#I also take creative liberties in my brain

[crystallinekai]

ShuAke Childhood Friends(?) to Rival Lovers AU

(I'm posting this headcanon here so I can reblog onto my P5 roleplay blog~ 💃🏽 Also, I have not written anything headcanon related in ages so please bear with me.)

Goro and Akira met at a Japanese equivalent of a daycare at the age of 5 years old while Akira was 3 years old. Akira was already there, playing with some blocks, when he saw a shy Goro enter while clinging to his mother. Goro's mother was explaining her situation, a lot of words that Akira couldn't understand. Something about money and how she needed Goro to stay here during the daytime while she's at work. The employee quickly assured the woman, making her relax before she signed some registration papers.

Akira had no idea what was going on as he couldnt take his eyes off of Goro. The other boy piqued Akira's interest even before he glanced his way. It was more of a glare he received while he clung to his mother tighter. It seemed like the woman noticed and she saw Akira looking in their direction. She smiled at him, finished signing the forms and placing a payment. She walked over to Akira while Goro trailed closely behind her, still glaring at the boy. The lovely woman introduced her son to Akira and hoped they will be good friends to which Akira cheerfully promised, "We will!"

And while Goro and Akira had became friends, there was a tiny bit of a rivalry going on. Akira thought it was a game, but Goro was serious. Their competition would stem from who can put the toys up faster or who can count the highest. That one was a little unfair for Akira who was three. One of their odd competitions led to Akira crying and it made Goro feel bad. So he promised to bring some candy tomorrow as a way to call a truce and make it up to Akira. It was silly, but they ended up bonding more after that particular incident. They spent a lot of time together before one of them had to go home each day. Their friendship was pure happiness for over a year.

Until one day, Goro hadn't come back to daycare one day. And one day turned to two. Then three. Before Akira was even aware, a week went by with no sign of Goro. He was sad. And then, it was Akira's turn to move away. He was due to start primary school soon and with his parent's line of work, they had to move to a different city.

He hadn't seen Goro Akechi again since. Akira was heartbroken and he didn't understand why.

About 13 years went by and a series of events happened then turned his life upside down. Getting arrested and slapped with a false assault charge landed him in a different prefecture and school.

Imagine Akira's surprise when he met Akechi on a social studies trip with his school. He felt a sense of familiarity from Akechi which made him feel a bit nostalgic and also like something that was previously missing had fell into place. He had met his old friend again, but unfortunately, they were on opposite sides. Akechi was a famous ace detective while Akira was a Phantom Thief. Akira knew needed to be careful around him yet, he was eager to spend time with Akechi and make up for lost time. Akira found himself wanting to talk to Akechi once they exchanged contact information often and they did. Then they hung out in a few spots including frequenting Cafe Leblanc, the bathhouse in Yongen-Jaya and spending time at the Cafe or Club in Kichijoji. They gravitated to each other when their schedules happened to line up, talking about their past and sometimes exchanging opinions on the Phantom Thieves. Akira found himself looking forward to every hangout between them and deepening their bond. And he fell hard for Akechi.

Which was why the betrayal from Akechi had been expected, it still hurt his heart. He thought of their talks while he was in hiding for the next month, still yearning to hear Akechi's voice on the other line if he called or see his name come up in his messages. All was quiet until the moment they had crossed paths again in Shido's palace. Akechi revealed to Akira he hated him ever since they were kids, mostly out of anger and frustration about him being surrounded by everyone while Akechi had been alone and cast aside. The words were said, but that wasn't how Akechi had felt. Akechi actually loved Akira too. Even Akira's friends could see that. They fought each other and brought Akechi to his knees. Akira offered for Akechi to join yhem again to take down Shido together when the Cognitive Goro Akechi appeared, gun in hand and pointed it at the real Akechi. Akechi gave Akira one last look and said, "If only we had met sooner..." Which Akira was about to reply before the steel gate separated them and a single gunshot was heard. His heart shattered when Akira heard Futaba confirm she couldn't see Akechi's signal anymore.

The fight with Shido was difficult and he avenged the boy he loved while making Shido atone for everything. The change of heart was a success. Akira lamented to Morgana on how he was unable to save Goro. He was mourning the loss of someone dear to him and had been dear to him since they had first met.

Eventually, Akira had to turn himself in as he had promised to Sae Niijima. His initial charges from Shido had been cleared. He served his time in juvenile detention because no one can overlook the fact he is the leader of the Phantom Thieves. Akira accepted that easily than when he had to accept that Goro wasn't alive. He still had the glove Akechi gave to him. Thankfully, that hadn't been confiscated when he was first arrested.

Akira returned to his life outside of juvenile detention after his time served. His friends rejoiced in having him back. He was glad to be with them. However, Akira knew one more person should be here. He still waited for his phone call or even a text.

It was when Akira was watching the shop shortly after White Day was when he heard the door open. Akira greeted the customer as normal before getting a good look at him and froze. Those familiar brown eyes with a unique reddish hue to them, the chestnut brown hair and his beautiful face. He was here. Goro was here, alive in Leblanc. The one word, a name was all Akira managed to say when he locked eyes with the other man:

"Akechi."

end

[tinknevertalks]

Prompt: 3 - Okay, show me.

Fandom: Sanctuary

Rating: G

Warning(s): None.

Creature Feature - Ashley sees Henry in his HAP form. Drabble, pre-series, kinda fluffy, kidfic.

[nomaishuttle]

basicallyheres the thing. i dont rly want to be immortal like me currently i probably wouldnt rly enjoy that. howeverrr if i got time travelled back to like the beginning of life on earth and was immortal i think i would have a good time bc im a curious girl. even just back to the birth of humanity or civilization... i just wannasee i wouldnt even do anything crazy with my immortality id just like. take a lot of notes abt everything

[redhotarsenic]

Guess I’m doing dmc4 lady lmao I can easily foresee what the results are gonna be by the time the poll closes

[martinsorbit]

Oh hey, it's that sun guy.

After two arduous weeks (Aug 1st - Aug 15th) the Sun cold porcelain figure is COMPLETE! DONE! FINISHED! HE IS HERE IN ALL HIS GLORY

Its been a long (and at times painful) process considering the time it took for all the stuff to dry and for me to have free time to finish this project, but now the silly little jester is in my hands and he looks SO CUTE AND COOL!! HE EVEN HAS A HOOK

Thanks everyone for hyping me up and keeping me motivated during this <3 It literally meant a ton and helped me keep working on this bonkus shit

under the read more, there will be some more details about the figure itself and some more pictures ( Like materials, how much time it took, the process stuff etc)

feel free to ask me questions! thanks everyone!

