#zelu does things

[blxxdq-mvs1c]

"boywhore x boyloser"

[adastra-rising]

I’ve been rewatching episodes of miraculous because I finally got the family Disney Plus Password (was too lazy to ask) and I’ve been struck with thoughts.

I desperately want to rewrite the season 3 episode “Felix” because OH DEAR GOD I HATE IT. You only get the good shit when you read between the lines, what’s actually shown is ass.

So here’s my ideas for a rewrite

- Adrien definitively knows Colt Fathom was abusive, and alludes to it vaguely. He switched identities with Felix as a kid and has a good idea of what he went through at home.

- Adrien is less condescending in his taunts during the battle and shows a little more empathy towards his cousin. Less “boohoo bozo you have no friends” and more like, “dear god what happened to you bud?” Like he’s genuinely concerned over his wellbeing. Angry over what he did but genuinely concerned. Angry that his cousin never got a therapist lol.

- Marinette doesn’t try to confess her love to Adrien on the anniversary of his mother’s death because that’s literally so stupid.

- Felix is a bit more straightforward in his goals here, in that the audience is not led to believe he’s straight up evil. His behavior and general demeanor are more in-line with how he’s portrayed in season 4. He’s less obsessed with the GDV rings and more focused on outing his uncle as Hawkmoth or catching him in the act.

- He specifically chooses to mess with the videos to not only lure out Hawkmoth but because he’s extremely lonely and jealous. And that’s shown via subtle facial expressions and visual cues.

- His attempts to get Hawkmoth’s attention are more clearly shown to be an attempt to double-cross him and not just for the lols. Like, there’s certain things he does in the OG that are literally pointless, like the shit with Plagg’s cheese. Why? just, why?

- He is shown to be super competent at physical things (beating people up lol) but his social ineptitude is more clearly alluded to.

- No more SA scene I will burn that scene.

- Amelie actually gets to do stuff. She’s more straightforward about needing the GDV rings and actually makes an attempt to steal them herself. Auntie on a mission,

Canon Divergence Territory (aka rewrite)

✨MLB S3 Episode 23: Zelus✨

- If I wanted to do a bit more canon divergence, I’d shift focus from Felix being a trouble maker for the lols and instead focus on his jealousy. The feeling of being left behind by your only friend.

- His attempts to sabotage Adrien’s relationships is not to bait Hawkmoth but instead because he’s overcome with jealousy that Adrien has all these friends supporting him through his mothers passing, when Felix has never had anyone, both when his dad was dead and when he was alive. Nobody came to save him when he needed it and he’s gonna make that everybody’s problem.

- He thinks it’s unfair that Adrien seems to be so much happier than him and gets all of the things Felix wants (companionship) all the while getting to avoid the abuse he went through.

- Bro is genuinely super bitter and emotionally broken but hides it under a facade of showing no emotion at all until he snaps and gets akumatized into Zelus.

- Zelus (more commonly known as Phthonus) is the Greek personification of Jealousy.

- Maybe the ending could parallel the ending of Perfection, where other characters make an attempt to reach out and say “ur not alone <3” and while it works to defeat him, the message does NOT reach Felix and he goes home outwardly seeming better (it’s an act. One that Adrien believes) but remains just lonely.

- Like Kagami his trust issues run deep and one single episode is not gonna fix them. (They’ll heal together though, trust me!)

- His experience getting Akumatized proves to him that his uncle is Hawkmoth, he swipes the GDV ring on his way out to please his mother, and season 4 proceeds as written.

Dialogue Changes

Adrien: Listen, Plagg. Félix lost his dad not so long ago, he's probably not himself.

Plagg: I'm sorry, but there's just no excuse! You never touch my cheese, and yet, you just lost your mother not so long ago, right?

Adrien: My mom and his dad were nothing alike. It’s totally different.

[no-zero-four]

Kamen Rider Zelus sketch

A foil to Ares, she acts more like her namesake than Ares does. While Ares is calm and levelheaded, Zelus is eager to prover herself and prone to overdoing things. Despite this and her being a Kamen Rider, she still values living a “normal” life, though perhaps she may be using her values to cover something up. While also a fan of Kamen Rider(dragon knight specifically), she engages with it on a surface level.

Her suit motif are that of a cuttlefish and stealth bomber

[blxxdq-mvs1c]

i scream his name when were fucking hard anywhere possible xoxo

Teach me how to scream 🤪

[bakawitch]

Third Prince Chevalierose, Prince of Lust

Chevalierose - Lust is a guy who likes to live in the moment. He's an artist at heart and seeks the finer things in life. Chevalierose likes being in charge of things, but he doesn't contest his position in the Princes because he's perfectly happy with the army he's built for himself. He thinks he's helping the people he claimed with his powers and hopes to claim many more. Just because he want his army to be happy, that doesn't mean he won't dangle the promise of getting their desires fulfilled by obeying his commands. He thinks fondly of Mistress Moon and likes to think that claiming people is helping them like how she helps people by making deals with them. Chevalierose's favorite associate is Ante. They're both pretty spontaneous and have generally similar ideals. He tends to be their main supporter whenever Ante decides to pick a fight with Rothbart. Despite being the closest with Ante, Chevalierose spends most of his time with Zelus who is oddly dependent on him. He thinks it's fun how easy it is to influence them, so he doesn't necessarily mind their clinginess since he usually prefers other's doing the work anyway. He likes Agni a lot because of how passionate she can get and he appreciates people who value that. They don't talk that much but they're very amicable. Mille-feuille on the other hand is a completely different story. Usually he doesn't even acknowledge her because there is just no point to it. She's constantly lethargic and he swears that he's never once seen her smile. Mille-feuille sucks the joy out of everything in his opinion and he generally dislikes people who just wallow up in self pity and refuse to do anything to better themselves or achieve happiness. And Rothbart is even worse. The guy can't take a joke and never does anything for the sake of pleasure, he's ridiculously strict and work oriented and takes everything way to seriously. Gévaudan is a special case though. Chevalierose very rarely feels this drawn to people, but if love at first sight exists then whatever he feels towards Gévaudan must be that. They don't even interact that much and he doesn't know him beyond the meetings, but he just finds his quiet standoffish nature incredibly attractive. (Maybe he's just a trashy fantasy YA romance fan XD) He makes more frequent appearances on the battle field than the ones ranked above him because his army is usually more effective with him present. A fearsome tactician and a very cunning fighter in one on one combat and he knows how to use his surroundings to his advantage. In his civil life he's a florist in his mid twenties. While he's dedicated to his work because he enjoys it so much, he also tends to spend long nights out on the town club hopping and whatnot. Commands the Claimed.

His base ability is florakinesis that specifically applies to roses and carnivorous flowers. As long as they're flowers originated from his flowers he can fully control them.

Chevalierose has the ability to hypnotise people that smell his flowers' pheromones. Those who inhale his pollen will enter a susceptible to manipulation and suggestion, this state eventually wears off however there is an exception. Other Princes are immune to his hypnotic pollen.

If Chevalierose manages to find out what a person's greatest desire is, he can mark them as his Claimed and place a mark on them that puts that person under his permanent command until he chooses to release them. All the claimed will respond to his summons if he calls them to battle. The claimed will be characteristically experiencing mood swings depending on how close they are to their subject of desire. They will all also have a rose flower shaped mark on the back of their neck, and unusually vibrant eyes.

[eclipsedcrystalstar]

Bloodmoons should be very, very careful to not mess with Zelus’ dimension. While Zelus doesn’t really care about the people there he does care about the fact someone thinks they can just some into his world and attack or threaten its inhabitants, it’s more of a pride thing than a care thing. He will poison and attack them

[ceruleanmusings]

Skiddos and Don'ts

“You’re pretty efficient.”

Yanked out of her memories, Bowie ducked her head between the ladder rungs, turning Skylar upside down. She leaned against the leg of the ladder, light blue eyes nearly identical to the clear sky above. Straightening up, Bowie rolled back her shoulders and pushed an easy smile onto her face. “Yeah, well, you know, it was tough at first but it’s all about getting into a routine.” She reached upwards again. Grab, twist, pluck. “You know, Zelus looks more like a machamp than a machoke while he does this. I don’t know how you compete against him.”

“Well, for one”—Skylar extended a finger—"he basically makes harvesting his workout, so we don’t get in the way of that. And for two”—she extended another—"we use clippers.” She snipped at the air.

