maximum security prison with four guards present.

“I told you I would,”

“That you did,” You give a small nod of acknowledgment against the phone at his statement, eyebrows raised ever so slightly to break the otherwise barren planes of your face. “Didn’t think you’d go through with it,”

“It wasn’t easy,” Spencer lets out a small breath of a laugh, pressing his lips together awkwardly. “There was a lot of paperwork involved,”

He’s mildly embarrassed by his confession, that he’d jumped through so many hoops to be able to visit you like he told you he would. That he’d flown across the country to see you whilst lying to the team that he was going to visit his mother.

“That’s a lot of effort,” There’s a small scrunch of your eyebrows at your response, not a show of sympathy for everything he’d done to be there in person but more of judgement that he’d put himself through it at all.

You hadn’t asked him to visit you. He told you he would, and followed through on it of his own fruition.

“I thought it’d be better to speak to you in person rather than over the phone,”

“You’re still speaking to me over a phone Dr Reid,” You jostle the phone in your hand slightly as a show of your point, and the small quirk of your mouth tells him that you’re joking with him.

“You know what I mean,” Spencer’s expression mirrors yours in the way he almost smiles, and he lets out a short breath of light-hearted exasperation. “I wanted to see you, not just hear you,”

“Well,” You make an outward gesture with your freehand as you lean against the back of your chair again, crossing one leg over the other. “You’re seeing me,”

That he is. You don’t look quite like you did when you joined the BAU on the case, a little paler, thinner, your hair is a little longer and there’s a notable number of bruises covering your arms.

He doesn’t need an eidetic memory to know where those have come from. Although the sound of your wrist hitting the edge of the table at the start of conversation would definitely be stapled into his mind for a while.

“So then, what constitutes a visit from you Dr Reid?”

“I wanted to talk to you about your appeal,”

Any and all whisper of minuscule enjoyment at Spencer’s presence evaporates from your face the minute the word ‘appeal’ comes out of his mouth. It’s honestly fascinating just how fast your demeanour changes, although he’s not sure why it would, surely your appeal would be something of interest to you, not something you actively don’t want to talk about.

“Seriously? You fly all the way over here and you want to talk about my appeal? You do realise this—” You gesture back and forth between the two of you, “—is the one hour I get out of my cell today right? I’m not going to spend it talking about the stupid appeal.”

Seemed like he’d hit a sore spot.

“I just wanted to say that it’s looking pretty good for you,” He cuts straight to the point, not wanting to ruffle you more than he unintentionally had but also wanting to make sure that the main reason for his visit in the first place— apart from the fact that you’d inhabited a corner of his brain for the last eight months and wouldn’t leave no matter how hard he tried—was actually aired out.

You let out a small scoff into the phone’s receiver, and it’s almost grating as it meets Spencer’s ears. “You don’t have to lie to me Dr Reid, I know they’re just dragging everything out until they can find a reason to reject it.”

“They have three weeks before the deadline for their decision, they won’t find anything,” There’s an air of confidence in Spencer’s assessment, but it doesn’t do anything in chipping away your preconceived notion of failure.

“I submitted a report on the BAU’s behalf,” He is decidedly less confident in admitting that second part, left hand subconsciously reaching towards the rolled up sleeve on his right arm to ease the nervous tension in his hands. “To try and support it through the final stages,”

“Leave your arm alone.” You seem to almost completely disregard what Spencer says, and he practically does the same himself as his eyes flicker down towards where his left hand is absentmindedly scratching at the inside of his right elbow, leaving red streaks on his skin.

He pulls his hand away with his lips pressed taut into a line, stuffing it into his pocket so he can’t be tempted to do it again. “Sorry,”

“What did you write in your report?” You’re over it before he can even get his apology out, and he clears his throat to regain his sense of composure, tightening his grip on the phone so it doesn’t slip out of his hand under the small film of sweat coating his palm.

“You uh— displayed a lot of your humanity on the case, especially towards your family, and I thought it’d be beneficial for the officials considering your transfer to know that fact,”

You let out a small exhale through your nose, lips quirked upwards ever so slightly. He could almost believe that you were grateful for his contribution, but then you started speaking and the condescension in your tone was enough to tell him that you were definitely not displaying ‘gratefulness’.

“That’s not gonna do jack shit,”

Spencer sighs softly, eyes flickering downwards for a second in ever so slight disappointment in your reaction to his attempt at helping you.

He doesn’t really know what he was expecting from you, but having you disregard it so easily definitely blew the wind out of his sails a little bit.

“You’d be surprised I think,” His attempt at redeeming himself isn’t the most thought through thing he’s ever done, but then again he’s sat in a maximum security prison talking to a serial killer, so arguably he’s done worse. “In cases like yours for ASPD, having someone as a witness of your humanity could really help out your chances,”

“Yeah we’ll see about that,” You don’t seem as frustrated with him as you do disbelieving. Like no matter what evidence he tried to provide you of your decently likely chance of actually getting a transfer you’d made it up in your mind that it was never going to happen.

“Do you… want the appeal to go through?”

You scoff. “What kind of question is that?”

”It’s just, you’ve decided that it’s not going to go through, don’t you— I don’t know, want it to?”

”Of course I do.”

“Then—” Spencer presses his lips together with a short sigh. “…have some faith, If not in me being able to help you then at least in yourself,”

There’s silence over the line for a few seconds, and Spencer can see the cogs turning in your brain as you decide how you want to respond.

You don’t get the chance to.

“That’s it. Ten minutes is over.”

The phone is practically snatched from your hands to be placed back on the receiver, and there’s a sharp end-dial on Spencer’s before he puts his own phone down and readies himself to stand.

The roughness in the guards as the pull you from your seat and re-cuff you is almost aggressive, and the self-restraint you put on yourself to not respond to it is so decadently on display that it’s proof enough for him to believe your appeal will go through.

He hopes that your appeal goes through.

If for nothing else at least so you don’t get dragged around like a ragdoll by the people who are supposed to be reforming you.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #unsub!reader #bloodied roses 🥀

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

King of Hearts

Chapter 1 - Long Live the King!

A Mafia!Steve Harrington AU (featuring Mafia!Eddie Munson)

Next

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The Mafia world is on edge when Steve Harrington comes back to town to take over for his father. His presence sets off a whirlwind of emotions that you'd thought you'd buried long ago.

18+ Only! Minors DNI! (Future smut and mature themes!)

CW: Slow burn. Exes to lovers. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Dove." Angst. Pining. Reader is married to an abusive asshole (this will get worse as the story progresses). Reader is assaulted. Talk of death. Funeral. Drug use/abuse.

WC: 6.1K

You crept through the foyer, hoping the small sound of the door closing wouldn’t rouse anyone in the large house.

Removing your heels from your stocking clad feet, so that you could silently move through the room and quickly check your surroundings, pausing, listening. You were met with nothing but the sound of your heartbeat reverberating in your chest.

You thought you were in the clear, but your false sense of security was quickly shattered, rounding the corner only to be met with your husband’s steely glare. A cigarette and stiff drink in hand. He was home early.

Nikolai was a large, intimidating man with broad shoulders, sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that threatened to set anyone aflame that came near.

He was sitting in front of the large fireplace in the study. When you caught his gaze, he bid you to come forward as he set the drink down. Brining the cigarette to his lips, taking a long inhale before resting it alongside his drink.

Dressed in his usual suit, his jacket left on the chair behind him, leaving him in a white button up with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms revealing an expanse of black ink beneath.

You shuffled forward slowly, crossing your arms behind your back with your heels still dangling from your fingertips.

“Tough day, my love?” he cooed, in a sickly-sweet voice that would almost sound sincere to anyone else. His lips turned up into a cruel smirk as he turned to look at you.

You hated it when he called you that. There was only one man that said it and ever truly meant it.

“You know exactly how my day has been.” You hissed, already over his little games.

“Now kitten, a little birdie told me you were seen with him. Though, it doesn't come as a surprise.” Calm tone, but you knew that was about to change. The literal calm before the storm.

“Nik,” you started, his palm met your cheek with a sharp smack that echoed in the otherwise quiet space, along with the thud of your heels that fell from your grasp. Your eye instantly welled, unable to control the tears forming from the force of his blow. Pain instantly searing the skin.

You could taste the familiar metallic tang in your mouth, as you reached up trying to soothe the discomfort. Yet another bruise to hide in the morning.

Ever defiant, you raise your head slowly, to meet his cold, indifferent gaze.

He gripped your chin, forcing your face closer to his.

“Now, kitten,” no feeling whatsoever behind those words.

“This kind of behavior just won’t do for my reputation. I can't let you go whoring around with him out in public, making me look like a fool in the process.”

He removed his hand slightly, only to cup your cheek engulfing it with his large palm. It was tender, a stark contrast to the pain he had just inflicted. Raised welts beginning to form under his touch.

Playing this same game a dozen times over, you know how it ends. One moment an enraged monster, the next a doting husband.

He pushed your face a little harshly, putting some distance between you to take his leave.

“Clean yourself up and get ready for dinner. Your father will be joining us.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, catching the back of your head pressing you closer to his larger frame. You made no attempt to push him away, knowing it would only spur his anger.

He released you, grabbing his jacket and turning back one last time before he spoke.

“And kitten, end it. Or I will.”

Your father, the head of the crime ring. Your husband, a marriage for alliance. You, an heiress to the proverbial throne.

You didn’t want any of it. Caught in the middle and destined to forever be separated from the man you loved.

You thought you were being careful. You both should have known better.

8 Weeks Earlier

The gallery you managed downtown was your escape from all things family or business related. Here you could be your own person, not feeling bound by duty or marriage. It was your grandmother that instilled a love of art within you at a very young age taking you to art exhibits or museums around the city. You fell in love with the beauty and feeling of it all.

A new piece had just been delivered that you were examining, thoroughly ignoring your surroundings as usual, much too focused on the matter at hand.

You hadn’t heard him enter, as he came to stand directly behind you, pressed in much too close.

Tiny glasses perched toward the end of your nose; he watched the way you were so intently focused on nothing else in the world carefully focusing, stopping only to write small notes on the clipboard in your grasp.

“Little Dove,” clearing his throat slightly, startling you a bit.

You whirled around, only to be met with golden caramel mossy framed eyes staring back at you. The nickname uttered from his lips like soft silk.

“Steve?” you asked, almost breathless. You thought it would be a cold day in hell before you saw him again.

“In the flesh.” He grinned softly, holding his arms out as if showing himself off. Dressed in a navy-blue pinstripe suit and gray turtleneck that you were sure came straight from Italy just as he had.

“What… What are you doing here?” your tone more whispered as you looked around to make sure no one was watching.

“It’s ok, I made sure to slip past them. Your tails… uh… aren’t that great.” He whispered back in a mocking tone, chuckling lightly.

“You look…” you studied the man before you. “You look different, good.”

The last time you had seen Steve he still had his boyish features, but a man stood before you now. Rugged, but clean cut, sporting shorter, more tamed hair with slight stubble lining his jaw. He was even more handsome than you remembered. Italy seemed to be treating him well.

There was an air about him that commanded attention. When he entered a crowded room, he knew everyone would fall in line. A far cry from that party boy years ago. A boy that only ever had eyes for one girl, the woman stood before him now.

“Tesoro, leave it to you to find a job surrounded by beauty but you are the most beautiful piece here.” He smiled that crooked grin that always made you melt, his words syrupy sweet, cheeks heating at the praise.

You clutched the clipboard in your hands closer to your chest, face casting downward as an attempt to hide the blush that crept across your face.

You'd been told you were beautiful by countless men your entire life but when it came from the one man that mattered you turned into a shy mess.

His attention suddenly made it feel like all those years ago, hiding away in a dark corner as he spoke sweet nothings into your ear. Trailing kisses down your neck. Telling you the endless things he'd do for you, or to you.

Two young lovers hidden away from the world with nothing but dreams in their heads and stars in their eyes. Still naive to how cruel and unfair the world could truly be.

Eight years since you've seen him and yet staring at him before you it's as if not a single day has passed. It would be so easy to pick up where you left off, if only…

You snapped out of it, suddenly realizing the only reason he'd be back, shifting your gaze back to him.

“I'm sorry to hear about your father.” His smile fading as he nodded. “I know you two never saw eye to eye, but…”

“It’s okay Dove.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers, eyes casting downward. “It was only a matter of time. He'd been hiding the cancer diagnosis for months now.”

So, it wasn't a rival family or hired hitman that took him out. It was cancer. Everyone had been wondering when the news had come.

“I was still sorry to hear it, Steve.” You hesitantly reached out and rested your hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. “How's Pip holding up?”

Steve's younger sister, never seeing the cruel side of Richard Harrington the way he had. Pip was his Princess and she never let anyone forget that. She went to live with her mother when she was very young, only seeing Richard on holidays and birthdays. It was only natural she was devastated from his death.

“About as well as you'd expect. She uh…” pausing to scratch at his brow. A habit he always had when he was trying to find his words. “She's not doing well. I'm not sure how she's going to get through it tomorrow. I’m sending her back to live with mamma. I think it'll do her some good to get out of the city for a while.”

You didn't pry, knowing Pip was a little reckless and wild. She always gave Steve a run for his money when they were younger. Seems things hadn't changed much for her.

“I'm surprised she's listening to you.” You laughed out.

“I'm not giving her a choice.” You nodded in understanding. Steve was already taking his new role as head of the family very seriously, but you'd expect nothing less.

He was born to one day take over for his father, trained and taught all the ins and outs of this life from a very young age. He would, no doubt in your mind, lead the entire city one day, especially hearing the rumors from across the sea about how ruthless he could be, but you couldn't quite imagine the Steve you once knew to be anything but the kind, caring gentleman before you.

In this world, those kinds of assumptions are what get you killed, and you knew full well Steve had changed. You were unsure of just how much.

As comfortable silence fell between you, he allowed himself to let his eyes linger over you once more. Your back stiffened as you looked from the entrance back to him, shattering this moment of peace as reality settled back in.

“Well, Mr. Harrington it's been nice seeing you, but I must get back to work before those two idiots do their walk through to check up on me.”

“Ms. Alexander.” He smiled, nodding his goodbye.

“It's Mrs. Alexander-Petrov, but you know that.” He did know, but his jaw tightened when he heard it spoken aloud. To imagine you and Nikolai Petrov together made his blood boil.

Little Niki had been a vile womanizer. He and Steve knew each other from boyhood and their father’s dealings. He just hoped he was good to you and worships you the way he himself wishes he could.

“Right. Apologies Mrs. Alexander-Petrov. I'll see myself out. Take care, Tesoro.”

“Tell Eddie I said hi.” You called after him.

“Of course, Dove.” Stopping to look at you one last time.

You watched him exit out the back, through the alleyway.

There was still something there. That spark you couldn't deny. Maybe it was just you looking for closure but deep down you knew it would never truly be over between you. He

was your first love, always hoping he would have been your last.

It was a somber affair with a huge turnout. The Church was packed full of mournful guests.

For a funeral, it was still lavish. Old world money mixed with new. Women flaunting their Gucci or Louis Vuitton came second nature. Men with their expensive suits and gold watches. Any excuse to flaunt the wealth they had accumulated.

Family and business associates mingled, sewing together their tales and fond memories of the late Richard Harrington.

If you looked closely at the crowd, you could spot a few enemies mixed within, come to see the bastard exactly where they'd wished him to be.

As is tradition, you didn't necessarily come to pay respect to the dead, but you still paid respect to the family.

Steve and Pip, at the head of the church, accepting well wishes from each person that passed by. Eddie stood a few feet away giving them space but if anyone truly knew him, he was just as much family as the Harrington siblings.

Steve was stoic. From the moment you spotted him, you could tell he was trying to be strong. You couldn't help thinking of how handsome he looks, even in this setting. Pip could never hide her emotions, every person she talked with sent a fresh wave of tears flowing.

You had accompanied your father, David Alexander. Nikolai had excused himself from coming at the last minute, saying he had an emergency to take care of at the club. You didn't buy his lie but didn't bother arguing.

