#thanks to everyone who sent in questions!

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 7

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , -

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky’s gut had been gnawing at him for weeks, a familiar, nagging feeling whenever Ian was around. Something about the man didn’t sit right, and Bucky couldn’t shake the sense that he’d seen this behavior before. His instincts kicked in, and he ordered someone to dig deeper into Ian’s past.

The brown envelope arrived the next day. Bucky sat at his desk, his eyes narrowing as he tore it open. Inside were the results of the investigation—pages that painted a much darker picture than he’d anticipated. As he skimmed the documents, his jaw clenched, and a low curse escaped his lips, “Shit.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next day, you and Bucky arrived at a shelter for single mothers, a stop on the campaign trail. The women inside had experienced hardships most people couldn’t imagine, fleeing from abusive partners and trying to rebuild their lives. Their stories of survival hung in the air, unspoken but palpable in their tired eyes and wary smiles.

You moved through the room, serving food and making small talk with the women, trying your best to offer some comfort. As you handed a plate to one woman, you said softly, “I understand what kind of psychological torment you’ve been through. I hope you stay strong.”

The moment the words left your mouth, what you’d meant as a word of encouragement didn’t land the way you’d hoped.

Later that night, a video of the conversation went viral. It was clear someone had recorded the interaction and released it online. Bucky knew this had to be the work of his opponents, seizing the opportunity to discredit you—and by extension, him.

You watched the video, feeling a pit form in your stomach as the comments poured in:

"Stay strong? She doesn’t seem like someone who’s ever been through what we have."

"She wouldn’t understand. She lives in a happy home. How could she possibly know what it’s like to run from someone who’s supposed to love you?"

Their words cut deep, slicing through your carefully constructed image. They didn’t know the truth—that your marriage to Bucky was its own kind of prison. Pretending to be the perfect wife had taken a toll on you, but no one saw behind the curtain.

You froze, feeling exposed, as if they’d somehow sensed the cracks in your façade. You had become so good at lying, at convincing the world that you and Bucky were happy, that now, faced with these women who had lived through real pain, you felt like a fraud.

Furthermore, you wanted to tell them that you understood, that you too had felt trapped and powerless. But the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you smiled for the cameras, playing your part, knowing that your life was being documented as an example of “happiness.”

Then your eyes landed on a comment that sent you reeling:

"If they’re so happy, wouldn’t they have a kid by now?"

The question hung in the air, mocking you. They didn’t know the truth—how could they? And yet, their words seemed to pierce through the mask you’d been wearing for so long.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The silence between you and Bucky was heavy, almost suffocating. You hadn’t said much since the shelter incident, and Bucky could sense your stress in the way you barely touched your food or drank any water. You sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the untouched plate in front of you.

Bucky watched you for a moment before stepping closer, his brow furrowing with concern. He gently touched your forehead, his fingers warm against your skin.

“You have a fever,” he said, his voice low with worry.

You immediately pulled away from his hand, your body instinctively recoiling. Your stress had a way of manifesting physically, and whenever you were overwhelmed, your body shut down. This was no different.

“Don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice hollow.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew this would happen, knew how your body responded when you were pushed too far. Without a word, he slipped his arm around you, supporting you as he guided you toward your room. You didn’t resist, too tired to fight.

“Just leave,” you said once you reached your room, your voice barely above a whisper.

But Bucky ignored your words. He sat you down on the edge of the bed, gently lifting your feet into his lap. You stiffened in surprise as his hands began to massage your aching feet. The familiarity of the gesture caught you off guard—he used to do this all the time when you were together, especially on nights when you came home exhausted, too tired to even think.

Your face grew warmer, though not just because of the fever. The tension between the two of you was palpable, a mix of unresolved emotions and unspoken words hanging in the air. Bucky’s touch, once comforting, now felt like it held the weight of all the things left unsaid.

“I’ll bring the medicine,” he said after a few moments, his voice softer now.

You didn’t respond, too lost in the swirl of emotions flooding your mind. The way his hands moved, the care in his touch—it was all too familiar. It made your chest tighten with memories of when things weren’t this complicated.

As Bucky stood to leave, you finally spoke, your voice quiet and raw. “Why are you doing this?”

He paused, turning back to face you. “Because I care. I always do” His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it was as if the walls you’d built between you both cracked, if only just a little.

You didn’t respond, not knowing what to say. You could feel your eyelids growing heavy as the exhaustion of the day and the fever pulled at you. Bucky noticed, his eyes softening. Without another word, he pulled the blanket over you and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

You lay there, your mind racing despite your body’s exhaustion. His touch, his words, they lingered long after he’d gone. You hated that he still had this effect on you. And yet, deep down, there was a part of you that wanted to believe him, wanted to let your guard down. But after everything, how could you?

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You woke up, feeling the weight of exhaustion still clinging to your limbs, but something was different. The fever that had clouded your mind the night before was gone, leaving you with a sense of relief. Slowly, you sat up, glancing around the room. Bucky wasn’t here. It was the first time you’d been alone in the apartment since arriving.

The quietness felt strange, almost eerie. For a moment, you simply sat there, trying to shake the grogginess from your mind. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to explore the space. The apartment was large, meticulously designed, but there was a personal touch to it that reflected both of you. You wandered through the rooms until you stopped at his office.

The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open. His office was a mess—papers and law books were scattered across the desk and shelves, as if he’d been too busy to organize anything. But something caught your eye, an area that was surprisingly tidy amidst the chaos: his vinyl collection. It was neatly arranged, displayed with care, each record in perfect order.

Bucky loved collecting vinyls. You remembered that about him. As you approached the collection, your eyes scanned the spines of the records. Most of them were from artists both of you used to listen to. Your fingers grazed over the albums, a nostalgic pang in your chest.

Then, something unusual caught your attention. Tucked between the vinyl sleeves was a piece of paper, slightly worn. Frowning, you pulled it out and realized it wasn’t just any paper—it was a letter.

You stared at the handwriting, your heart skipping a beat. It was Bucky’s handwriting. Slowly, your eyes widened as recognition dawned on you. It was a letter he never sent. A letter to you.

Your pulse quickened as a rush of emotions hit you. Should you open it? Guilt twisted in your stomach, but then that familiar voice—the devil on your shoulder—spoke louder. He wrote this for you. He never sent it, but it’s yours.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you quickly hid the letter under your shirt, glancing around the office as if someone might walk in at any moment. Your heart raced as you hurried back to your room, the letter burning against your skin like a secret you weren’t supposed to know.

Once in the safety of your room, you sat on the bed, staring at the letter in your hands. The room felt smaller, your breaths shallow. Was this right? Should you be reading this? But you couldn’t stop yourself.

With trembling fingers, you opened the first letter.