QUESTIONS ABOUT THE PROCESS!

Q: What materials did you use for this?

A: White Cold Porcelain, Hot Glue, super glue, pencils, pliers, paper clips, scissors, paint, all purpose varnish, paintbrushes, metalic pens

Q: How long did it take to make him?

A: Roughly two weeks

Q: Are you going to make moon too?

A: yes but it will take a while

Q: [X element of suns character design] is missing.

A: trust me, I know. Ive been staring at his model for roughly a whole week and mentally rotating him in my brain , so if something is missing its cuz i was either having a hard time making it or cuz I took creative liberties lmao

Q: How long did it take for the stuff to dry?

A: The cold porcelain abt 3 ish days; Paint took 1 day and the varnish also a day (as it states in the bottle)

FINAL NOTES:

Yes, you can use colored cold porcelain instead of painting it! It's just easier for me to paint it over

- For the love of god, be careful when applying the varnish, that shit is bad for your health! read the instructions, do it in a ventilated area, and NEVER put it too close to your face, or u might get some not so good side effects ( like yer eyes burning)

No, i dont intend on selling him anytime soon sorry ( this was asked before regarding some other cold porcelain thing I did, so I just thought i would add it here)

- If u dont wanna spend too much money on the colors u can just buy some Yellow, Cyan, Magenta, Black and White (CMYK) along with some skin tones; u can basically make any color from those

- I used two of Sun's main poses in the game as inspo for making this

- His faceplate is supposed to spin but since it keeps falling off I decided to glue it

[howtofightwrite]

i feel like, when it comes to people trying to use violence to knock people out - rather than avoiding methods that could cause permanent injury entirely, the previous anon(s) could just go for it while acknowledging the potential consequences in-writing?

so we can say that maybe, a kidnapper knocks another person out via head injury, and the KIDNAPPER doesn't care; but when the person is rescued the rescuers are worried for them because 'what do you mean you were hit in the head?!' and immediately checked for a concussion.

one could also have it so that the person doesn't know what head trauma or other bodily harm can cause and be appropriately horrified if/when they learn - or, if it's a character who uh. doesn't care for their body or health as much, they could hear this and refuse to care. follow what the character would do on that

they don't even need to actually have the person get a permanent injury. there can be a hospital scene or first-aid responder scene where they check the victim's head and go 'you are very. VERY lucky to not have a permanent brain injury from this', and insist on them to keep monitoring for any future symptoms.

there's a lot of other ways to go about knocking someone out, but iirc this will also apply to other methods of forced unconsciousness, like sleeping pills, sleeping gas or chloroform. in real life, it's always going to risk extra consequences because it involves forcing someone's bodily functions to shut down, if temporarily

and that shouldn't stop them from writing anyway, since fiction is often going to stretch the realm of belief a little with improbable situations, y'know? a lot of stories already take liberties with it. but it's both admirable and a good thing when someone wants to be more faithful to reality, regardless, so that's why i'd like to give my own thoughts.

if the person trying to find a non-lethal angle to knocking someone out is really worried, they could just make a disclaimer saying 'unrealistic depictions of violence/recovery' or 'creative liberties taken with the consequences of bodily harm' at the start of the story and go with their previous plans

but it's perfectly fine to just write as is while acknowledging the situation in-story too, is what i feel. or even have the character actually suffer the consequences. that angle is always interesting when explored.

timeskips are also a way to cheat on the recovery period, if you want it to be really realistic. imagine this scenario; a person gets knocked unconscious during a kidnapping. they wake up and manage to escape with a concussion - but they still have the concussion from the initial assault, along with other injuries during the hostage period. they are promptly hospitalised.

timeskip to several months after. the person has recovered! (or mostly recovered, depending).

a new kidnapper enters the scene! but they don't want the victim to actually be hurt, and the waiting period was hell, so they either just get their bouncer to grab them with no chance for reprieve, nab them while asleep, or threaten them via gun to head/consequences for someone else/etc to get in the car. no actual knocking out forcefully, only unconsciousness is falling asleep in the car.

consequences make for an interesting narrative too, is what i'm trying to say; and there's no need to shy away from it, but rather acknowledge that reality as fact.

I normally wouldn't light up an ask like this, but it is doing a lot of mental gymnastics to try to skirt around the central problems with violence.

So, let's start at the top: Acknowledging a problematic behavior as problematic can still result in the author endorsing that behavior, if they present the specific examples of that behavior in a positive light. If you're having characters casually knocking people out, you are endorsing inflicting extremely hazardous, and potentially life-altering injuries onto people, “but, it's okay, because I didn't kill them.”

The problem comes from an author wanting their upbeat, happy-go-lucky protagonist to also be an absolute bad ass, without interrogating the ethical issues inherent to their “heroic activities.” Worse, in many cases, they want their character to be perceived as a good person, regardless of the horrors they inflict on their fellow human beings.

The last time I covered this, I took a passing swipe at Batman, but it remains a relevant factor to consider about a lot of action hero characters. He engages in absolutely disproportionate violence against people who are engaging in criminal activity because socioeconomic factors that are beyond their control.

A lot of fictional violence gets framed in contexts where the nobility of the protagonist is preserved either because, “they don't kill people,” or, they specifically limit their violence to groups that are “socially acceptable,” targets.

In fact, you can even see an example of the latter in the listing above, with the express targeting of, “kidnappers.” Now, I have no love for human traffickers, but seriously consider for a second that this specific, highly-specialized, career path was called out as the group to engage in this behavior. I'm sorry, “why?” What is it about a kidnapper that makes them more likely to be willing to inflict harm on their victim than some other group? But, that's not the point. The point is so that when your protagonist does truly horrible things to those kidnappers, they're still “a good person,” at the end of the day. (There's also a little goofiness about kidnappers in the ask, because they care more about the physical health of their victim than most criminals would. Think about it this way, a mugger wants your wallet, and you're just an incidental obstetrical between you and their target, for a kidnapper, you are the wallet. They want their victim reasonably intact. Whether that is for a later sale, or for a ransom, they don't get paid if their victim is “non-functional.”)

Actually, a really messed up example of this, on this blog, was a few years back, when someone was asking about their “vigilante” characters gunning down drug addicts. Which, yeah, that's pretty fucked up.

When the author botches their, “acceptable targets,” (which is the point of that Batman critique, by the way), the entire illusion can start to break apart. And it can really expose the idea that you're trying to pretend your character is a good person, because their actions target people who the author felt were, “undeserving,” of continuing to breathe.

