#thanks to everyone who sent in questions!

[bokutosbabe]

Did You See Me On TV?

( bllk boys and being in a long distance relationship )

a/n — thought about this and just HAD to write. no long distance relationship experience, but def some long distance friendship experience. rather short, but i had to get it out.

content — fem! reader, set in the ' Neo Egoist ' era, some characters repeated, all characters 18+, angst, fluff, maybe some ooc for some people??, nicknames 'love' , 'babe' , 'baby' , ' my girl ' , and 'sweetheart' used

synopsis — yes, he's a world famous soccer player, but he's also your boyfriend. how does this effect your relationship?

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' you tell yourself it's fine, ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' radio silence '

it's been a month since your boyfriend had left to go play for the soccer team he'd been assigned to, and what had you heard from him?

...complete and utter silence.

you understood he was busy now, you really did, but he hadn't even called while he'd been gone. any text he sent was no more than 3 words.

you were still in love with him, but was he in love with you anymore? had he forgotten all about you? was there another girl that was better than you?

the promise the two of you had made before he left sat on your tongue like lead now.

" you'll come back whenever you can, right? " you'd asked him. " for you? always. i couldn't imagine a life without you. i promise i'll call every chance i get. "

you stared at your phone, the text you'd sent him before his game started staring back at you...mocking you.

you: good luck, love!! i'm rooting for you from home! i love you, have fun, don't get hurt. call me when you can <3

it was almost pitiful. three almost exact texts sat above that one, and he hadn't even bothered to read them until after the game, simply replying with a...

him <3 : thanks

and no, if you were wondering, he hadn't ever called you.

and here you were, like a fool, curled up in your bed watching his game on live TV, watching as he made his second goal of the day.

maybe, just maybe, he'd call you after this one.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ SAE ITOSHI, isagi yoichi, RIN ITOSHI, oliver aiku, OTOYA EITA, rensuke kunigami

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' a complete mess '

he'd been gone a month, and you can't count a single day he hasn't called you three times at minimum. you'd been together for a while, but you never realized how much he relied on you to do basic everyday tasks for him.

"babe? do you know where i usually keep my long socks?" you heard come from your phone speaker as you were trying to do your own homework, mind you.

" usually in the middle of your top drawer next to your underwear. unless you've changed it. " you stated, he'd asked you this question every single time he had a game since he had left, but you wouldn't dare expect him to remember that.

" you're the best, baby. what would i do without you? " your boyfriend asked as he pulled socks out of his drawer, propping his phone up on the bedside lamp as he slid the socks onto his feet.

" lose your head, probably. " you joked, looking up from your work to admire him.

yes, everyone got to see him as the big, bad soccer player on TV, but with you? he seemed like a completely different person, not someone who could get a hat trick and also simultaneously asking where their phone is while it's in their hand.

" your games soon, love. you gotta get going. " you helpfully reminded him, as if you were his personal alarm ( you were but that's besides the point )

" ah crap, thank you baby. i'll call you after i win," he said cheekily. " i'll score a goal just for you, so make sure you watch!"

" you know i will. call you later, i love you. " you reflected his smile through the phone. " i love you too! " he repeated. and just as you were about to press the 'end call' button...

"oh, baby? do you remember where i put my jersey?"

yeah, without you he'd be a train wreck.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ NAGI SEISHIRO, bachira meguru, HIORI YO, gin gagamaru, ZANTETSU TSURUGI, ranze kurona

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the... ' basically married '

it'd been a month since your boyfriend had left to go play professional soccer, and out of the four games he had played, you'd been flown out for three of them.

" do you like it? " he asked giddily, as if he was a child on christmas morning waiting to open presents. but instead of a gift, it was him showing you the hotel room he'd gotten you so you could watch his game this week too.

" you're too sweet to me, love. i would've been happy just sitting at home and cheering you on from there. " you told him. " nope! you're no longer allowed to watch the games from home," he said as if it was a fact.

oh, soccer players and their superstitions.

" even the whole team agrees! my girl is our lucky charm! "

the one game you missed, because you had a big test may i add, they lost. it wasn't a horrible loss, no, they went into additional time and lost 5-4.

your shock and confusion must have been written all of your face, because he just laughed. " c'mon sweetheart, why don't you just come live with me here ? "

many reasons, actually. you still had school, it was across the world (not really but it felt like it ), your family, your friends.

he knew all of this, of course. there usually wasn't a day that you seriously considered it. considered being here, with him, instead of having to facetime and miss him.

one day, you would, but not now...you think.

"oh, hush. you gotta get going, you have a game to win." you huffed, pushing at his shoulder to hopefully get him going out the door.

"alright, alright. i'll come back with you after the game, sweetheart. i love you, see you after my win! "

and win he would, because he swore to himself that if he won this game the velvet box that was hiding in his dresser would finally be able to come out.

but, hey, even if he didn't win, would you say no to the ring he had custom made for you?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ REO MIKAGE, isagi yoichi, YUKIMIYA KENYU, chigiri hyoma, nijiro nanase, BARO SHOEI

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' you're just in love ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

this was really written on a whim, but i hope yall liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs appreciated!

[24-7-testing]

The end of the year can be tough for a lot of people. My goal is to make it a little bit brighter! Announcing once again the return of..

The Portal Holiday Spirit Initiative!

To help bring a smile to people's faces this year, I am sending FREE Portal-Themed Holiday Cards to anyone who requests one!

This year's cards follow the same format as last year: there is only one card design, this time featuring artwork from your's truly! The cards are still customizable to any Winter Holiday of your choosing, but you'll have to wait for your card to arrive in order to customize it (the method takes cues from the Portal game's sense of humor, and is very much on-brand).

This year is PHSI's 6th year! I'm so grateful to everyone who has participated over the years, whether you've reblogged and shared, requested cards, helped with artwork, or helped in other ways. You all are so amazing! Thanks for volunteering your time, talents, and support to help make PHSI a special fandom tradition!

If you would like to receive a Portal-Themed Holiday Card:

Visit bit.ly/PHSI-2024 ...

Answer the questions in the forms...

Wait for your card to be sent!

It's that easy! Card Requests are now open, and close on December 20th in order to give me enough time to make and send all the cards before the end of the year. Please submit sooner rather than later so I have time to finish them all!

Also, please don’t be afraid to request a physical card if you don’t live in the US! The card service I use says they ship worldwide and, while it might take a bit longer for you to receive your card depending on what country you live in, the cards will get mailed to whatever address you provide, domestic or foreign. Last year I mailed/emailed a total of 111 cards to the United Kingdom, Canada, United States, Brazil, Romania, Poland, Australia, Germany, India, Japan, and New Zealand!

I’m glad to be a part of the Portal Fandom and hope to bring a smile to others in the Fandom this year, just as in years past! Designing and emailing Holiday Cards takes time and effort, and sending physical cards is expensive. While it isn't a requirement to receive a card, I would greatly appreciate if you'd like to give $4 to cover the cost of your card or someone else's. Please visit ko-fi.com/247testing and click the Donate button if you want to help out. Thanks!

Answers for common questions and concerns below:

Worried about providing a mailing address, for whatever reason?

PHSI has an eCard option! All you need to provide is a name for me to call you by and an email address to receive your card!

Worried about requesting a card because you don’t live in the US?

PHSI mails to any address provided, whether domestic or foreign! However, please wait patiently for your card, due to the current global rate of shipping.

Worried that you can’t give $4 to cover the cost of your card or someone else’s?

Requesting a card from PHSI has been and will always be FREE! However, giving $4 to the initiative helps me pay for the printing service and postage to mail physical cards. I gratefully appreciate any contributions received, even if it’s just a comment saying thanks!

Worried because you don’t know how to support the artist of the card you received?

The artist’s social media is listed on the back of every card featuring their artwork. Look them up, commission them, reblog their art, and support them however you can!

Worried because you haven’t received your card yet?

Double check your email inbox and junk folders. I send everyone an email that either confirms your Holiday Card has shipped or includes your eCard! Physical cards take 1-2 weeks to arrive. If your physical card fails to show up after the first week of January, please reach out to me and I’ll send you a replacement eCard!

Worried because you received your card and don’t know what to do now?

Make a post about it! Include pictures, videos, or anything you’d like, and tag me in the post (@24-7-testing) so I can reblog it! If you don’t want to show your card off, that’s ok too!

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Hey!!! I just got the most amazing idea ever!! (probably 🤭) I know that Franco had just lose his grandfather and he had to do FP. And basically everyone (the media & paparazzi just decide to hustle him despite him clearly not wanting to talk or do anything for them. Which is why he wears headphones and cap). So this is more of James with a wife reader. She is practically comforted and was with him since she always does that to everyone. Franco was just so young and she wanted to cocoon him in her warmth. From having bad weather to that awful FP which he crashed and later Alex did the same🙃🙃 Everyone especially the mechanics had to double their work because race starts in like 3 hours after quali. And how can they fix two cars in just that shirt period of time??? Being able to fix one was a miracle, but fixing two? They need to call everyone at the factory it seems😮‍💨😮‍💨 And then Alex not starting the race and Franco struggle in the rain because Williams didn't want to put wet tyres and then later crashed making the stewards flagging the race as red. You know, just a shitty day at the office. Williams out of the race:(( Everyone frustrated, tension arises, more work to do with how the race turns out to be. James admired her about that. Keeping calm, composure and bringing in warmth to everyone at the paddock (maybe interactions with drivers). This is the longest I've ever sent you, so it's up to you how it goes. I trust you. Can be anything you want. Fluff or angst or suggestive. Can be one shot or series. Anything. Just a whole lot of thank you for everything you've ever done for me!!! ❤️❤️❤️ Tag me later!! If you have any questions, just ask me!! I'll be happy to help. Thanks!!! :))

Rain, Resolve, and Resilience

word count. 1.2k

Pairing: James Vowles x reader

AN: Thank you so much for your application i really need that.

______________________________________________________________

The Williams paddock was a storm of activity that mirrored the turbulent clouds overhead. Rain battered the track, but it was nothing compared to the emotional storm inside. Franco, one of the team’s youngest drivers, had only recently lost his grandfather, the man who had nurtured his passion for racing from the start. Now, Franco was expected to push through that grief and focus on practice, even as his heart was heavy. The cameras followed his every step, journalists crowding in with pointed questions, ignoring the lines of grief etched into his face. He pulled his cap down low, headphones covering his ears in an attempt to escape, but it was all too much.