It was short, written in Bucky’s familiar scrawl.

"I’m sorry. I know everything we went through must have been painful for you, more than I ever realized at the time. We were close, but we never truly communicated. I knew you were hurting, and I did nothing to stop it. That’s my fault. I’m the one to blame.

One day, if we ever meet again, I hope you’ll give me another chance. You deserve happiness, and I wish you the best of luck in finding it, even if it’s not with me."

You blinked, feeling a lump form in your throat. You hadn’t expected this. An apology. Words you thought you’d never hear—or read—from him. Your hands shook as you carefully unfolded another letter.

"I read your article. It’s really good. I always knew you’d make a great writer. You’ve always had a way with words. I’m proud of you. I hope you have a safe journey."

The words blurred for a moment as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You never knew he was following your work, that he cared enough to read what you wrote. It felt like a secret window into a part of him you thought had closed off to you long ago.

With a deep breath, you opened the final letter, bracing yourself.

"I’m worried about you. Going to a war zone as a journalist—it’s dangerous, and I can’t stop thinking about it. Please be careful. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. I pray every day that you’re safe."

Your chest tightened as you finished reading, the rawness of his words washing over you. Bucky had been worried about you all this time. His concern, his pride—it was all there, hidden in these letters you were never supposed to find. And yet, here you were, holding the pieces of his heart in your hands.

It was overwhelming. You didn’t know how to feel—angry, confused, touched. All you knew was that the walls you had built to protect yourself were starting to crack, and you weren’t sure if you could put them back together.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You and Bucky met Greg again to prepare before heading to the TV station for the debate. Greg, always thinking ahead, was pacing as he went over the final details. His sharp gaze darted between you and Bucky, trying to ensure everything would go smoothly.

As the minutes ticked by, Greg suddenly paused, his face lighting up with an idea. "Perhaps," he suggested, "before Bucky heads out for the debate, you could give him a peck on the cheek. You know, for the cameras. A little show of affection can go a long way."

You hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, your expression neutral. "Okay," you agreed simply. The decision seemed easy enough—just a small gesture for the public eye. However, from the corner of your eye, you noticed Bucky’s brow arch slightly, a glint of surprise crossing his features.

Bucky glanced at you, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "How about a kiss on the lips instead?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your exasperation. "Shut up," you muttered, though the warmth of the moment lingered between you. Bucky chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the brief banter as Greg scribbled down notes, already planning how to work this into the media strategy.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The day of the debate finally arrived. The room buzzed with tension as cameras were positioned, reporters whispered amongst themselves, and the stage was set. You stood backstage with Bucky, watching as the other candidates made their entrances. Edgar, running for president, was calm and composed, the very image of a seasoned politician.

Then there was Brock, another candidate for vice president—and Bucky’s long-time rival. The two had been at odds for years, their competition fierce and personal. The air between them crackled with animosity as they took their places.

As the debate began, the moderators threw sharp, pointed questions at the candidates, each probing their policies and character. Bucky was in his element, answering each question with practiced ease. His words were clear, his tone confident, and his delivery flawless. Every question thrown at him was met with a precise, well-thought-out response.

Moderator: "Mr. Barnes, what would be your first priority in office?"

Bucky: "My first priority is to address healthcare. Ensuring affordable and accessible healthcare is the cornerstone of a strong nation. We must invest in preventive care and make it easier for families to access the support they need."

The audience nodded in agreement, and even the other candidates seemed to respect his answer. Brock, however, was struggling. Every time he tried to match Bucky’s eloquence, he stumbled, his frustration mounting with each failed attempt to make a point.

Moderator: "Mr. Rumlow, what is your stance on education reform?"

Brock: "Well, uh, we need to… to invest in schools, yes, but we can’t just throw money at the problem. We need accountability, and we need… um, better results."

His answer lacked the conviction and clarity that Bucky’s did, and you could see the frustration in Brock’s face as the debate went on.

The tension between the two men simmered, especially as Bucky continued to outshine him with every answer. But just when it seemed like Bucky had the upper hand, Brock saw an opening—and took it.

At the height of the debate, Brock's voice cut through the air, sharp and malicious. "You talk a lot about honesty and integrity, Barnes. But what about your brother? Didn’t he hit someone and never face any punishment?"

The room fell silent, a heavy, uncomfortable stillness filling the space. From your spot backstage, you could feel the tension roll off Bucky in waves. His muscles tensed beside you, his jaw clenched tight. This was his darkest family secret, one he’d hoped to keep buried. But now, here it was, dragged into the spotlight in front of a national audience.

Bucky’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his eyes narrowing as he shot Brock a cold, hard glare. For a moment, it looked like Bucky might lose his composure. The silence stretched on, the entire room holding its breath, waiting for his response.

But then, with a deep breath, Bucky straightened, his voice steady but laced with restrained anger. "My brother's actions were reprehensible, and there is no excuse for them. But unlike my opponent, I believe in accountability—and my family has taken steps to address that privately. This debate is about the future of this country, not digging up personal attacks to avoid talking about real issues."

The room shifted as Bucky’s calm yet pointed response cut through the tension. Brock, visibly thrown by how easily Bucky had deflected his attack, fumbled for his next words, but the damage had been done. Bucky had taken control once again, leaving Brock at a loss.

Backstage, you watched the scene unfold, a mixture of relief and pride swelling within you. Bucky had handled the moment with grace.

But you knew you couldn’t rest. With Shawn’s dark secret now exposed, it meant that your marriage to Bucky could be the next scandal to surface.

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[lovelookspretty]

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: sweet baby boy drew whos willing to help u, nothing else rly

tropes: second chance, fake dating, one bed, forced proximity

authors note: i wanted to give it a sort of “the proposal” / “anyone but you” type of feel !! this is obviously going to be a series so let me know if u want to be added to the tag list from now on so u dont miss an update ! <3

your body freezes in place when you’re asked about the wedding. crap, you forgot. but it isn’t like you received any invite.

“theo sent you an invite through the mail. you got it right?” your friend, leila, asks you. leila and her fiancé theo have been your friends for years now, ever since you met leila during a movie priemere and shared respect on each other's careers. she’s been your closest friend, so theo naturally had to come along too.

“what? yeah,” you lie right through your teeth, and guilt punches you in the face when you stare right into her bright eyes. you raise the cup of coffee. “was literally jumping for joy when i got it.”

leila sighs in relief. “thank god we got the right address,” she says and you question what she means by that before she continues, “we didn’t know whether to send it to your apartment or drew’s.”

your breath is caught and you pause before your drink reaches your lips.

“drew,” you repeat, and she nods.