Bowie stared. “You…huh!?” They use what now?

Without a word, Skylar grabbed the object in question hanging off the ladder, unclipping the carabiner attaching it to a thick steel wire rope. She clacked the opening a few times as if to prove her point. Sweat dripped down the side of Bowie’s face, rolling over her cheek and curled beneath her chin. The sun burned her skin as much as dawning realization did.

“…Have those always been there?”

“Mhm.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

Skylar shrugged. “I thought you saw them. Besides, you seem to have your own…”—she wiggled her fingers in Bowie’s direction—“Bowie way of doing things, I kinda wanted to see how far this would go.”

“I’m glad I amuse you.”

“I wouldn’t call it amusement.”

“What would you call it then?” The ladder clinked and clanked beneath Bowie’s steps as she descended, balancing the basket against her hip. Skylar took it from her, set it aside, and grasped her upper arm, steadying her, allowing Bowie to hop off the last rung.

“Morbid curiosity.”

“Ha ha.”

[blxxdq-mvs1c]

my sick son

this is my first work to post on tumblr. I hope you like it! :3

[blxxdq-mvs1c]

uhm what a loser🤓

[sistahscifi]

Less than two months until the publication of DEATH OF THE AUTHOR by @NnediOkorafor!!

Of the book, Okorafor says, "This novel has two covers for a reason. It is many things all at once. Zelu is a Nigerian-American failure of a professor (who happens to be paraplegic) who does something amazing with the written word that isn’t what anyone expects. Every detail on the book is an Easter egg, right down to the color of the sprayed edges. 🇺🇸🇳🇬🤖🦿🐬"

Preorders deluxed editions signed by Nnedi Okorafor are available from @SistahScifi at https://sistahscifi.com/products/death-of-the-author-a-novel. Orders will ship the week after the January 14th publication date. 

 

#nnediokorafor

#deathoftheauthor🤖  

#SistahScifi

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Phlegethon (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- Phlege by his friends

Sir Burns-a-Lot by Hermes

Beau by Styx

Flame-o by Bia

Age- 47 (immortal)

Location- The Underworld

Personality- Phlege is a fiery, explosive (mostly in a good way) guy. He's larger than life, putting 1,000% into everything he does. He's in a relationship.

His namesake river is made entirely out of red hot flames. The river flows down into Tartarus, keeping the wicked alive so they can endure the torments in the Fields of Punishment.

As the Titan god of fire, his abilities include pyrokinesis, calokinesis (generating and manipulating heat), fire healing, fire mimicry, summoning and controlling Phlegethonian rubies & copper, total fire/heat immunity, and hydrokinesis (as it pertains to his river).

Phlege lives in an obsidian stone house, a few miles down from his river. He has a pet phoenix, the other "girl" in his life named Ember. He falls in love every time she "reborns" from the ashes. He’s been thinking about getting another pet- a dragon! He also has his own personal hot tub, filled with lava that he enjoys soaking in after a long day's work.

Aside from running the affairs of his namesake river, Phlege is also an accomplished blacksmith. He mainly mines (and supplies) Olympius with Phlegethonian Rubies and Copper.

He nicknames himself and the rest of the Underworld river gods as the "OG Darkside Crew." Of course his favorite person there is his girlfriend Styx (Titaness of hatred). Phlegethon thinks that Acheron (Titan god of pain) is too serious and also tries to get Cocytus (Titan god of wailing & lamentation) to loosen up a bit more.

In Olympius, he admires the work of the three blacksmithing cyclopes (Brontes, Sterope, and Arges). They all get together, hanging out sometimes when they come to the Underworld to visit. Phlege is also cool with Perses (Titan god of destruction), Draco (god of dragons), Atë (goddess of mischief, ruin, blind folly, delusion, & downfall of heroes), Empusa (goddess of shapeshifting), Ponos (god of hard labor & toil), Menoetius (Titan god of rage, violence, & rash actions), Polemos (god of war cry & battle), and Alastor (god of blood feuds & vengeance).

He personally thinks that Styx's ex-husband Pallas (Titan god of warcraft & battle) is the "dumbest asshole he's ever known." The two met very briefly once during a signing of a new Olympian law- approving out of realm tourism in the Underworld.

His go-to drink is a cucumber jalapeño margarita. He also likes bloody marys, black martinis, negronis, habanero martinis, scotch on the rocks, & beer. Phlegethon enjoys an olympian sized dark roast coffee from The Roasted Bean.

In the Underworld, Phlegethon has his own business- a nightclub called The Fire Pit. The fiery aesthetic is played up, including his delicious inferno ghost pepper wings being on the menu!

Phlege has a very particular palette for spicy food. The hotter, the spicier, the better! Most of the things he eats, he douses in sriracha, chile, or chipotle sauce. Some of his favorite foods include hot and sour vinegar chili (with extra peppercorns), fried plantains (covered in chile tamblado sauce), and inferno ghost pepper wings- the hottest chicken wings... EVER! He made them once for a Winter Solstice Festival & everyone aside from Nyx (goddess of the night) threw up in fiery agony.

He does want to know Styx's children a lot better. Phlege has only gotten to know Bia (goddess of force & power) and they both get along. He's definitely not interested in groveling or kissing ass since Zelus (god of envy, jealousy, & zeal) told him off.

In his free time, Phlege LOVES lava surfing. He's also a "DJ in training," experimenting with afro-futurism & reggaeton music. He also loves spending time with his girlfriend, feeling like his heart "bursts into flames" every time he's around her! He also enjoys blacksmithing, working on his music, cooking, & sword fighting.

"Screw ice. Things would be better if the universe was engulfed in flames."

[blxxdq-mvs1c]

same

watching zero day with my cock out

[cladlless-colletc]

Updated Alter list and new system name!

Hello there! It's been a while since I've posted a system update here. A lot has happenned and we have a comprehensive list of alters, and nos our system has a name, it's Pyro! Short for Pyromare. Now for the alters:

Jesse: the host, he/him, red hair, ace, hopelless romantic, calm and collected, either angelkin or an actual angel, same age as body, son of Zelus, dresses in yarn sweaters and earthy tones, Natsume Takashi and Kaworu Nagisa kinnie.

Gluta: co-host, he/him, extroverted, fun, loud, teenager-ish, probably aroace-spec, can be mature when needs to, is very expressesive, kind of theater kid vibes, dresses in anything that fits the mood except for feminine clothes(which is subjective, he likes skirts for instance) good at pretending to be others, co-fronts with others. Yuya Sakaki kinnie.

Shepherd: used to be host, he/him, curly hair, identifies with the body the most, hadn't fronted in a while, similar to Gluta in the more superficial aspects, we don't know a lot about him yet.

Burn: femboy, not sure but we suspect he's a persecutor, very anime-boy-ish, weebcore, very low self esteem, slightly hypersexual at times, dresses in short frilly skirts, oversized hoodies and thigh highs, does stupid shit with our hair out of impulse, extremely jealous and bitchy, depressed, but also cute when he's happy. Slightly less verbal. Bad at texting. Cares too much about appearance. Not sure what he kins, maybe Inga from Un-Go

Seele: overall protector, he/him, fatherly, serious, has deep voice, masculine, emotional, feels anger(healthly), finds our younger friends annoying, very responsible, doesn't care a lot about fashion but would like to dress like ou father. Jim Hawkins and Spade kinnie

Rollo: kinda fictive, looks exactly like Rolo Lamperouge but doens't have a very developed personality yet. As of now, he is polite, sweet, very calm and neutral about things, soft spoken, very bad at pretending to be others, doesn't cuss(most of us cuss a LOT), probably is a gatekeeper or something like that. Doesn't feel very comfortable in the body at all, but is fine with it.

Vênus: sexual, he/him she/her, y2k, very feminine, hypersexual at times, flirty, sisterly, does girl talk, son of Aphrodite, genderfluid, likes oddcore(the glittery old web type), likes rave-ish clothes, the most comfortable with spirituality.

Lavanda: little, we don't know if he's fully a child ot just a regressor. Sweet, talks cutely, very childish, emotional, easy to het sad, hyperempathetic, cries over stuffies, likes uchuu kei and scenecore, hates the day, hates being alone, likes our mom, semiverbal. Gandales Baran kinnie

Izuru: fictive, very unemotional, feels empy and bored easily. Can also be childlike and sweet, probably an age regressor. Doesn't care about anything, feels little to no emotion but can still fake express it. Good at pretending to be others. Wants long black braids to look like Izuru. Our baby too.