Falling Down (1993), with Michael Douglas and Robert Duvall is an excellent interrogation of some of these concepts. I don't want to say too much else, because the film is open to interpretations, (some of which are extremely scathing), and I think the film speaks for itself better when no one is telling you how to interpret it. Just be prepared for an uncomfortable viewing.

Back when we were both regularly active, ScriptMedic and I used to have a bit of a back and forth about pharmaceutical means to subdue someone.

Chloroform is a classic example in fiction, and it was popular in crime thrillers from 80-90 years ago, in an era when ready clinical information to laypersons was far more limited. First of all, the rag over the mouth doesn't work. This is a gas used for anesthesia, and you need a lot more than a single vial to keep someone under. Second, you need to keep applying it to keep them under. Again, that rag isn't going to hold enough. Third, if you somehow got enough chloroform onto that rag, it would sedate everyone in the vicinity, because it's an anesthetic gas. (The liquid form is extremely volatile, and will quickly convert to a gas at room temperature. That gas is what is supposed to knock someone out.) Fourth it used to be a common additive in toothpaste, and frequently occurs as an out-gassing from polymers and adhesives. Popular culture hilariously overestimates how potent this stuff is. You need a lot to put someone under, and you need a trained anesthesiologist to keep them under without accidentally killing them. Also, prolonged use results in liver damage and cardiac issues, which is why we no longer use it for anesthesia. If you try to put someone under without an anesthesiologist, and you manage to sedate them... they'll die. Turns out, it also suppresses the respiratory system, and they suffocate.

It's a similar story with most anesthetic gasses, and in fact, chloroform is one of the “sleeping gasses.” Not all of them have the liver or heart issues, but none of them are, “fire and forget.”

ScriptMedic was a fan of Ketamine for knocking out characters. And, to be fair, Ketamine is fantastic for anesthesiologists. Exceeding the necessary dosage just puts the patient out for longer, which may be inconvenient, but it's vastly preferable to, death. The problem is, it's not great for fire and forget tranq adventures. Ketamine does not suppress salivation. Which isn't a big deal on the operating table, as you can pretty easily keep someone from drowning in their own spittle, but if you just inject some poor mook, and leave them on the curb, they're going to drool themselves to death.

Actual tranquilizer guns are a real thing. They're frequently used in animal control. You don't use these on people because TV lied to you. You get darted, and if you decide to keep the dart in your neck as a peculiar fashion statement, you've still got somewhere between fifteen minutes to an hour to finish up whatever you were doing, before someone rudely added a nap to your schedule. Oh, yeah, and if the dose is too high, these anesthetics can kill you. Dosage calculations with these things are educated guesses at best, and it's why sometimes animal control really can't afford to use tranq guns. It's not callousness, it's a calculus between the threat the animal poses to others, and if they have the time to wait and see if the tranqs work.

What you really need to not shy away from, is the idea that if your character engages in violence, there are going to be consequences for that violence. Unlike in real life, as the author, you are responsible for applying those consequences to the participants. This creates a real problem when you have authors who intentionally try to skirt around the parts of the events they find uncomfortable it reduces the impact of that violence.

To drag up that Batman example, the reason it's a slightly peculiar and subversive take is because it's outside the scope of the comics. Batman goes in, beats up muggers, comes out completely unharmed, and it's all okay because we know Batman's a good person, doing this for good reasons, and the muggers are still alive to reform and become better people in society.

Except, if you step away from the idea of a superhero comic, none of that makes any kind of sense.

The story you're trying to tell doesn't need every instance of violence to be followed with an extensive interrogation of the philosophical implications of what your characters did. However, if you're trying to tell a story where violence is a spectacle that happens in a regular rhythm, it's not going to hit in the same way.

I'm pretty sure I've said this many times, but violence has diminishing returns in your story. The more you use violence (particularly non-consequential violence), the less it will matter, and like any other tool you can call upon, the less your audience will respond to it.

There's nothing wrong with putting some violence with your story, but the one thing you do need to do is be honest with yourself about it. You can lie to your readers. (Though, that's something you want to be very careful of.) But, if you lie to yourself it will harm your story. Sometimes that does require doing some serious soul searching about what you're trying to do. Because, what you're trying to do right now is tell me that you want serious violence, without really coming to grips with how that constrains your options about how violence and physical harm work.

Again, there's nothing wrong with popcorn action. But if you want to write breezy fights between superheroes, you really need to admit, to yourself, that's what you're doing. Your story will be better for it.

-Starke

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[p0rk-guts]

"Pork you literally posted Charlie a few days ago why are you so Hazbin obsessed rn-" ssshhhhshhsshhs.h........ anyway

VAGGIE REDESIGN! And I changed her name also bc I'm jus like everyone else fr. Meet Verbena :)

BREAKDOWN BELOW!👇🏾+ Exorcist uniform redesign :3

Starting with her name this time. Back when she was still a sinner apparently she was Salvadorian and since she's (apparently?) not a former human at all I decided to take a small creative liberty with her decent and made her Venezualan instead. SOUTH AMERICUH❗❗✊🏾 I'm pretty sure Verbena flowers are native to South America so that's where the name comes from.

Onto the design! I don't have much to say abt her design honestly. It's not egregious, but it doesn't really speak to me either. It looks like simple formal wear or uniform with some strange meaningless accessories attached. And those weird itty bitty shoes that look like they're part of her thigh highs... I'm starting to think all the characters's shoes were a last minute afterthought. All and all it tells us nothing about her character. The hair wings are cool tho so I did steal those

Also the whole deal with her eye is strange to me. Why Is the floating X there??? It's a real physical part of the world, other people can see it. Do pink X's always float over angel wounds? If her arm got chopped off would an X float over it? Was it like. A fucking curse visual placed by Lute as a constant reminder of her disloyalty? Why did Carmilla point out it was an obvious marker for her being an angel???? My brain can't fathom why it's canonically attached to her wound. If she was a sinner I'd kinda understand but. Yeah idk. Weird

Also her missing eye does not look like an empty socket it looks like a purple circle was sticker pasted on to her face. It's very flat. How did we go from this

to this

(IT'S EVEN OVERLAPPING ONTO HER NOSE IN THIS SCREENSHOT WHAT IS THAT THING.)

Anyway. I made her hair resemble Polyphemus moth wings because 1. They have eye looking spots and angels are all eyes and 2. Well. Polyphemus has 1 eye. So . 💀

Her overall coloring however is inspired by a Promethea moth. I could say it's because Prometheus defied the gods and Verbena did a similar thing but the real reason is I made a spelling error while initially looking for a Polyphemus moth reference 💀 but hey they both have eye spots! And Iike their coloring for her way better

I also redesigned the exorcist uniform for her redesign bc I wanted her outfit to have reminiscent elements from it.

