Do you love 90s rock, queer found family, ghosts, and also fiction podcasts? Well, do we have a show for you!
From the creator of The Bright Sessions comes a thrilling new original rock audio drama. Phantom Pulse is the story of a 90s rock band going out on their very first tour. But this band isn't like any other–they don’t just play music, they exorcise ghosts with it.
Phantom Pulse is currently crowdfunding for their first season. You can give to the Kickstarter now and get exclusive, limited edition merch, early access to the show, and much more.
The five band members are being played by truly incredible actors: Nicholas Podany, Erika Ishii, Briggon Snow, Juliana Gutiérrez Arango, and Erin Caesar. And the creative team is made up of audio drama veterans: Lauren Shippen, Ella Watts, Evan Cunningham, and Brandon Grugle.
If you believe in original, queer art that is earnest and inclusive, but also messy and dramatic, please consider giving to our Kickstarter!!!
and if you can't support monetarily, please reblog THIS post and help us hit our community goals!!
Just found this yesterday and I'm so obsessed already. It hasn't even started yet! But this is right up my alley. 90s rock, supernatural stuff, ghosts, found family?! It's so me guys.
Also Nicholas Podany AND Erika Ishii are in this!! What a cast. Can't wait.
If you've been enjoying seeing my fanart and you'd like to see more, then I would really appreciate a follow/ reblog/ like. I'm new to social media and I could use all the help I can get.
I had so much fun rendering Marie and Jordan! I probably could have spent a month rendering this piece. I don't believe that Marie ever wore this hair/ shirt combination, but I just love combination. Let's be real for a second, red is Marie's color.
I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend, and I'll be back shortly with more.
After watching the end of Season 2 for Gen V, I kept on wanting to draw the cast! Who better than to start with than Jordan Li. I'm not sure which version I like better.
Being Jordan's friend wasn't easy - but Marie was determined to prove that she could do that. That she could respect their choices and autonomy, even if her chest felt like it might implode whenever they were close.
It didn't help that she couldn't tune out their heartbeat. A rhythm that she'd trained herself to recognize, she knows when they're entering a room without looking up.
But she was committed - no touch lingered too long, no pet names or nicknames slipping from her lips, and absolutely no discussion of love.
She knew she'd never stop loving them. But she was still convinced they only saw a monster standing in her place.
A useful monster, maybe. But still - a monster.
So if she was still slicing her skin open in the quiet moments of the night, what did it matter?
It's not like anyone would be seeing her naked.
She's still in control of it - even when it goes from once in awhile to nearly every night. She has to be.
She started keeping track - counting each of Jordan's nightmares which would wake her up, their heart like a drum line in her mind. Each comment any of her friends made about her mistakes.
It wasn't supposed to be about penance - and yet it always was. She never discussed her own nightmares, struggles, or pain. With anyone. Everything she felt was tucked away until it came out in red beads on her thighs.
She should heal herself - prevent scarring, avoid the possibility of being caught. But feeling the sting, the ache, the itch -
Isn't that what she deserved?
--
Despite having rehearsed what they were going to say to Marie for days (since they woke up alone, again, at Edgar's. How could she walk away again, how could she not see the way she broke them the first time she left?) they regretted the words as soon as they left their lips. But they kept talking -
Isn't this what they have to do?
This is the only way. The only way.
Friends. They can do friends, right?
It seemed like a switch had flipped for Marie. Like not touching them was easy for her.
Every move she made around them seemed calculated - performed for an audience of one.
It was driving them insane.
And they retaliated the only way they knew how.
Barbed comments, sarcasm, and a permanent scowl. Asides about trust, poking at her connection to Homelander or her immense power. Not taking her side in pointless arguments - even when they actually agreed with her. Anything to make her squirm - since the break up didn't seem to be bothering her.
It was a couple months into their time at the safe house, a couple months of this combative friendship fraying their nerves, when Cate came and knocked on their bedroom door.
"Hey, can I ..." If Marie was determined to pretend everything was normal, Cate was still walking on eggshells, still unsure if her place in the group was permanent.