You had dressed simply, all black like the rest of the crowd. Knee length, quarter sleeved dress. Tight, but not suffocating. Modest compared to Pip’s attire. That girl never knew how to do anything simple or modest, her flamboyant personality would never allow it.

You both stood in line to see them, your eyes darting back up to Steve every few minutes.

“You're too quiet. What's eating at you?” Your dad leaned over to whisper.

“Hmm?” Your eyes shot up to his. “Nothing, just a lot on my mind.”

He squinted down at you as your head drifted toward the front once again. He followed your gaze, softly smiling to himself.

“Steven’s looking well, no? That boy has really grown into his own.”

You placed your arm around his when he extended his elbow, comfortably settling your hand to his forearm as he led you down the aisle.

“Yes, he looks well.” You hummed and nodded.

Your father grinned to himself as your eyes traveled back toward the front. He patted your hand and sighed as the line in front of you began to dwindle.

The couple ahead of you peeled themselves away from the siblings. Revealing you and your father to them.

Steve's eyes lit up immediately, but he held his solemn expression trying not to give himself away.

Your father spoke up first.

“Steven, my boy,” holding out his hand to greet him. “It's good to see you. My condolences, to you and your sister.”

Steve shook his hand, “Thank you, Mr. Alexander.”

“Please, call me David, son.” It made your heart warm faintly at the thought of your father seeing Steve for not only the man he now was but as an equal, first name basis was usually left for business partners or family only. Your father commanded an air of respect, especially from other families.

Their small talk faded from you as you looked over at Pip. She was so different from the last time you'd seen her. Her frame appearing thin with a sickly pallor accompanying dark sunken eyes.

When she spotted you staring at her, she smiled sweetly, reaching out to hug you.

“Dove!” She almost shrieked.

Your arms hugged her tightly to your chest, confirming what your eyes had seen. She was thin, strikingly so, filling you with worry.

“Pip, I’m so sorry sweet girl.” You soothingly rubbed her back, as a sob racked her body. You let her shed a few tears as she sniffed and leaned back up wiping at her cheeks.

“I’ll be okay, it's just hard knowing he's truly gone. But it's so good to see you. Let's catch up soon.” You nodded, squeezing her hand gently. She didn't let go immediately, grasping a little harder.

“Dove, will you please sit with me during the service?” Her eyes softly pleading, reminding you of your days as children when she would beg you to play a game or watch a movie instead of hanging out with her brother. She was by all accounts your little sister too.

“If it's alright with Steve, I…”

“Steve doesn't care. Do you, Stevie?” Her hand flew up, batting his chest as he gritted his teeth releasing a harsh breath.

“Not at all, Dove. But only if you're comfortable with…”

“She's fine Steve. Thank you, Dove!” She hugged you once more as you heard Steve mumble, “anything for the Princess.”

She shot him a glare before releasing you as you turned your attention toward him.

“Steve, I'm so sorry.” You wound your arms around his neck. His stiff demeanor immediately deflated and melted with your soft touch as his arms found their way around your waist, pressing you further into him. His scent enveloped you, smelling of the warm, spicy cologne he wore.

You held each other for a moment too long, getting lost in the warmth of his embrace, finally coming to your senses and easing back.

“I guess I'll see you up there.” Taking a step further back, seeing him nod.

“I…” He was about to speak before someone cut him off with more condolences as you shied away searching for your father who had already taken a seat in the back, speaking with some men that ran in his circle.

You weaved your way in and out of the crowd. Chatting with familiar faces and being polite to those you didn't quite know.

As the music began to play, everyone found their respective seats for the service to begin. You made your way to the front, feeling eyes on you as you went.

Pip was seated right beside Steve, but once she spotted you, she scooted over. Patting the space between the two of them.

You sat closer to her, trying not to crowd Steve into the corner.

“Thank you, Dove.” She whispered, taking your hand in hers. Black gloves covering her dainty fingers.

“Of course.” You stared ahead, trying not to cut your eyes over to him. The small space between you didn't shield you from the heat that radiated from him.

He remained quiet, but you heard him sigh softly. You wished you could hold his hand and bring him some sense of comfort. In another time and place you could imagine taking your seat beside him without the judgmental looks and hushed whispers.

The service went swiftly, Pip leaning on your shoulder and clutching your hand the entire time as she sobbed and sniffled. Steve maintained the same level of stoicism throughout.

You lost your mother at a very young age. The loss of a parent is something you never truly get over. You could relate in some sense, though you never truly knew your mother.

“Dove, you can ride with us to the cemetery. There's more than enough room.” She leaned over to whisper while they were finishing up, garnering Steve's attention as well.

“Pip.” He hissed, throwing her a warning glare.

“What?” She whispered more loudly, looking past you then.

“I'm sure she doesn't have all day to babysit you.” He said it without looking back at her.

You could see the sadness slowly subside on her face, as it was replaced with anger.

“Fuck you, Steve.” She spat, getting up from her seat, loud in the relatively quiet space while the priest was finishing his last prayer, momentarily causing him to pause, as she stomped down the aisle.

You were taken aback by the outburst but not surprised. Pip was a loose cannon, especially when it came to Steve. Two such domineering personalities that always clashed.

He was about to get up, but you grabbed his forearm stopping him, as he looked at you with a furrowed brow.

“Hey, don't worry. I'll go after her. You stay.” You reassured him.

“You don't have to do that. She's just…” he whispered.

“No, it's okay. Let me go talk to her.”

He nodded, as you slid from the seat. Holding your head high as you followed her, avoiding sideways gazes thrown your way.

You found her sitting on the steps outside the church, smoking a cigarette. Her mascara had begun to run but she hasn't bothered trying to wipe it away this time.

“Hey, you.” You lowered yourself down, knocking your shoulder into hers as you sat.

She took a long drag, exhaling toward the sky as the smoke curled away from her lips, letting the ashes fall to the concrete beside her.

“He doesn't have to treat me like a child. I know I've got issues but I'm not a fucking child. Mr. I don't show my emotions so you shouldn't either. Our dad died. You think the least he could do is show me a little compassion or act like he gives a shit.” She released a tagged sigh, taking the cigarette to her lips once more.

“I don't think he necessarily means to make you feel like that. Steve has a lot on his shoulders and your dad, well… he and Steve never saw eye to eye. I know he's hurting too, but he has to be strong. You know how it is with these men.” You rubbed soothing circles to her back as you spoke.

She sniffed, pulling a tissue out to wipe her face.

“I can ride to the cemetery with you. I don't mind.”

“That'd be nice.” A faint smile crossed her face, as you wrapped your arm around her waist. “I'm going to get cleaned up. Wait for me?”

“Of course.” You helped her up, following her back into the lobby as the service ended, watching her disappear into the restroom.

You caught your father on his way out, letting him know you were going with them, and he could head home if he needed to.

“If you're sure.” He kissed your forehead, before leaving you to stand by the door waiting for her to exit, when Steve strode up beside you.

“Where's Pip?!” He asked, a little breathless.

“She's in the restroom.” As soon as you got the sentence out, he began to bang on the door, twisting the knob.

“Steve, what're you doing? For God's sake, give her a little privacy.” You pleaded.

“Pip, open the goddamn door.” He rushed out, pounding his fists harder than before, looking worried when he was met with silence.

“Steve?” You looked around, a crowd slowly gathering around at his outburst.

“Just step back, I'm knocking the door down.”

You did as you were told, with your heart beginning to pound in your chest at how worried he seemed.

“Pip, I'm coming in!” He shouted, before his shoulder slammed into it, knocking it open as he rushed in.

You turned the corner to see Pip, slumped over against the back wall passed out. Your mind didn't comprehend what you were seeing at first.

He knelt down beside her, pulling her face up and lightly slapping her cheek.

“Pip! Wake up! Goddamnit!” His fingers flew to her neck, checking for a pulse.

It all seemed to be happening in slow motion as you watched the scene unfold. Eddie rushed in beside you, as Steve yelled at him to bring the car around, lifting her up with him from the ground, moving aside as he passed you.

It was frantic, the sea or people parting to let them go by as you stood there in shock. Watching Steve run with her lifeless body in tow.

Only coming to your senses when you hear someone close by seemingly laughing at the scene. “Pip, always the life of the party.” They sneered.

You looked around the small bathroom, spotting her purse on the floor, quickly picking it up and taking it with you avoiding the gazes of onlookers but keeping your head held high all the way.

Richard Harrington was buried while colleagues and friends looked on. None of his children were there to see him interred.

You were ringing your hands in the back seat as your chauffeur took you across town the next morning. Nerves getting the better of you.

It has been years since you've seen the Harrington residence but as soon as it comes into view memories begin to flood your mind.

There were the sweet moments when you were young children. Playing in the garden or swimming in the pool. You, Steve and Pip. Much simpler times when a game of hide and seek could keep you all occupied for hours.

Isabella Harrington had finally had enough right after Steve turned 10, leaving Richard and taking Pip with her back to Italy. She didn't leave Steve to fend for himself intentionally but given the option of losing both her children or taking Pip, she has no other choice.

Suddenly, the play dates were dwindling, and you began to see less and less of Steve. Separate schools made it even harder but despite it all you remained close.

You'd been in love with Steve since you were 12 when he told you that one day he was going to marry you and gave you your first kiss behind the pool house.

So caught up in your thoughts you hadn't heard the driver or noticed the car had stopped.

“Miss? Are you alright?” He said a little louder, catching your attention and thoroughly pulling you from your daydream.

“Hmmmm? Yes, fine, thank you.” Replying quickly.

“We’ve arrived, Mrs. Petrov.” He said as he exited the car, coming around to get your door.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you removed yourself, neck craning upward. The house seemed bigger, more intimidating than you remembered.

Immediately clocking several security personnel stationed in various positions around the yard, no doubt already alerting him to your arrival as you stepped across the cobblestone drive, heels a little unsteady against the uneven stone.

Reaching the few steps to the large front door, it opened before you had the chance to knock.

“Hi stranger!” Eddie beamed down at you. Curls tied back into a low bun, still dressed to impress. Burgundy silk dress shirt thrown over his frame, tattooed forearms on display. He was handsome in his own right.

“Hi Eddie! How have you been?” You stepped closer to him, pulling him in for a quick hug. “Sorry we didn't get to chat yesterday.”

“Doing well, and don't sweat it. There was a lot going on.” He laughed, albeit a little nervously as he pulled back. “He's in the office, you can follow me.”

You remembered the layout fairly well, the office was at the back of the house on the first floor. A large space, with windows overlooking the expanse of the back garden.

Eddie walked quietly ahead of you, as you looked around the house. It was exactly as you remembered. Dark walls with marble flooring leading to the ornate door at the end of the hall.

He didn't bother knocking, as you followed him in. The curtains were drawn back from the windows letting the natural light illuminate the space.

Steve leaned against the far wall staring out the window. He was dressed down in a sky blue short sleeved shirt and cream-colored trousers. He turned, chestnut locks a little unkempt with a thin gold chain resting against his chest.

He turned in time to see you both enter, pushing off the wall to meet you halfway.

“Dove! What a pleasant surprise.” He flashed you a warm smile, turning to dismiss Eddie as he closed the door behind him.

“I brought Pip’s clutch.” Holding out for him to take.

“Thanks, I'll let her know. Though I'm not sure she even missed it.” He sighed, easing it from your hand, tossing it to the desk beside him.

You'd heard she'd barely made it to the hospital. Apparently, the coke she had ingested was laced with fentanyl. Pip was a party girl, she hadn't intentionally tried to overdose which was a relief, all things considered.

“How is she?” You asked.

“I honestly don't know. I thought she…” His face flashed with momentary worry, before shaking it off. “She's going to rehab before I send her back to Italy. I think this might have actually scared some sense into her even though she's pissed at me.”

“You're doing the right thing. She needs you to be there for her.” Reassuring him.

He nodded before you both fell into a comfortable silence as your eyes took in the room. He had already begun renovating it to his liking which made you smile.

“I thought it could use an update.” He said, as if reading your mind.

The wallpaper was being taken down, replaced with a fresh coat of paint. Steve has always hated his father's gaudy taste, as if he needed to remind himself of his wealth in his own office. Steve was humble, he didn't need to flaunt and inflate himself to others. You admired him for that, always staying true to himself.

“I'm sure it'll be perfect. Doing the whole house, I hope? The medieval dungeon theme is so last year.” He chuckled.

“You don't like it? I thought about adding some chains and cuffs in the hall to really set it off.” You both laughed.

“But, yes I'm planning an overhaul for the entire house.” For a moment he wondered what you would do with the place. He could imagine the way your eyes lit up knowing you could make it your own.

A place for you and him to raise a couple of kids, have family dinners every Sunday and eventually grow old together. Or would you want to move out of the city altogether? Sell this old house and start anew?

If only he knew the similar thoughts that swirled through your mind but you couldn't allow yourself to dwell.

You suddenly checked your watch, clearing your throat.

“I'm sorry to cut this short, I've got a client coming by in a few.” Sighing to yourself.

“No worries. I'll let Pip know you brought this by.” Holding her purse up for emphasis. “Let me walk you out.”

He followed closely behind you down the hall, just shy of reaching his palm out to your lower back, into the foyer as one of the security guards opened the front door.

You turned once more to bid him farewell but it was he who spoke first.

“Dove, you're welcome here anytime. Please, stop by. I'll even show you my fancy cooking skills sometime.” He grinned, the smile reaching his eyes, boyish and bright.

“Steve Harrington cooks? This I'll have to see.” Mirroring his smile, as your driver opened your door. “Bye Steve.”

He waved, as you got in and continued to watch your car exit the drive.

He couldn't explain it. The inexplicable need to be near you. Wishing for another life. A once upon a time he could have had with you.

Alone in his big house, with no one to share it with, he sighed heavily making his way back to his office.

Fairy tales, he thinks. Meant for much gentler souls than he. Someone deserving of it, brave and pure of heart, just like the stories his mother used to read to him and Pip when they were still children, still room to believe in such notions as soul mates and true loves first kiss.

Eddie was waiting there, sitting behind his desk.

“Call for you.” He stated, getting up from the chair extending the phone towards him.

“Take a message, I'm not in the mood right now. I'll call them back.” He crossed the room, pouring himself a drink.

“Steve, I think you're going to want to take this.”

You hated lying but you had to get out of there.

A whole lifetime's worth of memories seemed to overtake you when you stepped through the threshold of a home that you practically grew up in.

You dreaded going back to your own home. A home that you'd hoped one day would have been filled with love that never came to fruition.

Such high hopes in the beginning with Nikolai.

He was the perfect gentleman. A whirlwind romance that had you so swept away you didn't see his true colors until it was too late.

So caught up with what he was, but it was truly only what he showed you. What he wanted you to believe.

Soon after your marriage, it was late nights at his clubs coming home smelling of liquor and sweet smelling perfume that turned into not coming home at all some nights.

You'd wanted white picket fences and children laughing down the hall. He gave you heartache and crying alone in your empty king sized bed.

Almost five years later and you're left to question if he ever loved you or if it had all been a strategy to gain his power.

Later that night you were in the study reading on the large sofa, room lit softly by the fireplace. Cozy in silk pajamas and your favorite blanket, it was the perfect end to the day as you sipped some wine.

Nik slipped in, late as usual, loosening his tie as he stomped into the room.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” He hissed.

“Well, nice to see you too, dear.” You didn't look up, only rolling your eyes. “It looks like I'm reading, no?”

“Why the hell did you go to Harrington's today?” He stepped in front of you, crossing his arms.

“I was returning Pip’s clutch. She left it at the church.” Shrugging and returning to your book as if it should be the end of it.

“You expect me to believe that?” He leaned down, arm caging you in, as he swiftly pulled the book from your hand tossing it in the empty space of the couch beside you. Closing in, almost nose to nose, as his imposing frame hovered over you.

“It's the truth, Nik. I really don't care what you choose to believe.” You spat back at him. Not at all in the mood for his little games or vile attitude.

You knew the only reason he skipped the funeral was because he had a bone to pick with Richard. Now it seems he's trying to take it up with Steve.