Zombie: nonhuman, nonverbal, he's our baby zombie. Not a lot known about him yet. Kins Fushi from To Your Eternity, Friday from Shisha no Teikoku and Hyakkimaru from Dororo. Baby boy.

[wr173r-8l0ck]

What if My Hero Academia Characters were in the Riordanverse pt. 1: Students

Yeah, yeah, this is just MHA students for now, I’ll have other characters soon, okay! Anyway, here’s MHA students of 1A and 1B (including Shinso) as demigods in the Riordanverse!

Yuga Aoyama: Son of Aphrodite. Not even a good one, unless you need someone blinded by his glitter-gun. Oh yeah, he has a glitter gun with lasers for maximum flare. Is he completely over-the-top? Absolutely. But is he good in a fight? Surprisingly, yes, kind of very, turns out glitter confuses monsters very well.

Mina Ashido: Daughter of Hermes and legacy of Hecate, capable of inhuman movements and can produce a slime that magically dissolves anything. She also tattooed her eyes black and yellow for some weird masochistic reason that no one, including herself, doesn’t understand. She’s still neat though.

Tsuyu Asui: She’s a frog-turned-human by Ochako. She still has her tongue, leaps, hops, camouflage, a reversible stomach and poison that can kill a group of whales. And he can still inflate her throat like a balloon, which makes for good scares. Very good scares…

Tenya Iida: Son of Mercury, he never skips leg day. Never. Seriously, have you seen those legs? He could crush a car with those puppies! Or crush monster heads with those thunder thighs! Which he actually does quite often. He doesn’t skimp out on upper body exercises either, but LOOK AT THOSE LEGS OF THUNDER!

Ochako Uraraka: Daughter of Hecate, she specializes in a set of spells that manipulate an individual object’s or being’s gravitational pull. It’s gotten to the point where she makes anything she touches with five fingers on one hand, it will float, no matter what, which is why she wears gloves all the time. She likes floating whoever she finds particularly annoying way up into the sky.

Mashirao Ojiro: Son of Mars, he’s an expert martial artist and very, very good at multiple of them. He’s lost multiple sparring partners because of his profinity with a number of weapons, and his lethality without any weapons. Seriously, he once defeated a Drakon with his bare hands! And another dead drakon’s teeth!

Denki Kaminari: Legacy of Zeus and Apollo, each by about 50 generations. About as bright as his godly ancestors (not very), but he still makes one Hel of a lightning bolt, and he’s also pretty good with a guitar and lyre. And classical literature and culture, like Apollo’s Kettle, who taught him all that?!

Eijiro Kirishima: Son/creation of Vulcan, his blood and skin are pure liquid gold, bronze and diamond he can infinitely harden for a period of time. It also obtains unnaturally sharp edges, and given his tendency to go hard when excited, he has made his friends frequent the infirmary for cuts and broken ribs.

Koji Koda: Son of Actaedon, he can talk with wildlife. He’s also a Legacy of Heracles, hence his size. His hugs are nice, war and gentle. Unless you’re an enemy, his bear hugs can break spines and it’s fucking terrifying.

Rikido Sato: Son of Mars, this guy has a serious sweet tooth. He’s also surprisingly gentle for a guy that can decimate an opponent with a single hit. Oh yeah, he can one-shot a hellhound with one punch (que the epic op) to the head.

Mezo Shoji: Son of Ares, he’s surprisingly level-headed. And malicious. Seriously, this guy always has at least ten different weapons on him, on top of him knowing a variety of potentially lethal moves. His arms are known as the Anacondas for a reason. Well, he lost his two precious anacondas in battle, but now he has six bronze automaton anacondas, fuly articulated and loaded up with all kinds of weapons for maximum effectiveness in battle! Actually fuck that, he’s way more terrifying now, who let him get all that stuff?!

Kyoka Jiro: Daughter of Apollo, she’s a top-tier musician, singer and is moderate with a bow and arrow. She can whistle in the ultrasonic range, clap like thunder, sing and play like either a sweet little bird or a whole-ass heavy metal choir without ruining her vocal cords, and she gives the opposite amount of fucks that Zeus does (ie. zero).

Hanta Sero: Son of Hermes, he inherited a pair of magical tape dispensers that can dispense any tape in any amount of any properties he chooses. He uses them to swing around like Spider-Man, which made him a regular visitor of the infirmary until Momo made him a special harness to keep his joints from dislocating. Somehow, he still gets his shoulders dislocated.

Fumikage Tokoyami: Son of Erebos, he suffers from split-personality disorder, but it’s fixed nicely by his inner demon incarnate made of pure darkness he calls Dark Shadow. They have a strangely healthy and wholesome relationship for a boy and his literal inner demon, and they even help each other (or embarass, take your pick) in social interactions.

Shoto Todoroki: A Legacy, descendant of Hel and Surtr, capable of making ice that freezes fire, and fire that burns ice. He gives so little shit he’s actually oblivious to social cues, which makes for more than a few funny moments on quests with him.

Toru Hagakure: Legacy of Iris, she can manipulate light around her to turn invisible or project bright flashes. Campers often say hi to her even if she’s not there just in case.

Katsuki Bakugou: Son of Ares, with rage and instincts of combat so strong and powerful he can convert his sheer rage and passion into explosions in the palms of his hands. He generated more than one explosion with the explosive yield of a nuclear weapon in his life. How he hasn’t gone deaf yet is beyond most people, though he does still know a variety of sign languages in case he does go deaf.

Izuku Midoriya: Son of Athena that was gifted the Spartan Spirit, a powerful enchantment formed by Kratos, Nike, Bia and Zelus, to protect humanity in its greatest times of need, and bestowed upon the most well-meaning and kind-hearted individuals of an era. He ends up breaking his bones an absolute shitton, and is a regular at the infirmary. The healers and smiths absolutely loathe him by now.

Minoru Mineta: Died on a quest. His quest-mates say ‘by accident’. Everyone knows it was very deliberate, but then again, everyone hated him and is fine with him dead. Some people wanted to be the ones to kill him though.

Momo Yaoyorozu: A Legacy, granddaughter of Hephaestus and Athena, capable of making virtually any machine. She’s also very fidgety, and once made an entire army of fully autonomous grass soldiers that went on to terrorize the other campers for a bit. In thirty minutes.

Yosetsu Awase: Son of Hephaestus, he also likes to make stuff. Though mostly he combines already existing tools, gadgets and machines, and makes weird amalgamations. He once fused an automaton bull, an automaton dragon and a school bus, and it actually, somehow, despite all logic and reason, fucking works.

Sen Kaibara: Son of Ares, he’s pretty chill compared to his kin (especially Katsuki and Setsuna), mainly due to him bottling up his anger. Which he can unleash as tornadoes around his limbs, which he can use to drill through walls. Thank gods he doesn’t lose it too often.

Togaru Kamakiri: Son of Ceres, he likes farming tools. Especially ones with blades. That’s lead to him using all kinds of sickles, scythes (both farming tools and war scythes) in combat, and even axes, shovels, various lawn mowers...

Shihai Kuroiro: Son of Nyx, him and Tokoyami get along exceptionally well. Given his ability to shadow-travel and use shadows and darkness as materials to make some pretty nifty weapons only he can use, he’s strangely bright and like a Sun. At least among the two stepbrothers of darkness, and the bar for eing the sunny one is set very low.

Itsuka Kendo: Daughter of Athena, she excels in critical thinking and a variety of martial arts. And knocking out her piers with precise attacks when they start to get exceptionally annoying. Mostly Monoma. Scratch that, especially Monoma. Okay, nevermind, only Monoma.

Yui Kodai: Daughter of Trivia. She excels in potions and spells that manipulate the size of objects, so much so that she has to resort to gloves because she now naturally makes things smaller with her left hand, or bigger with her right hand. She’s the calm one of the 20 people here.

Kinoko Komori: Daughter of Demeter, she has a soft spot for fungi and mushrooms. Which she can make grow rapidly. Very rapidly. She’s fun at parties.