I gave way less time to the uniform designs, but I still had some main details I wanted to adress. I don't like how they have no armor save for their helmets. Their arm and leg pieces are made of some flexible material that tears easily. It's not giving soldier it's giving soldier costume from party city. The devil like horns are also confusing to see on an angel and the paradoxical design is never addressed. They can be evil and look imposing, but the horns just seem kinda nonsensically on the nose to show how evil they are. At least to me.

In my designs I gave them actual metal armor on their bodies so you can easily tell they're soldiers and it makes sense for them to battle in armor anyway. I also gave them more light "angelic" colors with gold details bc I wanna use gold as a symbol of angelic nature in my rewrite. I wanted their masks to show completely static expressions with wide grins to show how unnerving they are and to allude to the idea that everyone is happy in heaven, and they're all happy to do what they do.

Verbena's belt and shoulder pads draw visual similarities to the pauldrons and mid section pieces in my new exorcist uniforms to draw a connection between her and her past. The Blazer draping behind her back is also supposed to mimic the visual of folded wings. I also tried to do this with all the gold details in her design. The big hoops and belt we're 80's inspired because I decided to follow how in one of her old designs she died in the 60's (even had the big hoops and everything). In my rewrite exorcists are all former humans but I'll get into that later. Also she's got an eye patch now! Just. A normal one.

Charlie is still taller than Verbena just like in the original and idk how tall Vaggie Is exactly but Verbena is like 5'5 while Charlie is 5'11. Verbena's also got more muscle on her bc unless their muscle mass is hidden magically or they don't gain muscle for stupid dumb idiot lore reasons all the exorcists look way too slim to be military grade soldiers but what do I know

I combined a lot of pointy shapes with boxy shapes bc— more similarly to her pilot self— she can be volatile and fierce but also grounded and impassive. I added the slits to her skirt so she can be a sexy formal lady who can still comfortably throw a few kicks, and the heels— well. Idk I feel like she could slay in heels! She definitely doesn't wear em all the time but yeah. Chunky heels. I like them they're cute. Also she's got her little name tag on bc she takes Charlie's job for her SERIOUSLY! she's uh. Idk what is she. A bellhop? General security/protection? Either way she's locked in.

I imagine she had white irises like Adam and Lute along with brighter more saturated and heavenly colors in her hair (color picked from the Polyphemus moth) that turned darker and more harsh after the fall (color picked from the Promethea moth). Really visualizing her emo phase /j

Also I think the little eyes in her hair can emote with her. In the final design the line kinda makes an eyelid and it'd match her eyelid's movements. Sillay

Alright that's a wrap on my Vaggie redesign! No bonus sketches this time bc they're within the texts! Who knows what I'll do next. Who I will deface. I sure don't. I think I might rename Charlie so there's that. Anywhozies hope you like her <3

[xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx]

tw: mild description of blood (it's not that bad I swear)

Large info dump about Sims aliens and their biology and stuff (it's well past midnight and I got bored)

So I have my own ocs that I've been working on for a while but I've moved them into the brain basement for a while to fixate on these stupid little pixel guys from 2004. Anyway one of them has blue blood because I thought it would be funny, and now I'm a firm believer that the Sims 2 aliens have blue blood.

My only reasoning for this is that having red blood in a green character feels... weird? Like, your skin is not one solid thing. It's like a million translucent layers stacked on top of each other with stuff between them. Like a lasagna. That's why, when you put your hand over a flashlight, it glows red; the light is passing through your skin and all the stuff in it (notably, blood vessels).

Human skin, by default, is a yellow-ish white, like dandruff. It gets color from the blood vessels and pigmentations in the layers of the skin. This is why tattoos work, why melanin alters your skin color, and why your face can blush red, among other things. If alien skin is the same white, you'd need a shit ton of green pigment to balance the red from the blood, which would make them look kinda weird and muddy color-wise. If the blood is blue, though, everything runs smoothly. Yellow/white-ish skin + blue blood = mint green.

Though it only exists in weird animals like horseshoe crabs and some spiders (I think), there is a kind of blood that naturally comes in a sky blue color. This is because it contains hemocyanin instead of hemoglobin, using copper instead of iron. Hemoglobin uses iron to bond with oxygen and move it somewhere, and turns red in the process (like rust). When copper is oxidized, though, it turns that bright, Statue of Liberty ass turquoise color. This makes the hemocyanin blood into this blue raspberry looking concoction.

(Hemocyanin also completely messes with the biology of a creature; it is not interchangeable with hemoglobin but let's suspend disbelief for a second. For the vine.)

Anyway, enough rambling. I think the aliens are blue blooded. This makes them look more natural when I draw them, and it makes the hybrid Sim-aliens more unique and less "normal guy but green". This also affects everything that your normal blood would affect though, so I have to keep in mind that their everything is blue. Veins in the eyes, eye bags, injuries and scars, body tissues (like the mouth), blushes, sunburns, bruises, basically anything that would normally be purple/red/pink in a normal human is teal/blue.

Hope y'all enjoyed the autism thought slop I just dumped on you. Most of this info is stuff I read on Wikipedia or just a surface level understanding of human anatomy. Don't quote me on it + feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.

Also, all of this is headcanon nonsense, there's no objectively right or wrong answer. I'm just a nerd and love having really excessive lore explanations for the creative liberties I take. If you like your aliens red-blooded, I dig it. I just find it personally less of a headache on my end to go this route.

I really need to go to bed have a great night folks

[loudclan-clangen]

Hey there!

Checking out Loudclan? That's great! Thanks so much!

Loudclan was originally planned to be drawn as I played the game like most other clangen blogs... Then I got frustrated about how slow it was moving and played ahead. Just a little bit, nothing to worry about, only about 1000 moons. So this blog should be running for A WHILE. I also take pretty big liberties with the designs and events. I think it's more interesting that way! Also it's been several real life months since I started playing and some things I just... forgot. Or lost. Either way, it's fun to stretch my creative skills.

As for the mechanics of the blog:

General Content Warnings Include:

Death, Animal Death, (Cat Death specifically), Death in Childbirth, Violence, Murder, Illness, Gore, Grooming, Abuse, Bad Parenting, Cheating, Affairs, Drama, Cursing, Language, Dirty Jokes, ECT. (if i missed something please let me know)

Updates are not going to be on a consistent schedule... ever. I'm a college student. I just don't have the time or energy.

The style is going to vary wildly. It's been years since I've consistently drawn cats and I wasn't ever really happy with the way I did it back then anyway. Come along for the ride with me! I'm just as surprised by what my hands create as you guys!