You pushed his chest, getting up from the couch as you started to cross the room now done with the conversation but he grabbed your arm, wrenching you back around to face him.

“Let's get one thing straight, YOU, under no circumstances, are to see him again.” His grip tightening as he spoke. He'd never laid a hand on you, but the way he was squeezing you now was surely going to leave a mark.

“Nik, let me go. You can't forbid me to stay away from my childhood friends. You're being ridiculous. Steve is not Richard. You have nothing against him.” His grip only grew tighter, shaking you just a bit as you tried to pull yourself free. “Nik! Let go of me!”

“No Y/N! I mean it. You are not to see him again!” Screaming in your face, droplets of spital flying toward you. “Do you understand me?”

You finally nodded. Worrying if you tried to push the issue further it would only make things worse.

“Say it!” He shouted.

“I understand. Now, let me go!” He did so, pushing you slightly away from him.

“Good.” He sneered, smirk now donning his face as he brushed past you on his way to pour himself a drink from the small bar in the corner of the room as you quickly grabbed your things.

You passed one of Nik’s security details, whose gaze fell away from you as you rushed out of the room, he'd overheard the entire thing. You were mortified at his behavior. Nik was a grade A asshole but he had never been physical.

Your feet carried you swiftly to your room, heaving a sigh of relief as you locked the door behind you. Glad to have some kind of barrier between the two of you tonight.

Running into the bathroom, you slid your robe from your shoulder to examine your arm. It was already starting to form finger shaped bruises.

You could easily hide them, wearing long sleeves, which you did most days. It was horrifying to think you had no choice but to hide them. HE had done this to you.

You washed your face and slid into bed, crying softly to yourself as your mind began spiraling. This was a life you had never wanted.

A husband that never looks at you, unless it's with disdain and contempt. Now seemingly hell bent on keeping you in line the way he sees fit. When words don't work, he'll easily use brute force to bend you to his will.

Telling Steve would be completely out of the question for both of your sakes, but in the coming days you would soon find out how difficult it would be to avoid him completely.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #mafia!steve harrington #mafia!steve #steve harrington x y/n #eddie munson #mafia au #mafia!eddie #mafia!eddie munson #joe keery #joseph quinn #king of hearts #KOH

[abominable-space-they]

One of my first Steddie fics was Steve going punk. I have a lot of feelings about Punk!Steve, so I am really pleased to see the fandom getting excited about it.

I was thinking about an Au in which Max discovers The Runaways & has a sweeping personal epiphany, gets into punk & starts playing the drums. She loves how cathartic it is, also that it's to loud for anyone to talk to her.

She starts teaching Eleven too as she learns. It turns out that once she's been exposed to the idea of making music, El has a gift. She picks it up with with an almost supernatural ease. Eventually they want to start a band, its the summer after 8th grade. Eleven switches to bass, bc she can, they recruit Erica who was absolutely scandalized to hear that no one knew she played piano & guitar. But they had a small problem when they wanted to do gigs. There was only one place, the hide out & they were extremely minors. In order to play, they had to have "a responsible adult".

There was no way any of their parents were gonna work for that duty.

Steve was the obvious answer to their problems. When he said he wasn't gonna spend every weekend sitting in a run down little bar, they offered him a spot in the band... which was a little unconventional but it was punk so whatever and actually Steve was perfect for a front man. He could talk to the crowd right? (Steve does not love the idea but sure fine he could do that maybe)

The thing is, these kids have worked so hard to make this happen, Steve can't actually say no... & If he was being totally honest with himself, he kinda loved being included. So he says yes to being a vocalist, co-vocalist.

He encourage them to also yell if they wanted... Erica has immediate ideas. The band progresses surprisingly well. When they decide they're ready Steve easily books a gig. Max & Erica are both massively annoyed it was so easy for him when it was their band and idea. But whatever they have their first gig planned

They argue about the name of the band for so long they have to emergency name it the weekend before the show so they can put up flyers. Max & El wanted to call it Mommy Issues, Erica had gotten really into X-Ray Spex & wanted to call them The Wrex. It got a little intense.

Steve in desperation suggested Cherry Rex... because it referenced The Runaways song Chery Bomb, and had the aesthetic energy of The Wrex & X-Ray Spex

To his shock they actually agreed on that.

Their first gig was on a Monday, to nobody but one very belligerently drunk guy who might have passed out in his booth. Of course they expected that more or less. It was more ok then they thought though, the girls had a blast... and actually so did Steve.

A month or three later and they'd slowly worked up the live band tenure and were getting their first Friday night slot. There would be four bands, two punk, two metal; Boondock Boyfriend, Death Vision, & Corroded Coffin. Cherry Rex were playing the opening spot being the newbies. Steve thought Corroded Coffin sounded vaguely familiar, but couldn't figure out where from. He wasn't to worried about it though, he was here for Cherry Rex.

Getting the parents permission to take the whole party to a borderline dive bar (he left that part out) had been one of the most trying experiences of Steve's young life, but in the end he got it done, and everyone was super excited.

------

Eddie always came early on the nights Corroded Coffin played, he liked supporting his fellow musicians, many of whom had only played parties and basements before they could get in here. It was a point of pride for him to not be a snob about it. He supported anyone and everyone who wasn't a bully or a bigot.

This weekend they had a whole new band, playing. He'd heard that it was a group of preteen punk rock girls, so of course the rock bros were grousing. He would have none of that though. He remembered when he first got into music as a preteen, the way it let him process feelings he was to scared to otherwise. He would definitely be there for their first weekend gig

So imagine his surprise when he finds Steve Harrington on stage. He introduced everyone Max on drums whom Eddie recognized from around, as well as her maybe? girlfriend?, who's name was apparently the number Eleven, on Bass. And Erica, who actually exhuded rock and roll energy, on guitar. Steve called himself their token adult. He spent half the time singing, but also dancing, sometimes being hype man for whomever was singing that particular song.

He was wearing a Hawkins High Tshirt that he'd scrawled The King is Dead across in Sharpie. Also light wash jeans, which Eddie had laughed about at first, but when he cut them off at the knee while they were still on his body, during Erica's song about self reliance, identity, and D&d... and he had fishnets on under them? He was completely won over. They were pretty good...and Steve Harrington, a punk? He was genuinely so fucked. So so fucked

(does Vecna & the upside down exist here? I don't know)

#fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things au #punk!steve #elmax #erica sinclair #eleven #jane hopper #punk au #rocker!eddie #max mayfield #band au #Cherry Rex

[burden-boy]

still love how Ruby and $crim looked at the underground (SoundCloud i guess) rap/metal shit back in 2014 or something and said we could destroy the kids doing that, made a suicide pact with each other that if $uicideboy$ doesn't go anywhere they'll off themselves and went on to become pretty much the biggest names out of that underground scene (besides XxxTentacion and Lil Peep i guess, but their passing made them more famous too so it's not fair to compare i suppose)

i always respect the struggle too of being called better in 2015/2016 when they were more suicidal and on drugs, so you gotta stay suicidal and addicted to stay famous or risk getting better and losing your fan base.. Really messed up when you think about it actually. the people you glorify can't better themselves or you'll lose interest, so what you're only interested in people's downfalls? idk i'll always love their old stuff to death! Kill Your$elf Part I: The $uicide $aga!? My Liver Will Handle What My Heart Can't!? Dark Side of the Clouds!? Gray/Grey!? Eternal Grey!!!? all album's or EP's to play at my funeral or some other shit. but i love seeing their new stuff too! seeing them evolve and grow into better versions of themselves and even getting clean of most drugs n shit! their positive progress keeps me going in life as much as that early suicidal shit on a bad and sad night!

may the boys go on to create history and spread mental health and addiction awareness wherever they go <3

little $uicideboy$ appreciation post i guess :)

#$uicideboy$ #suicideboys #G59 #Grey59 #g59records #Ruby Da Cherry #$crim #SuicideLEOPARD #SuicideCHRIST

[toskarin]

slightly more in-depth thoughts on the new HEALTH album below the break. I also ramble a bit about how I think it connects to previous albums. you've been warned.

Death Magic was a very interesting album for being such a coherent blend of emo, industrial, and synthpop. it was lightning in a bottle and I don't really think anyone else could pull it off again by copying it. in a lot of ways, it felt like a less shallow approach to the impulse behind genres like "hyperpop" (insofar as it's the noise scene branching out into more accessible genres, as opposed to accessible genres branching out into noise influence)

Rat Wars feels like a continued exploration of those themes, but with renewed confidence after some time poking at nihilist disconnect on other projects (especially on Slaves of Fear). while it's easy enough to read the lyrics at face value, the consistent undertone of Death Magic is about caring too much, relapsing, and then resenting yourself for it

my first impression was that, if Death Magic is about a dying relationship that nobody can bear to put out of its misery even as they've already checked out, Rat Wars is working through that separation in earnest and just being passionately furious past the point where you even can relapse anymore

and then, almost immediately, coming to regret it

Demigods leading into Future of Hell into Hateful into Crack Metal into Unloved is one of the most bitter and spiteful strings of tracks the band's put out on any album, without exception. this includes Slaves of Fear, which could at least find comfort in distance and emptiness

even on their early albums (read: the noise rock psychedelia ones) the anger felt more aimless and entranced, less focused and bitter

a lot of the reason I had a hard time assessing the album before the full thing dropped was because of that progression. Ashamed would've been right at home on Death Magic, and given that it follows so much lashing out, I don't think that's entirely an accident

the word I'd use to describe Rat Wars, if you told me to come up with just one, is sinister

after all of that anger, after all of that spite, there's just a gradually-cooling regret left in its place. the regret starts as self-loathing, crescendos into a grim sort of acceptance with DSM-V, and then freezes solid with Don't Try, a funeral hymn for time wasted

the last section of DSM-V being an excerpt from Demigods, the inciting event of all this hate and mutual self-destruction, is hard not to read as a pang of catharsis

if Death Magic is excess and indulgence, deliberate ignorance and resignment, Rat Wars is the terminus of that. it's a manic episode that sparks just enough ego to well and truly fuck everything up beyond all denial, beyond all repair

spiritually, it's an album about murdering something that's already dead

[studio-respite]

Reincarnation Trial is in development! 👽

Hi everyone, welcome to Studio Respite! We're a small team of two led by @hazzmat-shelter and @glitcheli. We'll be sharing all art and writing related to the game here, in addition to our funny little game development updates.

Guide Rumilli, a young girl desperate to make ends meet, through a set of perilous trials (medical or otherwise) as she uncovers the truth behind the world's strange new social norms, an odd shimmering metal brought to life, and the inability to die.

You can read more under the cut (including content warnings) - otherwise, we hope to see you back here soon, and all likes and reblogs are appreciated 🙏

What are the content warnings for Reincarnation Trial? Kidnapping, medical malpractice, death, violence and gore. We'll keep this list up-to-date as development continues.

What kind of game is Reincarnation Trial? The player will get to play as Rumi when interacting with the facility she's been dropped into along with the people around her. There will be exploration between puzzles and threats, with some unique combat for boss enemies! We're calling this an "rpg-like" for now, since the mechanics aren't quite like a traditional rpg, but it's hard to call it anything else at the moment.

Where else can I find updates on the game? We have a website that's very much a work-in-progress, but will soon hold all major updates to the game in addition to art and stories. We also have Twitter and Bluesky, and may add more socials in the future!

Is there a release date for Reincarnation Trial yet? Nope! Not even close. We're in very early development right now. This is also our first game project, and we both have full-time day jobs currently, so don't expect too much too soon.

Thanks for reading, and we hope you like what we have to share in the coming days! We'll add more information here as we continue forward, as more questions are asked and more answers are found. See you around 👽🩺 Hazzmat & Cheli

#game development #gamedev #indiegamedev #godot #godot engine

[daddy-rito]

ASS Squad Band Headcanons

Kent got Sam into music and playing guitar.  Kent teaching him guitar makes up Sam’s fondest memories of him, and even though Kent’s PTSD means he can’t always see the band live, he’s still proud of Sam

All of them can sing/do vocals!  As far as what their singing voices generally sound like:

Abby: Morgan Lander (Kittie)

Sam: Joey Belladonna (Anthrax)

Seb: Chester Bennington (Linkin Park)/Matthew Tuck (Bullet For My Valentine)

It was Sam’s idea to start the band, and while they all have a shared general interest in metal, the subgenres they each like are wildly different:

Sam mostly sticks to classic metal with some NWOBHM and thrash thrown in.  Maiden, Priest, Diamond Head, Tygers of Pan Tang, and Anthrax encompass most of what he listens to.  Like I mentioned, Kent introduced most of this to him as a kid, and he never found much of a reason to venture outside of it because he enjoyed it so much

Considering the fact that he plays keyboard and is a freelance programmer, Seb sticks with metalcore and anything with juicy harmonies and some complexity.  Megadeth, Bullet For My Valentine, Dragonforce, and Avenged Sevenfold are in his normal rotation.  He also dabbles into some more progressive stuff like Dream Theater and Death (post-Symbolic) but it doesn’t show up in his playing style as much because of how it clashes with the rest of the band

Abby almost exclusively listens to alt metal and early black metal.  Korn, Kittie, Deftones, Venom, Mercyful Fate, Bathory, and the like.  She especially took a liking to Kittie, with them being an all-female band and living proof that it was okay to have the interests she has in spite of everyone around her telling her otherwise—a copy of Spit was one of the first things she bought with her own money, and she never regretted it.  She’d probably also dabble in anything horror-related like Rob Zombie and Misfits, but not to nearly as much of a degree as the other bands

The band didn’t have much of a rhythm section for a while, and Seb had to also learn how to play bass and drums; he’s usually on bass, and if a song calls for keyboards, he plays both Geddy Lee-style!  His drumming worked for what the band normally played, but it doesn’t compare to Abby’s drumming

Speaking of Abby’s drumming, if she wasn’t playing games or hanging out with Sam and Seb at the saloon, she was getting her drum chops up—she learned blast beats just to piss off her dad, and Sam and Seb cannot figure out how she has so much stamina 

Sam’s guitar is a Jackson Soloist, and his playing style is a mix of Dave Mustaine, Randy Rhoads, Tony Iommi, and Glenn Tipton

Their stage presences: Abby: Straight up feral. There isn't really any other way to put it Sam: Looks like he's having way too much fun. Bouncing around the stage and headbanging like there's no tomorrow Seb: A little more reserved, but you'll still see a little bit of a headbang from him

What they'd be if they were a song: Abby: Deftones - Be Quiet and Drive Sam: Megadeth - Rattlehead Seb: Bullet For My Valentine - Tears Don't Fall ... these are all the hcs that i have for the ass trio band for now. sorry for the wall of musical jargon, i tried to explain things as best as i could though lol

#sdv #stardew valley #sdv headcanon #sdv headcanons #sdv sam #sdv abigail #sdv sebastian

[tourettesdog]

Something In-Between

AO3 Link

TW: character death (in that funky Danny Fenton way), injury, emetophobia, blood/ectoplasm.

Word count: 9704

Summary:

Danny walked into the portal alone. Fortunately, Jazz was there when he came out.

---

The Fenton household was strange, though it had its own sense of order. As much order as two ectobiologists could maintain, with two children nestled awkwardly between their work. Jack and Maddie Fenton spent most of their days down in their basement lab. They were married to their work almost as much as each other. Twenty years of research drove their hands and hearts. Each day promised another chance to make a new discovery in their field. 

Their children grew used to the cacophony of lab work. The banging of sheet metal, the whirr of drills, the crackle of blowtorches. They kept mostly upstairs or out of the house, avoiding the noise. Waiting for the moment their parents finished their work and returned to them.

It was an old song and dance, one the children learned from an early age. The eldest, Jazz, waited anxiously for each wave of their creativity. Whenever she caught that manic gleam in her mother’s eye that spoke of inspiration, she would step up to pick up the slack. Their parents hardly cared for themselves when enthralled with their work, let alone Jazz and her little brother, Danny.