“yeah, but we figured you’ll both see it either way so, sent it to his place ‘cause theo said it was closer,” leila says, and you raise your eyebrows in amusement. “but anyway! before the wedding, i wanted to stay with our inner circle so if it’s possible for a little two-week vacation? the venue is close to my mom and her boyfriend’s house so we’d just be staying there. i would’ve picked after the wedding if theo didn’t already have the honeymoon planned. he’s too excited.”

“wait, two weeks?” you inquire, “who’s coming?”

she shrugs, “you and drew, libby, gia . . .” she trails off as she thinks about it, and you swallow as you set your cup down. “i forgot who else. i know it’s one of theo’s coworkers but i forgot who. let me text him actually.”

your face lights up at the opportunity to get away, and you nod. “i need to call drew actually,” you say, and she smiles and nods as you stand from your seat and make your way to her living room. “need to remind him to take the . . . fish . . . out.”

“fish?”

“we’re having fish tonight, yeah.”

you turn away to scroll through your contacts until you find his, then click on it. you settle down on the couch as you wait anxiously for him to pick up, and just hope that he does.

just before the call goes to voicemail, the line clears. “yeah?”

“you are such a—!” you hiss quietly, careful not to let leila hear you. “why didn’t you tell me leila and theo sent you a wedding invite for us?”

“i literally just checked my mail, alright? i would’ve said something about it as soon as i saw it,” he tells you. “i just flew in two days ago, y/n. i’m at the . . . i’m not at my apartment right now but my mail’s all on my counter. i’ll look for it once i’m home and then send you pictures of it, okay?”

you know that your situation with drew is slightly complicated. you were together for five years before ending things just a year ago.

because of your careers, you aren’t surprised that people assume you’re still dating. even close friends like leila and theo. everything was kept private. a year into the relationship was when fans even found out about you two.

you both have been looking for a time to address the breakup, to friends first for sure, but with your conflicting schedules, the time’s just never come up, and sending a “by the way, we broke up” text to an imessage groupchat wasn’t totally ideal.

even with the wedding coming up, having to be around everyone while you celebrate your closest friends, how are you either of you supposed to bring it up now?

“okay,” you tell him. “just text me when you’re free. any time before 10, please.”

“okay,” drew’s voice is soft and understanding. the line goes dead and you pull your phone away from your ear, seeing that he’s hung up.

your expected text comes around 8pm. drew’s sent you four different attachments. all are photos of the elaborate and detailed wedding invitation. the designs must’ve been leila’s idea.

you’re surprised to see an incoming call on your laptop right after. you hover over the accept button, then click on it.

his face fills a rectangle of your screen. he’s on his phone—“do you see it?”

“yeah wait,” you mumble, clicking out of the facetime to open your messages with him, then click the first photo. “leila and theo; rsvp by september twenty-seventh.”

“the letter’s addressed to my place but they put our names on the envelope,” drew tells you, and it looks like he’s ruffling through something before he flips his camera to display his counter. on it is the envelope in question, which is addressed to his apartment, but for y/n and drew, it says.

you hum. “are you going?” you ask him.

“of course i’m going. what do you mean?”

you shake your head, “nothing.”

drew only knows of leila or theo because of you, because leila works with you. maybe he’s made friends with theo but it’s not something you’ve personally seen, so you’re just assuming that maybe since you’ve broken up, there’s no reason for him to go? especially when he’s filming soon?

you stare down at your keyboard as you speak again, “leila wants us to come on a two-week pre-stay with her and theo. and others.”

there’s a brief pause from drew, like he doesn’t understand.

you sense it immediately and continue. “like, before the wedding, she told me today about how her mom has his house she wants us to stay in, just a few of us for two weeks, then they have her wedding— i don’t know, i need to ask her more about it. i think she just wants to fly everyone out and spend more time with us before she’s on honeymoon and living the wife life.”

“could be fun,” drew says. “i mean, i can’t even remember the last time i was out with theo or leila. it might be good for us.”

you furrow your eyebrows at him through the screen, and you try to read him to see if he’s joking. “there is no more ‘us’, remember? and by the way, neither leila or theo or anybody else knows that.”

drew hesitates as if he’s trying to justify your situation.

you rub your eye before resting the side of your head against your fist, “they addressed the invitation to both of us, drew. i feel like we should at least tell them the truth so that when we get there, they know.”

drew hesitates, his eyes moving around as if searching for the right words. “yeah, i know. it’s just . . . complicated.”

“complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you say, feeling frustration build up. “it just feels dishonest. they think we’re still together, and if they find out at the wedding, it’ll look like we’re hiding things.”

“we are hiding things,” he reminds you. “we’ve been avoiding the topic. do you really want to drop this bomb on them right before their wedding?”

you go silent as you think about it, because if telling them isn’t a good option then . . .

“what if we just kept up the appearance that we’re still together?” drew suggests. it draws your attention as you look up at your laptop. “for the wedding and the pre.”

you blink, taken aback. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” drew continues, “what if we act like we’re still together while we’re there? it might make things easier for everyone. seeing us apart will just create tension. people will feel like they’ll need to walk on eggshells around us.”

you give him a skeptical look. “acting like a couple isn’t the same as actually being one. i’m not sure i can just pull it off without it feeling fake.”

“we’re not faking,” drew says gently. “we’re just playing a part for a bit. we’re professionals. it’s literally our job. we can do this for a few days.”

you pause, considering his words. “but what if it just makes things worse? what if pretending just complicates everything?”

drew’s expression softens, and he speaks more earnestly. “look, we’ve been in tough spots before. there’s been so many times on set with you and i before that we’ve had to navigate headfirst. this is no different. think of it as a role we have to play for a short time. it doesn’t change what’s real.”

you sit back, processing his suggestion. “so we fake it for now and deal with the truth later?”

he hums. “it’s not ideal, but it could save a lot of awkwardness and stress. we can be civil and supportive for their sake, and then handle everything after.”

you let out a long sigh, feeling the weight of the decision. “it just feels like a lot of work to keep up a pretense. but i guess if we’re going to do this, we need to at least figure out how to make it believable.”

“we’ll figure it out,” drew says, his voice a little more hopeful. “it’s not about being perfect. it’s just about getting through the weeks without making things worse.”

you nod slowly, still feeling uneasy but recognizing the practicality of his idea. “okay. pretend for leila and theo, and then deal with the fallout afterwards.”

there’s a faint smile on his face as he nods at you. “just two weeks, remember? we can do that,” he says. “i’m gonna head to bed. i’ll talk to you tomorrow about it, alright?”

“okay,” you murmur, and drew hangs up on you.

the facetime window closes and displays your last app that’s been open, your messages. you’re face-to-face with the photos of the invitations once more, and a part of you is overwhelmed with emotions—fear, excitement, guilt.

two weeks. that’s all it is. just two weeks with your ex-boyfriend. you can survive that . . .

right?