Overview:

Loudclan is set in a fictional location that is based on South Central Alaska. A group of rogues fled up the mountains to get away from the deep snows of the valleys at the beginning of a particularly harsh winter. The clan follows three "Leaders" in the form of the Leader, the Lead Healer, and the Lead Mediator. These leaders will each pass their position on to their oldest heir, the closest related member of their direct family. Issues regarding what happens when two cats have similar claims have yet to be sorted out by the clan, and may never be fully decided... *insert mysterious foreshadowing sounds*

If you are interested in more of a deep dive into the lore check out this post: Lore, or anything tagged #loudclanlore .

Want to see a list of all of the Loudclan cats? Go here: Allegiances.

Asks are welcome! I will do my best to answer them quickly and efficiently! I am happy to talk about characters, art, process, gameplay, pretty much anything. (I probably won't be showing sprites though, just because I've played ahead so far and a not insignificant amount of them are just... gone. Lost to the ether. Sacrificed so that my laptop could keep running the game.) All asks are tagged #loudclanasks .

Also fanart/writing/edits are more than welcome! You guys are so cool and talented and I am honored that you would want to make something based on my dumb little pixel cats. Referencing or imitating my style/designs/layout is absolutely allowed, just make sure to mention me so I don't miss them! All fan contributions are tagged #loudclanfan .

I will never complain about anyone "blowing up my notifications" or spam liking. I think it's so neat to see people go through the blog liking as they go. Don't worry about it. I enjoy seeing you enjoy my work!

A little bit about me, you can call me "D"! I use any pronouns, I'm pretty ambivalent about them but the majority of people use she/her for me and I'm fine with that. I'm 20, I live most of the time in Alaska and part time on a ranch in Texas and I'm working on my BA in Elementary Education. I started reading Warriors in 2nd Grade and stopped in 6th Grade but the brain worms never die. If you know me in real life no you don't: It took me all of high school to kill the furry allegations I'm not going through that again. Oh, and my main blog is @restinginpiecesofpizza but warning, there's spoilers for Owlstar's family tree for like 8 generations posted on there.

If you think Loudclan's cool and want to help me out consider checking out my RedBubble!

Anyway, thanks for checking out my blog! I hope you enjoy!

[distant-velleity]

“Now… Shall we share a dance?”

[SR] Sinner's Garb Yuhua is here!!! For @beneathsakurashade's fan event~

I. I lowkey think I MASSIVELY misinterpreted the event's rules but--- But------ If I was wrong just pretend it's an alternate universe where he got this role 🔥🔥🔥🔥 (School has fried my brain I am so sorry) I also just came up with the name for the card on my own so I'm also sorry about that OTL I'm really taking too many creative liberties

Anyway um you can tell I've fixated on Evillious Chronicles before so. Yeah!!! UI-less card and voicelines are continued under the cut as per usual <3

~

Summon: A tale of seven sinners and their punishments… Sounds interesting. 

Groovification: — LOCKED — 

Set to Home Screen: The stage is set, and the actors are in place~

Home Transition 1: “I haven’t yet told you that I love you…” ♪ Isn’t that tragic? All these sinners met pretty ironic endings.

Home Transition 2: I heard that there’s going to be a party after the musical. I might not go, though; parties aren’t always my… thing. …but they did promise refreshments…

Home Transition 3: The best actors are the ones who understand their characters. Like, hating your past self so much that you’d erase any trace of it… I get that feeling a little.

Home, after login: “Seven flowers dance and sin is now released / I cover the ugliness of my true self as I continue to drown in lust…” ♪

Home Transition (Groovification): — LOCKED —

Tap Home 1: Isn’t this role better for taller people? I lose any enchanting aura I could have had when you realize I’m short… Well, at least these boots have heels. 

Tap Home 2: Any performer worth their salt should be able to prevent personal feelings from interfering too much with their performance… in theory. *sigh*…

Tap Home 3: According to the duke’s story, the vessel of lust is a sword. I actually dabbled in swordplay for a year, so I’m not totally out of my element. 

Tap Home 4: If I had to assign myself a deadly sin, I don’t think it would be lust. But I guess that’s what makes this musical so fun—exploring the narratives of people who did give in and sell their souls. 

Tap Home 5: Aren’t you afraid of what might happen if you look into “my” eyes for too long? Haha~  

Tap Home (Groovification): — LOCKED —

~

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @elenauaurs @casp1an-sea @nahelenia

@skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @scint1llat3 @nyx-of-night @nemisisnemi

@the-banana-0verlord @kathxrat-01 @lumdays @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

[fatuismooches]

Your brain for Star Rail!Dottore omg...

I always think he would've been like Ruan Mei, only more extreme... he's will be pathless at first but if he's under genius society then he'd follow nous...Meta/game play wise he'd be 5 star Ice Nihility or Erudition DPS who focus on break and freeze team (So his good team would have Ruan mei on it because they're both my fav).

Also, since Star Rail doesn't have designated weapons, creative liberties could be taken, no?? (Ratio did use a chalk and a book as weapons, so there's many possibilities for him. Hmmm, Dottore fighting with syringes, or chainsaw, or surgery knife would be nice lololol

His lightcone could be of like Boothill's but instead it's just the creations his segments on a lab (does he still need segments in this universe?we'll never know) and his splash art would be so cool if it were lab centric since most star rail splash art focuses more on scenery.

His phone case....it would be plain boring black-grey-blue color that probablyhave blood splatter on it...and his expression when looking at phone could've be like welt. His texts would consist of talking about how expensive it is the equipment to do experiments these days, or asking the trailblazer to hear his new experiments or just him complaining. And when he visits the astral express, he'd be curious about Pom-Pom and the machinery of the astral express.

If Dottore were ever be a genius society member and got invited to simulated universe collab he would get his own Occurrence and Curio (There's this one curio in divergent universe, a new endgame mode which was a syringe that cause you to go auto for the rest of the game and i thought it was funny lol) I think Dottore's Occurrence would be "The Wise Doctor" and it would give you options something along the lines : You are approached by a figure, a charming doctor who need a volunteer for his bext experiment "Are you willing to help this doctor's experiment" And the choices are :

1. Give in and help the doctor (Your party lose 50% of their HP and given one blessing of 2 star rarity)

2. Refuse the doctor (You will lose 99% of your HP and gain a negative curio)

His curio will either be his mask or the wise doctor's pinion with effects, including: Whenever you enter a domain (up to 3 domains), you lose 10% of your HP. After the curio is destroyed, you will lose 1 Blessing of 3 star rarity. (I THINK his curios will mostly have negative effects, lol)

This is a different section if he's with fragile!reader:

1. Dottore definitely would make an appearance in their lightcone and splash art, maybe them running in the field of flowers whilst dottore follow close behind??? Or maybe them dancing with dottore...that would be cute...