Normally, those sparks of inspiration would burn brightly for a couple of weeks at most before either fizzling away in defeat, or culminating into success. Jazz and Danny knew not to expect that same pattern when their parents began construction of their life’s work: The Portal.

Those twenty years produced many smaller projects, but everything came second to the portal (everything). Weeks turned into months and each day of it saw more progress. A gaping maw in the earth, lined with metal and spilling wires. 

As the summer dragged on and their parents fell deeper and deeper into their work, Jazz and Danny waited. They waited through June, and July, and soon it was August. School would start in two week's time, and Danny looked forward to starting his first year of high school. He spent most of the summer avoiding the house, hanging out with his friends, Sam and Tucker. It was easy to forget about the portal over burgers and fries, or trips to the movies. They rotated houses for sleepovers– avoiding Danny’s when they could. 

Danny and Jazz were both home when their parents finished construction of the portal. The cheers that emitted from the basement practically shook the entire house. Jack ran upstairs before they could move, ushering both of them down to the lab.

It had been weeks since Danny went down there. What small measure of order the lab once held had gone. Tools and spare parts littered the space, strewn haphazardly across the stone floor. Danny picked his way cautiously across the minefield of spills and loose bolts. 

The portal yawned before him, a massive hexagonal tunnel through the basement wall. Danny couldn’t see very far into the tunnel. It lay cloaked in shadow, waiting.

Jack and Maddie stood side by side, facing their children with wide, unhinged grins. Their jumpsuits were dirty, stained with oil and grime. Dark bags lingered under their eyes, and Danny wondered if they had even slept the last two nights. Jack picked up a power cable, holding it high for all to see. 

“At long last, the Fenton Ghost Portal is complete. We’re about to make history!” he exclaimed, turning to view the portal with a reverent expression. 

The air felt charged with energy as he launched into a speech that went in one of Danny’s ears and out the other. Research, ghosts, dimensions– Danny found the portal far more interesting than anything his father had to say about it. He wanted to know what had absorbed his parents’ hearts and souls. He didn’t want to hear a speech– he wanted to see the thing for himself. To know if it was worth the time and energy they had put into it.

Eventually, Jack’s words tapered off expectantly. Danny waited with bated breath as he lifted the cables higher before slamming them together with more force than was necessary. 

For a moment, a green spark rippled through the center of the portal. It lit up the inner mechanisms, the light sharp and wavering. 

The light fizzled out as quickly as it came.

Jack’s arms fell to his sides, the cable slack in his grip. He and Maddie stared at the dark, empty portal. Listless.

“I don’t understand… it should have worked, Jack. Everything was perfect,” Maddie said, grabbing madly at her hair.

Jack just shook his head, utterly despondent. He dropped the cable to the ground and heaved a heavy sigh. 

Danny watched as all of the light drained from his parents’ eyes. They turned away from the machine and trudged back upstairs, hardly saying a word between them. 

Their parents never took failure well. They would wallow in the lows between unsuccessful projects, and Danny dreaded to see how long it would take them to recover from this particular defeat. 

Twenty years that amounted to a hole in the wall.

Danny stood before the dark portal, an empty feeling creeping into his chest. If any of his parents' insane machines could have worked, he prayed it would have been this one. He didn't know what they would do now. If they would return to the portal and try again, or let something else consume them.

Jazz slung an arm over Danny's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. 

"Maybe things will go back to normal now," Jazz said, without any certainty in her voice.

Danny mumbled an agreement as they followed their parents back upstairs.

His eyes lingered on the portal as they went.

Jack and Maddie didn't return to work on the portal. They wandered through the house, drifting aimlessly, not even looking at the basement door.

They might as well have been in mourning. A somber energy lingered in their every movement and word, as though a tombstone marked the laboratory. As though their work lay buried, dead and gone.

It didn’t surprise Jazz and Danny when their parents suddenly decided to go on a trip. They packed their bags the same day they announced it, before heading out the day after. A convention seemed like the perfect thing to lift their spirits, and truthfully Danny wasn't sorry to see them go. The atmosphere of the house brightened considerably without their sulking. 

The first day their parents were gone, Jazz went out with her friends. She paused at the door before she left, making sure that Danny wouldn’t miss her absence. He assured her that he was probably going to hang out with Sam and Tucker. Video games, the mall– they had little more than a week before school started and Danny planned to make the most of it. 

Jazz waved him goodbye, saying she’d be back in time to order pizza if he didn’t make plans with Sam and Tucker.

The moment the door shut, Danny called his friends. With his parents gone, it was a perfect weekend to have them over. They could have free range of the house, use the big living room television for video games, and they could do it all without any incessant racket from the lab.

Sam answered first, but Danny was quickly disappointed to learn that her parents had invited guests over and wanted Sam to stay and keep their daughter company. Tucker, too, was busy. His parents had decided to take him on an impulsive day trip out of the city as a last hurrah before the end of summer.

Just like that, Danny was alone with nothing to do. He sat on the couch, lost in his thoughts. A lazy day playing video games by himself wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it dragged Danny’s mood down all the same. The house still felt cold and lifeless in the wake of the portal’s failure. His eyes flickered absently to the closed lab door.  He resented what lay beyond it. 

Without thinking much of it, Danny stood and opened the lab door. Everything downstairs looked the same as it had several days ago. The mess, the disorganization– the dark portal. Danny kept his eyes on the tunnel as he made his way down the stairs and over the mess on the floor.

He faced the portal head-on, craning his neck to look at the unlit light overhead. It looked finished– ready and waiting. Danny remembered the light that sparked within it, a single heartbeat that promised something more. 

For every failure his parents had, they had another success. Why did their most impressive work– the thing they poured more time and energy into than anything else– fail?

Glancing back around the lab, Danny’s eyes landed on the hazmat suits hung along the far wall. Most of them were teal and orange, though he recognized a white one tucked on the end. 

Danny grabbed it from the hook, rubbing his fingers over the material. His parents purchased the suit almost a year ago, when they entered the home stretch of their portal research. Danny remembered how happy his dad was, presenting Jazz and him with their own suits. He said that one day they would explore beyond the portal as a family, once they had conducted enough research to know what to expect. 

Danny wondered if a hazmat suit would even be enough to protect a person in a ghost dimension– the Ghost Zone, his parents called it. 

Though, looking at his baggy shirt, Danny supposed the hazmat would provide more coverage than that at least.

Glancing at the door, as though worried Jazz might come home and catch him in the act, Danny pulled the suit on. It fit a bit loosely, but he didn’t mind. Danny was used to wearing clothes that obscured his body shape.

Danny stared at the black gloves covering his hands, flexing his grip. The suit was comfortable, but Danny still couldn’t fathom how his parents wore them at all hours. 

There were a lot of things he didn’t understand about his parents.

Danny loved his mom and dad, but he didn’t get them. He didn’t understand how they poured themselves so fully into their ghost obsession. There wasn’t even any proof, as far as Danny could see, that they were right. In all the years his father ranted and raved about ghosts, Danny had never seen one. All they had to show was 'ectoplasm' and the strange properties that came with it.

He thought that maybe the portal would help him understand. That it would shed light on the enigmas that were Jack and Maddie Fenton. That it would, somehow, strip away years of feeling second fiddle to ideas and theories, of all things.

Yet the portal gave no answers. 

It drew Danny’s eye, the darkness deep and pressing. It consumed his thoughts, just as it had his parents’. Anger and frustration twisted in his belly like a knife. Danny grit his teeth and marched to stand before its maw.

Up close, Danny felt a draft through the tunnel. A quiet breath, borne from the dark. It sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment Danny considered walking away.

Something kept him rooted to the spot, though Danny couldn’t say what. His eyes traced the metal lining of the portal, running over its circuits and bolts. It resembled many of his parents’ inventions, though magnified in scale. Danny wondered what could have gone wrong with the device, and if it was even fixable. For all he knew, the issue could be as impossible as a wayward theory, or as simple as a loose bolt. 

Danny found himself taking a step forward. He ran a hand along the machine’s wall, looking over the bolts, wondering if it could really be that simple. Maybe he could stumble upon the issue and be the one to fix it. 

Danny wasn’t surprised, however, when nothing stood out to him. Though his parents used strange scrap metal to complete most of their projects, they had gone above and beyond for the portal. It still had a certain style that spoke of their work, but the materials were clean, and each of the bolts flush. 

Sighing, Danny accepted that he might never know what went wrong with the portal. Unless his parents gutted the machine and returned to the project with fresh zeal, it might never see completion.

Hell, for all Danny knew, it was impossible anyway.

Danny stopped when the darkness grew too deep. He could see the dark shape of the archway around him, but none of the finer details. The draft seemed to grow, breathing down his neck.

He had seen enough.

Turning on his heel, Danny made to walk out of the tunnel. He barely managed a step before one of the thick wires snaking through the portal snagged his boot. 

Time seemed to slow as Danny pitched forwards, towards the wall of the tunnel. He stuck out his left hand to catch himself. 

Danny felt something give.

A gentle click sounded, echoing slightly in the tunnel. Danny sucked in a sharp breath– 

The world exploded around him.

A blinding flash of green stained Danny’s vision. A roaring, buzzing sound tore through the air. A shock ripped through his hand, along his arm, and found purchase in his very soul. It burned. Everything burned– his skin, his blood, his bones. He saw green, and black, and nothing all at once. An eternity passed, each second of it dragging through the agony that wracked his too-small frame. 

Someone was screaming, and it took Danny a lifetime to realize the sound came from his own scorched throat.

The burning, burning, burning dulled into an ache deeper than the ocean. The green stretched on just as far, an endless expanse of rolling, crashing waves that thrashed Danny upon unforgiving rocks. He knew nothing but that pain. He felt nothing but fear– the terrifying realization that he was slipping away, lost in that sea of green. 

Someone was still screaming. He couldn’t tell if it was him anymore.

Just as soon as the burning shock came, it faded away– with everything. The world itself seemed to sink beneath the green waves, and Danny felt something inside him drift along, embracing the current.

The last thing Danny remembered thinking– the only coherent thought he could muster through the chaos– was that he hoped Jazz would be okay without him. She had always protected him, guiding him away from the hazards within their own house. Bringing what small order she could to the chaos.

He squandered her efforts. 

Danny couldn't even protect himself.

A sound woke him. A word, called distantly. It echoed in his aching head, garbled and indistinct. 

He rolled onto his back, groaning as his muscles protested, achingly sore. He kept his eyes shut tight, feeling as though any visual stimulus might worsen the nausea twisting in his gut. 

Why was he in so much pain? Where was he? What happened?

The voice called again, closer and more urgent. It sounded like a name, though his sluggish mind refused to understand it.

He took slow, deep breaths to ground himself. Beyond the deep ache that settled within his bones, he felt… light. Too light, as though he might drift away from the ground. Panicking slightly, he gripped at the surface beneath him. It felt like stone, though something covered his fingers, muting his touch.

“Danny!” The name sounded again, this time clear. His name.

Danny rolled back onto his side, teeth gritted as every muscle in his body protested. He recognized the voice– Jazz. Jazz was calling for him.

She sounded frightened.

Planting his palms on the floor, Danny hoisted himself up onto his knees, panting with the effort. His head swam with dizziness. Tentatively, Danny opened his eyes. 

He found himself surrounded by darkness, though… he could still see. Danny slowly took in his surroundings, blinking away the bleariness that fogged his vision. The Fenton lab materialized around him, each disorganized, dark detail pronounced… and tinged green with a faint, wavering light.

Danny had never seen so well in low light before. He always had bad visual snow at night, the darkness swamped with rippling static. The static hadn’t left now, but the images through it seemed much more defined, as though he were almost seeing them in daylight. 

He didn’t know what to make of it. Nothing made sense. Danny couldn’t remember why he was down in the lab– on the ground. He hung his head, staring at his hands–

Hands covered with white gloves, stained with green smears…

They seemed to glow, and none of it was right.

The gloves had been black. Danny remembered, through the hazy fog of his mind, that the gloves had been black. 

He remembered wandering down into the lab. He remembered grabbing the hazmat suit from the hook. He remembered walking towards the portal and…

Danny couldn’t remember when he started hyperventilating. The memories flooded through him, a chaotic onslaught of twisted green, flashing lights, and pain beyond pain.

The green still remained, stained over the dark lab like a filter.

Danny whipped his head around, blood roaring in his ears.

The portal stared back at him, alive with a swirling green vortex. A gristly trail of the same bright color came from the portal, leading straight to where he lay.

The word ectoplasm came unbidden to his mind.

Danny dragged himself backwards, scrambling over the discarded materials on the lab floor, knocking away bits of metal and rubber and leaving more green smears across the stone. He kept his eyes firmly locked on the portal, as though the thing might swallow him whole if he turned his back on it.

(It already had.)

Distantly, Danny heard his name called again, followed by hurried footsteps.

“J-Jazz?” Danny called out, the words cracked and broken from his raw throat, echoing strangely in the quiet.

The lab door must have opened, judging by the way natural light spilled into the lab. He didn’t dare turn to look. He listened as the footsteps carried down the stairs, breaking the silence.

“Danny, what are you–” 

The footsteps stopped suddenly, faltering. Danny heard a shoe scuff, followed by the clank of metal. Against his better judgment, Danny tore his eyes from the portal.

Jazz stood, crouched at the foot of the steps. She held onto the railing tightly, with her legs splayed in a manner that suggested she stumbled and caught herself. She stared at him, her eyes stretched wide, reflecting the green glow of the portal.

“J… Jazz?” Danny asked, croaking out her name. The echo remained, tied solely to his own voice.

Jazz stiffened. She slowly pulled herself up with the railing, her body turned towards the steps, tensed as though ready to flee.

“Wh-who are you?” Jazz asked.

The words cut deeper than any knife. He slowly raised his hands, eyeing the stained white gloves that covered them. The gloves weren’t the only thing that had changed, he now noticed. The sleeves on his arms were black, as though the colors of the suit had traded places. Danny couldn’t fathom how. He didn’t understand, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Rocking slightly, Danny’s eyes found Jazz’s. She hadn’t moved an inch.

“Jazz, it-it’s me,” Danny croaked out. “It’s m-me, I… Jazz, I-I’m scared.”

Danny watched as her eyes stretched still wider. Slowly, as though she were approaching a wild beast, Jazz let go of the railing. She kept one hand behind her, ready to grab it again, while her other reached out towards him.

“Danny is… is that you?” she said in hardly more than a whisper.

Her caution sent something fluttering inside his chest and Danny felt bile rise in his throat when it thrummed. He clutched at the black chest of the hazmat suit, desperately feeling for whatever sat between his ribs. 

He could feel a strange humming beneath his fingers that was never there before. It spiked with his nerves, growing into a dissonant tattoo. It felt like a heartbeat, only wrong, and…

Danny had no heartbeat pounding alongside it.

His breaths came quick and shallow, harsh against the ragged skin of his throat. Spots popped into Danny’s vision, and darkness crept along the edges.

“D-Danny?” Jazz said, her voice wavering nearly as much as the thrumming in his chest. She sounded much closer now, though no less nervous.

All Danny could do was nod, the gesture hardly perceptible as he rocked on his heels. Nothing felt real– everything was too much. Jazz was afraid of him, and Danny couldn’t tell why. 

Could she hear the thrumming buzz in his chest, or was there something else?

Jazz’s shoe scuffed on the stone floor. The sound was so close and sudden that Danny flinched back, a keening sound torn from his lips. He stared fixedly at the ground, not daring to look her in the eyes when she knelt before him.

She made a soft, shushing sound. “It– it’s okay. You’re okay,” she said quietly, her voice warbling like the broken notes of a scattered song.

Every bit of Danny shook. He couldn’t stop hyperventilating. His head felt as light as his body. The world spun and his stomach rolled.

Danny quickly turned his head, distancing himself from Jazz before letting loose the contents of his stomach. He gasped for breath, hands planted shakily, eyes firmly shut.

A hand tentatively fell between his shoulder blades and Danny tensed. Jazz’s touch was light and fluttery at first, before she began to rub her hand in slow, soothing circles.