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. 2 - Domination

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: LaCroix briefs Vincent on the new world he has just entered into, with the expectation that he will be an obedient ghoul. But Vincent is still struggling to gain the upper hand.

Author's Note: I made myself sad writing this - I want Sebastian to turn from Whumper to Caretaker already!

TW: mind control, emotional manipulation, strangulation, kidnapping

It was not LaCroix’s habit to keep his subordinates close to him. If it was wise to keep enemies close, then it was wiser to keep envious inferiors at such a distance that they had no opportunity to become enemies. Ghouls ought to have no knowledge of their master’s weaknesses, and no importance as anything other than pawns. They ought to view him as a solitary, impenetrable figure, above even their understanding. But Vincent Bisset de Gramont proved himself an enemy from the start, and therefore, an exception.

LaCroix repeated that name in his head and smiled, rolling it and playing with it, along with the bullet in his palm which he had decided to keep as a souvenir. Vincent had become so incensed when LaCroix refused to use his title that he determined on the spot never to use it again. The man had to be taught a lesson. “You are no Marquis any longer, let alone an ‘Autem Imperator,’ Vincent. Those titles have no meaning here. You will learn new titles. ‘Prince.’ ‘Regnant.’ ‘Domitor.’ And they will belong to me, not to you - as do all things where we’re going. Know your place.” He leaned back into the quilted suede of his seat, letting starlight and the dimmed glow of the cabin play across his features to what he hoped was a mysterious and intimidating effect.

“Your hubris knows no bounds, Prince,” Vincent spat back, clutching the arms of his seat as if his wrists were lashed to them. “They’re looking for me even now. Do you think you can walk into a High Table duel and make off with the highest ranking –“

“No one is looking for you, because no one knows you’re missing. Everyone who saw me believes they saw a kindly priest who said his respects over your body before helping that fellow – The Harbinger, I believe you call him – lay you to rest in a casket for your mortician to carry away. Tomorrow, that empty casket will be buried.”

A flash of panic before his pretty green eyes lit up again. “The mortician will – “

“The mortician wasn’t your man. He was mine. I sent a local friend to take his place, and to oversee the proceedings. You’re as good as dead, Vincent. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

He went as ghostly white as his travelling companion then. He remained very quiet while Sebastian explained to him the meanings of those important titles he’d mentioned, as well as other relevant words such as “Masquerade” and “Camarilla” and “Ventrue.”

LaCroix’s hope of entertainment during the flight was very much fulfilled. Vincent made for a captivating (if pitiful) image, with blood still smeared across his forehead and wetness sparkling in his eyes. LaCroix couldn’t stop staring at him and wondering whether he’d really cry or not. It filled him with a strange mix of sadism and sympathy that kept the Prince continuously in suspense. It sent him inexplicably trembling to hear Vincent say, “You’ll have to forgive me, Sebastian, I’m just so confused. Please…help me understand everything.”

He was coherent enough to ask intelligent questions though, and always seemed to latch onto those subjects that were a little too top-secret for a first conversation with a ghoul, whilst sighing that he was just so confused and scared. Clearly, he knew his way around a syndicate like the Camarilla and went straight for the vital information. When at last the Prince tired of this game and started to inquire about Vincent’s own organization, he refused to divulge anything.

It confused Sebastian a little. Every other ghoul he’d ever created had hung on his words in an ecstasy that totally drowned out the loss of their former life. They typically begged to repay him for saving them and fell over themselves to please him until he was either amused or disgusted. They certainly didn’t issue desperate pleas and threats about returning to their old life, or try to ply information out of him, or protect their old secrets. But Vincent? Well…there was no doubt that Vincent was affected by Sebastian. Sometimes his eyes lingered on LaCroix as if he wasn’t quite able to look away. But the look there wasn’t puppy love, it was…horror. Hatred. As if Vincent was looking at an old grudge who had wronged him grievously. Something wasn’t right.

He wasn’t in deep enough, that was all. He’d only taken the first sip of vitae – two still remained to form a full blood bond. And he was hardly a pliant individual, that much was evident. For now, Sebastian supposed he’d have to secure the ghoul’s cooperation via commands. “Vincent. When I ask you a question about the High Table, you will answer me directly, honestly, and without embellishments. Do you understand?”

A glazed, vacant look replaced the pitiful one. “I understand.”

There, good. Sebastian let out a breath, only just realizing how tense he had become, and began his inquisition.

He knew a little about the High Table already. It was not so different from the Giovanni, but even larger by membership the Camarilla, and impressive for a human construction. It was difficult to be anyone significant in either the human or kindred underworld without running across the High Table’s activities at some point. But the Autem Imperator (Sebastian might not call him by his title out loud, but he wasn’t forgetting it for an instant in his own mind) offered a unique view of its proceedings. Within minutes, LaCroix knew who held each seat, how communications passed between members, how those communications might be intercepted, into which countries their influence had spread (it was most of them), and even where the Elder resided.

It had been no idle tip, he realized, that suggested he should pay a visit to his home country and rest in the basilica that day. It had been, in fact, pure gold in the form of an anonymous email. He almost passed it up as an attempted ruse or ambush, even with all the power promised by the stranger on the other end. But it also spoke to a Masquerade violation, and even the Nosferatu could not trace it. The sender must have had a contact, someone who could encrypt on their level. So he went personally, just for 24 hours, with the resolution that he would return to the safety of LA as soon as possible.

Remembering at last to the original purpose of his visit, LaCroix asked his ghoul one final question, shortly before landing.

“Do you have an associate who would go by the initial ‘C’?”

Even under domination, he rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Sebastian held out the message on his phone. “Who could this have been?”

“Is it true that you can help someone live beyond death? If you really are I’ve been told you are, then come at once, to Paris. Come to the Sacré-Coeur Basilica just before dawn. If you’re lucky and I’m unlucky, you will find a man there who cannot escape death any other way. If you keep him alive, he will offer you knowledge and power equal to your own, pertaining to a human organization you may know as the High Table. Take him away from me, change him, disappear him, I don’t care. Only save his life and make him happy, and you will have my eternal thanks. He does not know, and will never know, what he means to me.”

- C”

“My bodyguard, Chidi.” His voice was strained almost to the breaking point, and his eyes still fixed on Sebastian’s phone even after the email was closed. Sebastian had no questions about whether he was faking his tearfulness this time.

“A ghoul of your very own, of sorts! Where can I find him?”

Vincent closed his eyes for a moment before mustering an answer. “…He’s dead.”

“Ah, splendid. That saves me a great deal of trouble.”

And then Vincent did what no ghoul, whether on one sip of vitae or three, should have been capable of doing. He sprung forward and closed hands around his domitor’s neck.