Y/n, the beloved wife of team principal James Vowles, saw it all unfold from the edge of the garage. She had spent countless hours at James's side, becoming a quiet pillar for the team in a way only she could. Mechanics and engineers knew they could go to her if the pressure became too much; her presence alone had a grounding, calming effect on everyone. Today, seeing Franco, barely more than a boy, desperately trying to hold himself together as he faced the cameras alone, broke her heart.

She moved toward him gently, slipping past the reporters who still tried to shout questions his way, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Franco,” she said, her voice calm, almost a whisper. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here.”

Franco’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He managed a grateful smile, his voice barely audible when he replied, “Thank you, Y/n.” He didn’t say more, but she could see the relief in his eyes. Knowing he wasn’t alone in that moment meant everything.

The rain was relentless, and as the team prepared for the practice session, the paddock was tense. Y/n stayed close, keeping an eye on Franco as he prepared to take to the track. She felt protective, wanting to shield him from all the hurt and stress he was carrying. With a deep breath, he climbed into the car, and she watched, fingers crossed, hoping he could find some solace in the race. But as the rain poured harder, the slick track proved unforgiving. Franco’s car spun out on a turn, and he crashed, the impact sending a chill through the paddock. Minutes later, Alex followed, a sickening repeat that left the team reeling.

The Williams garage erupted into controlled chaos. With less than three hours to go before qualifying, both cars were in dire need of repair. Mechanics dashed back and forth, voices rising as they shared updates over radios and called for parts. It felt like an impossible task; fixing one car was a miracle on its own, but two? Every hand was needed, and the tension among the crew was palpable.

In the midst of it all, Y/n was a steady, calm presence, moving through the garage like a breath of fresh air. She approached a young mechanic, shoulders slumped as he stared down at a particularly stubborn part. He rubbed his forehead in frustration, looking close to defeat.

“Take a second,” Y/n said softly, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. “You’re doing amazing. We’ll get there, piece by piece.”

The mechanic glanced at her, finding comfort in her reassuring smile. “Thanks, Y/n,” he murmured, his spirits lifting. She continued to move through the garage, offering words of encouragement to others, giving each team member the strength to push on.

James glanced over at his wife between giving orders, his admiration shining in his eyes. She had a gift, a way of making people feel seen and valued, even when everything felt impossible. He’d often find her in these moments, quietly lifting the spirits of those around her, giving them strength without ever drawing attention to herself. She was the backbone of the team in ways that only he could see.

Back in a quieter corner of the garage, Franco sat alone, hands in his hair as he replayed the crash in his mind. He looked up as Y/n approached, her presence bringing a hint of calm to the chaos within him.

“Do you want to take a little walk?” she asked gently, nodding toward a nearby corridor away from the noise. Franco nodded, grateful for the escape, and they stepped outside into the cooler air.

As they walked, she spoke quietly, her words laced with compassion. “You know, you don’t have to keep this all bottled up. Losing someone you love…it doesn’t go away just because you’re expected to race.” Her tone was soft, non-judgmental, offering him a safe space to express the grief he’d been carrying alone.

Franco took a shaky breath, the weight of the loss settling in his chest. “I just… I wish he was here to see me race,” he admitted, his voice catching. “He taught me everything, and now…” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.

Y/n placed a comforting hand on his back, offering him a moment of silent support. “I think he’d be incredibly proud of you, Franco. You’re out here, giving it everything despite how hard things are. That takes strength,” she said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

When they returned to the paddock, Franco looked a bit lighter. The time away with Y/n had given him a bit of the peace he needed to keep going.

The rain returned with a vengeance on race day, and the paddock was alive with tension once more. Only Franco’s car had been fully repaired, and the knowledge that Alex wouldn’t be able to start weighed heavily on the team. Despite the pressure, Y/n stayed close, her comforting presence a balm to the team’s frayed nerves.

As Franco took to the track again, Y/n stayed by the garage monitors, her hands clasped tightly as she watched him navigate the rain-soaked circuit. But the track was treacherous, and the decision not to put on wet tires soon proved costly. Franco’s car began to slide, the wet track claiming another victim as he fought to regain control. Y/n’s heart sank as she watched him crash once more, the red flags raised as the race was halted.

The team was devastated. The loss of both cars cast a shadow over the weekend, leaving everyone drained and disheartened. In the paddock, frustration was written across every face, the team grappling with the weight of another painful blow. For many, the temptation to give up felt stronger than ever.

But Y/n, ever the steady presence, moved through the crowd, her calm energy pulling everyone back to center. She listened as mechanics vented their frustrations, offering a word of comfort or a quiet hug to those who needed it most. For the younger team members, she was a constant, a familiar warmth that reminded them they weren’t alone in their struggles.

When James finally made his way over, exhaustion etched into every line of his face, he found Y/n beside Franco once more. The young driver looked up at her, his gratitude clear even in his exhaustion. James watched, his admiration for his wife growing with each passing moment. She was the heart of the Williams family, the one who kept them all grounded when the pressures of racing felt too much to bear.

Y/n looked up at James, catching his gaze with a soft smile that seemed to ease his worries. “We’ll get through this,” she said, as much a promise as a reassurance.

[ladycrimsonandblack]

(sorry if I have sent this to you earlier, I didn't know if it went through cuz my laptop bugged out haha. Feel free to ignore this if so-)

Idk if your still open for TCF prompts, but if soooo: Everyone in the group knows that Cale is aromantic, or at least knows he doesn't want a romantic partner. However the public doesn't know this, and assumptions and rumors begins to fly as they see Young Master Cale interact with some members of his group. (Basically Cale is in a QPR, or has something similar to that, with those of your choosing! People makes assumptions but it's eventually revealed what is really going on)

AO3

There are a lot of rumors about Commander Cale Henituse, the esteemed hero Silver Shield and the savior of both continents. Ranging from ridiculous (saying that Cale Henituse is related to the White Star and that’s why he was able to defeat him will get you laughed out of a tavern, with a few good kicks added for emphasis), to actually plausible (the current raging theory that the Commander is on his path to godhood is usually met with agreeing nods), the rumors fly from kingdom to kingdom and from continent to continent at unprecedented speed. Thanks to his many great and varied public deeds, Cale Henituse’s life is an excellent fodder for imaginations of nobles and commoners alike. 

However, the current rumor is a bit different. 

It seems that Commander Cale Henituse actually has a harem. 

It started innocuously, in a small tavern in Rain City, the patrons imbibing large quantities of alcohol and listening to even larger quantities of gossip.

“I heard he attended a ball with Princess Rosalyn, from the Breck Kingdom! Did you know that she’s building a new Magic Tower? Only someone as capable as that is worthy of the Commander!” 

“Didn’t he attend a ball with Knight Choi Han a few weeks back?” A couple of nods and a rumble of murmurs answer the question. “Did they break up?”

“No, they weren’t even together. Going to the ball at the same time doesn’t mean they’re dating.”

“You’re the one that said that the Commander is dating Princess Rosalyn!”

“They just fit! I saw them once on the street in the shopping district and they were very close! And the picture they make— ah, they look so beautiful together!”

“Well, Knight Choi Han always follows the Commander, so I guess they might be dating too!”

“Uhhh, guys,” a timid voice interrupts them as one of the gate guards raises his hand like he’s in a classroom. “Doesn’t Knight Choi Han live together with the Commander? I heard they have a villa near Harris Village.”

A thoughtful silence follows this sentence. Then a series of considering nods and whispers, as the patrons catch each other’s eyes. 

“It’s not so strange? A knight should live with his lord, right?” 

“But, uh, isn’t Choi Han from Harris Village? Did the Commander build a villa there just to have Choi Han live closer to home?”

“That seems like something the Commander would do. He’s so kind!” 

Everyone drinks to that, and then there’s shouting for a new round. 

“But doesn’t that mean that Choi Han is more than just a knight?” 

“He’s a hero too, he deserves that much,” someone refutes. 

“A whole villa where they live together? I think that’s a bit too much for any hero. The Commander didn’t need to move into Choi Han’s villa.”

This time, the murmurs lean more toward Choi Han. 

The man who first talked about Princess Rosalyn and the Commander frowns. “But Princess Rosalyn is also living together with them. Didn’t she move in during the war?”

The following moment of silence is full of consideration. 

“Does that mean he’s dating both of them?”

The room explodes. The evening ends with a bar fight so nasty that two people end up in the hospital and the rumors about what started it only grow with retelling. As does Commander Cale’s harem. 

Eventually, the rumors reach Huiss City and the ears of royal spies therein. When Tasha hears them, she bursts out laughing, doesn’t stop for good ten minutes, and then immediately goes to inform her nephew. 

“So there are rumors that my dongsaeng is dating Choi Han.” At Tasha’s nod, Alberu frowns in confusion. “There have always been rumors like that. Why is this important?”

“There are also rumors saying Young Master Cale is dating Princess Rosalyn...”

Alberu sighs. “Well, those will have more immediate political consequences, but it’s nothing we haven’t heard before.”

“... At the same time as he’s dating Choi Han,” Tasha finishes, her pearly white teeth stark against her face as she grins. 

“...What?” Alberu chokes out. 

The thought of Cale dating two people at once is so strange that Alberu needs to take a moment to recover. As if Cale would want to be in a romantic relationship with even one person!

Tasha’s grin becomes outright mean. “There are even some rumors that the two of you are having an affair.”

“He’s my younger brother!” Alberu bursts out, more indignant than he remembers himself ever being in his life. 

“And then there is Mary.”

“Surely people don’t think there is something going on between Cale and Mary?”

“Oh, they do, and there’s a lot of them.”

Alberu feels a headache oncoming. He rubs his temples and reaches into a tin can on his desk for some cookies to comfort him. “He treats her like she’s his kid.” Never mind that Mary is physically older than Cale. Cale has mentally slotted her into the same category as Raon, On, and Hong very early on, and now Mary gets an extravagant monthly allowance on Cale’s dime. 

It’s telling that nobody has actually commented on this, or thought it strange. Their whole family accepted it as just another one of Cale’s eccentricities.  

“And of course,” Tasha says, apparently not finished. “There is also Eruhaben.”

“He treats Cale as his kid!” 

“Well, it’s not like people on the street know that,” Tasha points out, very reasonably. “But they do think that Young Master Cale is dating all of you. At the same time.”

“So they think that Cale… has a harem?” Alberu tries to wrap his head around this. There is not a person less likely to have a harem than Cale Henituse. 

“Yes,” Tasha says, and smiles like this is the funniest thing she’s heard the whole year. 

“Why?” Alberu wonders, for once not being able to guess what people are thinking. Cale is just so… Cale. Alberu can’t even imagine him wanting to date someone. 