Opening his eyes, Danny saw the bile painting the stone floor. It glowed a lurid green, as vibrant as the stains that led to the portal. It smelled faintly of citrus and ozone.

(Ectoplasm. Why was there ectoplasm inside him?)

Danny scrambled back to sit on his haunches, feeling Jazz’s hand pull away before it settled more firmly on his arm. He didn’t look at her. Danny couldn’t bring himself to look at her. 

Tears welled in his eyes. A choked sob bubbled up from his chest. Danny shrunk in on himself, feeling infinitely small. Scared in a way he had never been before.

“It’s o-okay,” Jazz said, though her voice had no more conviction than it had the day the portal was finished. “Just breathe, j-just… breathe with me, Danny. It-it’s going to be okay.”

She squeezed his arm, rubbing her thumb across the sleeve of his suit.

Danny listened as Jazz began to breathe in the counted, rhythmic pattern she taught him in middle school. Her breaths wavered as much as her voice, though she resolutely soldiered on. Without thinking much of it, Danny found himself following her lead.

The breathing technique once helped Danny through the panic attacks when he first started to transition and the bullying worsened with the change of his name.

Those days felt like mere inconveniences compared to this.

His head began to clear with the measured breaths, though exhaustion replaced the fog. He sank against Jazz, unsure when she’d moved so close. She had one arm wrapped securely across his shoulders, firm but with enough slack to let him retreat if he wanted to, but Danny had no such thoughts. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, squeezing his eyes shut. Sobs wracked his body as he wrapped his arms tightly around Jazz, fisting his hand into her long ginger hair.

Danny hoped the ectoplasm staining his hands wouldn’t hurt her. He desperately didn’t want to let go.

Shaking, Jazz followed suit. She pulled Danny close, one of her hands carding gently through his hair. He melted into the embrace, feeling wet drops splash on top of his head as Jazz cried.

“I–I don’t know what’s h-happening, but… it’s going to be o-okay. We’ll figure this out,” Jazz stammered.

Danny squeezed her tightly, as though he could simply hide himself in her arms and never have to face the world again. She felt warmer than usual. Had her hugs always been so warm?

Just when Danny felt secure, enveloped snugly in her embrace, a chill swept over him. The warmth disappeared, and Danny opened his eyes as he lurched forward and heard Jazz shriek.

Danny landed hard on the stone floor and twisted around, his eyes blown wide as Jazz scrambled away, passing through his torso. 

Through.

Danny quickly patted at his body, worried his own hand might slip through his stomach, but was relieved when his hand felt resistance.

The relief was short-lived, dashed by Jazz’s terrified expression and the way her hands shook as she crept towards him. 

“Danny, what is going on– what h-happened?” She sounded close to hysterical, and Danny wasn’t far behind her.

He just shook his head, words failing him as Jazz reached to touch his arm again. Danny tensed, worried she would slip through his body like vapor.

A weight lifted from his shoulders as he felt her arm gently land on his.

Sighing wearily, Danny met Jazz’s gaze. He could see so many questions brimming in her teary eyes, and Danny hardly knew how to answer a single one of them.

The portal sat behind Jazz now, haloing her in its verdant glow. The endless swirl of green sent a shiver down his spine. He could still feel the cold press of it around his body, fighting against the searing shock of electricity.

The word ectoplasm still danced in Danny’s mind, accompanied by far-off memories of his dad’s endless lectures. 

The portal, the gory trail across the floor, the stains on his gloves…

Ectoplasm. 

Ghosts.

Jazz followed Danny’s eyes to the portal, her lip quivering. The light from the portal gleamed off of her tear-streaked cheeks, and Danny noticed a smear of ectoplasm along her chin. 

“What happened, Danny?” she asked once more, her voice so soft it was hardly more than a breath.

“I…” The words wouldn’t come easily to Danny’s lips. Jazz slipped her hands into his gloved ones, squeezing them tight. Danny focused on the green stains between them, squeezing back.

“I was… inside the portal,” Danny managed to say. Each word cracked and broken.

A sharp intake of breath. Jazz squeezed his hands so tightly that it hurt. His left hand throbbed with pain– before her grip suddenly loosened.

Danny watched in horror as his left hand slipped seamlessly through hers. He whimpered, too afraid to consider what that meant.

Jazz didn’t say anything. She simply held on firmly to the hand that remained in her grip. “In–inside?” she pressed, her voice rising an octave in fear.

Staring at his left hand, Danny hesitantly held it out to her. Just as hesitantly, Jazz reached to accept it. Once more, his hand chose to obey the laws of physics and slipped into hers.

Danny nodded, his head pounding with the movement. 

“Inside,” he echoed– in more ways than one.

Jazz took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. She shook her head, seeming lost. Defeated.

“Danny, you look so different…” she said suddenly, meeting his gaze with a pinched expression.

A fresh wave of panic tore through Danny’s chest, accompanied by that strange thrumming.

“Di-different how?” he demanded, shuffling uncomfortably. 

Something between pity and fear found its way into Jazz’s eyes. She lifted her right hand and stroked his hair, pulling a lock of the sweaty strands forward.

When she said nothing, Danny didn’t understand. He furrowed his brows, waiting for her to say more, when he finally paid attention to the hair in front of his eyes.

He wasn’t sure how he didn’t notice it before. Sweat and ectoplasm had slicked some of his hair back, plastering the locks to his forehead, but surely he should have seen the white strands of hair hovering over his eyes.

Danny ripped his other hand from Jazz’s and pulled at his own hair, dragging more of it into his line of sight. It was snow-white– whiter than the gloves, and glowing more brightly.

“No…” Danny said, the echo in his voice taunting him. “N-no, no… no.”

Hands fisting through his hair, he tugged at the snowy strands and doubled over. It had to be a dream. All of this had to be some cruel, sick nightmare…

“Danny,” Jazz said, her voice steadier, but no less shaken than it had been since she stepped foot in the lab. 

Danny didn’t look at her, though he listened as she kept speaking.

“Danny, what happened when you… when you touched the portal?” she asked. 

She skirted around the detail of him stepping foot inside the machine, as though burying the truth would make any of it easier.

The portal loomed behind her, seeming infinitely taller from where they sat on the stone floor. A doorway of death, opened only by taking what it gave.

Danny knew what had happened. He knew it the moment he felt no heartbeat in his chest. He knew it the moment he saw the glow of the portal.

He knew it the moment the button clicked beneath his hand.

“I was electrocuted,” Danny whispered, not meeting Jazz’s eyes. 

She was quiet. Everything felt too quiet. The thrumming in his chest filled the silence, much more a feeling than a sound, though it reverberated enough to quietly buzz. Danny wasn’t sure if Jazz could hear it. Everything was much sharper now, from the shapes in the dark lab to the sound of Jazz’s nervous breathing.

Before Jazz could say anything, Danny let an idea take root in his mind. It fought with everything he knew– everything he was taught. A wicked, dangerous idea that undermined the Fenton name.

“Jazz, am I… am I a ghost?” he asked.

The glow of his suit and hair. The echo to his voice, and the ectoplasm that came from his belly. The light feel of his body, and the way he phased through hers.

All brought on by the shock of the portal, and the wash of its green glow.

Danny didn’t know what else he could be, considering it all.

(The shock still echoed in his aching body. His left arm twitched, the muscles spasming painfully at the mere thought.)

Jazz shook her head forcefully, though she struggled to deny it. She opened her mouth, making broken, disjointed sounds that barely constituted words, before she clamped her jaw tight.

She simply shook her head again, hanging it low as she grabbed Danny once more by the shoulders and yanked him into a ferocious hug.

Jazz always gave strong hugs, but Danny wasn’t sure if she’d ever held him so tightly. He returned her embrace, hoping beyond hope that he would stay tangible this time.

“You can’t be a ghost,” Jazz said quietly, disbelievingly.

Danny swallowed a lump in his throat, wishing he had some water to cool the sting. The word ghost kept rattling around in his mind until it settled there. It sounded right, though it shouldn’t.

Throwing every bit of trust he had into his words, Danny said, “But what if I am? Jazz, I… I don’t have a h-heartbeat.”

If this was being a ghost, he certainly didn’t feel like the malevolent, uncaring echoes their parents spoke of. Danny could remember everything, and he felt just as strongly as he had before stepping foot into the portal. He loved Jazz. He trusted her with his life…

And now his death, he supposed.

Jazz’s vice-like hug tightened and Danny swore he felt his back crack under the strain.

Jazz’s arms shook as she said, “Whatever you are, you’re my brother.”

Those words warmed Danny to the core. He buried his face back into her shoulder, not caring that he left tears, snot, and ectoplasm on her shirt. Just knowing that Jazz was here for him, no matter what, made it all bearable.

The warmth pooled in Danny’s chest, soft and soothing. He focused on the feeling, gasping as it spread across his body.

A sudden bright light burst from Danny’s torso and Jazz stumbled back– but did not let go of him. They both watched with mounting dread as the light morphed into a ring and split.

The glaring white rings swept over him, trailing up and down his body. Danny winced as the light went up his neck and over his head.

Jazz squinted, blinking dazedly. Her eyes widened, fresh tears welling in them.

“Danny!” she cried, tackling him in another hug.

For a moment, Danny didn’t understand. He awkwardly returned her hug, unsure what the light had done. It wasn’t until Danny felt the heavier weight to his body that he began to understand.

Jazz wouldn’t let go, but Danny could see black hair hanging in front of his eyes. He raised his right hand behind her back, delighted to see that the white gloves and black sleeves of the hazmat suit had gone, somehow leaving him in the blue shirt he’d worn before entering the portal.

Somehow, he was himself again.

Where the hazmat suit had gone, he couldn’t say.

“Thank goodness,” Jazz said under her breath, so quietly that Danny was sure he wasn’t supposed to hear.

When Jazz finally let go, she fixed him with a bright smile. She looked him up and down, as if making sure everything was the same– and then her eyes snapped suddenly to his left arm.

Danny quickly did the same, holding it up to get a better look. It didn’t take long for Danny to notice what she saw. A large pink starburst of a scar covered his palm, branching out into feathery, bolt-like patterns. It circled up the entirety of his left arm, disappearing under the sleeve of his shirt.

Jazz had no words.

Neither did Danny.

Silence stretched between them as both traced the marks across Danny’s arm. It served as undeniable proof that the worst had happened. That what happened to Danny could not simply fade away with the dying light of those strange blue-white rings.

“Are you okay?” Jazz asked nervously.

Danny could only nod, feeling lost. 

“Am I still…” he began to ask, unsure. 

What Danny could see of himself, other than the scar, seemed normal enough, but he needed Jazz’s reassurance.

Jazz didn’t respond right away, as though his words drifted slowly to her ears. She reluctantly pulled her eyes away from the scars marring his arm, looking him in the eye.

“Well, your, um, hair and eyes are back to normal, but I–”

Alarm bells rang in Danny’s head and he raised his hands to his face, pulling at the corners of his eyes.

“What was wrong with my eyes?” he demanded.

Jazz fidgeted uncomfortably under his glare, picking at her nails. She bit her lip, glancing away before she said, “They… Danny, they were green and glowing.”

Danny blinked, surprised. Shaken. He patted at his cheek, staring down at the ectoplasm stains on the floor.

“You didn’t… say…” he said, dumbstruck, his voice cracking horribly on the words.

Jazz huffed, her lip quivering as she said, “You seemed a little overwhelmed for that.”

Danny couldn’t help but laugh. A cold, broken little chuckle that probably didn’t meet his eyes. 

“I suppose…” he said quietly.

Danny stared back at the portal, wondering if his eyes had been the same shade of green. The thought soured his stomach, and he felt–

That same thrumming at his center.

Placing a hand across his chest, Danny felt for the strange humming that lay there. Somehow, it remained with the scar…

Though this time it sat alongside a slow, steady beat.

“I have a heartbeat,” Danny said. “I–I have a heartbeat still,” he repeated, as if to assure himself. 

Jazz froze, eyes stretching wide. She snatched up Danny’s right hand and pressed her fingers to the interior of his wrist. Her brow furrowed as she felt for his pulse, and he watched her relax when she found it.

“It’s slow, but… there,” she confirmed. 

“I’ll take slow over gone,” Danny said a little too quickly.

Jazz choked out a small huff of a laugh. Her eyes were watery and their hands, once more clutched together, both shook. 

“You’re warmer,” she said with a note of reluctance. “You… you were cold.”

Danny just nodded his head, letting the sobering fact roll over him. He thought of how warm Jazz had felt– how warm she still felt. 

An icy chill settled over him, considering the implications of ectoplasm-green eyes and a chill to his skin.

No sooner did the thought strike him, Danny felt that sensation of cold wash over him in the same manner the warmth had. The bright light returned, and this time Danny leapt to his feet.

His legs shook violently beneath him as he backpedaled, staring at the damning beam of light. Danny tried to will it away, but it pressed on, unrelenting.

Wherever the light passed, it left the hazmat suit behind.

“No…” Danny said, immediately noticing that the echo had returned to his voice. “No, why is this happening? This can’t be happening.”

Danny paced on the spot, hugging his arms around himself, stumbling over the trash on the floor as his knees wobbled.

Jazz slowly stood, watching him with frightened eyes and a tense set to her shoulders. She held her hands clasped in front of her, wringing them.

“We–we’ll figure this out,’ Jazz said quietly. “We could go to the hospital, they might be able to help.”

Danny rounded on her, exasperated– overwhelmed.

“Jazz, what is there to fix? I can’t just go to a hospital like this, I– I died. The portal ki–”

“Don’t say that,” Jazz said quickly, her hands flying to her sides, her fists clenched and trembling. “You– you still have a heartbeat. Ghosts can’t… Danny, you can’t be… dead.”

Shaking his head, Danny continued to pace, wandering the lab in discordant circles. His wobbly legs barely kept him standing. His boots kicked at the junk on the floor, the metal clattering loudly across the stone.

One particularly large piece of metal caught Danny’s foot and, with a sinking jolt, he was back inside the portal, falling, falling, falling. 

Fear raced through him, white-hot and icy-cold at the same time. It gripped at his chest, and Danny threw his hands forward, wondering how much the shock would hurt this time around.

His hands crashed onto one of his parents’ work tables, sending implements scattering in a noisy, rattling crescendo.

“Danny!” Jazz called, racing to his side. 

She warbled something in his ear, fretting over him in a doting, loving way perfected through years of being an older sister to a clumsy brother. Danny didn’t hear what she said. His eyes stared, fixedly, at a mirror on the table.

The person staring back at him was hardly recognizable. Snowy hair framed the face, and acid green eyes burned beneath the glowing strands. The eyes flickered back and forth as Danny took in the face, its skin oddly tanned with a green undertone in the cheeks. The pupils were as white as the hair, two spheres of light that constricted to tiny pinholes amidst the glowing green irises.

It was him, Danny knew. Whatever he was, whatever he had become–

It was him.

Danny realized Jazz was gripping his right hand, patiently standing beside him. A soft, warm presence in the cold, quiet lab. He felt lucky to have her here. Relieved to not be alone.

Only… he worried what would happen when anyone else saw. Danny was no stranger to being uncomfortable in his own skin, but this... 

He felt like a monster.

“How am I going to face M–Mom and Dad?” Danny asked, not looking away from the mirror.

Jazz stiffened beside him. Her grip on his hand tightened and she rubbed her thumb over his gloves comfortingly. Absently, Danny noticed that the stains had somehow disappeared from those gloves. 

The stains remained on Jazz’s hands.

“They love you, Danny,” she said. “They love you and this shouldn’t… this shouldn’t change that.”

Danny grit his teeth, watching as the eyes in the mirror flared more brightly. He shut them tight, not wanting to look at them any longer.

“They hate ghosts, Jazz. You’ve– you’ve heard how they talk about them.”

He didn’t need to elaborate– Jazz knew. How many times had they heard their mother tell them that ghosts were evil, manipulative monsters? How many times had their father passionately told them he would love to get his hands on a ghost– to tear it apart, molecule by molecule, and find just what made it tick.