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

It took Vincent much longer than it should have to recall that Sebastian didn’t need to breathe. By that time, he was already being dragged off by the enormous, visibly supernatural thing that Sebastian had introduced as “The Sheriff.”

“Get this brainless lump off of me!”

“Hey,” The Sheriff grunted. Vincent paid him no mind, and continued addressing LaCroix with exactly as much civility as he deserved, all the while straining against the boulder-heavy hands holding him back.

“You will not SPEAK to me that way and you will not – “ Fuck, he hated the way his voice was shaking… “You will not speak of my bodyguard’s death as – as ‘splendid!’”

“And you will not speak to me at all until you can behave yourself!” LaCroix retorted. “SILENCE!”

The voice seemed to go out of Vincent’s throat. All his resistance had been used up in the outburst and he sunk numbly back into his seat.

LaCroix was panting, a shaking hand against his neck. He adjusted his tie and recovered himself enough to laugh. “Imagine trying to strangle a vampire! And the one holding your life in his hands, no less. You’re one to talk of brainlessness. And just when I was beginning to respect your cunning.” Vincent opened his mouth and nothing came out, so he spat in LaCroix’s face instead.

“Oh for god’s sake - You don’t speak AND you don’t move!” Vincent smiled as he watched LaCroix wipe at his face with a handkerchief, scowling. But another wave of terrible compulsion spread through his limbs, and then he was paralyzed.

It was such a strange feeling, being “dominated.” It was the same magnetism that drew him to LaCroix when he first laid eyes on him (that must be the “vitae” he had spoken about), but stronger, and more concentrated. Making him capable of magnificent feats, making him motivated, drawing his focus, making things important to him. As if a power was bursting out from inside of Vincent. It wasn’t so unlike being high, and not wholly unpleasant. But it was not his to control, not a part of him. It was LaCroix’s, and he hated it for that, and he hated LaCroix for that too. Maybe, if he just held onto that hatred…

But LaCroix’s conversation with his Sheriff broke his concentration. “No, I don’t want him in a cell, much less his own apartment. He’s not fully dominated and it’s a security risk. I don’t understand it, but I need to maintain a tight hold over him even if I have to do it by manual override. He stays in the penthouse, with me.”

If The Sheriff understood that, he conveyed it only by grunting.

Damn it. Any chance to get out of LaCroix’s grasp was slipping away. Again, he struggled to protest, but it was useless. He couldn’t speak. His own body was refusing him. It felt traitorous and alien and there was no one to help him, no one looking for him, no Chidi ever again and absolutely nothing he could do. If he had a voice, he would probably be screaming, he realized. But instead, for the second time that day, he floated on a sea of bloody misery, gasping worse and worse by the second. As the jet went into final descent, its weightlessness hit him in the stomach and drove home a second wave of fear.

LaCroix was watching him, leaning over him, speaking to him, in much the same way one might speak to a broken printer shortly before kicking it. He lay a hand on Vincent’s chest to feel his shallow heartbeat and the very core of Vincent’s being rebelled against the way that it soothed him.

“Why are you not calm? You shouldn’t be feeling this way, I don’t understand why it’s not working…” He fixed LaCroix with the most hateful stare he could manage without moving his facial muscles. Why do you think, you useless fils de pute? He felt tears rolling silently down his cheeks. Fine. Good, even.

Again, LaCroix’s magnetic voice overpowered his will with a rush, even more hideously blissful than before. Perhaps it was more in harmony with him than the last had been... “Be calm, Marquis. I command you. Don’t be so afraid.”

And all the wild contents of his heart slipped away into a soft, empty, merciful void.

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹(coming soon)

Image Sources: One | Two

[jamorbital]

Mailbag III ✉️

Wow, there were a bunch this time. Thanks everyone!

@theloramir:

Me! 😷

If that doesn't count… Hmm. Cynthia from Pokémon? Or maybe Tifa?

@scout90-again:

I've been interested in it for as long as I can remember. Even when I was really little, I liked to tie up dolls with string and put pieces of tape on their mouths. A bit more on that in an earlier ask here.

(MORE UNDER THE CUT)

@noteverysaurisadinosaur:

Uhhh... I'm gonna say... Golden Toad. I like Dodos too, but I'm guessing that's the "everything but country and rap" of this question.

@directivexero:

Aw thanks!

Lately I've been slowly making my way through The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles! I play it in bed each night to settle in before I go to sleep. It's like a good book. The fickleness of the jurors always makes me laugh.

Another recent one I liked: Thank Goodness You're Here! It's basically a little interactive animated movie. Matt Berry is in it. I once saw it described as "Untitled Twat Game"

Deadly Premonition is the worst game I've ever played by conventional standards, but I'd still recommend it because it's bad in really fun ways. Bring some friends and a case of beer.

I like games that provoke a strong reaction. I'd rather play something like DP than a "good" big-budget game that's smooth and pleasing but not all that memorable.

Also on the topic of weird games: This is the secret best channel on YouTube. The more you watch, the better it gets. I mean idk, maybe other people don't see it and I'm just deranged. Still though. I've cried laughing at some of these.

@patientbard:

Summer! Lots of happy memories from childhood. I like to swim.

@nixalegos:

I don't often try to go for a specific texture, but when I do it can be tricky. In real life I love soft jersey knit fabric. Despite my best efforts, I haven't been able to nail it in 2D in a way that really scratches that kinky itch.

In general, my drawings rarely come out the way I pictured them in my head. (I think that's how it is for most artists?) If it's looking really off then I might redraw a character or body part from scratch, but for the most part I just go with the flow.

@accretion-disk-anxiety:

To eat, crab; to not eat, turtle.

@damianblack:

I'm not really into furries, but I like furries as people. They seem like fun and I admire how welcoming and liberated their community is.

For a while I've had "draw an anthro character" on my bucket list. I think it'd be a fun challenge and drawing a gag for an anthro snout could be hot tbh.

@onidrills:

What was that thing from Jurassic Park with the big neck thing and the venom? Dilophosaurus?

Aw man...

@goodboynijian:

Thank you!

For proudest: Maybe animation loops?

They're not as elaborate as some other stuff I've done, but seeing an animation come together just feels so satisfying.

For hottest: I gravitate toward a certain weirder type of piece where I draw myself (or "myself") with super-exaggerated proportions and/or humiliating captions:

It feels exciting to just go totally off the wall. I get turned on not just by drawing these, but also posting them. I guess it's kind of a public humiliation/exhibitionism thing. (Actually, that's exactly what it is.)

I used to put them up on Twitter, but it got a little too weird and embarrassing. Now I keep them behind the safety of the paywall.

@t-oppenheimer:

Smash if that counts! I used to attend locals weekly and was decently competitive at my peak. I stopped going in 2020 due to covid and never got back into it after that. I still play with friends here and there though. I'm a Wolf main. 🐺

I've also done a little SF6, but I'm still in The Cursed Zone on that one.