2. Since there's phones and all I really agree with what you said dottore does not care for his phone!! It's reader who teaches him how to use camera and messaging apps and teases how he's a genius but have a hard time keeping up with phone technologies lol

3. If they're playable, meta wise they will have harmony path, wind or ice...their kit would go well with Dottore maybe increasing weakness break efficiency or atk% (kinda like Ruan Mei lol) I would want to make their kit to focus on frozen enemies only but that would make them niche in meta ?? AND THEIR EIDOLONS....oof I imagine if they still have their sickness here it would be them in their comatose state while looking very troubled (like a nightmare) :( but in this happy universe they're just smilling peacefully!!

4. Would see them as the type to be traveling around the cosmos. They love collecting trinkets and gifts from their visit!! Also, they would be a big fan of Robin, me thinks... dragging Dottore to her concerts or just blasting her song in his lab.

5. They would!! Love!! Pom Pom!!! They would much want to take Pom Pom home.

Overall, they're just happy in this universe living their lives to their where they don't have to suffer :((

I have been having the biggest star rail dottore brain rot ever!!! I hope you don't mind me writing it out here!!

(x) YES. He would definitely be more extreme than Ruan Mei (who is also one of my top favs, her and Reader would be besties because I said so! I'm sure Trailblazer would make some catcakes of you and Dottore, which you happily take off their hands. Dottore is unsure of how to feel with the two things constantly stacked on each other and staring at him...)

I also love how unique HSR weapons are - it could quite literally be ANYTHING. I've always imagined Dottore using syringes, for his skill, he'd switch the size, fluid, and quantity of it for an enhanced attack, the mysterious liquid inside anyone's guess. I'm not sure if he could have segments in HSR, just because he was only able to create the segments thanks to having a very good test subject (Scaramouche) so he would need to somehow have an equally good experimentation partner in this universe. If he did though, it'd be amazing - he'd get so much done by sending his other selves to different planets...

His lightcone would be similar to Natasha's - a doctor helping their patient, except in his case, the "doctor" will be doing the opposite. His blood-red eyes would pair well with the blood stains on his hands. For a soft route, Dottore falling asleep on his desk and Reader placing a blanket over him. For an angsty route, Reader being injured and he has to hold your dying body. (Poor Pom-Pom... they'd hide behind a crew member the whole time, in fear Dottore might snatch them up for some experimenting... Even more, they would NOT be amused with you trying to constantly pet them.) And yes! I feel like besides his negative curios, they would be high risk, high reward - you're going to have to prove yourself to him if you want his help!

If you want to be soft, Reader's lightcone would be them flustered as another pair of hands (Dottore) place a carefully woven flower crown on their head. If you want to be angsty, it would be them sickly laying in a bed as Dottore scrambles to do anything to keep them stable. Reader and Dottore's E6 would be like Hanya's and Xueyi's - they hold hands with each other! Except they would be more intimate with each other, they would bring each other's hands closer to their lips for a small kiss. Or perhaps they would have a hand over each other's hearts.

You steal Dottore's phone often. You have like... a dozen games installed on his phone, and although his phone is always on Do Not Disturb, sometimes he scrolls through and just sees tons of notifications from random apps... he texts you as to what the hell you did with his phone and you just beg him to log on and do your dailies. He leaves you on read.

You would love traveling about too. (Kind of like Himeko - she was unable to fulfill her wishes in HI3 but now she can!!) You bring back so many items that you have to use Dottore's storage rooms to fit them all (he's not amused.) You probably even got a Warp Trotter as a pet somehow... OMG AND YOU'RE SO RIGHT ABOUT ROBIN... you have her playlist blasting during research time and he's just... not amused once again!! Reader falls back dramatically into Dottore's arms once they meet her...

I love the pookies dearly...

[scekrex]

Hi!! This is the same Anon who requested the Sinner! Adam x reader with one sided AdamsApple. I wanted to say that I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT. You write them so well 😭 I would really love a part 2 of it if you could make one, especially seeing more of the dynamic between them after Charlie walks them both to talk with Adam + Reader. (again FULLY your choice if you even do this + feel free to take any creative liberties OFC!)

AdamsApple is such an angst ridden ship and I love every second of the dynamic, even if it’s in a one sided relationship!

Have a great rest of your day ❤️❤️

Dude I absolutely love you/p for requesting a second part bc their dynamic causes my brain to go brrrrrr so here ya go <3

Part 1

This hurts me like hell, feel like the angel who fell

pairing: one-sided adamsapple/Adam x male!reader

warnings: language & angst

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“Lucifer,” you beamed at the blonde man who looked somewhat uncomfortable. Given Adam's reaction to your cheerful welcome Lucifer wasn't the only one though. The first man was quick to wrap his wings around your body in protection. Logically the brunette knew that you were safe, that you weren't gonna leave him but emotionally it was hard to deal with.

“You haven't been around in a while, what have you been up to?” you offered him a warm smile that Lucifer copied as well as he could. It wasn't your fault after all, he couldn't blame you for loving Adam, not when he himself was in love with the first man. It had been an unlucky accident that Adam had fallen for you instead of Lucifer - he had been locked up in his tower, suffering from yet another depressive episode while you had been there. You had been there to take care of the brunette.

The devil however tried to appear as cheerful as possible when he responded to your question, there was no good reason to bring the mood down, not when neither of you were responsible for how things had ended up. Emotions weren't controllable after all. “Oh you know,” he tried to make the grin on his lips as natural as possible - it seemingly worked out, “A little bit of this, a little bit of that, ruling hell is a full time job after all.” Adam huffed at that and Lucifer had to bite down on the inside of his cheek in order not to look down at the brunette. “Yeah right, I bet you still make those fucking pathetic rubber ducks,” the former angel sounded pissed and Lucifer partly understood why. He had never apologized to Adam for what had happened in Eden, for the drama with Adam's wives. Lucifer remained silent for a moment, you however managed to unintentionally cover the devil's back, “Don’t be a fucking asshole about it,” you hissed at the man underneath you and slapped his chest, that only made the first man tighten his hold on you and his wings were now covereing every single inch of your body. The feathers of his wings weren't bright golden anymore, they had changed to black. So it was quite dark for you once Adam's wings had also covered your face. “Yeah? So you're on the devil's side now?” Lucifer recognized the jealousy in Adam's voice immediately, he wanted to assure the other male that he had nothing to worry about as he raised his voice again, “Adam, I'm not interested in him, I-” but the brunette turned his face towards the fallen angel and interrupted him, “You’re not interested in him, huh? Just like you weren't fucking interested in Lilith once she had been given to me? How you weren't fucking interested in Eve once Lilith bored you? You're not fucking interested, you never are and yet you always fucking take what's made to be mine, so up your fucking ass, Lucifer.” Adam's voice sounded venomous, it was filled with honest hatred towards the devil and Lucifer understood. The former angel was right after all, whenever someone had been given to Adam, Lucifer had taken them from him and who was to say that it wouldn't happen again? Well Lucifer was to say because he wasn't interested in you, but Adam didn't believe him and the former leader of the exorcists had every right to do so.