That thrumming in Danny’s chest grew, alongside a squeezing ache. Frankly, Danny wasn’t sure he could say any of it aloud. His cracked voice had begun to waver again, fresh tears welling in his eyes.

Danny felt Jazz pull him away from the mirror. He went along without a fuss, trailing after her like a lost little dog. 

“Let’s get out of the lab, okay?” she said. 

Jazz led Danny up the stairs, letting him lean on her shoulder. The exhaustion that clung to him felt deeper than bone. Each step drained his energy, and he wanted nothing more than to sink down, curl up, and fall asleep.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Jazz left him at the door and quickly ran to close the living room blinds. Danny stood awkwardly in the doorway of the lab, feeling like a stranger in his own home.

Noticing his hesitation, Jazz told him to go sit on the couch while she flitted through the kitchen, opening one of the cabinets.

Danny obeyed, shuffling into the living room and over to the sofa. He went to sink down onto the plush cushions– but shouted as he slipped through the couch. A cold, shivery feeling encompassed Danny as he stared at the padding inside the cushions.

A crashing sound came from the kitchen, followed by Jazz’s hurried footsteps. Danny felt her grab one of his hands. She tugged, hoisting him to his feet with more force than was necessary. Shakily, Danny stepped away from the couch, breathing heavily.

“I d–don’t know how to stop that,” Danny warbled.

Jazz frowned, clearly shaken but trying her best to tamp down her own feelings. “Come on, let’s get you some water,” she said gently.

Jazz took Danny's hand again. After all the times she’d grabbed it tonight, it felt like an extension of his person.

They both went into the kitchen, stepping around the shattered pieces of glass cup Jazz had dropped. Danny noticed for the first time that his boots were as white as the gloves.

At Jazz’s gentle nudge, Danny pulled out one of the dining room chairs. He pressed the seat with his palm first, making sure he would stay solid, before daring to sit down.

They didn’t speak as Jazz pulled another glass from the cabinet and filled it with cold water. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence, grating against Danny’s already-frayed nerves.

He took the glass of water from Jazz gratefully. His throat still burned, an echo of the screams that rang in his ears.

Danny hardly took a sip of the water, however, before the glass slipped from his hands and fell to the ground with a resounding crash. He knew that his grip hadn’t been loose. The cup simply phased through his hands, slipping with no more difficulty than he had fallen through the couch.

Jazz looked him over, making sure he wasn’t hurt by the glass. She seemed to realize what had happened, and mercifully did not draw attention to it. Danny was glad for that, feeling entirely too close to breaking down again. Tears blurred his vision and Danny quickly wiped them away.

Jazz silently brought him another glass of water, this time leaving it on the table with a straw. Danny shot her a grateful look before drinking deeply. The cold water felt heavenly against his raw throat, and he couldn't help but sigh in relief.

Jazz filled the glass a second time for him before she began to sweep up the broken glass. Danny listened to the rhythmic sweep of the broom and the  sharp tinkle of glass sliding into the dustpan. Jazz took her time, cleaning up parts of the floor where Danny was sure no glass had fallen. It was something to do, he supposed.

She filled the glass a third time before she tied off the trash bag and took it to the garage. 

The clock continued its relentless ticking in her absence. Time stretched on, and after a while Danny heard the telltale sounds of Jazz crying. He gripped the glass in both hands, holding it like a small child, his throat tight with emotion.

When Jazz came back, her eyes puffy and bright, her nose red, Danny looked at her with matching watery eyes. He grinned ruefully and she matched that as well.

The sun was sinking low in the sky, the light from the windows fading with its departure. Danny hadn't realized that the power was out, though it made sense of the dark lab. The battery clock was the only thing alive in the too-quiet house.

(Other than the portal, though Danny remembered that his parents had a large backup generator hooked up to it. He hoped the thing wasn't somehow alive without it.)

Jazz busied herself around the kitchen, pulling supplies out of the cabinets. She grabbed several candles and lanterns, dispersing them around the kitchen and living room. Danny wanted to help her, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up. He stared at his empty glass, fixated on how the material reflected the green of his eyes.

Before long, the sun had set and the house was dark, lit only by the flicker of candles, the glow of lanterns– and the soft glow Danny himself emitted. 

A hand gently landed on his shoulder and Danny startled slightly. Jazz was patient and quiet as she led him to the couch, this time making sure he safely sat down before letting go.

The couch was covered in blankets, pillows, drinks, and snacks. Danny wasn’t sure when she found the time to collect it all. 

Probably in the time he sat staring into his glass, numb to the world around him.

They didn’t speak much as they both got situated on the couch. Danny hunkered under one of his favorite blankets– a starry blue one that Jazz gave him on his birthday several years ago.

Jazz nestled some pillows around them, making a sort of nest. Between the blankets, snacks, and being on the couch, it felt like one of their old movie nights– minus the television.

(Minus one black-haired, blue-eyed boy.)

Jazz tried to get Danny to eat, but his stomach pitched with nausea at the thought. She sighed, her brows knitting together with concern.

There was a haunted look in her teal eyes. Jazz looked so much older than she had earlier that morning when she shut the front door, running off to see her friends.

Danny hated that he made her worry. He hated that he had stepped foot inside the portal. It was such a stupid, foolish decision, and Danny wasn’t sure how he was supposed to live with the consequences of it.

(If he was even still living.)

“I’m sorry,” Danny choked out, lost in his own head. He clutched the blanket more tightly, leaning against Jazz. “I sh-shouldn’t have gone into the portal– I– I just wanted to see, and… I’m sorry.”

Jazz took in a sharp breath. She rounded on him, her lip quivering as she grabbed either side of his face.

“Danny. I don’t know why you…” She sighed, taking a deep breath as she paused. “We all make mistakes. I just… I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to stop this one.”

Tears streamed from her eyes, and Danny hated to know he’d put them there. Her apology rang bitter in his ears, and he vehemently shook his head, shaking off her hands.

“Don’t say sorry,” he said, his jaw tensed. “Please, don’t. It’s not your fault that I–I was being stupid… It was so stupid.”

Jazz settled back down beside him, inching closer so their shoulders pressed together. “You’re not stupid,” she said.

Danny let out a disbelieving huff before he rested his head against her shoulder. He noticed that Jazz shivered slightly at the contact, however, and quickly tried to pull away. His efforts were in vain when Jazz leaned in closer, closing the gap.

“I feel stupid,” Danny grumbled, leaning back against her shoulder. “I just… walked in… and tripped.”

Jazz shuddered. Her hand groped for his left, clutching it tight. His palm beneath the glove ached, and Danny wondered what the scar would look like beneath it in this form.

He didn’t dare look.

“That portal should have never been in the basement,” Jazz said. “If it wasn’t you, it would’ve…”

Her words trailed off and Danny made no effort to finish them. Entertaining the thought was unspeakable.

(The idea that he might have preferred it that way.)

“What is with those light rings?” Jazz suddenly asked, as if she needed something to focus her mind on. 

The change in subject was welcome, though Danny wasn’t sure he knew how to answer her question.

Danny hummed to himself, the sound pairing well with the thrum in his chest. It had happened twice now, that strange burst of light, and Danny understood it no more than… anything that had happened.

All he recalled was the feeling. 

The first time Danny felt the rings, they had been warm like a wash of summer rain, rushing through his being.

The second time Danny felt the rings, they had been cold, more like a winter storm circling him in snow.

Without answering Jazz, Danny tried to imagine that first feeling again. He couldn’t be sure if simply imagining it would do something, but…

That spot of his chest that hummed and thrummed suddenly felt warm. He leaned into the feeling, imagining it spreading– washing over him.

The light burst forth once more, and this time Danny did not cower when he saw it. He watched, fascinated, as it made the now-familiar journey up and down his body. Danny welcomed the familiar sight of his blue shirt– and even the scar on his arm. He felt for his heartbeat, sighing with relief when it gently beat against his fingers.

“How does that work? Can you control it? How do you feel?” Jazz stared with wide eyes as she hurtled the questions at him.

Danny couldn’t help but laugh. It felt good to laugh.

“I… think I can control it?” He said cautiously. “It felt warm the first time it happened, so I just tried to think of that.”

Jazz nodded slowly, though she asked once more, “How do you feel?” Concern dripped in her voice, and it gripped at Danny’s heart. 

(His mercifully beating heart. Could a ghost truly have a heartbeat?)

The question was a loaded one. How did he feel? How was he supposed to feel, after…

The portal. The shock. His death.

“O–okay,” he said anyway. “I feel okay…”

The last thing Danny wanted right now was to explore his own head and decipher those feelings.

Jazz clearly wasn’t fooled. A world-weary sigh left her lips and she leaned back against him, resting her chin on top of his head. She was so much taller than him and, while it annoyed Danny most days, he was glad for it now. 

“I don’t know what we’re going to do, Danny,” she said it more to herself.

The words shook something deep in Danny’s core. The thrumming pulsated alongside his heartbeat, and it was only then that he noticed how much it followed with his emotions.

 “I don’t want to tell them,” Danny said suddenly, with some measure of conviction. 

He didn’t need to specify who.

When Jazz didn’t immediately shut down the idea, Danny kept going.

“I–I don’t know what they’ll do, and I don’t want to… I don’t want to find out. If I can just look normal then they’ll n-never have to know, and I… won’t have to… find out....”

Jazz wrapped an arm around him, her hands still shaking slightly. Something about the gesture made Danny’s rambling trail off. He looked up at her, finding that she was nervously worrying her lip.

“Okay,” was all she said.

The response made Danny pause. He had expected her to disagree, or to try and come up with another plan, or to otherwise convince him that he needed to tell their mom and dad.

The last thing he expected was for her to agree.

“Really?” Danny asked, skeptical.

Jazz continued to worry her lip, so much so that Danny feared she might bite through her skin. Silence stretched between them as she seemed to collect her thoughts. Her eyes darted nervously around the room before coming to rest on him.

“I don’t know if it’s the best plan, b–but… They have so many weapons in this house,” her voice quivered, and Danny could see Jazz’s eyes trailing over several of the spots he knew held those weapons. “With the portal active now, they’re going to be more vigilant than ever and I… I honestly don’t know what they’ll think, Danny. I don’t know what they’ll do.”

The arm around him squeezed tightly and Danny leaned into her, closing his eyes. 

“I love them. I know they love you,” she continued, as though she needed to convince herself more of the idea. “They just… don’t understand some things. They don’t think sometimes.”

It had taken their parents almost a year to even consistently use the right pronouns for Danny.

They still messed up sometimes.

Still, compared to this, coming out as trans to them had been little more than a hurdle.

(Though it had seemed like the tallest mountain peak at the time.)

They didn’t even resent him for it. They accepted trans people– him.

Danny couldn’t say they felt the same about ghosts. 

“So this stays between us?” Danny asked, hating the hopeful note in his own voice. 

There was another long pause, marked only by Jazz’s heart beating beneath his ear. The candlelight illuminating the living room flickered, shadows dancing across the walls. The entire room smelled like sickeningly sweet butterscotch. 

“At least until we figure out what’s going on,” Jazz said. “What… all of this is.”

Danny felt he already knew, at least in some measure. It seemed obvious to him. 

Perhaps it even was to Jazz, regardless of if she admitted it or not.

“Okay,” Danny agreed, accepting that it would have to do for now. 

Some of the tension left Jazz’s shoulders. She hummed to herself, the sound vibrating against Danny’s head. His eyelids drooped low, exhaustion creeping through his sore body, weighing him down.

One last thought lingered in Danny’s sleep-addled mind as Jazz’s humming morphed into a lullaby he recognized from years gone by.

“I want to tell Sam and Tucker, though,” he mumbled against her shoulder.

The humming faltered and stopped. Jazz took a deep breath before she said, “Okay.”

A small smile graced Danny’s lips as Jazz resumed the lullaby. 

Danny didn’t know what to expect from tomorrow. Their parents would be home in three days, and it wouldn’t matter if he kept this secret if he accidentally phased through something in front of them.

There was so much to figure out. So much to talk about with Jazz– with Sam and Tucker. Within a few short hours, his life had taken such a turn that Danny no longer knew what to expect around the corner.

(His life had ended after all, hadn’t it? Yet he was still here, his heart still beating.)

Danny pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind for later, focusing instead on Jazz’s lullaby. He let the sound carry his exhausted mind to sleep. 

~*~

Jazz kept humming, even when she was sure Danny had fallen asleep. It was something to do. Something to keep her busy– to keep her mind from spiraling.

She held her little brother close, uncomfortably aware that Danny wasn’t warm. The cold chill disappeared with his transformation, but he still wasn’t warm.

It seemed normal for him now. Yet another strange thing to adjust to.

A soft, rhythmic rumble distracted Jazz. She stopped humming suddenly, focusing on the sensation. A familiar sound accompanied it, though it wasn’t something she’d ever expected to hear from her brother.

Throughout the evening, while holding Danny close, she had felt… something inside his chest. A strange humming that had nothing to do with his voice. She tried to ignore it, like so many other smaller details, but it persisted all the same.

She supposed this sound was connected to that humming. It came from Danny’s chest, rumbling like distant thunder.

Somehow, inexplicably, he was purring.

Jazz didn’t wake him. The sound was strange, but it was no more strange than anything else she’d seen that evening. She didn’t know a lot about animals, but Jazz did know that cats purr when they’re happy or content. If this was at all the same, then she supposed Danny simply felt safe– maybe even a little bit happy.

(If anyone could be happy in this situation.)

Maybe Jazz would discover later that she was mistaken with this conclusion, but she chose to cling to it now. 

Jazz clung to her brother just as tightly, reluctant now to ever let go. Ectoplasm stained her shirt and hair, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave for a shower.

Sleep did not come easily to Jazz. When she first saw Danny in the basement, changed and stained by ectoplasm, she feared she had lost him.

Even now Jazz feared she might still lose him. 

Whatever Danny was, however, he was still… Danny. Her brother.

Jazz would be there for him, no matter what. Human, ghost, or something in-between. 

#ectoberhaunt22 #EH order #EH chaos #day 3 #order #chaos #danny phantom #dp fanfic #danny phantim fanfic #phanfic #fanfic #dp #dogfics #dogposts #THIS WOUND UP SO LONG YALL I WROTE THIS IN TWO DAYS #danny fenton #jazz fenton

[kae-luna]

//WIP Intro Post: Ultra Drive//

Art by Computerizer

//Title: Ultra Drive

//Progress: Writing early chapters, planning for whole (hopefully) series out of order

//Genres: Sci-fi, cyberpunk, dystopian, biopunk, post-apocalyptic, action, LGBTQIA2S+, drama, psychological

//Links: Wattpad | Tapas (Coming Soon)

//Rating: 16+ for violence, blood, possible gore, swearing, and suggestive content

//Content warnings: death, pandemic, sickness, bigotry in general???, war, fascism

//POV: Third person First person. AlexiKa's POV.

//Setting: In the city of Venicula on the island of Arasai and surrounding areas. Takes place in the future.

//Premise: AlexiKa's world was changed forever the day her family was forced to immigrate to the imperial city of Venicula after the Ebony Plague - caused by mysterious spores - infected her home town.

~(Continued under the cut)~

Now a young adult, she works as a courier (and secretly an anti-corporation activist). When going on a delivery for the all powerful Gaia Corporation, she accidentally uncovers dark secrets and ends up infected with the same Ebony Plague that haunted her hometown as a child. But when she survives the illness and instead develops superhuman abilities, she joins a mutant resistance group - who call themselves Ultras - to fight against the Veniculan Empire, the Gaia Corporation, and other mutants with immoral goals.