@microfoamgaglover:

Yes

(old pic!)

Thanks again to everyone who sent in questions! I'm feeling better now than I was this morning. If I didn't respond to you, it just means I couldn't think of anything interesting to say. I appreciate it all the same.

[aspoonofsugar]

Hello. Been a while since I last sent an ask to you. I wanted your take on why Vaggie's wing design is different from the other Exorcists. If you look closely, before and after she regained her wings, she is the ONLY exorcist with a single stripe while everyone else (including Adam, I know he's not an Exorcist but still something I've noticed) only have one.

Hi!

Thank you for the ask :) I love Vaggie's design and there is so much to say about it!

Since discussing the whole design would probably need its own meta, I will just focus on the detail you mentioned: Vaggie's wings.

I think their unique pattern comes down to our girl never truly fitting in with the exorcists:

Vaggie: When I saw your face You made me feel like a stranger in a brand new place And it felt so good to be understood

She states Charlie makes her feel understood, which implies she never felt accepted by her previous clique. This makes sense, as the exorcists are a cult, which forces its members to repress their selves. In this context, Vaggie's single black line shows she is different in two ways.

1- The exorcists' black lines mirror Adam's white lines:

Both Adam and his soldiers share two lines per wing. However, the leader's are white, whereas his followers' are black. This difference in color marks the hierarchy within the organization. Adam is white and gold, whereas the exorcists are black and white/silver. He frames himself as superior and forces the girls to be weaker imitations. Well, even in such an environment Vaggie can't completely repress who she is. So, she only gets one line on her wings, which marks her as unfitting, strange and flawed. She does not completely conform to Adam's wishes.

2- The exorcists' black and white color scheme is a metaphor of their black and white morality. Lute is a perfect embodiment of it:

Lute: Angels don't make mistakes.

Vaggie, Lute and all their sisters are taught killing sinners is holy. Angels are good and demons are bad. No questions asked. Still, Vaggie can't accept this mentality and she dares to show pity:

This kicks off her arc, which is all about overcoming the white and black vision that was forced on her. She needs to integrate her shadows:

She sees her shadow covering a terrified child and lets him go. A moment later Lute's shadow looms over her before she is attacked. Vaggie has to reconcile she is both the terrifying exorcist and the wounded child. She is both angel (white) and sinner (black).

Our Hotel Manager's new wings are a physical representation of this integration:

Vaggie gains them, as she channels her energy into love and protection instead than hate and revenge. In particular, she learns to value her own life and survival:

Carmilla: Well, look at that. You might just survive this.

She makes a step into forgiveness and acceptance. The brainwashed victim and the murderous warrior start coming together into someone new and stronger: the real Vaggie. As a result:

Her new wings are silver and gray, rather than white and black

Her new wings have a single line, which is much paler compared to her original black one

In short, Vaggie's wings symbolize her ongoing process of integration with her repressed self. They showcase her evolution and growth into someone new. From pigeon to moth :P

At the same time, something else can be said about Vaggie's stripes. Not her wings' though, but her hair's. Vaggie's hair is shaped after her angelic wings and it has two stripes on it. This is an interesting detail and might symbolize Vaggie's inner desire to belong, either with her old group (the two stripes exorcists) or her new one (the Hazbin Hotel demons). So, she has hair, which:

Hides her scars and identity, as they cover her missing eye and the spot where her wings used to be

Highlights these same things, as her hair is stylized after angelic wings and Vaggie puts an X over her missing eye. It's no surprise that Carmilla easily guesses her identity:

Vaggie: Wait… you know I'm an exorcist? How? Carmilla: You have a giant X over your eye and wield an angelic spear. It's not rocket science.

Just some food for thought! What's sure is that Vaggie's struggle with her exorcist identity is far from over and it strongly impacts her appearance.

Thank you for the ask!

[megamindsupremacy]

Relativity Falls AU Outline [Part 1] Part 2

-Dipper and Pacifica hire some contractors and they start building an interdimensional portal in Dipper's basement. Dipper is currently living in an abandoned hunting lodge that he broke into and decided was his now. Since nobody has contested this so far, it is more or less actually his now.

-Building the portal is 90% Bill telling Dipper what to do, Dipper trying to write all of his notes down in a panic, and then trying to transcribe these notes into something for the contractors to build an actual portal out of. (Everyone say "thank you Head Construction Manager Wendy, The Actual Only Reason This Thing Is Coming Along As Well As It Is)

-Or don't, all things considered.

-I just think it's endlessly funny that Dipper (JOURNALISM MAJOR) now has to build an interdimensional portal in his basement. Bill chose correctly in the sense of "someone desperate for validation and gullible enough to follow Bill's instructions" but didn't luck out with "has the technical know-how to actually make the damn thing"

-Dipper takes all of his notes in some journals Mabel recently sent him. She decorated them all like their old scrapbooks, and told him to "Write something cool in them!" Dipper figures, hey, supernatural mysteries and instructions for an interdimensional portal are pretty cool.

-They all have a Big Dipper symbol on the front cover. The pine tree symbol in the zodiac is similarly replaced with a Big Dipper constellation.

----

-The portal's construction takes over a year. In this time, Dipper and Pacifica grow a lot closer. They go from nemeses, to allies, to friends, to... something more than friends? 👀👀👀

-Pacifica gets pregnant.

-She doesn't yet know she's pregnant when she accidentally gets sent through the portal. Dipper drags her back, but whatever she saw (and she sure as fuck isn't saying what) on the other side has her FREAKING the FUCK out. It's like that "ant trying to process momentarily comprehending the soul of Cuthulu and going insane" post. It's overwhelming.

-She tries to convince Dipper that they need to shut the portal down and stop everything, but he refuses to listen. Dipper's obsessed. Over the past year of working on the portal, he, with the help of Bill's manipulations, has gotten fixated on finishing the portal and "discovering the mysteries of Gravity Falls". He won't hear a word about shutting the thing down.

-Actually, he's interrogating Pacifica about what she saw on the other side of the portal, asking her all of these questions, and generally being not as gentle and sympathetic with someone who just Experienced The Cosmic Horrors as he should be. He's demanding to know what was on the other side and refusing to take "stop asking" for an answer, meanwhile Pacifica is still shaking on the floor trying to process everything that just happened to her.

(Sorry, Paz)

-Dipper doesn't stop her when she runs away, back to her home.

-They... stop talking after that.

Part 1 | Part 2 |

[emeryhiro]

What are your thoughts about the whole bethyl thing? I personally saw it more as Daryl finding hope and light when he was in a place of deep despair - she showed him that there's still good to be seen in the world. And so it was a major loss to him personally when she died. Plus she helped him process part of his past trauma.