Ibara Shiozaki: Daughter of Demeter, she dyes her hair green with actual chlorophyll for some reason (“To feel one with the beautiful plants,” she says), but she can also grow and manipulate vines and other vine-like plants, along with trees, quite effectively, and she has some rose and poison oak (she’s immune to it) seeds in her hair. Don’t ask, her answers are just as ridiculous as the chlorophyll-dyed hair.

Jurota Shishida: Son of Mars, he’s been cursed by most likely Hera to be a humanoid boar/dog thing. He’s especially good at wrestling, and is very diplomatic in his approach. Until he gets pissed, then he charges like a boar and yes, he keeps those tusks of his sharp.

Niregeki Shoda: Legacy of Hermes, son of Hephaestus, he likes to make explosives and plant them everywhere. More than a few campers were scared. Except Katsuki, who tried to outdo the ground (Niregeki’s mine) in explosive yield and put skylight access in the roof of Bunker 9. Niregeki had to repair it.

Pony Tsunotori: Legacy of Poseidon, she can shapeshift. She likes to shapeshift into horses, bulls, deer and goats (including mooses and buffalo), and she has a nifty gadget from the Hephaestus and Vulcan campers in the shape of horns that transform with her, giving her detachable remote-control horns. 

Kosei Tsuburaba: Legacy of Jupiter, son of Ares, he’s competitive and can make walls and blades out of air. Especially annoying for monsters because they can’t get to him, period, and every time they try, they don’t get past his walls of air for a whole minute before someone either cuts/hacks/slices them to bits, freezes/burns them alive, blows them up with their fists/explosives/expanding stones they previously ingested or some other way of disposing of a monster.

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu: Son of Vulcan, capable of turning to pure steel over his entire body, also increasing his strength. Because of this, and his tendency to go hard whenever he’s excited, he’s made his friends frequent the infirmary for bruises and broken ribs. Except Kirishima.

Setsuna Tokage: Daughter of Ares, she’s actually been hurt pretty badly in one of her fights (she went on a Quest with Katsuki, and no, it wasn’t him who hurt her, and yes, no one really believes that story either) and had to have automaton grafts to replace her limbs, a part of her lower jaw, her eyes and the muscles around her spine, along with parts of the vertebrae. Which she asked to be detachable and splittable in as many pieces as possible, which she can control telepathically and uses to troll other campers. A lot. Especially two certain sons of Vulcan and her half-siblings.

Manga Fukidashi: No one knows what he is, they just know his head is a speech bubble and he can make anything he writes real.

Juzo Honenuki: Legacy of Gaia, he can virtually liquify the ground (does not work on metal or wooden floors). He trolls a lot with this ability. And I do mean a lot.

Kojiro Bondo: A golem? A person? His head makes it hard to tell whether he’s a demigod or a monster to be honest. And his glue-like spit doesn’t help much either.

Neito Monoma: Legacy of, you guessed it, Zeus! He has a superiority complex because of this, and he frequents the infirmary on the basis of Itsuka or whoever he was annoying KOing him constantly. All that brain damage probably isn’t helping his mental issues…

Reiko Yanagi: Daughter of Hecate she can make things she touches float and fly around using some sort of incantation. The biggest she can do is double her own body weight, but that doesn’t stop her from delivering high-speed flying punches and scaring other campers.

Hiryu Rin: Son of Mars and Legacy of Poseidon, he can shapeshift into various animals. Most notably a mix of human, hedgehog and a lizard. Sharp, painful and deadly precise. And also meditating. And a lot of it.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Falling From Grace- Part 1: The Journey

Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael have a prophecy to fulfill. They might not have always been Calum, Ashton, Luke, and Michael but they have always been brothers in the fight. Mythology!sos. Each guy is a God reincarnated from various mythologies

Calum- Tangaroa

Luke- Aengus

Ashton- Zelus

Michael- Bragi

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When they find him with half his body still submerged in water, they are not surprised. His body adorn, as always, in black ink, half his hair tied up into a top knot, the rest falling down over his shoulder blades down to the middle of his back. “Tangaroa! We must go.”

He lifts one hand from the water. They cannot see but his mouth moves as hushed whispers fall over his lips. The other three men wait at the edge of the ocean, toes licked by the push and pull of the waves crashing against the shore. Bragi watches, eyes fluttering close at the feel of the breeze against his skin. 

“If you start quoting some poem, I’m leaving you all here,” Zelus huffs. 

“You won’t make it far,” Aengus retorts. “You need us. All three of us. Remember what happened last time.”

Zelus turns his face from the baby faced, blue eyed, and blond curls man to his left back to the brown body still swaying in the ocean. He doesn’t need to be reminded of what happened the last time he tried to stray away from them. When he walked away, the Earth rumbled. The ground started to crack. All of the gods and Creators stood up in the darkening sky. Their voices boomed in unison, “The end falls upon us unless you reunite with your brethren.” Of course he was not selfish enough to let the world fall apart on his hands. 

 Zelus was just sick of fulfilling this same prophecy over and over, only for it to crumble yet again. The four of them, together, could only maintain the existence of life. Never mind the fact that Zelus knew that Tangaroa’s purpose was the biggest one. Water, from which everything begins and ends. The sea, a calm, almost forgetful body until it was angered. Water carried life and it could crush life too. Tangaroa never overestimated his rule. He never made himself the leader of this ensemble. He always lingered in the back, puffy brown eyes hidden but keen and he stayed quiet. 

He let the others be loud and he lingers, quietly laughing and smiling all the way through their time on earth. Zelus didn’t want to admit it, but he was jealous. His role, in theory, was no less important. Without any feeling of eagerness, people would create nothing. Without a sense of drive, they would invent nothing, nothing would be propelled forward. But he felt partially responsible for some of the nastiness in the world. Tangaroa always told him it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t make them hold onto to such vile beliefs. He only simply told them to believe. And that’s all his job was but it never negated the doubt, never made him feel that much more at ease about the fact that sometimes people believed in the wrong things. 

Bragi pulls the hair back. It won’t stay this length or maybe even this color for long. First they must wait for Tangaroa first though. They always wait on him. Like a mother on the verge of birth, they wait patiently, with some huffed complaints, and wait for him to take the necessary time. He blesses the waters and the waters shall in return bless him back. There is a balance and in his human state, in this mortal host, he must praise it like any other man would. 

“Have we thought of names?” Bragi asks. 

“I like the sound of Luke. I haven’t had too common of a name in a while,” Aengus answers. He appeared first, quite unusual for him. But Zelus got caught up with Zeus and his siblings, Kratos, Nike and Bia. He didn’t quite fork over the details of the meetings and everyone knows not to pry for more than they are given. 

So Aengus cut his hair down, now the curls wrapping around his head and dressed in shorts and a short sleeved top. He’s forgone his sneakers as he waited for the others to arrive on the beach. “Alright Lucas,” Zelus teases.

“Just Luke,” comes the retort with a squeaky laugh. People lay eyes on him and are find himself falling deep into the blue of his eyes. Tangaroa likes to tease that if not for his waters he would have nothing to compare his eyes too. Even though it’s just a joke, the truth is not lost on them. 

“I like the name Michael,” Bragi says. “There’s something strong to it.”

“Then you are Michael, starting from now,” the newly dubbed Luke answers. The two other men turn to the brunette man, hair still long and blowing in the breeze from the ocean front. He watches Tangaroa’s figure wade up to sure. “Ashton,” he says. “And I like to think that this man knows how to take his damn time.” 

“Blessings are not rushed,” Tangaroa answers, taking the towel from Luke’s fingers with a nod. “Calum,” he states, naming himself, this next form. 

With the last man finally dry and decent, though he’s missing a shirt. He’s still wearing the cloth around his waist but ties the towel around, aware that here, now, the sight of his bare back will be frowned upon. “You’re bare ass never gets old,” Michael laughs. 

“Great language from the bard,” Calum quips with a smile. 

“I’ve sung about war and unimaginable violence. I’m allowed to use the word ass.” The four men trudge up the sandy shores. It’s easier to meet up here, in Australia. Strange things happen here. But their journey will take them elsewhere. It always does. “The house is set up here, for now,” Luke starts as they approach his car. Nothing flashy, just a black four door SUV. They need nothing to attract attention to themselves. 

Calum sits in the back with Michael. Luke drives and Ashton rides in the front seat. They wonder what chaos will be brought for thim this time. Who will they run into this time that’s the center of their mission. “I won’t leave this time,” Ashton says. 