“Nephew,” Tasha gives him an arch look, and Alberu feels like he’s thirteen again, and is caught sneaking out for more practice with his sword. “You forget that not many people know Young Master Cale as well as you do. And when looking from outside, our family’s situation is a little strange.” 

Alberu tries to think about this objectively. 

“Our whole family lives together, even though most others have their own homes.”

“That is one part of it,” Tasha agrees. “It is especially strange for Princess Rosalyn, who is a royal from another kingdom, and Eruhaben-nim, who is known to be a Dragon.”

Alberu nods. “And whenever Cale goes somewhere, at least one member of our family accompanies him.”

“And the Young Master always buys everyone extravagant gifts.”

With each sentence, Alberu frowns even more. 

“This is nuts,” he says. 

Because, looking from outside perspective, it does seem like Cale has a harem. 

…

He decides not to talk to Cale. Instead, he gathers Choi Han, Rosalyn, Eruhaben and Mary for a private talk, with the children averaging nine years old dragging Cale off to shop in the city (On takes one look at Alberu’s face before suggesting the trip; she is growing up to be terrifyingly perceptive). 

When Alberu tells them the latest rumor, Eruhaben is the first to react. He sighs. “Unlucky bastard. And now he’s dragging me down with him.”

Choi Han is so red that his ears appear to be steaming. “How can they— why would anyone even think that?!”

“Because Cale provides for all of us,” Rosalyn says, laughing in delight. “And most people can’t imagine us being family. Not like this.” 

“But this is so strange! Cale’s not… he is not—”

Interested. Cale is simply not interested. 

It hadn’t taken them long to figure it out. Cale’s lack of interest in anything approaching romance or romantic relationships is so obvious to those close to him, that even the few of them that might have quietly considered it as an option chose to discard it immediately. Cale loves them, but it will never be romantic, and doesn’t have to be. They’re a family. That’s all there is to it, in the end.

Alberu smiles pleasantly, none of his previous confusion visible. “Of course, not many people know my dongsaeng well, so they would come to their own conclusions. However, I called you here today to discuss what to do next.”

“We have to stop them from saying it!” Choi Han burst out. “Cale-nim would be upset.”

“We don’t need to let Cale know,” Eruhaben points out reasonably. “He doesn’t need to worry about this too, and it’s not really a big problem.”

Alberu nods. “Eruhaben-nim is right. There is really no way to stop the rumors, but they’re not doing any real harm.”

“Why can’t we just say that none of us are involved with Young Master?” Mary asks. “Won’t people stop talking after that?”

“That won’t work,” Rosalyn shakes her head. “Denying something like this never works. It just makes it look like you have something to hide.”

“Exactly, Princess-nim is right,” Alberu agrees. “Our best official course of action would be to ignore the rumors completely. I wanted you to know about them so that you wouldn’t be surprised if you heard someone talk about it in a public setting.” Choi Han frowns at that answer, but Alberu only aims a bright smile in his direction. “Of course, if anyone approaches you privately to ask about any kind of rumors about my precious dongsaeng, feel free to respond as you wish.”

Choi Han’s answering smile appears innocent. Everyone in the room knows better than to trust it.

…

In the end, the gossip is stopped by the most unlikely person of them all. 

During the couple of weeks the rumors have been rampaging around without any checks, no one has actually been brave enough to ask for clarification from any of the people involved. Alberu, Cale and Rosalyn’s high positions stop everyone from commenting on it in their hearing, even obliquely, and Eruhaben… Well. Eruhaben is a Dragon. No one dares. 

There are a couple of people who try to broach the subject with Choi Han, thinking that the famously noble knight would not take offense. Those people end up in infirmary after Choi Han, somehow, convinces them to spar against him. 

That leaves only Mary. 

The thing about Mary is that she has a very clear, very even voice. So when she says, “I am not dating Young Master Cale-nim,” in a very crowded ballroom filled with Roan nobility, her voice carries despite the fact that she is not any louder than usual.

The nearby conversations immediately taper off as everyone strains their ears to listen. 

“Oh?” asks the madam that had had enough courage to approach Mary in her little corner. “Does someone else have the luck to be the recipient the Commander’s affection?”

“Of course not,” Mary answers, apparently not noticing that she has the attention of half the crowd. “Young Master-nim is very busy. He does not have any time nor inclination for romantic attachments.”

The crowd murmurs in agreement. The madam lifts a hand to her mouth, looking stricken. “Of course, I completely forgot.” Eyes misting over, she says, “It’s admirable that the Commander is willing to deny himself so much just to keep our kingdom safe.”

Mary nods. “Cale-nim is very dedicated to his goal.”

Everyone feels very moved, but also very curious about the Commander’s goal. They haven’t heard anything about that, beyond Cale Henituse’s well-known wish to keep everyone in the kingdom safe and happy. 

“His goal?” the madam asks, curiosity rising. 

“Yes,” Mary confirms. “It will be very difficult and very hard to accomplish, but Cale-nim will surely succeed.”

“Of course he will!” the madam exclaims. “Who would ever doubt the Commander?”

Nevertheless, people are very eager to talk about his goal. 

Very difficult and hard to accomplish? Perhaps it has something to do with his latest battles? The Commander had informed the public that he has been battling the organization behind the White Star’s power in other worlds. That is surely a feat that would bring him divine attention, and he has been seen visiting the Temple of the God of Death. 

Perhaps… perhaps those rumors about Cale Henituse ascending to the path of legend and godhood are not so far off. Everyone has heard about them, and some even believed them, but this is the first time someone from the Commander’s inner circle confirmed that there is a bigger personal goal for him in all this. 

The next day, there is some new gossip going around the taverns of Huiss City. This time, there are no bar fights, or even small brawls. 

Everyone agrees that Cale Henituse is deserving of godhood anyway. Why would they fight about it?

[chevyslate158]

Coriolanus Snow x Reader 18+ - I'll Be Watching You

A/N: Hey everyone! This little piece is a filler while I work on Chapter 2 of Threads of Freedom (15th Hunger Games AU, Archer Brown x Fem!Reader) – which will be uploaded by the end of the week, I promise! Sorry for the wait and thank you for your patience. This is my first proper dark fic, so as far as I’m aware, this should be 18+ due to mature themes. I hope you all enjoy this little detour, and I’m excited to share more with you soon! Keep an eye out for Chapter 2 – it’s coming soon!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Abuse (emotional, psychological, and possessive), Dark themes, Toxic relationships (I do not condone this), Non-consensual elements, Violence/Threat of violence, Manipulation, Mentions of sex, Coercion, Stalking and Jealousy let me know if I missed any!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night was loud, bustling with voices echoing through the makeshift walls of the Hob, the heart of black-market life in District 12. You'd been busy, making your rounds with the goods your family had sent you to sell, weaving in and out of the rickety stands that filled the dim space. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of stale bread and roasted game. It was the same every night, though tonight, something felt... different.

You felt it before you saw him—a prickling awareness at the back of your neck like someone’s eyes were boring right into you. Glancing up, you saw him standing across the room, the faint glow of a single bare bulb casting shadows over his face. A young peacekeeper, uniform pristine, with piercing blue eyes that didn’t waver when they met yours. Coriolanus Snow.

You’d heard whispers about him—the Capitol boy with ice in his veins who’d recently arrived to serve in District 12. He was unlike the other peacekeepers who draped themselves lazily over chairs or leaned casually against walls. No, Snow stood stiffly, as if he’d never let himself blend into his surroundings, as if he were above it all.

But tonight, he was focused on you.

After that night, Snow began appearing everywhere you went. At first, it was subtle—a figure lingering just far enough away to be nearly invisible but always there, always watching. In the crowded marketplace, in the quiet moments when you paused on your way home. Every time you dared to glance back, his eyes were waiting. He’d give a slight nod, a slow acknowledgment, a silent claim that grew stronger with each day.

Soon, it became impossible to ignore. Snow wasn’t simply watching; he was weaving himself into every part of your life, binding himself to you with an unspoken possessiveness. He knew which paths you took and where you liked to sit by the river, and he’d often appear there, casually positioned as if by chance, though you knew better. When you questioned him, he’d smile, a strange blend of amusement and arrogance in his eyes, as if he enjoyed toying with your sense of control, as if he wanted you to know that your life was no longer entirely your own.

One evening, when you were out trading goods, Snow approached you without warning, slipping into step beside you.

“I don’t like you coming here alone,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with an edge. “Too many people who don’t have your best interests in mind.”

You tried to brush him off, saying you could handle yourself, but he scoffed, an unsettling smile spreading across his face.

“You don’t understand. You don’t have to be strong or careful. Not with me here.” His words were meant to reassure you, but they settled over you like a shadow, a cold reminder that his protection was not optional, that he would always be there whether you wanted him to be or not.

But he didn’t own you, nor did he control you. Taking a deep breath, you mustered your courage and offered him a polite smile, careful to keep your tone light.

“I appreciate the concern, Coriolanus,” you said, choosing your words delicately. “But I don’t need you looking out for me. I’m fine on my own.”

You could see the faint twitch of his jaw, and a slight narrowing of his eyes, but you ignored it, determined to stand your ground. Before he could reply, you turned on your heel, heading down the narrow path toward home without looking back.

The silence behind you was tense and heavy, but you walked briskly, half-expecting him to let it go. Yet something about the quiet felt wrong, and that prickle of unease crept up your spine once more. Suddenly, you heard him call your name—softly, but with an unmistakable edge.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying,” he said, his voice dangerously low. You could feel his footsteps behind you, and before you could quicken your pace, he was by your side again, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“Do you think this is a choice?” His voice was no longer smooth but sharp, each word edged with frustration.

“You don’t just get to walk away.” He reached out, his fingers grazing your arm, his grip tightening when you tried to pull away. “I’m here because you need me. I see the way people look at you, what they think they can take from you.” His gaze bore into yours, and you realised that his frustration ran deeper than anger—it was something primal, possessive, a hunger to control.

“Don’t make this difficult,” he murmured, the unsettling calm in his voice sending a chill through you.

Your pulse quickened as his grip tightened, firm enough to keep you there but not enough to hurt—yet. Snow’s expression shifted, the mask of calm giving way to something far darker. His eyes, usually so controlled, now blazed with a fierce possessiveness that was almost terrifying.

"You think you’re safe here?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with a quiet fury looking down at you as though you were stupid. "This place would swallow you whole if I let it. You have no idea what people are capable of."

His words hung in the air, and you felt a tremor of fear. “Maybe so,” you replied, voice steadier than you felt.

“But that’s my choice, not yours.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, hoping he’d see the resolve in your eyes, but instead, he laughed softly—a hollow, unsettling sound.