But I've seen Norman Reedus and Greg Nicotero say that while romance wasn't scripted, there was a taste of it in the air when it came to acting choices. I hate that idea bc she was a teenager and it makes me feel less good about Daryl. I guess I'd hope that if he started catching some feelings "he didn't understand" (as NR puts it), then he would see that they're too far apart in other ways for it to go beyond a father/daughter big brother/little sister sort of bond. What do you think?

Hey Anon!

Thank you for your questions 😊 I'm sorry it took me some time to respond. I just wanted to be careful with what I say and how I explain my opinion since the last thing I want to do is disregard or disrespect anyone else's opinions on the topic.

I agree with you. I always saw that the reason Daryl grew to care so much for Beth was because she gave him hope and didn't allow him to shut off from the world after he thought he'd lost everything and everyone that mattered to him. This ultimately made him feel like he owed her because she saved him, maybe not in the literal sense, but definitely mentally. Her persistence ultimately leads him to finding everyone again.

Only hours before having to be on the run with Beth, Rick had told Daryl about how he'd sent Carol away for killing Karen and David, and we saw how defeated that made Daryl feel. Realising that Carol had to shoulder that responsibility on her own and that he wasn't able to be there to stand up for her put him in a really bad place mentally.

This guilt was then compounded by the governor returning to the prison and killing Hershel infront of everyone, and the guilt that Daryl felt for giving up his search for Governor, which in his mind was the reason Hershel died and they lost the prison.

So all these things combined meant that Daryl felt responsible for EVERYTHING that had just happened TO EVERYONE. And no one was there to help him sholder that pain and responsibility.

Ultimetly his instincts kick in, all the walls that he'd slowly been breaking down come right back up, and he starts to go cold again just to numb himself from everything he's feeling.

And this is where Beth came in. Firstly, her innocence and optimism was the only thing stopping Daryl from completely shutting off from the world. She kept reminding him that the other's could have made it and that if they got out then odds are others must have as well. And secondly, she kept him busy, she was something that needed his protection and that gave him porpose and a reason to keep going.

After Beth gets taken, Daryl ends up with The Claimers, who he thinks are exactly the type of people he deserves to be around, because (in his mind) he can't seem to be capable of keeping and protecting anything good that comes his away, but by some miracle he's reunited with Rick, Carl and Michonne again, and this is where he realises that Beth was right, and if Rick and co have made it then it probably means others have as well.

I think this moment above was the beginning of Daryl starting to believe that he has value again. Rick's words begin to soften him again, but even after reuniting with almost everyone again, we don't actually see Daryl's guard come down until this moment below.

Every single shield/wall he'd been putting up until now is instantly shattered. He's completely exposed in this moment. His mind and body take a few seconds to register what his eyes are seeing and what his heart is feeling, and he's instantly running to Carol and into her arms without any other thought. This is the moment we can get a true reading of his feelings.

Regarding how he felt for Beth...