“No one’s holding it over you,” Calum returns. 

“I am.”

“You always are. Let it go. New time here, new plans. Nothing old.”

He’s right. But it’s still not an easy pill to swallow knowing you’re the reason shit nearly went to hell. Not that it didn’t happen even when they weren’t here, looking at the currently political landscape. At least he didn’t necessarily fuck this up. It was not his hand that directly impacted that. Water, zeal, beauty, and poetry. They shall always be combined to each other. What is life without water? Life is not sustained without water and to some, life comes from water. What is life without zeal? Boring, life is pointless without an eagerness. What is life without aesthetic value? Bland. Life has no texture if there is no variance in appearance. What is life without words? Life is stagnant with the inability to share stories. 

Or at least that’s what the other gods and Creators have told them. And here are the four pillars humanized, able to walk amongst the new age. Ashton rests his head into the leather of the seat. How shall they fix the world this time? What will be the medium through which they must speak? Will they combine to make a circuit of poets again? Will they fight alongside activists in afros and bellbottoms again? See, that’s the unfortunate truth to their situation. No matter how many times they fix things they always fall apart. History repeats itself. Because those in power don’t change their hearts, they just change their mouths. 

Luke pulls into the lot of the apartment complex.  The men climb out, shuffling quickly into the entrance. People will start to talk soon enough and they will move on. The apartment’s and clothes are always picked out by various servers of the counsel. They don’t interact with them much besides their initial meeting. When the doors swing up, a woman’s already sitting at the dining room table. “Welcome back,” she grins. 

Calum recognizes her, she’s not just some server from the counsel.  “Ḥauḥet, nice to see you again.”

Her jeans are form fitting, the heels are new. “What are you doing here?” Ashton asks. She’s not one to get involved in such matters. 

She shakes her head, the tight braids falling around the sides of her face and the beads at the ends clicking at her gesture. “I’m here because I need to be. Now, I need names.”

They go down the line, all listing off the names they’ve chosen for themselves. She nods, noting them all down on a notepad. The three of them rest against the wall, accustom to the flash that it sure to come. It’s white walls perfect for most state IDs. They all slip into the either the white or black t-shirt provided. Luke went through this process earlier, but he’s yet to be told what’s happening exactly. With that, they excuse themselves to the back.

As they settle into the two bedrooms, each man notes the outfit laid out for them. Michael takes in the baggy cotton pants and oversized black t-shirt. He’s not upset by this select. Ashton takes in the skinny jeans, t-shirt and books. The jeans have a hole in the knee. He hooks his finger through the frays and wonders what is in store for him with attire like this. Calum thinks nothing of the dress pants, leather boots and button up. There’s a leather jacket hanging from the door. He’s not sure if it’s for Michael so as he slides the bottom into his pants, he notices the sweatshirt Michael pulls on. The jacket is his then, he figures. He’ll wait to put that one. Each man also as a spare tank top or undershirt. They all forgo the nice shirts until they’re settled with all the deeds ironed out. 

Ashton holds back the laugh, watching Luke slide into the suede chelsea boots. “I would ask what style choices you’ve made to wind up here, but I have a feeling not even you know.”

The jab is a tired one, but Luke laughs in an exhale. “Some sort of eccentric cowboy, I would guess.”

“That is one way to put it.” They finally gather at the dining room table. The apartment is mimial in it’s directions. A lot of blacks, gray, and blues. It’s homey with the chocolate brown accents. It’s best this doesn’t get too comfortable. 

“If we’re dressing like this, it is safe to assume that we are not clerks at a market this time,” Michael grins. 

Ḥauḥet smile, nodding her head at him. “Thank you for the obvious.” She slides a wooden box closer to them. “This time the stakes are a little higher.” Upon lifting the top, she reveals guitar picks and a pair of drumsticks. There’s no symbol or name yet. “Rather than taking the journey away from you, I left the name up to you all. But we’ve got to backtrack. Get you guys a name and story.”

A band, and if they’re famous enough, which they are bound to be, the stakes are high. They’ve got to keep quiet about their true forms. They have to keep a tight circle at first until they settle into their cover, until these names and stories because who they are, not who they are pretending to be; they must become one, much more so than before. They all glance to each other. Maybe they won’t be too big, maybe they won’t create too much noise about themselves. Maybe this is will be small. 

“How far back are we going?”

“Right now, the goal is to age you all to about 22. We won’t go all the way to the beginning, we’ve got childhood covered. But to fourteen at the earliest. Enough time to cover most the internet age.”

They all nod, grabbing at the manilla folders she hands to them, birth certificates, licenses, phones, some cash. “You have old skin; when you’re ready, I can take you back, I can make you new.”

They know not to waste time. As they slide wallets into pockets, Ashton speaks. “No need to wait.”

With a nod, she turns to the kitchen. Her lips move almost silently as she sprinkles the last herb over the clay like mixture. It glows for a moment as the blessing falls from her mouth. Luke beams. “Oh, I don’t need that.”

She quirks her eyebrow, mouth pulled up to the side of her face. It it a silent plea for him to say something else smart. Ashton speaks up, “Not every one’s blessed to have been conceived and birthed in the same day. Now hush so she can continue.”

She paints their faces one by one, first down the bridge of their nose, over their forehead, around the jaw, covers the chin and then finally she covers their cheeks. The mixture is cold, but warms with the touch of her hands. Calum hears the whisper of a splash in his ears. His eyes are closed, the mud tightening around his skin. But he knows the sound of the water anywhere. Ashton feels her grip on the back of his head and lets his muscles relax. Her touch is sure. His nose just barely brushes the water before she pulls his head back. 

A warning. He inhales deeply, expels that breathe and the nods, inhaling again. She dunks his face that time. The water is cold, ice cold. It makes his teeth chatter. But he grits his teeth, still failing at holding the shiver at bay. The fabric of the towel is soft as it swipes of his face. She holds it to his face for only a moment, before she wipes at his cheeks, chin, the outline of his jaw, over his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. When his eyes flutter open, she’s already moving to Michael, giving him the same warning before his face submerges into the wooden bowl of ice cold water. 

Luke is dunked next. Then finally Calum. He needs no warning. She wipes his face clean. They’ve all been washed, brought to their age. Then she can go back. It won’t take them long to see what story to create. Her span is only a million years, forwards and backwards. Though most often, she only looks ahead. The past is done with her. There is no need to manipulate or review it. It does not matter if someone remembers it correctly, the history is written and it is final. She motions for all of them to take hands and as she pours all the used water into the same bowl that once held the mud mixtures, she pulls up a murky picture. 

Michael knows what she’s doing. She’s letting them see what they want in it. They physically won’t travel back, they will just implant memories. “Three of us meet in the same school. Luke starts posting covers. The internet is a hard place to gain traction, to many people all striving for the same thing. But we know we can defy the odds. So,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “word gets around, Luke and I start playing together. And then Calum record some covers and the three of us are a band. But what’s a band without a drummer? A band it is not. I message Ashton over..” the story is losing him. He needs something to stay current. 

“FaceBook,” she interjects. “Myspace is slowly dying at this point. FaceBook is gaining traction. You can make pages for bands up there, you can make a page for just about anything.”

Michael nods. “Yes, it’s just a simple message. Anything too flourished and wordy is not going to work. He agrees and it starts. I make the facebook page for the band. We don’t have a name, or at least one agreed upon. There’s a list. 5 Second Summer is a top contender.”

“But you make it 5 Seconds of Summer and ask us, after the page is made,” Luke jumps in. “I think that would add a nice touch.”

“We leave school. Record deals. Touring.”

“You get scooped up by another big band  of the time. It’s massive,” Ḥauḥet adds. Michael adds on. Studio records, live albums, EPs, merch, crowds, sold out arenas. Style evolutions, which winds them all here, right on the brink of their third studio album. They’re still in the midst of recording it. This gives them time; they can settle into these personas. They can become real. 

They beging work on their individual stories, the good, the bad, and the ugly. But do not make it very far. Ḥauḥet settles in behind Calum. Michael’s hair is now finished, a long fringed cut hidden under a beanie. The tattoos that once looked like graphite marking on his skin darken the tattoos becoming real against his pale skin. Calum unravels the knot. “Cut it.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “I am.” They move from the living room floor, a mess already of hair, into the kitchen. She draws a small bowl of water, as he bends of the sink basin, she covers the scalp with the water. Just once and he stands, hair dripping down his navy tank and holds out his hand. She cannot cut his hair, not without his explicit consent. He takes the first whack, pulling the hair over his shoulder and snipping through the mass. 