“Your choice?” He echoed, his lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. “No. You don’t understand, do you?” He leaned in close, his breath warm against your cheek, and when he spoke, his voice was both a promise and a warning.

"I know everything about you. I know where you live, the way home, the people you talk to. I know your fears. I don’t just watch, I protect. And whether you like it or not, you’re mine.” He glowered down at you.

You tried to pull away, but his hand tightened, holding you in place as his gaze bore into you with an intensity that made it clear he would never let you go.

“I won’t let anyone else have you,” he continued, his voice low and unwavering, as if stating a fact rather than a threat.

“So stop pretending you can push me away, or ignore me. You belong to me, and I won’t have it any other way.” His grip finally loosened, but the weight of his words lingered, searing into your mind as he released you, his face unreadable.

You backed away, heart racing, aware that this was only the beginning of something that would bind you to him in ways you couldn’t yet understand.

The intensity in his stare held you captive, as though he was daring you to challenge him, to defy the claim he’d just laid upon you. For a brief moment, you thought about running, about putting as much distance as you could between yourself and the figure before you. But something told you he would follow—no matter how far you went, he would always find you.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, defiant yet trembling.

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something dark and dangerous crossing his face. He took a step closer, closing the distance you’d tried to create.

“You can lie to yourself all you want,” he murmured, each word deliberate, his tone unsettlingly calm. “But you’ll come to understand, in time. I don’t give up on the things I want.” His fingers brushed your cheek, lingering for just a second too long. “And I want you.”

The weight of his declaration settled over you like a shroud, suffocating, and you could feel the force of his obsession surrounding you, pressing in on all sides. His presence was inescapable, a shadow that clung to you, a constant reminder that no matter where you went, his eyes would always be watching, his influence always closing in. The cold, unsettling truth sank in: Snow wasn’t merely infatuated. He saw you as something that belonged to him, something he would protect fiercely—and control completely.

As he finally released you, his gaze softened, a twisted tenderness flickering there. “One day, you’ll see I’m right. I’m the only one who can keep you safe, who can truly understand you.”

His voice dropped to a whisper, his words chillingly soft. “One day, you’ll realise that’s exactly what you need. That I'm exactly what you need.”

Time had passed, and somehow, you found yourself bound to him in ways you never anticipated. His words, his presence, his very being had become woven into your life like an invasive vine, tightening its hold each day. He didn’t give you a choice; his insistence became an inevitability. He declared that he was what you needed, and his grip on your life became as unyielding as the iron-fisted peacekeepers he commanded. Somewhere along the way, resisting felt as exhausting as it did hopeless.

When he was gentle, his touch was light, his words tender as he whispered promises in the quiet moments between you. “No one will ever understand you like I do,” he’d murmur, his fingers tracing soft patterns on your arm.

“They don’t know you the way I do,” He'd say to you breathing down your neck lips grazing your skin when he had you pinned against a cold desolate concrete wall across from the Hob in the dark when he saw you chatting with another man from inside the hob his jealousy overriding his train of thought leading you to where you were at that moment.

Those words made you feel both cherished and trapped, his affection tinged with a possessiveness that stifled you, smothered you. But he saw this as devotion, a twisted loyalty that would bind you to him, even as he twisted your will to fit his.

Yet his moods shifted like shadows, sudden and dark. One wrong word, one misstep, and his gentle touch could turn cold, his smile fading into an unyielding glare.

“Where were you?” he would ask, his voice deceptively calm but his eyes burning with a simmering anger.

“You think you can just slip away whenever you want?” He’d take your wrist, just tight enough to remind you who held control, his grip softening only when he saw the hesitation in your gaze.

He’d pull you close, his voice a possessive whisper. “I won’t let you leave. Don’t even think about it. No one will ever protect you like I will.”

And still, there were moments when he was vulnerable—when his mask slipped, and you could see the frightened boy behind the stern peacekeeper, an illusion to the young boy he once was in the Capitol.

“I’ve lost too much already,” he confessed one night, his voice breaking the quiet of the room, low and strained after the passion that had consumed you both.

A sheen of sweat glistened across your bodies, the air thick with the aftermath of your shared breathless silence. The dim lantern flickered in the corner of your small home, casting a warm glow that only served to make his sharp features more prominent, his icy blue eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them as if the light revealed something deeper—something more fragile. His hand rested protectively over yours intertwining your hand with his, his other arm draped across your frame, tugging you closer as if he could fuse you into him, as though he needed your presence to solidify his reality.

"Don't make me lose you too," he repeated, his voice muffled as he pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel the tremor in his breath, the weight of his words sinking into your skin. The raw vulnerability that had bled through him during those moments of intimacy now lingered in the air, like an unspoken plea that both terrified and touched you. His lips, still warm from the kiss that had left you breathless, moved softly against your forehead as he whispered, "I've already lost so much. I can't bear to lose you too."

You lay there, caught between the storm of desire and the weight of his obsession, feeling the intensity of his emotions wrapped around you like a vice. He wasn’t just holding you physically; he was anchoring himself to you, weaving a web of control and love that was both suffocating and intoxicating.

Every touch felt like a claim, every whispered word a promise you weren't sure you could escape. But in the stillness of that moment, when his heart seemed to beat in time with yours, you wondered if there was a part of him that truly did love you, or if it was simply the fear of losing control over something—someone—he had come to see as his.

His eyes met yours in the low light, searching you, reading you, as though trying to gauge whether you felt the same hunger for him, the same need. You could see it then—the darkness in him that was more than just obsession. It was desperation. Desperation for your love, for your loyalty, for a future where you would never leave him. He was willing to give you everything, but it was clear that everything meant something far different to him than it did to you.

In his mind, you weren’t just a part of his world—you were the only thing worth holding onto, the one thing he could never lose. And in that moment, as the weight of his words settled over you, you realized that you were no longer just a passive observer in this dangerous dance between love and control. You were as bound to him as he was to you, and though you longed for freedom, you couldn't help but wonder if his love for you—his need for you—was something you could ever truly escape.

[rea-grimm]

White deer hunt

You have moved to a new town where it is said that there is a deer with golden horns in the local forest that protects the place. Unfortunately, you don't exactly get a warm welcome. That is, until you're approached by a blue-eyed stranger who goes into the forest late at night.

It's been over a year since you moved from the big city to a smaller town. It felt more like a town, but everyone told you it was a city. 

You thought running away somewhere else, somewhere where no one knew you would be better, but it was exactly the same. You were bullied here too. 

To the locals you were a stranger, an outsider, and your neighbours made it quite clear that you didn't belong and that they didn't want you in their town. 

When you were outside, no one said anything and people would rather chat among themselves and just stab you with their eyes.

Then, when it got dark, they threw eggs at your house, wrote threatening letters until they sent chills down your spine, and you wished you could hide somewhere far away where no one would find you and not torment you so much. 

Even in the deepest darkness there is a glimmer of hope. Your little flame was Simeon, who lived right across the street. All you had to do was cross the road behind him. 

He became your light the moment you were surrounded by a group of local troublemakers who decided that you were their entertainment for the day and that today would be the day they finally got rid of you. 

Simeon walked up to them there, perfectly calmly. At first he tried to reason with them, but they ignored him completely. This did not deter him. With a smile on his lips and a look that could kill he looked like an angel of justice. 

He walked through them and at most only pushed them away lightly with his hand. He radiated a natural authority. His stern eyes fell straight on you and sadness filled them. Then he looked again at the rioters. 

"You should be ashamed of yourselves. I advise you to go back and hope to forget it soon. And if it happens again, Diavalo and Lucifer will find out," he told them, perfectly calm. He didn't even have to raise his voice at them and continued to smile. The rioters hesitated at first, but eventually dispersed.

"Did they hurt you?" He asked, his gaze full of concern. 

"I'm fine, thanks," you muttered. You wanted to believe him, but after so much, it was difficult. 

"You're new here, aren't you? Y/N, right? I'm Simeon. I live across the road from you," he introduced himself. "Can you get up?" He asked, wanting to help you to your feet.

You hesitated to accept his hand. You were worried and many questions ran through your mind. But his presence was more than reassuring and you finally accepted his hand. 

Simeon gently helped you to your feet and then removed his jacket, which he draped over your shoulders. It was nice and light.

"I'll walk you home," he said pleasantly, looking into your eyes. "If you don't mind?" He asked quickly. 

"'I don't mind," you said weakly, taking a step forward. Pain shot through your leg and your knees buckled. It was a good thing he was there with you and caught you. 

"Careful," and he helped you to the bench. "Does it hurt much?" and he crouched down so he wouldn't look down on you. "May I?" He asked, pointing to your sore ankle.

You hesitantly nodded in agreement. he gently touched your leg until you winced in pain. "Sorry. I'll take you home," he said, and before you could protest, he took you in his arms and carried you like a princess.

He carried you to your house where he treated your ankle. Fortunately, it was only bruised. Simeon was very attentive. He put you to bed, put a pillow under your leg and brought you food and drink.

The next day you wanted to thank him somehow, so you baked cookies and brought them to him. He was delighted with them and invited you to his house to enjoy them together. You've been friends ever since. 

But there was something rather strange about him. In the evening, while you were watching, he would go into the woods. You thought it was strange at one time, but what was stranger was that he went there every evening when it got dark. But that didn't deter you. 

One day, Simeon called you out of the blue. He sounded excited. He invited you to his place for dinner. You'd spent a lot of time together, and this was the first time he'd invited you like this.

You dressed better than normal, you fixed your hair and did a little makeup, but you didn't overdo it. After all, it could have been something else. 

As it turned out at dinner, Simeon finally got his book published. According to you, it was only a matter of time, since you'd read it and were completely captivated by it. He could write beautifully. That was his other great quality. 

Plus, he was a great cook. He cooked the whole dinner himself, and he also made dessert. There was nothing he couldn't do. He poured you wine with dinner. It was delicious, and it went perfectly with the meal. 

After the meal, you moved into the living room with the wine. You could tell Simeon wasn't used to drinking. He was cheerful, treading lightly on his tongue and snuggling up to you.

You stroked his hair while he rambled on about how you had helped him, how you had inspired him and given him the strength to carry on. 

He paused for a moment, and you thought he had already fallen asleep, but finally he turned to look at your face.

"You don't know how pretty you look," he said sweetly, stroking your cheek.

"That's the alcohol talking," you replied, smiling at him. 

"No, it's true. I meant to tell you earlier. You're beautiful," and he sat down. He leaned closer to you and you already thought he was going to kiss you, instead he hugged you. When he pulled away, you paused. There were long antlers growing out of his hair. 