//Aesthetic: neon and pastel architecture, holograms, dyed hair, tech gear, infrastructure in derelict conditions, overgrown plants, eco-friendly technology

//Tropes + themes: anti-capitalism, equality, probably found family, female empowerment, globalization, super powers, POC characters, LGBTQIA2S+ characters

//Inspiration: Nausicaa of The Valley of The Wind, Ultraviolet (2006), Aeon Flux (show + movie), Alita: Battle Angel (movie, OVA, + manga), Ghost in The Shell (anime), Fallout (games), 86 (anime), The Last Of Us (games), Blade Runner, The Matrix, 1980s, 90s, and early 2000s in general, vaporwave art, the United States of 'Merica, Sims 4 eco lifestyle

//Characters:

AlexiKa: A young woman with fiery passion and an even more fiery temper, AlexiKa - AKA Lexi - fights for her family's survival in the rough city of Venicula. She hates authority and will gladly fight for you, despite the odds.

Yuki Raiden: Lexi's mom. Japanese. Super sweet and tries to keep the mood positive, even in dark times.

Alessandro: Lexi's dad. An Italian himbo who loves to tinker.

Ellie: Lexi's childhood friend. Super sweet, but a bit cheeky as well. Pacifist. They might have some gay tension.

Empress Vox: Rules the city of Venicula. Politician who does weird parasocial crap over VR/AR. Definitely a good person.

Donovan Vox: Brother of the Veniculan president. CEO of Gaia Corporation.

LaKellan Ramirez: Leader of the Ultra Resistance. Calm and may seem cold, but is actually just a bit awkward and emotionally constipated.

(More coming soon probably-)

//Tags: Ultra Drive, aesthetic, xxx, xxx, xxx...

//Tag list: @digital-chance

//Pinterest boards: Aesthetic inspo | Character inspo

//Playlists: Scenic/Chill - Used for imagining scenery and for calmer scenes.| Edgy - Lots of industrial, trip-hop, metal, and rock beats for angsty, intense, action scenes. Some songs may include explicit content.

//Changelogs:

1.0: Initial Post.

1.2: Added more tags. Added playlist. Added Pinterest board links.

#wip intro #writeblr community #writeblr #writing wip #sci fi writing #Ultra Drive #cyberpunk #post-apocalyptic #creative writing #tumblr writers #writers on tumblr #Biopunk #dystopian #dystopia #post apocalyptic #scifi #science fiction #futuristic

[loverseon]

SOUL SWAP .ᐟ teaser one

pairing female reader x ???

genre royal au, fantasy, kinda mystery ish

synopsis you wake up in a bedroom thats not your own. curtains that arent your own, bed thats not your own. a life thats not your own. no one around you seems to take you very seriously when you try and explain that youre… not exactly who they think you are. but hey, who are you to complain when everywhere you look theres a handsome man who wants you?

word count around 3k for this teaser, full fic tbd (around 20k+)

warnings none for this teaser angst, fluff, themes of death, suggestive (tbz being sexy what can i say) cursing, slow burn, gradual pairing reveal, will add more tags as we progress

part i. the dream of the golden bedroom

You woke with a startling gasp.

The bedsheets clenched tightly in your grasp; a lick of sweat travelling down your temple as you heave against the headboard. You could see the sliver of sunlight against the curtains through your closed eyes, could hear the gentle song of birds tittering outside – could feel a slow breeze snaking around your ankles and feet as they hung out of the blanket. 

The dream had felt so vivid, so alive, that you swore you could still feel the biting wind against your neck and the sea in your hair. You counted your breathing as it tumbled off your tongue, one… two…

You were quite often purged with such coloured dreams, so waking with a start was not too uncommon a feeling, but there was something so gripping about this one that it had the room spinning beneath your eyelids as you grounded yourself. 

Water. 

Water was the best call for your dried throat, as it felt as though you had been screaming and it was raw and punished. The quilt caught on the mattress as you kicked it off your feet, placing them on the ground and hauling your body up and off the bed. The wooden grit of the floorboards rubbed against your cold toes and, when you searched to no avail for your slippers, you walked to the door, eyes still closed and head rattling. 

The birds were louder now, singing and wailing as the breeze began to pick up and the sun climbed higher into the morning sky. You rubbed your eyes, opening them blindly and feeling along the wall for the light switch next to the bedroom door. The handle hit you suddenly and you winced, getting more agitated at your blindness against the sun and at the fact that you still could not find that goddamn switch.

A sound other than the birds caught your attention; a high, snivelling noise that sounded like metal shearing against metal and you stopped in your tracks. You willed your eyes open wide and forced them to adjust to your surroundings, ignoring the trickling pain in the back of your head at the sudden brightness.

Your foot caught the bed frame as you stumbled backwards.

The first thing you noticed was the gold.

Strips and beams of it everywhere, shining and glowing under the early sun, casting echoes of light all around the room so much that you wondered how your eyes hadn’t shut again already.

Everything so bright everywhere: the furniture, the windowsills, the nails in the gritty wooden floorboards all dipped in gold.

Then it was the height; windows that stretched across high walls, touching the ceilings and bending around the front of the room. Drapes twenty feet high spilled from the peak of the glass, billowing down and curling like white fire against the floor.

You could feel your heart pricking, could hear it pounding as you stood, unmoving, amidst it all. The metal noise was further away now, but you could still make out its presence. Were those… scissors?

Surely you were still dreaming – a lucid dream. Far greater than any you’d had before, but not an uncommon occurrence.

With trepidation, you took a few steps closer to the behemoth windows, a shaky hand reaching out in front of you to pull back the curtain that seemed almost alive as it greeted you and tangled your arm in its fabric. 

The wind hit your hair, brushing it off your face as the birdsong appeared louder the closer you got to the window, before you finally peered out from behind the fabric and opened your eyes.

You couldn’t even feel yourself breathe.

Everywhere, as far as you could see, was green. Luscious grass and trees and meadows waved back at you, flowers of varying colours danced in the wind as you stood in silent awe. The metal shearing from before had returned to your ears and, as you looked down, you recognised them to be bush trimmers, and there, at their handle, was an arm attached, which led to a body – to a head, and you realised that there was an actual person you could see amongst all the foliage. 

He cut the bushes slowly, intricately, creating little swirling curls in the pattern of the leaves, humming gently as he wiped the sweat from his wrinkled brow. You threw yourself back away from the curtain before he had the chance to look up and see you, breath catching in your throat. 

This was definitely one of the more extravagant dreams you’d had in a while. 

With nothing else to do but gawk at the bedroom, you crept back onto the bed, burying yourself in the plushness and staring up at the ceiling. You then realised that even there had a mural – nature paintings with a little pathway running all the way through the artwork. 

There was a person painted on too, a little girl in a pink dress skipping her way through the pink roses with her pink shoes and, if you turned your head just enough, you could make out a large castle at the end of the pathway, all the way on the other side of the room. Like everything else, this palace was the epitome of nature: with green vines climbing its walls and those same pink flowers blooming at the foot of the castle entrance. 

Feeling yourself becoming lost in the detail of the artwork, your eyes began to droop once again, all thoughts being forgotten as the softness of the pillows created a cradle for your head, your breathing becoming lighter as –

A knock comes upon the door and you startle yourself awake.

“Your Highness?” A voice called from beyond the gold, “Are you awake?” 

At least the bedroom belonging to royalty explained the gold. 

You didn’t answer, instead letting the person on the other side dwell in your silence. This was your dream after all, you could let it go however you willed it to.

So you sunk your head further down into the sheets, enjoying the birdsong and the thick blankets that shielded you from the chill in the air, assuming the voice would leave you alone again. 

“Young mistress?” Your eyes opened again. Usually you had control over your maladaptive dreams, so why wasn’t this person going away?

“Your Highness, your breakfast is waiting.” They called softly with another rap at the door. 

A beat of silence.

“Your Highness?”

This time you got out of the bed, skulking over to the door and hesitating before opening it a peep to finally see who was disturbing your dream.

A fresh-faced, pale girl, not that much older than you, stared back at you with doe eyes. A small smile fell onto her lips as you looked at her, pushing slightly against the door to usher you out. “Cook has prepared your breakfast for you, Your Highness! Earlier than usual, as you requested.”

Her voice was softer without the wooden barrier of the door and, as she leaned in, you realised she smelled like freshly picked berries.

“E-earlier than usual?” Was what you managed to say in response.

Your throat was raw and you were surprised to hear your own voice – you talking wasn’t something that happened often in dreams.

The girl paused, confusion flickering across her features for a second before her smile reappeared against her lips.

“After your lesson yesterday you complained the whole way back!” she giggles, “you said something about food never being ready when you want it, so I asked Cook if he could prepare it before you woke up so you wouldn’t have to wait!”

Now things were getting weird.

A lesson yesterday?

You’d never once had a dream that referenced something that had previously happened.

Everything was always happening in the present as you were dreaming it. They never had any kind of backstory or dimension to them before, just scenarios where you were living out a scene as it happened.

Before you get the chance to speak, another voice cuts through the silence.

“Y/N.” It calls, and you immediately feel the hair prick up at the back of your neck.

The girl in front of you lowers her head slightly at the voice just beyond the hall, just beyond your line of sight, and begins to retreat away from the door.

“I’ll see you at breakfast,” she squeaks, and then she’s gone.

“Y/N!” The voice says again, louder and closer. You’re about to place a hand on the door, to close your eyes and try to wake up when a much older woman steps into the bedroom.

Her shoes are tall and pointed, the body leading up and disappearing under the trim and lace of her green dress as she stands with one hand pointing at your chest.

Her hair dark and ebbing, pin-straight against the broad of her shoulder, save for a singular piece curled in a little ringlet at the base of her neck.

Her stark beauty pierces you in your spot.

“Darling,” she begins again, “whatever happened to you waking up early to catch breakfast?”

The petname eases your paralysis, but you don’t quite let your stiffness go yet and the tall woman sighs, almost floating as she moves around you to sit on the unmade bed.

“The physician told you that it would be good for your heart to stop getting up so late. I thought you promised me you’d start listening to him?”

Compared to her, you had not a single ounce of grace as you croaked back a small ‘what?’, continuously unmoving in your place by the door, a tired hand still holding the handle.

She sighs and runs deft fingers through her hair with a smile. Honestly, her beauty was unlike anything you’d seen before, and if you continued to gape at her you feel like your heart would start to become nervous.

“Come on,” she begins again, “make haste and get dressed. I’ll send in your ladies to prep you for the day.”

The woman goes to leave for the door, her hair trailing behind her as she walks back past you. With a soft hand against your cheek, she says, “I hope you haven’t forgotten about what today will mean for you.”

And then she’s gone. The door closes swiftly behind her, leaving you alone once more, with only the birdsong and the drifting sound of metal snipping in your ears.

What on earth is going on?

This dream has already gone on for longer than you’re used to, and the sensations are so intense you definitely could have mistaken them for reality, especially when a moment later, half a dozen women come piling into the room with dresses and jewellery and little ornate containers in their busying hands.

You don’t even get the chance to say anything before they’re all over you — fingers tangling in your hair, pulling and tugging against your clothes.

“What are you doing!” you say, feeling awfully bare in your new state. Without the warmth of your clothes, you can feel the biting chill of the air, the early sun doing nothing to fight against the new coldness in the room. “Stop it!”

Two of these new girls look at each other with a knowing glance and you can’t help but feel confused when they continue to pull at your hair, scraping it up and high off your face.

“What’s going on?” you cry, but it goes ignored as the swarm still continues to decorate you.

One of them walks over slowly, stopping behind you, just at the base of your feet, and you can feel cold fingers grazing against your neck. You shiver at the feeling.

Are your dreams usually this real? Can you normally feel the temperature of someone’s hand in them?

After a while of fussing, it all stops.

Your eyes had closed at some point during this, and all you can hear is their little shocked gasps and whispers and giggles as you assume they marvel at their creation.

You hear the floorboards creaking, and then the sound of something scraping across the wood before a small, “Open your eyes, Your majesty,” sounds across the room, “look in this mirror.”

When you do, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

There’s a dress slipping gently off the slope of your shoulders, high in the body before it waterfalls and tumbles all the way down until meeting the floor in swirling waves. It’s pink — the same ballerina hue you saw on the little girl in the ceiling mural, save for the white lace trim and pearl details that swan up and disappear in the fabric of the dress. The shoulders are puffed ever so slightly and curled underneath to taper against your waist, which is tucked in tightly by a pearled pink bodice.

In the mirror, you see half of your hair has been pinned back in gentle strands, with a few loose curls framing the edge of your face.

Speaking of, your cheeks are much softer than usual as you look into the mirror; your skin brighter and your eyes more lifelike than you’ve seen in a while.

The dark circles that usually pierced under your eyes have completely vanished, replaced instead with tiny layers of glitter that shine when you catch them in a ray of sunlight.

Thanks to existing in a struggling 21st century, your face has never looked as radiant as the one peeking back at you now.

It’s definitely your face, but you certainly wouldn’t recognise this woman if you saw her somewhere else.

The girl with the cold hands from before returns behind you again, and this time you’re able to catch a glimpse of her face in the glass — small, frail and beautiful, much like everything else you’ve seen in this dream so far.

She pulls something from one of the little boxes brought in before and, when you look back at yourself in the mirror, you see her placing the most beautiful golden necklace softly against your skin, clasping it closed before straightening it out in your reflection. Like the dress, the train of the necklace is created entirely of glowing pearls, shining in the sunlight and almost dripping onto your skin.

Right in the centre lies a small diamond, dainty and beautiful and matching the ones clipped into your ears.

Your eyes connect with the girl in the mirror, but it’s only a second before she’s looking away, head down and avoiding as she moves back to her spot with the other women.

“Now,” one of them says, clearly much older than the rest, “shall we take you down to breakfast?”

Your shoes echo as the ladies tunnel you down a drawn out hallway. Every step you feel as though you’re spiralling, tumbling down and down and away as you’re pushed through the manor.

Even out here everything is stained gold, the light fixtures, the tables, the flowers. Towering portraits hung on every wall, their frames dripping and glittering in the candle lights.

Men and women of luxury stared back at you in their watercolours, eyes strong, powerful, and seemingly alive. 

The girls who accompanied you down this way hadn’t said a word throughout your journey, instead just holding the train of your dress as it floated behind you.

Honestly, the lace was starting to burn, and the bodice was getting too heavy against your waist but you felt like a princess, so you decided to humour the dream a little longer. 

You must have walked for at least ten minutes before you arrived at anything other than gold and prying watercolour eyes.

When the ladies come to a stop, your breath catches.

Before you stood two huge doors, pretty little lines carved into wood and stone and gold. These doors are huge, towering twin oaks that make your neck creak as you look all the way up, the tops of them barely visible before they disappear into the ceiling.

You had no idea it possible for two inanimate objects to make you feel this unimportant, this small, especially in your own dream, but you didn’t have very long to think about it before the eldest woman in the group is giving the handle a firm push and encouraging you inside with a hurried whisper.

The doors swallow you up and your eyes are assaulted by a flush of bright sunlight. Quiet chatter blooms in your ears, but it silences when you fall into the room. With a less than graceful stumble, you hunch your dress and flatten your skirts, straighten your back because you think it’s the right thing to do in this scenario, and open your eyes.

A mistake.

There, before you, is a small audience. Two of them you don’t recognise, but one is the unnerving beauty from before, the one who had fussed over your health and pulled you from bed.

A few seats to her left is a round little man, his jaw square and eyes downturned as they set on you. The hair on his head is tufting, and it takes all you have not to laugh a little at the crumbs lining the collar of his tunic as he looks so seriously at you.

As you turn your attention to the other side of the table, however, all pretence leaves your mind and you let your jaw drop comically.