"What is it?"
"Its about Marie." She said carefully, but still pushed her way into their room, closing the door behind her. They stiffened, fists clenched and back ramrod straight.
"What about her?" Each word was clipped and careful.
"Can you try to cool it on the you're an evil traitor undertones?"
"Tone policing? That's not very woke of you." They bit out. "I don't think I have any kind of tone-"
"Don't bullshit me, Jordan. Can't you see how hard she's trying to do exactly what you asked of her?"
"Doesn't seem like it was that hard."
"Then I don't think youve been looking hard enough." She let that statement hang in the air before turning to leave, before pausing at the door. "I don't want to watch her break." Cate murmured finally, and then left them to stew in what she'd said.
They started paying attention after that. And once they started, they couldn't stop.
They saw the way she tensed any time they entered a room - like she knew they were coming. They saw the pain in her eyes every time she stepped back from a hug or casual touch. The exhaustion in her eyes, like she hadn't slept in weeks, despite going to bed every night at nine, like clockwork. They saw the flash of pain and guilt on her face anytime someone brought up Elmira or Godolkin or her powers, the way she'd shut down with a smile so no one would worry -
When they thought about what she might be doing to herself, they nearly threw up. The realization that she might be cutting again had bile stinging the back of their throat, their fists clenched tight on the table.
They wanted to scream at her. Say that she wasn't allowed to be hurt, that it was her fault everything was broken, that she left them and tried to stop them from helping, that she was just like Cate and Godolkin and Homelander and -
Another memory, on those same steps, stops them again.
Didn't they do the same thing? That day, grabbing her in their male form, forcing her to stay even after they'd left her alone at that club, trying to force her to hear them -
It was different then. They were different then. Right?
They thought back to what Cate said. And for the first time, they wondered what Marie thought they thought of her.
They always assumed their feelings were obvious. The love they felt for her was so all consuming for them, how could she not know it? How could she not see it in every line on their face, how could she not feel it in every beat of their heart? Even before they said it, how could she not know that they love her, that they want her safe and happy and theirs?
They didn't realize what they were doing until they'd burst into Marie's room, hoping against hope that she was ok.
They'd seen Marie cut herself many times in battle, the fearless slashing of her palm a seemingly necessary evil. But watching her press the blade into a section of her thigh (blood already dripping down her leg) in the dark of her own room was an entirely other beast - and had them snatching the knife from her frozen hands before they could stop themself. They want to scream. They want to vomit. They want to cry. They want to beg her never to do it again. And all they can feel is this overwhelming, sickening sense of guilt. This is their fault.
"What the hell, Moreau?"
"I'm fine," she said dismissively, pressing a cloth into the wounds like she couldn't heal them easily. "Nothing you need to-"
"Does Emma know?" They cut her off, anger and worry churning in their gut. She gave them a look that said are you stupid?
"She'd freak out. And there's nothing to worry about. I'm fine."
"You're bleeding, and you're not healing." Jordan retorted, which had Marie rolling her eyes, knitting the veins and skin back together with ease.
"There. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about." Her voice was dismissive, tired. Almost numb.
--
What Marie wanted to do was scream. Demand to know when they started caring about her again, make them admit they're scared of her, that they only see the monster in her eyes.
Do any of her wins matter when she causes such pain?
"Just - talk to me, Moreau!" Their voice was bordering on desperate at this point. "Why-"
"Pain releases endorphins, and it-"
"That's not what I fucking mean and you know it."
"God, can't you see how hard I'm trying to do as you asked? I can't -" she shook her head, trying to keep the desperate words from slipping out. "I have to make things right, I have to make sure I don't mess up again, I-i-" she bit her own tongue, like that could keep her from spilling her secrets to her ex partner while sitting in her ugliest underwear on a cot. "It helps. And I have it under control." She finished lamely, still hoping that if she said it enough times, Jordan might drop the whole thing and go back to being themself.
"Marie..." They said softly, and it wasn't lost on her that this was the first time they'd called her by her first name in weeks.
She almost expected them to stay. But they just shook their head, standing and leaving without another word.