"Is something wrong?" he asked in surprise when he noticed your face. 

"Nothing," you shook your head. Guess the wine was getting to your brain more than you expected. 

You occasionally thought of his horns but never dared to ask. You thought it was too crazy, so you kept it to yourself. That is, until recently. 

It was nearing evening and you were sitting by the window again with your favourite book when you noticed Simeon heading towards the woods again. You would have let it go, but not tonight.

For the past week, there had been rumors floating around that a dangerous murderer was hiding in that forest, having escaped from a nearby prison. During his time on the loose, he allegedly killed five people in his path. 

You had to go warn him. You put on a sweatshirt and put a flashlight and a pepper spray in your pocket. You carried a pepper spray almost everywhere, and it was a gift from Simeon. With these things locked behind you, you headed into the woods. 

You hoped to find him somewhere at the beginning, but there was no sign of him anywhere. By the dim light of your torch, you went deeper into the forest. 

Strangely enough, your flashlight was slowly going out. The light slowly went out until it disappeared completely. You cursed under your nose, pocketed the useless flashlight, and continued on. 

Occasionally you tripped, but you never fell properly. You clung to the trees until you saw a flickering light in the distance. Like a swarm of fireflies, or rather, the faint light of a wandering firefly. 

It could have been the aforementioned murderer, but it could also have been hope to get out of this dark forest. You felt for the pepper spray in your pocket and made your way to the light. 

After a few meters, you reached the clearing where the light was coming from. You hid behind a tree and wanted to see if it was safe. 

You searched with your eyes for the source of the light until you finally found it. Normally you would think you were dreaming, but after that strange dinner you knew it was real. For the source of the light was Simeon, or at least his antlers, which were festooned with luminous flowers and crystals.

Fireflies flickered around him, helping to illuminate the immediate area. Right next to him was a colt that demanded to be scratched. Other colts grazed peacefully nearby, and rabbits ran around them. It was a sight straight out of a fairy tale. 

You took a step to the side to get a better view when you accidentally stepped on a twig that snapped under your weight. All movement in the meadow stopped and all eyes turned to you. You automatically ducked behind a tree.  You heard footsteps begin to approach and Simeon appeared in front of you. 

"Y/N?" He asked you in surprise. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?" he wondered. 

"Nothing. I was just worried," you confessed. 

"About me?" He wondered, looking relieved. Your eyes fell on his horns as he was close and as the light flowed from them. 

"What are you doing here?" You finally asked. 

"That's complicated," he said, scratching the back of his neck as he thought of how to say it. "But I promise I'll explain later," he added, noticing your expression.

"Okay. Sorry to interrupt," you apologized, already out of habit.

"You have nothing to apologize for. I should have told you I'd be here. Come on, I'll take you home. It's not safe to wander around in the dark," and he held out his hand. It reminded you of the gesture when you first met. This time, however, you didn't hesitate and immediately took his hand. 

Simeon guided you through the forest with complete ease and care, always warning you of the protruding roots and uncluttered branches. You walked in silence. 

After a while, Simeon stopped and motioned for you to be quiet. You nodded in agreement and stepped closer to him. You stood there silently, and after a while you heard it too. It was approaching footsteps and occasionally a light flashed in the distance. 

"What is it?" you asked in a whisper.

"Nothing good," he replied, and you were on your way again. 

You stepped as carefully as you could so as not to make any noise, but you weren't doing too well in the woods. And so it was that some twig snapped under your feet. 

Simeon noticed that this tactic wasn't working, so you took off running. Simeon ran as gracefully as a deer and it was as if the branches around him were avoiding him.

You had a lot of work to do to keep up with him and not fall at all. But that's exactly what happened. Your foot got wedged under a root and you lost your balance. Surely your face would have met the ground if Simeon hadn't caught you. 

"You okay?" He asked carefully, helping you to your feet. 

"I'm fine," you replied, clinging to him as the branches behind you crackled loudly. You both turned to the source of the sound and Simeon stood protectively in front of you. The faint light of a flashlight shone in your face. 

Standing directly in front of you was the man they had written about on the news. The man you went into the woods for. He was an escaped murderer. His face was scarred and he was clutching a machete in his other hand. 

"Looks like I'm having a lucky day. A couple like you two always make my day," he stammered.

"Go away and nothing will happen to you," said Simeon warningly. He meant it, but what chance did you have against him? 

"Huh, you've got guts, but they're no good to you," the killer laughed and walked towards you. 

"Y/N, trust me. It's going to be okay, but I need you to close your eyes," he told you, pulling you closer to him. You nodded in agreement and buried your face in his chest.

"One last warning. Stop!" He said seriously, reaching out his hand. 

"That's touching, but it won't do you much good," the killer stammered, reaching out with his machete, ready to end your lives. He didn't have time to do that, however, as a warm golden light illuminated the forest. At that moment, you closed your eyes. 

"Is it over?" you asked when the light finally faded. 

"Yes, you can open your eyes now," he said, looking into your eyes to make sure you were okay. You hugged him and then your eyes fell to the killer out of curiosity since you hadn't heard him leave. 

When you saw it, it completely shook you. You would have almost fallen backwards if Simeon hadn't held you. Instead of the murderer, there was a tree whose trunk and branches were twisted and at one point looked as if it was reaching out with one branch and struggling with the other. 

"We should go back," he said, taking your hand. You nodded in agreement and followed him away. On the way, you kept thinking about what had happened there. What you had witnessed. 

In the safety of your home, you settled into the living room. Simeon covered you with a blanket and made you a cup of hot tea. Only now did you notice how the horns had disappeared from his head. 

"Um, so the legend of the deer with the golden horns is about you?" You asked hesitantly, remembering the story about the local forest. All this time you thought he had been going into the forest to find it, and yet all this time it had been him. 

"You could say that," and it was as if a stone had fallen from his heart. 

"' Yeah, well,' you replied, taking a sip of your tea. Somehow that was enough of an explanation for you. 

"No other questions?" He wondered. 

"I guess not. I've seen you like this before. That time when they saw your book, you invited me to dinner. You got so drunk that your horns popped out and you almost couldn't put a sentence together," you explained. Simeon lowered his head in shame and a blush appeared on his face. Finally, he had to hide his face in his hands.

"This is so... so..." even though he was a writer, he was out of words.

"It's okay," you sat down next to him. You shared the blanket with him and took his hand. Even though you knew all this about him, he hadn't changed at all in your eyes. He was both your savior and someone you loved. 

"Are you sure?" He asked uncertainly, looking into your eyes. It was the first time you'd ever seen him so vulnerable. 

"I am," you replied as surely as you could and squeezed his hand. Simeon settled in better and leaned towards you.

"Thank you," he murmured, and before you could respond, he kissed you softly on the lips. It was a brief kiss, but it was enough to make you realize two things. You were more than fond of him, and it was mutual.

Obey me! Masterlist

[gliphyartfan]

Good morning, afternoon or evening.

I'm not usually one to ask for anything, you know that well, but today...

Today I woke up curious, and I came to ask, if you have, any headcannon of the other links. Sage/Tears,Calamity/soldier,Koridai, Courage, First and maybe also about Shadow...that art of Dree left me thirsty for Four emo.

*inhales*

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE (⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠෴⁠ ⁠༎ຶ⁠)

—Double Anon

Alright alright! I hear you! Took forever to search for my old discussion about them

and at the end of the day, I just asked Yandy and Dree to hand in what we talked about. (Thank you my lovely dears, I always adore you~)

Anywho (sorry for it’s all over the place!)

So here are those headcanons!

- Courage was a street rat who earned a name for himself by using his street smarts to provide for himself. He was noticed by the royal family and initially hired to be a guard in the Castle. After learning Courage is the hero he left to travel and adventure.

- Korodai was similarly poor and orphaned but worked his way up through the Church of Hylia, not taking any serious vows but still training to be the Hyrulian equivalent of a monk who can kick ass(so like a knight for the church). He was still pretty goofy and silly though in spite of his intelligence.

- The people in the church learned he was the hero and sent him to the Royal Family where he continued his training. Korodai’s journey in “Faces of Evil” is his first official journey.

- Courage is incredibly strong, similar to Twilight except even moreso. People don’t really see this coming because of his lackadaisical and unserious nature, they don’t expect him to actually be that powerful.

- Because of his history on the streets, Courage never knew how to properly interact with nobility and royalty, which is how his “love-hate” relationship with Wisdom(his Zelda) started. He was attracted to her but she didn’t like how he had no manners and thus started the cycle.

- Both Korodai and Courage are exceptionally clever and resourceful.

(….And if one is around, so is the other. They are a duo! )

——-

Im sure Calamity/Soldier (I call him Cal) is very much the silent stalker yandere.

I feel like he can’t feel himself being able to fit in with the chain.

Because all of them are heroes, but the Master Sword doesnt even answer to him.

Or at least hasn’t said a word.

Basically all of these guys around him are accomplished but well, him? He’s not so special. The only way he knows how is to be darling's shadow.

And therefore follow them and around?

Maybe he’s learned some manners being the princess' guard, so he treats darling like royalty and their word is law hahaha.

———-

Sage? Overprotective to the max.

If Sage is Wild but hasn’t met darling until his third adventure, I think he would be very willing to see darling as a goddess easier.

In his eyes, she’d be unlike anyone he’s ever known. This reverence might show in small ways, he’s always gentle with her, speaks to her with the utmost respect, and sometimes catches himself just watching her in quiet awe, as if he can’t believe she’s real.

Cuz Darling would be like a breath of fresh air for him since everyone around him took advantage of him or only cared about him being the hero.

he’d also have possessive streak that he keeps under tight control, but any hint of jealousy unleashes it. If he sees someone getting too close to Darling, he’d be tempted to step in immediately, but hold back with a calm, collected demeanor.

His icy gaze speaks volumes though.

Darling is worth any sacrifice, and he makes it clear that he would do anything to keep her safe, even if it means his own life. (Though (y/n) is definitely working on fixing that mentality if she is aware of it.)

Her presence alone eases the burdens he’s carried for so long, helping him feel grounded and human in a way he hasn’t experienced in years.

After years of being questioned or pushed to his limits, Sage finally finds someone whose judgment he respects without question.

If she tells him to rest or take a step back, he listens, even if every fiber of his being wants to protect her.

Though, he’s the type to stay up until she falls asleep, keeping a silent watch over her to ensure nothing can disturb her rest.

———

First feels like the one who’s more jaded than Legend??? Kinda?

Because compared to Legend, First canonically points out how he’s only used for convenience when he’s really needed.