As it falls in black clumps at their feet, she prays over it. They let the fallen strands lay there and Calum hands her the scissors. “You can finish it.”

“How short?”

“Short,” is the only word he utters. So she cuts it short. Nothing too short, there’s still a couple inches of curls left for him. The apartment is put back together soon after she finishes making them over. She slides back into the black heels, clicking as she approaches the front door. This will be the last time she sees them until they return. She prays blessings over them.

“The water will stay good for three days,” she warns. “After then, the gates will close. Time will resume. You will have to go with whatever is imprinted.” Imprinted. It makes it real; it imparts into the universe and the universe does whatever it needs to make it so, photos, memories, people. Their fate will be sealed after three days. 

They nod. Three days isn’t a lot of time for a cover of this scale. But keeping those imprinting waters open any longer increases a lot of risk.  She continues, “You will have a little over a year. Here you will put together an album. Here you will embed yourselves into your lives. You will start here and you will go. I have faith.” 

“Your faith means a lot,” Ashton says even though he’s the most eager, he understands the gravity of the situation. This is more pressure than they’ve ever dealt with. They still have stories to sort, places to figure out. But they are smart. They will be able to pull together a good cover. 

They hold themselves up in that Australian apartment, sitting around a wooden ball with water and mud. They speak their lives into existence. Ashton dubs himself the unofficial dad of the band. And it works. He’s the one that pushes them constantly, wants bigger and better things. No one argues at the insistence. Calum is fairly quiet, they know that will continue on. Michael takes a chance on video games and anime, trying to find stories to connect with and finds himself entranced at the talent and worlds built. Stories come in many forms and he is not one to let any story go unturned. 

On the second day, Luke is the first to crack. “We’ve got to do something. I can’t stare at these walls anymore.”

“We can’t blow our cover. We don’t have a solid story,” Michael counters, the kitten shaped headphones resting around his neck now. He’s been spending half his time sucked into video games and the other half still working out the kinks of their story. They only have one more day. 

“Things don’t have to be perfect. They just have to be real,” Ashton says. “Whomever it is out there we’re meant to help just needs us to be real. Real people who hurt, who laugh, who cry.”

“How do you hurt?” Michael retorts. “What is your pain?”

“My pain is that I cannot save them all.”

“Everyone with an ounce of compassion hurts like that.”

Ashton sighs. Michael’s point is valid. They need stories, gritty and complex, not just soft generic ones. He remembers a small boy from many years ago, when they first started this prophecy. They sat on a grassy hill. They were all servants, but this boy was exceptionally young. He told Ashton how his father had left him. His mother was trying to find work, but every house she started to work for she would flee because someone in the house would make advances towards her. Ashton remembers from their time in the mid eighties towards the break of the 1990’s. He had found a kid, waiting on the corner, head covered with a hoodie. This boy, no more than thirteen, forced to sell, because he’s the man of the house due to his father’s death. Their pain is real. 

“My father leaves me at a young age,” Ashton starts chest already aching as he remembers those boys, staring down into the murky water. He can pay homage to them in this life. He wasn’t able to magically turn their lives around when he was there. He couldn’t completely blow his cover. He did do what he could for them, grabbing them meals when he was free, giving him a few dollars here and there. “It hurts, seeing my mother so down. But I step up. It only makes sense right. She eventually remarries, but there is a lot more alcohol in the house. She tries to hide it. But nothing is ever really hidden. We all see pain. Especially children. Children know pain but sometimes never have the words for it.”

“You can give them the words,” Michael assures. No one is sure why it has to be a band. But the more they research what’s happening in the world, the way the political landscape is filling with more and more hate, it becomes obvious. People need a thing that unites them. They need something, or someone, that shows them they are not alone.

Ashton squeezes at Michael’s hand. “Yeah, I can do that. We can do that. That is--” he pauses, watching his reflection distorted as it may be, in the water. He wants to say that is Ashton’s story. But he is Ashton, this is his life now. This is his truth. This is his history now. “That is my story, working in food service, desperately wanting a way out for my family. Knowing I’d fight heaven, hell, and high water for them. Only knowing music as a way out. Being in band after band and needing release, a breakthrough.”

Michael nods. “And that is your story.”

“Why make yourself carry pain?” Luke questions. “You could’ve had any story.”

Ashton shakes his head. He couldn’t have chosen any story. “If all of us have no pain, how do we connect? Pain is a part of every story. Without it, what do we compare joy to. How do you know your joy?”

Luke steps to the kitchen table, bracing his weight on his arm. The water shakes just a little. “People know pain. Even in a two parent household with siblings and nothing but love, people can still know pain. It’s a pain to prove oneself. It’s a pain to think you know someone and they strip you of everything you thought you were. I know pain because I know what it feels like to have no clue who you are anymore. Just a kid trying his best but makes maybe a few bad decisions along the way, tries to put too many people in his life that aren’t good for him, but too stubborn to see it.”

Calum walks over next. He’s been stewing on this, writing down the words that fail to cross his lips. But now is the time. He sees himself, Ashton, and Luke in the water. They are waiting on him. They need him. “I know pain from broken trust. I know pain from the harsh drop of reality. Not everyone that says they’re your friend is actually your friend. People will share your secrets, they will expose you. Someone breaks my trust. Someone violates privacy, someone, anyone, everyone shares a private moment. I know pain from my own quietness, trying to bury that in bodies and only making myself more distant. I know pain from alienation and being other, for being different.”

Michael stands. He knows pain, he knows violence from his lives previous. “Pain is sometimes sneaky. My pain sneaks up, makes me think I’m all alone, that sometimes I’m not worthy. It makes me think that things can go wrong at the blink of the eye. I worry sometimes about things most people don’t bat their eyelashes to, my pain is quiet and yet somehow the loudest in my own ears.”

The water starts to bubble. At first it might seem like someone’s shifting of the table is making it slosh. It becomes clear that’s not the reason as steam starts to billow. The water bubbles, threatening to spill over the edges, but never hitting the table. All four men watch for a moment. A chill runs through all four of them as all the water evaporates into steam. The mud bubbles too, thins and then disappears. They have no clue where it’s gone. 

“The gates closed,” Calum says after a few minutes of staring into the empty bowl. 

“We still had a day,” Ashton huffs. 

“She was listening.”

“So what next?” Luke asks. 

“We sing, we make music. We help the world,” Ashton answers. 

“We can’t do that here,” Michael counters. “We’ve gotta go somewhere else.” 

The bowl moves. It’s subtle but Calum watches the slight movement. Something appears under the bowl. Another manilla folder. He picks up the folder, it’s thicker than it appears. When he peeks inside he can see plane tickets, there are deeds, photos. There’s a small packet for each of them. Of course she wasn’t actually done with them. Of course she had another trick up her sleeve. 

__

 All of them have experience with music in their lifetimes, here on Earth and away. But it it still a little strange to know that just four days ago they were driving up the coast and to walk into recording studios with people smiling at them, like catching up with friends. But it is catching up with friends. This is their life. “Enjoy your time at home?” they’re asked repeatedly throughout the day as the work. 

The response is always the same. “Yeah, it was great to just relax. Got antsy though. Ready to work.”

But nothing prepares them for how hard this is. What’s their sound now? Where do they want to go? What do they want to say? What is their entire purpose? The play instruments is easy, it’s the putting words down that frustrates them. But they go out, they enjoy this newfound youth. It burns them of course. Like life does to everyone. Friends take advantage of their generosity, use them for only selfish gain. A couple of them strike out in love. 

Calum brings the cigarette to his lips. He’s not proud of the new found habit. But it helps. He always tries to stay distant from people during these moments on Earth. Even though they are long, he knows he will not be staying forever. He will not grow old with anyone, he can’t. And it sucks, because he sees his family as actually his and he loves them. But they will never know him. They will just have Calum, but not the man in the flesh host. Never the man that can trouble waters. That’s the part he hates the most about this. 

“Why do we do this to ourselves? Why are we the ones to do it?” Calum questions standing outside the recording studio. “Why can’t we have love? Why can’t we have real lives?”