“I think that's-” Charlie tried to calm the conversation down but Lucifer talked over her, “I’m sorry Adam.” The brunette rolled his eyes, clearly not believing the blonde a single word - and once again Lucifer understood.

Because back in Eden Lucifer and Adam had been close, closer than friends yet not close enough to be considered lovers. What they had was special and Lucifer would forever remember their bond. They had been kissing - Lucifer had been Adam's first. There had been no one else back then, it was before Lilith had been created. And in return Adam had shown Lucifer pleasure. The devil remembered their time in Eden so vividly, like it was a movie playing inside his mind, a movie that was set up to be a romance but fell apart and turned into war.

“Of fucking course you are,” Adam turned his head to face the ceiling instead of Lucifer. It was hard for the first man to be around the person he had once considered his best friend and yet said friend had been the one causing him to drown in so much pain. Adam had died alone because both of his ex wives had been with the fallen angel, there had been no one, just him. And now Lucifer decided to apologize? An apology wouldn't make up for the pain he had felt, his trust towards Lucifer had been broken and Adam had sworn himself to never trust him again.

You pushed Adam's wings out of the way to look at your boyfriend, his expression was cold and you immediately knew he was bottling up the sadness Lucifer's presence caused. Adam had never truly told you much about the devil, Eden or his human life in general. But you understood, it must have been hard for Adam, to be stuck in the place that he despised more than anything. Surrounded by the person that had ruined his life. You gently cupped his face and he seemed to relax at least a little.

Lucifer watched the both of you, watched carefully how Adam's tense body softened once your hands were onto his face, once your lips gently kissed his jaw. He tore his eyes away from the scene, he knew it wasn't healthy for him. It would only worsen his already unstable mental state. His heart was already being torn apart by razor sharp claws, he didn't need to sprinkle salt into the wound. He patted Charlie's shoulder gently, offered you a gentle smile as you looked at the devil apologetic. The fallen angel didn't blame you, he liked you actually. You had no fault in all of this, it had been his own very fault, he should have done better and maybe then he would be cuddling with Adam, but he hadn't done better, he had fucked up.

So now he had to live with the consequences.

[butchcarmy]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 4: piccata, bills, and ghosts

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 1 ch 2 ch 3 ch 5

Chapter Rating: T (9.1k)

Chapter Summary: Carmy realizes that this is what joy looks like, and when he looks that truth in the eyes, he finds himself blissfully unafraid. Their company is an indulgence he's finally allowing himself to have in its entirety, and it's beautiful. The world is both unfolding and combining, all for him, all because of them.

Tags: carmy being mentally ill, panic attacks, happy carmy, silly carmy, physical touch

A/N: Here's our fluffiest (and longest) chapter yet! But the hurt/comfort is also on full blast this chapter…This one really has it all. You'll see what I mean. Here's the also start of Act 2, in which Carmy is gonna be realizing…and he won't stop realizing…until he realizes it all. Also I am taking creative liberties with how family actually works. Enjoy!

It doesn’t always stay the same. 

When Carmy looks in the bathroom mirror this morning, he feels as tired as he looks. Exhaustion resides in his dark eyebags and temperamental curly flyways. The fire from last night had interrupted the little sleep he was able to snag. Despite all the weariness, though, there’s something different about today. 

He’s used to a blazing fire in his brain, constant in its sweltering heat and pain, but today, the fire lays low. There’s actually room in his head for quiet, for silence to exist. It’s not the dissociative emptiness he’s used to. He thinks he can only describe it as peace. 

The thought almost makes him laugh with how ludicrous it is. Peace and him don’t typically mesh. 

He remembers the fire last night, crackling in the containers of pots and pans before billowing upwards. He imagines a different outcome, instead pondering a future where his apartment burned down. Where their apartment burned down, and in this alternate reality, he stands in the ashes, unsurprised that he’s destroyed yet another good thing in his life. Then the grief of him realizing that it was the only good thing left in his life destroys him. 

But when he looks at their toothbrush next to his, their shared crinkled tube of toothpaste, he comes back down. 

He doesn’t know how he managed to keep them. Somehow, they’re here to stay, and they’re going to be at The Beef for family in half an hour.

“Corner,” he shouts, breezing through the kitchen with a container and shallots and garlic. He still needs to finish mincing them for family this afternoon—lemon chicken piccata. At least he’s prepped the rest of the ingredients already, along with the plates and utensils. 

The peace in the morning was momentary, because of course it was. There’s a tangled yarn ball of anxiety knotting itself over and over inside him at the thought of them having family with him and everyone else. He pondered on his commute this morning if inviting them was the right thing. If it was an overstep, either with them or at The Beef, but then he remembers the way their face lit up when he asked, and the anxiety grows quiet. Well, quieter. 

And as it grows quiet, it opens up the space for his excitement to be the loudest voice in his head. 

“Lemon chicken piccata?” Sydney observes the prepped chicken, lemons, capers. As she looks, her fingers fiddle with the small golden hoops in her ear. 

“Yeah. Thought this’d be a good way to have everyone try it again, get a better feel for it.” He cuts the shallot into thin slices before cutting into them again, mincing it into tiny pieces. He notes a distinctly ugly slice of shallot and tosses it. This dish needs to be perfect. 

“Heard.” Sydney traces a finger over the edges of the stacked plates before stopping. “Uh, chef, I think you got an extra plate here.”

Carmy stops, looks up from the cutting board. Quickly counts the plates again. Looks back down.

“No, I got it,” he reassures her. When she raises an eyebrow at him, he adds, “I, uh, invited someone. My…roommate.”

“Oh.” Sydney doesn’t even try to hide the surprise on her face, or maybe she’s just so shocked she couldn’t. “That’s—that’s great!”

“Sorry I didn’t, um, give a heads up. Or something. Uh…” He pauses, looking at her, trying to search for more words.