That’s…

the most beautiful man you think you’ve ever seen.

a/n DUN DUN DUNN hehe

thats it for the teaser! chapter one is still in the works so it doesnt have an estimated wc yet but bear with me!

thank u sm for all the support so far ><

until next time

#the boyz #the boyz au #tbz #tbz au #tbz angst #the boyz angst #the boyz fluff #tbz fluff #the boyz royal au #kpop au #the boyz fanfiction #royal au #fantasy #royal #the boyz fantasy au #the boyz fanfic

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Death - Flesh And The Power It Holds

#Death #The Sound of Perseverance #Flesh And The Power It Holds #Release date: August 31st 1998 #Full-length #Genre: Death Metal (early); Progressive Death Metal (later) #Lyrical themes: Death Gore Horror (early); Society Enlightenment (later) #USA

[metalsongoftheday]

Friday, January 19: Metallica, "Vulturus"

Some Kind of Monster was transparent about Metallica’s inner workings to an uncomfortable degree, but apparently the experience didn’t dissuade the band from continuing to share their processes to the public, even if (thankfully) it would never be so in-depth.  One outcome of that openness was “Vulturus”, a work-in-progress track the band demoed and played on the road a handful of times during early sessions for Death Magnetic.  Here was the biggest metal band of all time workshopping a tune in something resembling real time, though to be sure there was nothing accidental about their premiering a short, fast and furious headbanger as something that might be on their new album: Metallica was very conscious about not only how St. Anger was received, but how much (or little) it sold, and Lars in particular understood that their legacy was at risk and that the next new music they put out had to at least mollify if not enthrall the base.  And to that end, “Vulturus” did the job by virtue of simply nodding to classic Metallica, if not actually completely sounding like classic Metallica.  That may be damning with faint praise, but the track was fun and metallic without attempting to be overly clever or dance around James’ core strengths as a writer and player.  It was actually a good amount livelier than what actually made it onto Death Magnetic, which made its ultimate exclusion from the record that much more surprising.

#heavy metal #metal #heavy metal rules #heavy metal music #listen to metal #metal song of the day #metal song #song of the day #song #metallica #james hetfield #lars ulrich #kirk hammett #robert trujillo #death magnetic #thrash #thrash metal #big four #the big four #heavy music #heavy rock #metal rock #metal music #listen to music #long live rock #Youtube

[goodbysunball]

Cement mixer blues

A couple more for your March, with Opening Day right around the corner. Four picks, all hits, and more waiting in the wings - but until then:

Thomas Bush, The Next 60 Years LP (Jolly Discs)

Album number three from Thomas Bush, one carving his own path through the history of quietly devastating British folk. That Bush has much to do with "folk" in general is debatable at this point, but there are fractured fragments within his damaged, precise compositions. On The Next 60 Years, he refines his vision further, not solely through reduction (though that, too) but with a bit of surprising bombast on the B-side. "Same Life Flowed" opens the album with plodding pop, the double-tracked vocals opening up just enough during the chorus to complement the harpsichord melody, and runs into the pensively dueling guitars on the accurately named "Pure Intention." As is Bush's wont, the album never keeps a straight course after this beautiful opening; some songs, like "Mulligan" or "Flood of Light," creak like floorboards in an empty house, whereas "Face In the Water" jumps out of the speakers from behind the curtain. I've never pieced together any influence of Talk Talk or Mark Hollis on Bush's sound, but now it's crystal on "Burn Clear," the patiently brushed cymbals and pattering drums pairing with slowly ringing chords, all directed by Bush's carefully delivered vocals. The samples on "Burn Clear" get turned inside-out on "Face In the Water," its booming synth chords leaving backwards bubbling loops in their wake, the distortion becoming ever more prominent as Bush's most clear, confident song unravels over its duration. The synth chords turn green midway through, and the garbled loops run rampant to cloud any pop ambitions with more unease. The album closes with the quietly devastating "Xtrails," a repeated descending progression of guitar notes and scattered synth chords, tying the album together neatly with only the necessary ingredients. In early listens, "Burn Clear" and "Face In the Water" were the highlights, but now tracks like "Thirsting" and "Xtrails" have become my favorites, the ones where Bush takes something recognizable and strips it to a skeleton and makes the bones vibrate with noise, creating a new story for the figure largely free from its past. Stunning, especially during my pre-dawn drives, but potent enough, and enveloping enough, to transport the listener from start to finish anytime. Sold out at the source, but I suspect copies will land stateside soon; if not, All Night Flight is handling the distribution - hop to it.

Contaminated, Celebratory Beheading LP (Blood Harvest)

Amidst a glut of ho-hum, self-referencing contemporary death metal, I wasn't really prepared for the complete onslaught that makes up Contaminated's second LP. I liked Final Man a lot, but things seem to have gotten a lot bleaker in the seven years since that came out, and Celebratory Beheading is the record that balls up collective agony into relentless, boneheaded death metal. It takes all of 15 seconds into opener "Suffer Minutiae" for the band to launch into a chugging breakdown riff, and even after multiple spins I feel as if I haven't captured the right words to describe music so single-mindedly brutish. There are no synths, electronics or really anything resembling a breather across the album. This new-look Contaminated feels like layers alternating between Carcass (pre-Heartwork) and Autopsy, with a dash of County Medical Examiners or other goregrind practitioner. Each song is made up of multiple movements, which is the stupid way my brain's been reduced to describing this record when it's on, but the very basic recipe is to pound with death metal crunch and follow it up with a grinding blast, before pulling back and taking another swing at your head. These parts are masterfully fused together without gaps or any recognizable structure, suffocatingly dense compositions coming one after another. Once your ears adjust, the pieces of the bulldozing sound can just barely be picked apart. The drummer's right up front with the vocals, and the two seem to goad each other on; the guitars, drenched in distortion and as beefy as I've heard (sans exterior electronic noise) in ages, churn out mercilessly hard or dizzyingly fast riffs. "Final Hours" is the point in the record where I finally catch my breath, and by "Apex C.H.U.D." (stands for Circular Headbanging Under Duress, pretty sure) you're stomping around like a sumo wrestler. Imagine running in a sewer tunnel away from a tidal wave of waste, each turn bringing no more distance or relief from the chase; at some point your legs and chest give out and you submit. I haven't looked at the included lyric sheet - the album and song titles are illustrative enough - but this seems to be the soundtrack to intentionally hammering a nail through your finger, pure visceral animal thrill, presented without concessions or interludes. My favorite record of the year so far.

Los Doroncos, Sun and Fireworks LP (An'archives)

There's nothing like the first whiff of springtime to bring me around to an album that made little sense during the dregs of the new year, and Los Doroncos' Sun and Fireworks is one for the ages. Seasoned vets with deep ties to the Japanese underground - members from Denudes, Maher Shalal Hash Baz, Doronco Gumo - but what you get here is a dream dive bar band, playing music both intimately familiar and somehow buoyant, not bogged down with expectations or concerned with much else than playin' hits. If the band set out to make classic rock feel fresh again, they nailed it, taking the scoff right outta my throat and using it to hit another solo. The band rips on the two longer tracks, "A minor" (one of the young year's best tracks) and "Drum," but elsewhere things are downright breezy. Guitars are largely unadorned until solos call for distortion, vocals are charming, paper-thin but hopeful, and the drums do enough to keep everything together. For me, any cynicism is eradicated by the beautifully disarming guitar lines littered about in "LuLu 2," but just as often it's the solo pushing its way through the clean chords of "Tin Ear." I'm in the midst of fixing up my porch, and if I get my way, I will be having a few beers back there with Sun and Fireworks elevating my mundane accomplishment. Come through.

Peg, We Know Who You Are and Everyone Is On the Lookout CS (No Rent)

Meeting of the minds between Cube's Adam Keith and Jackie-O Motherfucker's Dave Easlick, both of whom previously teamed up in SPF. I can't remember SPF's music much, though it may be time to revisit given how much I've enjoyed Peg's debut cassette. The music on We Know Who You Are feels like dub recorded without or presented without permission, as if found on a thrift store cassette, and then given added rhythm by Easlick and Keith's drumming and programming. "Mutual Percussion" is a sterling example, drums fading in and out while viscous treated guitar bubbles and the sound of a breeze or footsteps periodically emerge to confusingly give the feel of a field recording. The album feels sometimes ominous, sometimes sarcastic; the intention feels pure but you're never quite convinced with a track like "Agenda Jazz," either. Beyond sifting through the tape for intention, there's deep enjoyment here, skewering and distorting sounds in a way not unlike Equipment Pointed Ankh, though Peg's got a decidedly more abstract, glowering, smirking result. Hard to pick favorites, but if forced: the slouched strut of "Athletic Posturing"; the disarming "Everyone," all glistening synthesizer and distant drums; and my favorite, "Bog Standard," Easlick letting loose on the kit while a bassy loop and high-pitched noise build towers in the shifting sands. Really feels like these two met each other head-on this round, keeping stakes low for themselves but understanding one another intuitively to create one of last year's best albums.

#Thomas Bush #Jolly Discs #Contaminated #Blood Harvest Records #Los Doroncos #An'archives #Peg #No Rent Records

[hunter-sylvester]

Hi, you recommended me some music a while back. I finally got through it all (finding time to just listen to music was a bitch) but I loved most of it (by most I mean I only disliked one song. *Alestorm by Alestorm*) but I absolutely loved the rest. Especially Skraeckoedlan and Spaceslug, and was curious if you had any more possible recommendations? Anyway, I hope you have a good day. Thanks again for those recommendations, I really liked listening to them!

Hey ^-^

I'm really glad you liked most of it! I tried to drop a bit of variety so only one miss is honestly a better outcome than I expected. Big on Alestorm personally but I understand that pirate metal is not going to be for everyone lmaooo

And I can absolutely drop some more recs 🤘

Sidenote that I love that you listed Spaceslug as one of the bands you particularly enjoyed. The first type of metal I truly fell in love with was psychedelic doom (Spaceslug being one of the bands) and it really got me through the tail-end of my teens.

Music below the cut 🎵🎶

Honestly, if you haven't already, my first rec would be to check out Spaceslug's entire discography. While Time Travel Dilemma is my favorite album from them, everything they've put out is phenomenal imo.

(The above lowkey goes for most bands I listed before, except Candlemass. Candlemass has a bit of vocalist fuckery and I've not enjoyed their newer albums at all. While you might, I can't say I recommend them. )

I listed some full albums again below but I also took the liberty of just making a fucking playlist. I tried to get it to have a cohesive flow at first but that proved a bit impossible to achieve after a while 💀 so it's just a clusterfuck of stuff. I threw in some songs by bands mentioned before, some I hadn't mentioned but that fit the profile and a few "wildcards"

Full Albums:

Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats: Psychedelic Rock/Doom Metal Seen these guys live. They just straight up fuck. They're so good.

Celtic Frost: Thrash/Death/Black Metal (early); Gothic/Doom Metal (later) Personally, I love the almost goth sound in Celtic Frosts' Monotheist as well as their album To Mega Therion

Katatonia: [Doom/Death Metal (early); Gothic/Alternative/Progressive Rock/Metal (later)] Softer, sad boy music, but still metal (fun fact: Movie!Hunter approves)

Purple Hill Witch: Doom Metal Just some good heavy doom.

Honorable non-metal mentions (shock horror ik, but they're good) All Them Witches - Lightning At The Door (desert rock) Witchcraft - Witchcraft (desert rock, early) Somali Yacht Club - The Sun (stoner rock)

#tysm for asking dude #hope some of it is to your liking again #also idk why I called the playlist that #it was the first thing that came to mind #my post #answered ask #songs #song recs #hunters asks

[thisaintascenereviews]

I Was Wrong About Deathcore

Deathcore as a genre has gone through quite a transformation over the last 20 years, especially in its early years. Bands like Bring Me The Horizon, Veil Of Maya, All Shall Perish, Suicide Silence, Whitechapel, and Job For A Cowboy brought forth a style of metalcore that took death metal elements into the fold, creating a heavier and more menacing sound. Unfortunately, the metal community hated it, and deathcore was mocked incessantly by the metal community. I remember countless metal publications crapping all over the genre, like it was nothing, and many elitists would say it’s not “real metal,” which you also heard with metalcore, but look at how big both genres are now. In retrospect, those people that doubted the genre and mocked it, their comments haven’t aged well, because both of these genres are insanely huge. Deathcore, in particular, is doing well for itself, but it wasn’t always like that. You can say the same for metalcore as well, and I’ve got a piece in the works about that, but for now, let’s talk about deathcore, and where it’s been for the past decade and where it may potentially go in the future.

I’ve expressed before that I’m just not into the genre anymore, but I’ve recently spent some time with a handful of albums, both from bands I know and bands I don’t, and I’ve come to the realization that I was wrong about the quality of the genre over the last few years. That’s not to say I’m a diehard fan now, but I wanted to write this piece to explain how I went from loving the genre as a teenager to not being much of a fan in my late 20s, only to enjoy it more now at 30. It seems like things like this go full circle, because I was the same way with metalcore as well, and only up until about five or six years ago, I didn’t really listen to a lot for the longest time. I loved deathcore in high school, partially because it was the “heaviest” music I had ever heard, at least at the time. I had already been a fan of metalcore, but deathcore was even heavier. The genre reached its peak in the early 2010s with the second coming of the genre, and that included Carnifex, Whitechapel, Thy Art Is Murder, and a lot of other bands. Those bands were already around, but they only ended up getting bigger. After a certain point, however, I saw the genre start to turn to how heavy and “brutal” a band could get, instead of writing good songs.

One of my biggest issues with heavier music that I run into a lot, depending on the genre, is that bands never know how to write a cohesive song, and instead, they want to be as heavy and brutal as possible, as well as cram as many riffs and breakdowns as possible. Bonus points if the vocalist sounds like a garbage disposal as well. I see this in progressive metal a lot, too, where the bands play as intricately and technical as possible, but they can’t make a catchy or accessible song worth a damn. There was a point where I thought musicianship was more important, but I don’t think so these days. These days, I’m more into listening to catchy and accessible stuff that has something to go back to, versus something that sounds impressive. Sure, you can play your instruments well, but why should I care if I don’t have anything to go back to? Deathcore has been going in that direction recently, being that bands are starting to be more accessible and memorable, versus trying to be as heavy and brutal as possible.

Lorna Shore’s latest record, Pain Remains, is a good example of that, but at the same time, that album is a good example of being over the top and overblown. Pain Remains is at an 11 constantly with its brand of symphonic and blackened deathcore, and while the album does try to get heavy and brutal, there is a lot of variety in both the musicianship and vocals. I reviewed that album a couple of years ago, and my biggest issue with it was how intense and over the top it was, but I don’t think it bothers me as much now, because I just needed to sink my teeth more into it. I didn’t spend enough time with it, and I see the album’s importance now, but I will admit that it’s a very overwhelming album at times, because it throws a lot at you. It throws a lot of different things, though, and that’s a good thing. Relistening to that album recently made me dive back into the genre for a bit, including the new Carnifex album from last year, Necromanteum. I liked that album a lot when it came out, despite it being pretty similar to what they’ve been doing, but Carnifex is a good example of a deathcore band that has more going for them than just being brutal and heavy. They utilize symphonics as well, and black metal riffery, so there’s more or less a good amount of variety on the album.

I’ve listened to a handful of other things, including the new Drown In Sulphur album, Dark Secrets Of The Soul, and I will say that blackened deathcore has become the new trend of the genre, aside from being brutal and heavy, but it all depends on the band’s ability to execute it. Like with all trends, it’ll fade, and the next new thing will come, but it looks like bands trying to be as brutal as possible is the thing of the past and the blackened deathcore sound is what’s big, so I’m looking at the genre with some optimism again, and I’m enjoying some of what I’m hearing. Another great album I’ve been into is the debut Ov Sulfur album, The Burden Ov Faith, in which the band tackles symphonic and blackened deathcore, along with some metalcore and hard rock influence by including clean vocals on the majority of the record.

It’s not that I don’t like bands being really heavy and brutal, it’s that I don’t care for it when that itself is the gimmick. There’s nothing with merely doing that, and sounding like that, but I want there to be more at this point in time. Maybe 20 years ago, it was new and fresh, but now it’s boring and played out, so I’m happy to see a band like Lorna Shore really do something with that. Other bands are following suit, and who knows where the genre will go in the next few years, especially when this trend dies down, but if this is where the the genre is now, I could get into this. Deathcore may not reach the same heights it did ten years ago, but times change, and it’s great to see some newer bands carrying the torch for any certain style of music.

#lorna shore #pain remains #suicide silence #thy art is murder #veil of maya #ov sulfur #signs of the swarm #carnifex #whitechapel #job for a cowboy #deathcore #bring me the horizon #metal #heavy metal #metalcore