This disease of uncertainty and frustration usually hits all of them at some point. Ashton is trying to not get hit again, knowing what can happen. Calum wouldn’t dare try to split. He wouldn’t leave them. He knows it’s too important that they actually go through with this. The other three would have nothing if not for him. What life would he give determination to if there was no life in the beginning? Ashton pats him on the shoulder before dropping the hand and tucking it back into the pockets of his jeans. “This is a real life.”

“It’s like, crashing into reality. We get no ease. It’s like if you took someone and suddenly dropped them in Japan. They’d wake up with no way about.”

“Saying everyday you wake up, it’s like waking up in Japan.”

“Yeah, and I’m alone. But not necessarily. Just low.” He’s mostly pissed at himself. He met a nice girl, they had a great weekend together. But he knows he had to cut it off before it got any bigger, before it got any more serious. It’s easier to save face that way. As his eyes flutter close and his lungs pull in one more drag, the room number, her room number flashes, 305.

“Talk to me,” Ashton urges, noting the far away glaze to Calum’s eyes. So Calum spills his guts, tells Ashton everything maybe even a little too much, down to the room number. Ashton leaves Calum to his vice, to the smoke billowing from his nostrils and walks back into the room. 

He’s got an idea. Ashton approaches Luke with the concept and with the help of a couple other writers, they conceptualize the rushed and dazed feeling of waking up somewhere new without even remembering how one got there. They put to sound, live in two takes, the bounce and electric feeling of a whirlwind life, of a life that keeps moving even when you’d wished for it to sit still. 

The months tick past, sometimes feeling like seconds rather than days upon days. While sitting at home, resting, there’s a knock on Ashton’s door. Luke stands in front of him, eyes sunken into his face, the bright blue that once lived in his eyes dulled. “It’s bad,” Luke whispers. Ashton wants to tell him no shit. But he bites back the comment and pulls him inside. 

It all starts with one night. And then one night turns into two. Then two turns into three. Luke knew ultimately, after the few few weeks, he should probably save himself. He wasn’t going nowhere. He was going downhill. But he wanted to make it last. He just wanted love, if only in the dark, if only it didn’t cause him so much pain. Luke cries into his hands, curled up at the foot of Ashton’s couch. “The worst--,” a hiccup interrupts him. Ashton sits next to him, gingerly  rubbing at his back. “The worst part is that I know I shouldn’t go back to her. She’s no good, but I’m no good at saying no,” he huffs, face red and snotty. 

The human existence is a rough one, not even gods are exempt from the pain. It is not a graceful descent into full humanity. They all hit their lows. “I wanted to trust her. I knew she was bad for me,” Luke sobs into Ashton’s shoulder. While Ashton may be known for his eagerness, his yearn to always be doing, sometimes Luke’s own stubbornness becomes his own undoing. This is not to say that achieving, or wanting, is wrong. But sometimes we want for the wrong reasons. We want the wrong things. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Ashton starts softly. “Pain is an indication of life. This is just life. Get knocked down seven times and stand up eight. We always get back up, okay? Even if it takes a while and even if our legs are unsteady, we get back up.”

“Am I alone?” Luke cries. “Is this all we’re destined for loneliness and pain? Am I crazy? Has this prophecy turned me insane?”

“You’re not insane. You’re not alone. You can never be alone with me. I’m always going to be here.” Always and here, what hollow words to Ashton’s ear. But he means them, deeply--truly. He means the essence of those words to his core. “You can stay with me for a little while. No one’s here but me. Bring Petunia over too. We’re family. By choice.”

It takes another twenty minutes for Luke to collect himself. The release of weight making him tired. Ashton watches for a moment as Luke lays, curled up on the couch cushions, a blanket thrown over his body. Tears sting behind his eyes. Why do their lives feel like they’re falling apart? This has never happened to them before. They’ve never been this high up it feels only to crash so far down. Ashton is grateful for a moment that walls cannot talk. They hear; they see. But if they could talk, they would have a lot to say, a lot of the dark corners to expose. 

__

They hit a wall. So many songs about pain and reflection, but how do they package it all together. How do they give it out to the world? “People want to know they’re not alone,” Michael urges. “All our songs. All the pain. It’s so they know they’re not alone. We’ve created something incredible. It’s not just sound, it’s color, it’s taste too.”

“We know that. It’s evident they need a connection. But how do we get them to connect with us?” comes the rebuttal from Ashton. He’s restless having spent the better part of the day, trying to wrap his own head around the question. He wants to be doing something, creating, putting to use the buzz in his gut. But he’s here, across from Michael instead. 

Calum has watched the exchange between Michael and Ashton for maybe off of a minute, coming in with some food for the three of them. Luke wanted something different, so he’s a couple minutes out from the studio. “We be honest,” he says with a shrug, setting the bag down. “We’ve got how many songs here that deal with heartache. Why shy away from the truth?”

Being vulnerable is a little dangerous for them. If they open up too far, if they say the wrong thing, everything could collapse. Calum is aware of this risk. But he knows it’s a risk they have to take. If they cannot even have an ounce of vulnerability, then the whole thing is for naught. It is just a waste if even in all their struggles, they attempt to hide that with their fans. Life is challenging just because they are in this position does not exclude them. 

“So you propose, we risk everything?” It’s not meant to be a question as it falls from Ashton’s lips. But it’s something about it that seems right, but he knows it’s very wrong.

“Without risk there is no reward. What do we teach people if we refuse to learn ourselves?”

“We teach them nothing. We teach by example,” Ashton concludes. “Isn’t that how the entire world has worked at this point? They’ve been led by someone, something.”

“Aren’t we led by something?” Calum counters. 

“But we’re led by the right things. So we let them, fans, anyone that listens. We tell them what drive us.��

Calum waves his hands around the room, even though it’s just the kitchen of the studio. “We are driven by honesty, intuition, failure, love, heartbreak, friendships, growth.”

“We are driven by our truest selves, the heartache and difficulting of making art. We driven by ourselves. We are driven by the fans.”

__

The dawn of a new year approaches them. The time of them huddle in away in dark corners, writing day in and day out are about to start paying off. Their risk, to be bare and vulnerable as possible, is going to start being real. Ashton sits, phone in hand staring out into sun just at it hits over the horizon The dark & light shared this year of my life in an incredibly unbalanced way. I had to further understand both sides of myself to continue becoming the songwriter & creative being I dream to be. It never ends & I don’t want it to x Ashton curses the character limit on twitter. It, without fails, always makes him go band and cut out some of the parts to his tweet. 

The days tick by faster than ever. The first single set to release in February and January feels like it’s whizzing by. The holidays do that, it appears every time they come back. Time feels shorter and shorter to them here, as humans, as people. But time stretches on forever as gods. Maybe because time matters much less to them. Ashton fiddles with his phone again. There’s some sort of solace in knowing he can type whatever he wants and there are people listening. It’s terrifying, but it’s connecting in a way. It’s not lost on him on how disheartening social media can be. There is a whole screen, time zones, countries that divide users. They are not getting the instant feedback of someone’s face, someone’s tone at comments. His finger draft another message, another reach into the void to see if the void will reach back. The worst/best part is everything good In my life originated from heartbreak 

They sit. They have to sit and they have to wait. But, even though the notifications are off, they can see the mess of their mentions. They can see the videos, people reacting to their return. Even though their hearts are filled with joy, they are not free from nerves. Radio interviews, magazine interviews, photoshoots, press comes at them with full force. They have to explain how the album comes to be, they have to explain that this is just an evolution, not discovery. But that feels inaccurate, incomplete. “We had to rediscover ourselves. We really had to ask ourselves what we wanted from this album and rededicate yourselves to this band.”

I wrote it for me,

I wrote it for you

I wrote it for us! Ashton concludes at the end of one tweet. The press isn’t easy, they are bounced around, like dots on a map. But the fact that they get to play shows keeps Ashton energized. He knows just on the other side of every microphone is the stage, the rumble of his bass drum shaking up his entire body. Just on the other side is the roar of a crowd excited to see him, to hear them, back at home, back at peace. 

That shouldn’t be his peace, he thinks. But the rush of adrenaline feels so familiar to Ashton. The memories aren’t just memories; they aren’t just mud and water, they are pieces of his soul. A year. A whole year trying to become one with this persona and it’s happening, when he least expected to with drumsticks in hand and a crowd screaming back at him. He watches the other three men on stage night after night, this is home for them too. For a moment, for a brief blink in the cosmos this is the only place they belong. 