Hmmm...I personal always imagine First being very soft spoken (well, when he wasn't angered to the point of raising his voice)

Not super soft spoken, not like he’s a fragile person, but very calming to hear.

And he loves every part of her, even if it pains him to see her in any negative/unhappy state.

Would he want to show her the true depth of his loyalty and love? Absolutely.

But he'd also want her comforted and happy.

If she ever drifts off to sleep in his arms, he's whispering all his words to her. All the things he'd held back on saying when she was conscious.

They'd be intense, overwhelming, very very...well...Yandere. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If she heard it, she'd definitely be frightened by the weight behind it.

But he waits until she's deeply asleep to do so. Maybe a small part of his hoping a small part of her acknowledges his words, even if he'd rather her not be aware what atrocities he'd commit in order to protect her.

First may be jaded, but he keeps his darker thoughts deeply buried. He despises anyone who threatens her happiness, his face a mask of calm while his heart seethes with unspoken rage. (You know how everyone agrees Sky has a scary face when angered? That’s First, he rivals Sky with his scariness except it’s colder.)

Behind the scenes, he’d handle any threat swiftly, never letting it reach her attention.

———

Shadow. He gives me vibes where he likes to cause harm for the fun of it. He enjoys causing chaos and despair and taunts people.

But he also yearns for companionship.

Shadow gets an undeniable thrill from causing chaos. He knows how to push buttons and stoke insecurities, loving the reactions he pulls from people.

But he’d be surprisingly gentle around (y/n), changing his dark sense of humor just a bit to make her smile.

When (y/n) pays attention to someone else, Shadow sulks like a petulant child. He’s prone to shooting them glares, muttering under his breath, and might even playfully (or not so playfully) trip them up just to remind her where her focus should be.

Shadow has no filter around people he doesn’t like, especially if they’re close to (y/n). His sarcasm can cut like a knife, and he won’t hesitate to call them out in the most biting way possible if he senses even a hint of a threat.

Shadow has a talent for inconveniencing others while staying just on the edge of innocence with (y/n). It could be someone’s drink spilling, their cloak tripping them up (or down a flight of stairs), or anything that paints them as awkward or foolish in front of her. He finds it hilariously satisfying.

Shadow wants to be the only one who can make (y/n) laugh, surprise her, or put a smile on her face. If someone else manages to get a genuine laugh out of her, he sees it as a challenge, scheming immediately about how he’ll one up them next time.

He’s not above showing his irritation in front of her if she’s giving too much attention to someone else. A muttered, “What, are they that funny?” or a dramatic sigh as he stands just a little too close, casting glances that all but scream “notice me instead.”

Shadow’s affection for (y/n) is one of the only things that holds him back from outright causing harm.

[neroli9]

APJFM Truth Or Dare!

I meant to post this at New Year’s. Alas, I didn’t finish it until now! So pretend we’re still in that happy time when Reader and Sans are still together...

Sans looks around at the assembled group: Reader, Sasha, Asriel, Frisk and Jerren. Then he looks back at Sasha. “i thought you said you were gonna be, and i quote, ‘as far away from you two horndogs as i can possibly get.’”

“We just got four questions that my sister said we couldn’t use if I was around,” she says, shrugging. “So my eyes are safe.”

“what, seriously?” Sans turns towards the fourth wall, rapping it with his knuckles. “i was counting on you people for some sexy fun! instead you send in shit like —“ He takes one of the four discarded questions, written out on a slip of paper, and presses it up to the wall. It reads ‘turn your junk into a magical teacup.’ He jabs his finger at it angrily, then flips off the wall.

“You and I already had a hot game of Truth or Dare," Reader reminds him. “You'll survive a PG-13 one.” She takes one of the slips of paper. “Sasha, truth or dare?”

“Dare!” she says, grinning.

Reader unfolds the paper. “Uh. You’re supposed to rob a bank."

“Heck yeah! Stepstool Man, take us to a bank,” she orders, gesturing to Asriel and Frisk.

Sans glances at Reader, who shrugs. “what else am i doing with my life,” he mutters. Then he and the three teenagers disappear.

“Are we getting the sexy ones done now?” Jerren asks.

“They were all for Sans,” says Reader with a shrug.

“No one wanted to see my drag act?"

“No one knew you had a drag act until chapter 85.”

Sans, Reader, Frisk and Asriel return with six bags of money. Sasha opens up one of the two that she’s carrying and starts dumping the money out on the floor. “It’s pretty nice to have a lackey that can take us right to the bank vault!”

“And create light for us,” Frisk adds.

“And get us out before we run out of oxygen,” Asriel chimes in.  

Reader raises an eyebrow at her sister. “So it sounds like you didn’t really do anything.”

“I used my powers of persuasion and excellent people skills,” Sasha says with wounded dignity. “Who’s next?”

Reader picks out another piece of paper. “Sans, truth or dare?"

“dare.”

She unfolds the paper. “Show off the socks you’re wearing.”

Sans shrugs and kicks off his shoes. He’s wearing plain black suit socks, but he poses his feet as if he’s modeling. “gorgeous, right?”

Everyone stares at his feet. “Isn’t that scandalous or something?” Sasha asks. “For monsters, I mean.”

“Not exactly,” Asriel says. “It depends on the context.”

“I don’t think anyone’s getting turned on by those,” Frisk notes dispassionately. “Now, if they were leopard print or something, that’d be scandalous.”

“You hear that? Stop going all gooey over his boring black socks,” Sasha says to her sister, elbowing her.

“I am not going all gooey," Reader says with a failed attempt at dignity. Sans grins as he swings his feet over to her lap. She gives them an affectionate pat. “Well, maybe a little gooey.”

“Did anyone dare one of us to jab out their own eyeballs with a hatpin? Because I’ll take that one,” Sasha says, reaching for the slips of paper.

“You already went,” Asriel reminds her. “My turn! Give me truth.”

Reader pulls out one of the slips of paper. “What is your most mortifying memory?”

Asriel and Frisk glance at each other. “Uhhh. Can I switch to dare?”

“That bad?” Reader asks. “I don’t mind if you switch, but…”

“Definitely switch,” Asriel says.

“Fine, then. ‘Impersonate someone in this room for 20 seconds.’”

Asriel looks at Sans, and Sans smacks his forehead. Asriel smacks his forehead, too. “don’t try to impersonate me, kiddo,” he says in a gruff voice. “ya really gotta BELIEVE nothing matters to get me right. you’re not jaded enough yet.” He shrugs, his hands out to the sides in a comically helpless pose.

“cripes,” Sans grumbles, wincing. But everyone else is laughing uproariously, even Reader.

“frisk, truth or dare? not that it matters,” Asriel continues.

“Dare,” Frisk answers, laughing.

Reader fishes out a piece of paper and reads it. “Perform the most advanced dance and/or gymnastic move you know.”

“Easy,” Frisk says. They launch themselves into a perfect cartwheel, hopping back to their feet and taking a bow to applause from the group.

“That was great!” Reader says, beaming. “Jerren, you’re up."

“Truth,” he says with a superior grin. “I seem to be the only one willing to tell it.”

Reader picks out another slip of paper and unfolds it. “Jerren, why are you a bitch?”

His grin turns to a scowl as the rest of the room laughs at him. “That’s not even a proper question,” he protests. “That’s just someone being a little troll.”

“So you’re not going to answer?"

“I’ll answer a real question,” he says with wounded dignity.

“All right, all right.” Reader picks out another one. “What’s the cringiest thing you’ve done in any timeline? I --“

But Jerren interrupts her before she can finish the question. “You would have loved the timeline where I was a fashion designer,” he says with relish. “I took it in my head that I needed to do something truly avant garde! I needed to shake up the world of New Ebott fashion and show them something no one had ever seen before! I was going to hang out with all the fashionistas and trendsetters, and they would all be amazed by me!” He sighs. “They fawned over my designs so much that I started to feel disdainful of them. I kept pushing the envelope, wondering how far I could go. I kept hoping someone would realize it was all a big joke on them, that all I was doing was shitting out ugly designs and they were acting like I was a genius. Finally, I recreated the Emperor’s New Clothes, just to see if I could really get away with it. I made a big show of tailoring a whole collection with this special new material I’d designed. The rarest, most refined fabric that only the most elite names in fashion could possibly appreciate properly. I sent out model after model on the runway, stark naked, as the biggest names in fashion oohed and aahed. Finally, I strode out onto the runway myself, clad in what I deemed my finest creation. I struck a pose as they applauded.” He jumps to his feet and mimics a model’s pose. "Then I mooned them and called them a pack of bloody idiots. It was hilarious.”

There’s silence.

“That does sound hilarious,” Reader says tentatively. “But that wasn’t the end of the question. ‘I give Chara use of a felt puppet to speak on Jerrens behalf because I know for a fact that he has no honesty left in his soul.’”

“No, no, we’re done, I answered the question," Jerren says irritably. "It's your turn.”

He tries to sit back down, but Chara's already there, looking smug. “Definitely when Ceridwen died,” they say.

Jerren’s expression is murderous. “Don’t you dare —"

“Not the first time. I think it was the sixth time, when you’d tried a bunch of different ways to save her. Do you remember that?”

Jerren tries to put his hand over Chara’s mouth, but it goes right through their face. Chara continues, unfazed. “He ran all through the hospital yelling, ‘I wish you all were dead! I’d kill you all myself if it’d save her! I’d kill you all with my bare hands!’”

“Enough!” Jerren yells. “Shut your goddamn mouth!”

“I realized he was running towards the maternity ward, and I was like, wow, you’re not really gonna do this, are you? But he opens the door and shouts “None of you little pieces of shit are EVER gonna be HALF the person she was! None of you PUT TOGETHER!”

Everyone in the room is cringing now, except Sans who’s grinning from ear hole to ear hole. “you were grieving so hard you cussed out a room full of babies?”

Jerren picks up the chair and slams it against the wall. The back and one of the legs cracks off, and it falls to the ground in a heap. Chara is still standing there, grinning insolently —

Reader picks out another slip of paper and unfolds it. “Jerren, why are you a bitch?”

His jaw seems tense, but he smooths it out into a smile. “Because I dare to do what most would never consider,” he answers with a faint air of superiority. “It’s no surprise I’m resented for that. But the best most people can do is fling pathetic, anonymous insults at me.”

“that’s seriously your answer?” Sans says sourly.

“Take it or leave it,” Jerren answers, still wearing that supercilious smile. “Your turn, my dear.”