Yes, I think there may have been some confusion from Daryl's side about what he was feeling for Beth, just like how Norman has described it previously; he cared for Beth, she was nice to him, and that was so rare in his life that he misread the whole situation and couldn't interpret what he was actually feeling. In my opinion, there was no romantic feeling or intent on either side; they were both just navigating a new form of friendship that they'd never experienced before. And if I had to, I'd compare his relationship with Beth to his relationship with Lydia. To put it very simply, he felt responsible for protecting these young girls who, at the time, had no one else on their side, and ultimately, both girls saved him in return and looked up to him as a role model.

~~~~

Thanks again for the questions 🩵 I really hope I did this justice because my main goal is to keep my blog a positive place for everyone.

I know there are many varying opinions on this topic, but I'm glad I got the chance to share mine, and I just wanted to once again say that this is my opinion and not meant to invalidate anyone else's 🩵

[toiletclown]

breathless.

spencer agnew x gn!reader

mostly fluff, a little angst.

part one of four or five, depending how much more i add.

summary: you've had feelings for your best friend, spencer, almost as long as you have known him. it isn't getting any easier, and you need to tell him soon, whether he feels the same or not. your friends are pushing you, the fans already ship you, and after courtney and shayne's success, you just couldn’t bare to keep lying anymore. to yourself, or to him.

word count: 2028 for part one.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

It’s been two years since you graduated from Smosh crew member to Smosh cast member. You weren’t the first, and are unlikely to be the last, but it’s still a bit nerve-wracking. You were moved to cast not long after Spencer made his switch to cast, but that was exactly your problem, wasn’t it? When you were both on crew, it was easier. Small smiles, hidden glances, a blush forming under your mask. Once or twice, Brennan had swiveled his camera to the crew to get their reactions and you couldn’t duck fast enough to dodge the shot. 

You both shared moments without fear of judgment, knowing everyone at Smosh knew how close you were. Some more than others. But once you were both on camera more often, those moments dwindled to near nothingness. You couldn’t make eyes at him, he couldn’t flirt with you. Plenty of the cast flirted with each other on and off camera, of course, but it was different somehow. The office flirting became private hangout flirting, which then became no flirting at all. 

He didn’t get jealous anymore when Amanda or Angela flirted with you, and you did your best not to get jealous when he flirted with Tommy or Shayne. It was like your friendship was entirely platonic again. And while that was all it had ever been – platonic – it hurt a little. It was like something happened overnight, and the flirting wasn’t cool anymore.

The last time something happened before your promotion to cast, Spencer, Angela, and Chanse were doing Who Meme’d It with Shayne, and someone had sent in a meme about you always looking at Spencer. As soon as it popped up, everyone was laughing, and Brennan promptly turned his camera to get your face. You were smart enough to expect it, and you managed to push out a laugh and shrug to the camera. All in good fun, it seemed. But really, it was a little bit upsetting to realize you were so obvious about your affection for Spencer. You thought that you were fairly secretive and weren’t too over the top, but apparently not so much.

“Okay, ‘Y/N pretending they weren’t just staring at Spencer’! Spencer, any thoughts?” Shayne said through giggles. 

Spencer made eye contact with you, and you did your best to hold it. “Gotta be honest, Shayne, I wasn’t even aware they stared at me. Guess they’re sneakier than I thought!” Everyone was laughing again, and you joined in. Instead of making a joke about him staring at you, or a joke about you two flirting in your pod, he went with a PR answer. You could barely admit to yourself how bad it had stung. And sure, most people got roasted in Who Meme’d It, especially with the lack of funeral roasts, but it didn’t really feel good to have your private crush on Spencer blasted to not only cast and crew, but whoever ends up watching this video. And his comment was making it seem more one-sided than you liked.

After the laughter settled down, Shayne got back to hosting. “Alright, who meme’d it! Was it Erin Dougal? Courtney? Or Y/N themselves?” You made a silly face when Brennan panned to you, channeling your best mad scientist look. Your face dropped immediately after. No one saw it.

The cast members debated for a second before writing down their answers. It was Courtney across the board. “Alright, so we all think Courtney made this meme. Angela, what makes you think it was Courtney?” 

“Shayne, that’s a great question, thank you so much for being here with me today. I said Court because I have seen them having little whisper sessions with Y/N and I simply don’t trust like that!” Angela laughed, a bright smile on her face. She winked at you once the camera had moved away from her face. She was actually your go-to confidant, and you were sure she knew that. She was your best friend, behind Spencer, after all.

After a dramatic pause, it was revealed that Erin Dougal was the one who made the meme. You could have called that from a mile away, but that was because Erin was constantly telling you to ask Spencer out. You shot her down every time, knowing it was safer and easier to suffer in silence with your feelings rather than to possibly fuck everything up with your best friend. Besides, suffering in silence was what you were best at.

//

And now, a few months later, you were the one in front of the camera for a Who Meme’d It. It was your first time actually competing, although you’ve sent your fair share of memes in. Spencer and Angela were the only two people to continuously guess you correctly, which in the grand scheme of things made the most sense as they were your closest friends at Smosh. However, you were now competing against both of them, and your competitive side didn’t have a concept of “friendship”, unfortunately. 

“Okay! Welcome back to Who Meme’d It! Today we have Angela, Y/N, and Spencer competing. And Y/N is quite competitive so let’s hope they still have their best friends after this!” Shayne introduced you all, smiling at you to ease your anxiety. 

“Lest we forget what happened when they were on Don’t Win Mario Party and nearly killed me,” Spencer said, turning towards you with his hands folded on the table. His eyes were smiling, but he was trying his best to keep a serious face.

You turned to face him, mirroring his expression and hands. “Lest we forget you deserved that attack because you fucked with my controller mid-lap so that you could get seventh.”

“Okay, are we doing Who Meme’d It or the Newlywed Game?” Angela joked, and you and Spencer returned to your normal positions, excited to play.

//

After the shoot, Spencer caught up with you in the kitchen. “You got your first Who Meme’d It win, how’s it feel?” You had indeed won, but only by two points. Spencer was right behind you and Angela frankly tanked it this episode. Usually she wasn’t too bad, but perhaps she knew how competitive you were going to be and decided to focus more on having fun instead of winning. Especially considering there was content being made that needed to be entertaining.

“Eh, I feel like my competitiveness isn’t very fun on camera. I’m hoping we don’t have to scrap the ep simply because I was too locked in.” You grabbed some fruit from the fridge and prepared to make your way to a table so you could sit and destress before your next shoot. You weren’t needed on set for over an hour so you were ready to mindlessly doomscroll while you snacked on your peaches.

Spencer chuckled at your comment, which made your heart flutter a bit. Suddenly, you had the urge to touch him. You put your hand on his shoulder, mostly unconsciously, not actively making the decision but simply just doing it. His giggling stopped instantly, and he looked at your hand cryptically, his expression unreadable. All too suddenly, it felt too serious, too personal, so you instantly pivoted. “But at least you didn’t win, right?” You smiled, patting his shoulder and turning to head to your seat. 

You were hoping, for the first time ever if you were being honest, that he wouldn’t follow you. Things had been weird between you two for a few weeks now, and you almost wanted some space to deal with the pain of your best friend seeming to lose interest in your friendship. And once again, Erin had submitted a meme that made you a little upset. You knew it was unreasonable to be upset with her, as it was all in good fun and she wasn’t actually trying to hurt your feelings. You should probably try to talk to her about that, since you knew she wouldn’t take your upset personally.

This one was arguably worse than the first one though, because instead of it being at your expense, it was technically at Spencer’s. The meme wasn’t mean in any regard, but it was making fun of Spencer for consistently getting “lost in his thoughts” whenever you were on a shoot together. Of course, Erin alluded to those thoughts being romantic in nature, which earned a few oohs and aahs from the crew and cast alike. You had felt your face get warm and tried to remind yourself you were on camera and it was all in good fun. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by Courtney approaching you. “Y/N, Spence! Just the two people I wanted to see. I have a question for you guys.” 

Clearly, Spencer had intended on following you, since Courtney had greeted you both. You sighed as quietly as possible, before asking Court if you could sit down before you all got to talking. Your castmates followed you to a table, and you popped a piece of fruit in your mouth. “Okay, what's up?” 

“Well, we wanted to do a Guitar Hero stream next week. I know you haven't been on any of the livestreams, so I figured I’d ask if you wanted to be in this one. You don't have to play but if you sit and make commentary I’m sure that'll be enough! But of course you can play if you want to.” Courtney was always so thoughtful, and you made a mental note to thank her for always being so considerate. 

“Oh hell yeah, I finally get to show off my guitar skills. It’s been a minute since I’ve played, but if Y/N’s down, I’m down!” Spencer’s eyes lit up. He had been trying to figure out a way to impress you and gauge your reaction before he finally took the leap and asked you on a date.

Everyone had been encouraging him to do so for months at this point, but he still wasn’t so sure about it. Yeah, you blushed whenever he mentioned you on camera and you blushed a lot during the shoot today when Erin’s meme came up. But some part of him felt like that had less to do with reciprocating a crush and more to do with embarrassment. 

You thought for a minute, munching on your peach slice. “Sure, that sounds fun. Spencer, maybe you could teach me how to play?”

Spencer broke out in a grin, “Of course I can. Although I’m surprised you’ve never played it before, it’s an iconic franchise.”

Courtney worked out a few more details with the two of you before making their way back to their pod. When she had left, Spencer turned his attention back to you. “Have you seriously never played Guitar Hero before?” He genuinely was having trouble believing that.

Truthfully, you had played before. Many times. And you were actually quite skilled at it. But it’s been quite some time since you picked up and played it, and you knew you would be rusty. Plus, you were mentally hatching a plan. Have Spence “teach” you the game, play extremely badly the whole time, then on stream you can kick his ass on Expert mode. Perfect plan.

“I have not. I might have played once or twice as a kid but I don’t really remember the controls or, like, speed, since I know some of the songs are really fast.”

“Okay, do you wanna come by my place tonight after work? I have a bunch of the Guitar Hero games but I also have Clone Hero which will probably be what we use on the stream anyway.”

Oh, right. Not-so-perfect plan. If you were to be taught, you needed to be taught before the livestream. Which means you had to hang out with Spencer outside of work. You can survive one night alone with him, right? You’ve done it so many times before. Sure, it’s been a few weeks since you guys hung out, and with your increasing feelings for him you were sure to be awkward. But it was Spencer! Your best friend in the whole world! It would be just fine. Right?

[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

[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]

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