________

“That flight was too early,” Michael mutters, pulling his beanie down over his face. He’s the first one to fall asleep on the couch. Luke nods off next to him, headphone cover his ears. Calum watches as the two guys doze off first and he shields his eyes as well. There are champagne flutes with mimosa’s littering the glass table in front of them, but they are almost too tired to celebrate. Tour is not easy, sleep seems evasive some nights and more cooperative during the day when they have things to do. 

Sleep evades Michael the most some nights. His fingers twitch to play his beloved harp, but his shoulders are tense. He’s still watching bodies gather. The mass of dead but soon to be undead still haunt him, the ruins of his tongue still scrap the top of his mouth as he sings. His throat still closes up on him occasionally, making him wake in a panic. The flight’s not too early, he just didn’t sleep. He knows the other guys know what keeps him up. He claims it’s videogames, claims his body is just tired. But he wishes for his mind to finally ease. Nearly two years here and his brain still has not forgotten his years prior. 

Michael wakes with a start, the tightness of his chest starting to burn. He’s still sitting on the couch with orange juice and champagne mixing in his nostrils. Ashton looks up from across the table, brow arched in silent questioning. Michael waves his hand. It is neither here nor there. Michael finds his phone, plugging in the cat eared headphones. He blasts YoungBlood into his ears. He hopes no more dead men walk after him.

__

“Youngblood wasn’t going to be next single. But it was just an extra song that you got when you pre-ordered the album. But we saw-we saw how people were reacting to it, so we decided to put it out.”

They know better than to hold their breath; they know not to watch those charts like a hound. But sometimes, that’s the only thing they know how to do. Youngblood smashes it way onto the charts and it stays, it climbs. It soars and with it go their hearts. How did they manage this? How did life reward them like this for all the shit they endured? But god are they grateful. 

Even when times feel at their darkest... think of the people you call home & be strong. He is home; Calum knows that on the road with the other guys. They are his family, by choice, by fate, by the cosmos. But something in him misses the water. He shouldn’t go back. He shouldn’t step foot on a beach, near an ocean. Not with the fighting that occured, not with the history there, the bad blood that gathered there. It shocks him he doesn’t have more trouble on land. The ocean was his only resort. But he thanks his mother that he’s able to walk her dirt, her earth, and be safe. He knows she’s still protecting him while he fulfills his duties.

“You miss it don’t you?” Luke asks, watching the way the bassist fiddles with his rings. They’re doing press, but it’s clear he’s not here. 

Calum nods. He was forced to sea, he was pushed away. But it provides him comfort. This is home to him but he has not forgotten what comfort feels like. “I only miss it when I’m not on stage or writing. I think it’s because I have too much time to think. Too much time to second guess myself.” 

Without much thought, Luke draps his arm around Calum’s shoulder. He knows that feeling, the dizzying spiral when all your thought collapse in on themselves. And you’re left with the weight and mess to pull yourself back together. “Hold on just a wee longer,” Luke whispers as the next interviewer steps in through the door. 

` Calum doesn’t miss the slight accent that falls through the sentence. “Next you’ll be pulling out your green tights, calling us laddies instead of mate.”

Luke can’t bite back the laugh that falls over his lips as he gently pushes against Calum’s shoulder. “You’re going to regret that, mate.”

When Calum opens to door and notices Luke dressed in shorts, compression tights and flip flops with a bag thrown over his shoulders, Calum doesn’t even open his mouth to ask why. He throws on his hoodie and sneakers. He makes sure his wallet and phone are with him and the men walk silently to the elevators. No words are exchanged in the back of the Uber either. Calum keeps his hood up and over his face, watching streets whizz by. He notes some seagulls. Sand. A beach. Calum turns to Luke. “What is this?”

“By some measures, it’s just a lake. It’s our day off, figured we earned the right to just relax.”

They thank their driver and slide out of the backseat. Calum settles onto the towel and slides out of his sneakers. It’s not barren, the shore, but it is definitely not packed. Though it’s not a shock in April on the East Coast. Once the socks are off, Calum stands and walks to the water’s edge. It’s freezing against his feet. It’s no sea, but he will take it. His lips start to move before he can stop himself. Blessings, blessings, and more blessings fall out of his lips. He thanks his mother. 

Luke walks next to the man, shivering at the first contact. Some white filters through both men’s vision. It only last a second and the watch the tail of the bird fly away. “Much of YoungBlood isn’t just about my life here, as a musician,” Luke offers. 

No one really discussed what past issues they were bringing to the table. They were just stories, things that had happened to them. Luke continues. “She flies for me, waiting for me to come back. She’s the one I want back.”

“And you tried to bury her in all the others.”

“Caer,” Luke whispers. Calum reaches out, holding on his shoulder. He’s never said her name out loud before, not to the guys. “My plan, before this happened, was to go to that lake. I would was going confess my love to her. I’ll never know could’ve happened between us. She’s kind of the inspiration Meet You There.”

Calum thinks of the lyrics, the chorus striking him. “Maybe one day you’ll meet her.”

Luke nods. “On that lake, where she still remembers me. Where I’m still able to reach her.”

_______

The pain is real, it is evident. They watch fans connect to song after song. They read the letters. This is what they were meant to to do, even with all the not fun issues, the fans showing up at their doorsteps, the sometimes cruel comments online. But the reward is much greater than the risk. Not just awards, not just another number one album, not just another chart topping song.  The reward to see a mass of diverse faces unite under one love. They’re whole purpose was to create something to unite people. It is incredible to see that night after night; it is awe striking to having thousands of voices singing back to them the songs they wrote with so much vulnerability. It is amazing to see their work flying, topping charts. But to hear and see the hearts it’s touch means a lot more. 

“Goddamn it, can I get the house lights on? I miss you guys so much,” Calum speaks into the mic. He continues his speech before inviting Luke to speak about the glittery blue blazer.  The crowd is a sea of phone lights in front of them. The mass continues almost to a point where Calum can’t even fathom the massiveness. He brings himself back to reality to joke about a matching g-string. He finally gets to continue after a pause for Michael’s thoughts. “So, uh, tonight is a very special for a couple of reasons, number one my beautiful sister is the room somewhere. Number two I got my best friends and my brothers on stage, playing with these guys.”

And he means it. Calum means it from the bottom of his soul when he says they are his brothers. Who else rides out centuries of resurfacing onto the earth? Who else rides out the insanity of their fate but your brothers? Even when they clash sometimes creatively, even when the vision had to change and evolve time and time again, they stood by each other. Calum strums his bass as Michael speaks, heart soaring at how much London means to the band, hyping the crowd out for the few songs that they have left. This is a band of brothers. Four spirits who are only trying their best:  Sea, youth and beauty, determination, and poetry. 

What is their story without words? What are words without determination to put them down? What is determination without an aim and a goal for something beautiful? What is something beautiful without it’s mere existence? 

Calum stands up on the riser, Michael mirroring him for a moment. Luke stands in the middle. Ashton builds up the anticipation before rolling into his drum solo. The lights are low, the red is flashing over them. The recording plays and the wind up begins. “Let me see you jump. Jump, jump, jump!” 

This is their existence, as Calum cocks his hips, hands sliding up and down the bass strings. Michael steps down from the riser, face screwed up as his moves up and down the frets. Ashton rocks his whole body into the drumming, the sweat already soaking through his shirt. Luke leads them through the chorus again, working his old golden nails over his guitar. Everyone attempts to pour past, present and future onto that sage. They don’t know what they will the next time they are brought back. They don’t know who it is they are trying to reach. All they do know is that each time they’re brought here, they need to pour out love, understanding, unity. 

Michael walks to the drum risers and Calum follows behind him, after getting the crowd ready to jump. They rip into their instruments, Calum twirls around, mic pack flying out of his pocket. Michael bows a little, letting the grooved metal slot against the grooves of his fingers. Luke bounces for a moment and there is a crowd shouting for them, but it is not just any crowd. It is a crowd brimming over with love. It is not their names they are shouting, it are all the other gods they are crying out for them. They are just the four chosen, but the four that need the credit. This is their second home, this is the place where they are putting everything out on the line. And the line is paying them back.

[blxxdq-mvs1c]

i wish.

I just want a hug from someone who isn't my parents.