“I’ll do truth, too,” Reader says, picking out a slip of paper. “’What’s the most intriguing thing about Sans? Body, personality, whatever.’ Hmmm…” She looks at Sans, putting her hand to her lips. “I’m always trying to figure him out. The scary, intense Sans is no more the true Sans than the laid-back, fun-loving Sans. Same for the Sans who knows everything, and the Sans who’s a complete mess. He’s changed a lot since I first knew him, and… I wonder how he’s going to end up.”

“He’s going to fail,” Jerren says shortly, getting to his feet. “It’s going to be embarrassing and painful, and in the end none of it will matter anyway. If you’ll excuse me…” He nods to the group, then makes a quick exit.

“I’ve got to get to work,” Frisk mumbles.

“Undyne’s probably looking for me,” Asriel says, just as unconvincingly.

“I said I’d help Myrdi do some filing,” Reader adds.

The three of them follow Jerren out the door, leaving Sans and Sasha.

Sasha turns to Sans with a gleam in her eye. “Boy, do I have some intel for you.”

[hymn-to-mercury]

✨🪐Astrology observations🪐✨

These observations are all based off my own personal experience and are mostly generic - don't take it to heart if you disagree <3

🪐 No one seems to fully understand how Aquarius Moons work, including Aquarius Moons themselves.

🪐 I love how heavy Mars influence shows up in people's physical appearance! I’ve always noticed that people with a lot of mars dominance in their chart have a big forehead and/or a widows peak, as well as rosy cheeks or a naturally reddish/pinkish undertone to their skin.

🪐 Undeveloped Virgo and Sagittarius placements absolutely do not give a fuck about your feelings. They can be extremely self centred I've noticed to almost a dangerous detriment.

🪐 A lot of people give Scorpio women the Mean Girl rep, but honestly I think that title should be lent to Virgo women too 😭 They tend to have this hangup about perfection, and I think when undeveloped it shows more as an aversion to anything 'weird' or against the status quo.

🪐 Cardinal Mars signs (that's Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn) reallyyyyy can't hide their dislike for things 😅 people, food, celebrities, whatever. If they don't announce it verbally then you can at least tell by their face lmao.

(I once had to put on my ~emergency socks~ when I was wearing heels on a night out, and every time someone came up to me to tell me how nice my outfit looked I would say thanks and then just not stop yapping about how the socks were not originally apart of the outfit 😭 I couldn't let people think I approved of socks and sandals alksjdgfsjdh)

🪐 Scorpio placements can dish it but can't take it. Cancer placements will sneakily dish it under the guise of a joke and then start crying if you try to dish it back.

🪐 People with Leo Moon tend to 'perform' their activism a lot. That's not to say that they don't practice what they preach, but I think when they do speak up their image has something to do with it

🪐 If you were born under a Mercury Retrograde it might feel like you were destined to be misunderstood no matter how well articulated you are 🙃 I don't think it's a problem with yourself as much as it is with the people you encounter through your life though. Your biggest 'ops' might be people who are very particular and specific about word choice - think Gemini and Virgo Placements (if you are a Gemini/Virgo yourself, this may manifest for you as harbouring some self-hatred or significant self-consciousness).

🪐 Pisces want very badly to be carefree, but a lot of the time they severely struggle getting over their need for outside validation. Being carefree is also a trait they might find attractive in other people.

[chocodile]

Initially came because I saw the hot shark man ridge. Stayed for the masterful story you’re making. I love

Thank you! Here's a bonus doodle of Ridge, as a treat.

[souperluminal]

Hello!! I'm a huge fan of your art and I thought I would ask about your colorwork, because it's genuinely super impressive to me how all your pieces have amazing palettes and they add so so so much to the general atmosphere. Do you have any process to pick colors for pieces? Like using picture references, gradient maps, etc or do you genuinely just eyeball them? I'm super curious :]

But yea I really love what you do and love seeing every new piece!! Have a nice day! Ty for reading <3

Thanks! I very much use references, though I don't use the color picker on them, gotta train the eye. I have an ever-expanding reference folder of photos and paintings with colors that I like so that when I start a new painting and I have an idea of the color scheme I want in mind, I'll already have some reference on hand. Good reference really makes a world of difference!

I also like to bias colors a little bit away from their standard versions:

The more blue green and the more yellow green are both more interesting to me than the "just green" green. Nothing wrong with that average green though, sometimes that's exactly what you need. It's always situational.

Lastly, a fantastic color tip for digital art specifically that I got from Mike Hernandez: Use the RGB sliders instead of the HSB color selection!

By default, Photoshop gives you the HSB (Hue, Saturation, Brightness) color picking setup which looks like this:

It's perfectly functional and has its uses, but it doesn't really feel like mixing color. On the other hand, if you use the RGB sliders:

Now you can add a little more blue if you think that's what the color needs, or you can take away red, add some green, etc. It gets you actually mixing color and thinking more about how the colors relate to each other. It can take some getting used to if you've only used the HSB setup before, but it's worth it!

[basketobread]

Happy birthday! Mine was on Monday

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤ And happy belated birthday to you!!! I hope you had a good one!! :) 🙏❤❤❤

[fighting-these-demons]

Divorce Saga Domon - A Haunted Honk Prequel

Hello Internet Stranger looking up G Gundam on Tumblr dot com!

This is an idea for a fic set in an Alternate Universe involving Queer Non-Canon Relationships between the characters of the series.

If you are not looking for this content please scroll on.

If you ARE looking for this content - and you're ok with reading my and other's Headcanons for this Alternate Universe I've haphazardly spun up -

Then go ahead and feel free to:

Check The Tags Of This Post For The Pairings

and click the Read More below!

--------------------------------------

Ended up outlining a completely different fic as a Segway for an explanation instead of making progress on the Royal Flush Haunted Honk AU's Clown Motel Fic like I wanted to but uh....

For y'all's review for the AU: A Prequel Outline - Divorce Saga Domon

--------------------------------------

Hey real quick - I'm thinking of maybe changing the timeline to 2 years post canon as opposed to 3 years and change post canon.

The reason being: I had a thought that this scene could either be part if the fic or if it's getting to big then it could be a stand alone tie-in prequel fic as part of this AU but - like

Immediately Post Divorce Domon Needs Space and runs off. As one does. And he runs to Earth because he just wants to Get Lost for a while.

He has Argo smuggle him out to avoid detection.

Argo has Andrew help stow Domon in a storage hanger of a Neo Canadian supply ship that's returning to the US - they have trade often enough and share agricultural resources - which leads to Domon ending up in New York when he hits Earthside pavement.

He's privately worked on his English the last couple of months and after being dropped in New York with a different hairstyle, outfit, and accent he's unrecognizable. 

He considers making his way west to get some solitude in the wilderness, but something about that initial plan feels off now that he's on the ground.

Chibodee is also Earthside for a special series of prize fights aimed at raising charitable appeal for the US in the eyes of Neo Americans.

Domon decides to hit up Chibodee for a fight on a day between matches hoping it'll clear his head and give him the clarity to decide on a course of action. What ends up happening is an unexpected heart to heart via blows and a breakdown.

Domon is happy for Rain and Kyoji, and he knows it's not true; but he feels like he lost a piece of himself when his relationship with Rain fell apart.

Domon's instinct is to run after that but Chibodee knows this city and Domon doesn't hide out for long before Chibodee drags him back to his place to stay and just "Chill out and breathe. You don't have to be anyone but yourself here. You can take as long as you need to find out what everything changing means for you." Friends and teammates stick together.

So Domon spends a few weeks with Chibodee sparring and hanging out in New York. Chibodee does a frankly awesome job at containing his feelings because he's focusing on Domons feelings and being a good friend first and foremost. Whatever he's feeling can wait until after Domon is done going though it.

There's a bit of a twinge in Domon's heart as he leaves that he can't really place.

After he returns to Neo Japan and gets settled back into life with his family, The Dreams start.

They're mainly set in New York. Small things first like noticing Chibodee's smile and his eyes. Then sparring sessions that begin to turn lurid.

He thought these kinds of dreams would stop after he was married.... he doesn't know what to do about this.

I just figure it gives more clarity and sense of time for the journey from Comphet Marriage Dissolution to Feelings to Confession. Idk.

But I got stuck on a bit and then had this thought and needed to get it down before I lost it and it was so long it made sense to make it its own post as opposed to several replies.

The Maize and Clown Motel will probably still be 3 years and change post canon for clarification.

@thedragonchilde @amplexadversary @youreaclownnow

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

What was the moment/scene that officially cemented you as a Sontails shipper? Or was it multiple?

Ah good question!

So if you've seen my sontails/sonine posting you've probably heard the story of me getting into sontails (no worries if you haven't)

Just to summarize, my journey started with Sonine and Movie!Sontails. The Grim scene in S1 E6 of Prime and the entire bar scene in Movie 2 just blasted me with second hand embarrassment (the good kind) that (despite me being eh about shipping them at that time) made be seriously go "Okay if just brothers why are these scenes directed this way". Sonic's feelings aside, I felt I knew in those moments that Nine and movie!Tails had possibly been written to have a subtextual crush on Sonic, and strong feelings in general. This was...my gateway.

But an "officially cemented" moment is a bit hard for me to specifically narrow down. I can tell you that by the time I'd been checking the Sonine tag after starting S2 of Prime and finished S2 I had to come to terms with the fact that I genuinely saw something there between the two of them (and was feeling frustrated that no one else was seemingly seeing it). At that point I'd settled as "I like Sonine but that doesn't mean I have to like all of Sontails".

Then I rewatched movie 2 a couple times and had to (similarly) come to terms with the fact that I was genuinely frustrated to not really see other people commenting on what I'd seen as potential subtext regarding Movie!Tails' feelings and that I liked this version as well.

So my gateway into Sontails was Prime and Sonic Movie 2, but accepting I liked most versions of Sontails/Sontails in general and not just a few specific versions was a bit of a slow journey. All I can say is that by the time I finished playing Colors Ultimate and got well into the Archie comics I knew I enjoyed Sontails just as much as I had come to enjoy Sonine, and was equally as obsessed with the dynamics.

[entriprises]

Romeo Dixon on becoming an American rock sensation: ‘I spend a lot of time in my room’

He’s 25, calls his mom every Monday, and is the drummer and manager to one of the hottest bands out there, Heart Attack. 

