#splitaxe

Am I permanently changed now? Is it in the helix? There’s a part of you I can’t carve out [screamed] Subsumed and absorbed it!

Chewed up and spit out That’s what the church says Is it in the helix? [screamed] Irreparably damaged!

[screamed] Is it in the helix? [screamed] Did it alter my brain [screamed] Is that why I’m fucked up now? [screamed] Can’t be normal or sane? [screamed] Is it in the helix? [screamed] Are the chemicals changed [screamed] Is it in the helix? [screamed] Is it in the—[scream]

There’s something wrong with Robyn Rathburn’s son…

Something sinister and demonic hides in his shadow, has been there since the day he was born. Something Travis’s birth mother summoned, but she didn’t pay the price, died before she could.

But these types of contracts are hereditary, you know. Blood oaths are signed and bound and that

Blood           Passes                       Down…

This thing wants energy, it wants rapturous, cult-like adoration and devotion. And Travis has a band—the stage could be its altar.

………………

The first time Hunter watched Travis Rathburn perform in a little bar in Charlotte, North Carolina, he knew that they should make music together. After months worth of touring with separate bands on the same stages, they form a close friendship, and so it honestly seems like fate when they form their own nu metal band, Split-Axe, a year later.

But Travis has this aura around him, it’s something manic and fraught—a nexus of misfortune. There’s something dark brewing in North Carolina and it’s not just Travis caught in its wake, so is everyone around him.

Wanted to draw epilogue Hunter and Travis 

Hunter knew Travis, had his appearance memorized. The tiny chip in one of his canines, the white scars on his wrists, the freckle by his eye. The way he bit his nails down to the quick and bounced his knee when he was reading one of his books.

Hunter didn’t remember exactly when he began to suspect that Travis cared about him the same way but it started with little things. Like the way some of Hunter’s vernacular started bleeding into Travis’s vocabulary. Words like “reckon,” or “Hey” instead of “Hi.”

The first time Travis said ‘y’all’ Hunter thought he was making fun of him but then he realized the word was said earnestly, not a mockery but a mirror. That they’d been in each other’s spaces long enough now that they’d started picking things up and reflecting them back.