It’s a Saturday morning, the sun’s been out no more than an hour, and Romeo Dixon holds out to me his backpack to hold while he tries his hardest to unlock the back doors of Heart Attack’s recording studio. It’s not actually theirs, he’s sure to make known. It’s just the space they’re using, thanks to the the band’s current recording label that found it for them. They get to keep their gear there sometimes, like now, when they’re working on a lot of music and need the collaborative space. He asked permission for access to the studio today he tells me. He wanted to be able to share where so much of the work is done. The studio is open 24 hours a day, usually, and Dixon is lucky that it is. The key’s not working. He apologizes twice before stepping off to make a phone call for someone to open the doors for us. When the doors open, he greets Joe, a recording engineer who looks like he’s been awake longer than either of us and is ready to go home. Dixon introduces Joe as “the guy who makes a lot of stuff happen around the studio” and then talks about how they had met when Heart Attack first moved in to work on recording there. Joe doesn’t stick around, he can’t, he tells us before rushing back to where he’d been working and disappearing from the halls of the recording studio. Even though he’s gone, Dixon has nothing but praise for Joe and the skills he brings to mixing and producing, continuing on about him. Joe hasn’t worked on any Heart Attack songs directly, but it’s less about what he’s done for Heart Attack at the sound stations and more so about how “it’s been an incredible learning opportunity to just be able to sit down with him and listen to him talk about what he does and the magic of it.”

Just walking through the halls, en route to Heart Attack’s dedicated space, it’s clear that the studio has an effect on Dixon. He’s more awake, energetic, and constantly trying to point out something on the walls that are covered from floor to ceiling in photographs, news clippings, and poster. His nervousness has been left behind at the doors and now he is full of endearment and gratitude towards everyone and everything around him. It’s almost surprising when he starts telling me about how he doesn’t often do interviews, and even more rarely individual profiles like this one. But he’s right. Most media coverage for Heart Attack has focused on the band as a whole or its stage dominating members. He doesn’t mind that he says, the others are better at it according to him. 

Today is new for him, and he’s agreed to it for a reason that is all but clear from the way he lights up at each and every thing he shows me. Heart Attack is everything to Dixon, and while it’s a profile on him, he is intent on making sure I don’t miss a word that he has to share about the band, its members, and it’s growth over the years through his jumpy and somewhat frantic monologues. Just when he’s about to tell me about a photo on the wall of a smaller indie band, he’s distracted by the sight of a recording session in progress. He then follows it up by asking me questions, and lots of them, and as time goes on it’s not entirely certain who is interviewing who. Through all of his frenzy, I get a genuine look into who he is unobstructed by flashing lights and the cheering of fans. Romeo Dixon is just a guy that cares.

Dixon has been a musician since as long as he can remember, although he says he wouldn’t call himself that when he first started playing the piano at age four. In his own words, he thinks he “was much more of a noise maker than anything else. There wasn’t talent there, just a whole lot of key smashing.” He comes from an art inclined family, with his parents running their own theatre company for Shakespeare plays and more recently original works. He denies acting much, although not out of any stage fright that one might assume. The stage itself was never something frightening to him. It still isn’t, Dixon says, although he thinks it’s because he tends to be further back than front man Jesse ‘Mac’ McCoy or bassist Jessie Wilson. There’s some comfort in where he’s located. It allows him the best view of every show, and to continue experiencing the atmosphere of a live performance and the way people are brought together in the process. It’s a love that began when he was working alongside his parents as a kid. 

By now we’ve moved on from the hallway, and are situated in the center Heart Attack’s space. In every direction there is so much character and life to the waiting and still instruments. It’s clear everything is well loved, and although it’s missing the rest of its band, the room is no less full of character. Dixon shows me all the instruments they have in the studio. Each piece is more coated in stickers than the last, and he can’t resist playing a few keys or strumming a small tune on each one. 

I ask him if there’s any instrument that he doesn’t play, a favorite that has perhaps evaded his skill set. 

He’s surprised at first by the question, a little lost how to answer, explaining first that, “you sort of pick up a ton of stuff when you’re making bands and producing your own stuff and that all sort of feeds into our sound too.” When it comes to favorites, “If I’ve got one it’s probably in the band. I’m no guitarist like the others but I play,” he says, modestly, as if he hadn’t just played the intro to one of their songs for me moments ago. 

“I guess… I guess sax?” Dixon goes on to say. “I’ve never tried those types on instruments, the horns and the woodwinds and… I’ve never tried those. I’d like to for sure. We had a sax player join us for a bit when we were working on our recent stuff which was incredible. It was a whole new sound and… I don’t think I’m supposed to be talking about that actually. Forget that I said that. Or… no you can include it. We have a sax on a couple songs in this album. You can write that, just promise you’ll go listen to the album when it actually comes out. That’s all I’ll say. You gotta listen to it. It’s really awesome.” I promise him that I will.

Arriving at his drum set, he has an overflowing basket of drumsticks by its side. There’s so many, and they all vary in color, size, and age. When he sees me staring, he’s already ready to jump into an explaination about all of them. The brand he has the most is Vic Firth, a very popular brand amongst drummers of all levels, and they’re also the sticks he tends to prefer. 

Amongst the pile, there’s a standout pair: custom Heart Attack sticks. 

“They’re a gift,” Dixon explains. “Most of my sticks are, but these are probably the best gift I’ve ever gotten, and they were from Jessie. They got me these right around when they joined the band too so it was just an incredibly thoughtful gift from her.”

“So are sticks the perfect birthday gift for you?” I ask. He laughs at that, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I feel like I have enough sticks.” Looking at his basket, I’d have to agree. “I feel like birthday gifts are always a from the heart, from the other person sort of thing. it’s not something you ask for does that make sense? so picking a perfect gift is… What I need is a better car, but I’d never ask anyone for that. That’s a crazy expensive birthday gift.”

We finally finish up the tour of the space, although tour is a generous word. They may as well constantly be performing a tiny desk concert with the incredibly limited size of the space. They make the most of it, according to Dixon, and they have no complaints for now. In this city, and on their budget, they’ll take anything they can get. 

I join him as he sits on the floor, although he offers me a chair and just about everything else first. The floor is a comfier than expected seat, and sitting at his level I can get a peak into what long hours must be like in this exact spot. Staring up at the ceiling, I start to ask him about the band, and what the process tends to be for all their music making.

“I don’t know what it’s like for everyone else on their own, we’ve talked about it over the years but the process has changed a lot for me at least that I imagine it has a bit for the others,” Dixon begins to tell me. “That and songwriting on our own is just so private, y’know? It’s something we all have a very specific ritual for and then when we feel like something could go somewhere, that’s when we come together.” 

“I think when some of us were first getting into it we relied a lot on the word and advice of artists we liked, which is cool and worked to some extent, but as Heart Attack it’s something we had to figure out as a band.” 

Most of Heart Attack’s members, current and past, lack a formal background in music, and they’ve previously credited a lot of their growth to each other, online resources, and trial and error. 

“Sometimes we all just sit around a room, mostly this room, with our gear and it’s just about working in the same space as each other. We do that a fair bit because we like to bounce stuff off of each other. When we’re together, one of us sort of throws something out there and we sorta build on it, play around a lot with it and see where we can take it and then the song probably goes through fifty different changes in that process. It’s not even really a song yet, just something we’re all messing with.”

He asks me then what I like to listen to, or if I’ve gotten into any new music lately. I tell him about a couple artists, and he takes all the suggestions quite seriously, writing them down in his phone. 

“A big part of making music is also discovering music. We do a lot of listening to other artists and genres and we’ll share a lot of recommendations and playlists with one another. It’s how we grow and figure out what we like and don’t like and also what we could be doing.”

On the subject of learning and advice, we start getting into Heart Attack’s influences. While Dixon has a lot of personal heroes, when it comes to music and the band, he says it’s mostly rock and roll. 

“Mac and I are big fans of The Who, The Kinks, Ramones, U2. Crash likes a lot of stuff, they’re pretty all over the place. Jessie brings a lot more alt to it and I mean she’s really contributed the most to our sound lately. The influence list is sort of endless now.”

As to how it’s changed them, Dixon says, “the indie rock scene has been becoming a bigger and bigger thing in the last decade and it’s taken on a somewhat new meaning. you hear the words indie rock and there’s a certain idea or sound that comes to mind. That has taken a big toll on all of us as musicians. In a good way. The indie genre is changing, we’re changing. We’re going to keep changing and that’s okay.”

“Is your songwriting process different from what you do as a group?”

“That’s different. Yeah. That’s pretty different. On my own is hard to explain, like I said before, it’s really personal and specific. I record everything, all the time. That’s a very big part of it and it’s a little slow sometimes too.” He’s comfortable writing anywhere, especially in the studio, but what he needs most is silence. “Is that weird?” 

“I think it makes sense.” 

“And it’s still fun, it’s just not the same kind of fun as when we do it together. It’s a more individual personal fun when I write alone. I’m never miserable when I write. I don’t really write from that place, it’s not what our music is about usually.”

In the last year, anticipation has grown for the soon to be released Heart Attack album, and its fanbase has tripled. With the quick rise on the eve of the band’s album, I ask him how the fame specifically has changed things for the band, and for himself.

“We’re busier. I’m busier. It’s all very busy,” he admits. 

“Touring and playing live is great. It’s really unlike any other experience, and I’m incredibly thankful that we have been doing it so much. It sort of changes the songs to do them live, it gives them a lot more depth and meaning and getting to see the love people have for them has us all pretty breathless by the end of the night.” There’s an obvious but coming despite his enthusiasm. He doesn’t want me to misinterpret the love and dedication he has to the fans. I assure him it’s certainly not lost on me, and only then does he nod and give me what’s clearly the second half of his answer.

“But there’s a lot of recovery we all have to do. The people are great, we all get along great, but we do all need our time after the shows and the recording sessions to just get back to ourselves and our lives. Jessie has some of their own stuff going on and Crash too, some of us are still working other jobs and there’s always family stuff going on and any number of personal things. So there’s that part of it.” He sighs, settling in. It’s off his chest now. 

“I spend a lot of time in my room. I like to call my mom pretty frequently, we just talk all that stuff through. She gets it, cause she’s been there a little bit with the theater stuff and touring.” Since the band came together, Dixon’s spearheaded all their managerial responsibilities. It’s clear from the way he talks about the band and their future that although it’s taken a toll, he’s far from burning out. He just needs his alone time like anybody else. “It helps that I have good people, I have really good people in my life who listen, and also they don’t let me stay in my room forever. They drag me out to be a real person.”

“That’s important,” I tell him.

Dixon agrees.

Heart Attack’s third album comes out in August. 

[covenofthearticulate]

I found a pair of leather pants that fits like a glove for 70% off on clearance, my vampire bat wing halter top came in, AND I wrote 2k words of fic this weekend. I'm unstoppable. I'm more powerful than god. You bitches can't handle me.