“No, it’s fine! I’m just surprised.” She shakes her head, seemingly to herself. “But now that you mention it, yeah, a heads up next time could be cool.”

“Next time,” Carmy promises with a nod. Next time, he thinks wistfully to himself. Maybe there could be a next time.

“So…I’m guessing no one else knows that you invited someone,” Sydney says, harmlessly, just as Tina and Marcus decide to come back into the kitchen. 

“Carmy invited someone?” Marcus makes his way back into the kitchen, a sack of flour in one hand and a tin of cocoa powder in the other. They slam onto the counter at the baking station, resounding with a dull thud. “Lemme guess. Is it the roommate?”

“It's the roommate,” Carmy confirms, before anyone else can get a word in. Now, onto mincing the garlic. 

“Jeff!” Tina exclaims, aghast. “Why didn't you say something earlier?” She’s walking some extra vegetables to her station to prep. “Way to surprise us!”

“Who’s surprising us? With what?” Carmy raises his head, and when he sees who's just come back through the front entrance, he lowers his head with an aggravated sigh. Richie. The last thing he needs right now.

“Carmy's bringing a date to family,” Tina tattles helpfully. Although Carmy begrudgingly acknowledges that he would've had to bring it up eventually.

“Not a date, just my roommate,” he mutters. Not that anyone's listening. 

“Carmen, Carmen, Carmen.” Richie makes a drama production of swinging the door open into the kitchen, stepping through it with arms outstretched. An overpowering scent of pine cologne accompanies him. “So you do listen to your cousin when he talks, huh?”

“I have no idea what he's talking about,” Carmy tells Sydney, who just shrugs. 

“I'm proud of you, cousin. Really proud.” Richie slaps him way too hard on the back, jerking Carmy forward. 

“Don't do that when I'm using a knife, you asshole!” Carmy snaps, elbowing Richie out of the way. “Stupid fuckin’ idiot.”

“Jesus, fine, fine, I'll get out of your way!” Getting cursed at did little to deter Richie's smug demeanor. “Fuckin’ princess. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the back.”

“We won't,” Carmy says, and Richie flips him off as he walks away. 

“Carmy's bringing his roommate, who he is not dating, to family,” Marcus projects to the rest of the kitchen, and Carmy resists a groan. 

“It’s not a big deal.” Carmy slams his knife onto another clove of garlic, crushing it. “I don't see why you guys have to make such a fuss about it.”

“Because it's fun,” Marcus replies with a broad grin. “Sorry, chef.”

“Let us have our fun. We never get to poke fun at you,” Tina says. 

“That is just not true,” Carmy groans, and everyone’s laugh resounds into a mismatched chorus. 

They tease him relentlessly for a couple more minutes until it dissolves into sparse chatter, for which Carmy is grateful. Peaceful lulls in the kitchen are rare, especially in this particular one. He takes it while he can get it, honing in, oiling the pan, pressing the chicken into the bubbling surface until it's golden. The others gradually filter out as he cooks, leaving him to cook on his own. 

Then comes the familiar chime of the front door. 

Carmy turns the stove off, takes the pan off the heat to check to see who it is. Surely enough, it’s the guest of honor. 

“Hey Carmy!” They’re looking cute as ever today, maybe even a bit more dressed up than usual. Part of Carmy thinks that maybe they dressed up for him, and another part of Carmy strangles the other one to death. “Hope I’m not too early.”

“Hey, you’re fine. I’m just about to finish up.” He guides them into the kitchen with him.

“Smells incredible in here,” they comment. “Also, before I forget. Is there somewhere I could put my coat? Break room or somethin?”

“Yeah, we can put it in my office.”

Upon entering, Carmy becomes acutely aware of exactly how messy his office is. It's not like he didn't know. He created the mess, after all, but having someone new bear witness to his stacks of papers and stuffed file folders is…embarrassing, to put it plainly. To Carmy's benefit and luck, though, they're much too polite of a person to comment.

“So this is where you're holed up.” Their head turns to look at all the posters and papers hung up on the wall, still largely unchanged from Michael's time. 

“Yep. It's all bookkeeping, along with more bookkeeping,” he informs dryly. “Here, you can hang that on my chair.”

“Thanks.” They drape their jacket on the back of his chair, and Carmy is suddenly struck with the impression that it feels odd to see it there. “Oh!” They exclaim, looking at something on his desk.

He follows their gaze to the papaya pills and ginger candies sitting in the corner. 

“Ah, yeah.” Why does he feel embarrassed? “I really need to thank you again for that.”

“No need, but I’ll take it. I hope they actually helped.”

“They did. I actually, uh…” He digs around in his apron pocket and fishes out a candy. “I’ve been keeping them on me.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” They beam at him, visibly brightening. It’s infectious, and he feels himself smiling a little back. 

A period of silence falls between them. This sort of thing keeps happening as recent. It leaves them looking at one another, and it should be awkward. Yet it’s not. It’s strange and peaceful, and then because Carmy is Carmy, his heart starts squeezing and telling him he needs to get out of here.

“Did you sleep alright? After, uh,  last night.” He’s not sure why he’s asking that now. 

“Yeah, I was fine. You?”

“Okay,” he replies instinctually. “Sorta,” he amends. “I’m doin’ better.” 

“That’s good. Better is good.”

“Yeah.” He exhales out his nose, runs a hand through his hair. 

There’s the muffled sound of laughter in the distance, and it reminds Carmy that they’re not quite alone. That he still has dishes he needs to finish cooking.

“I need to finish back in the kitchen. Let me show you where we’re sitting.”

Minus a few faces, everyone’s already seated at the table for family. There’s some idle chatter floating in the air, but it drops to the floor as soon as Carmy enters. Makes him feel like a deer in headlights.

“Everyone, this is my, uh—“ Something in Carmy’s brain buffers. “My friend,” he finally decides. He introduces them to the four that're seated already, those of which being Sydney, Marcus, Tina, and Ebra. There’s a mix of enthusiastic hellos and simple nods in response. He turns back to his roommate—friend—whatever—and they’re waving back. “I'll be back soon. Sit wherever you want.” 

“Sure thing,” they reply easily, and it makes Carmy feel a little less guilty about abandoning them.

To his credit, he does try to finish cooking quickly. All he had left was the sauce, and he already prepped all the ingredients. Between the aromatic browned onions, emulsifying the sauce with wine, and dousing the chicken in it, he couldn't have taken more than 15 minutes. 

He wasn't sure what to expect upon returning. The worst possible scenario would be complete silence. Or screaming, but that was unlikely. On his walk there, though, plates in hand, he hears pleasant chatter. 

“The coffee down the street is overpriced,” Carmy hears his roommate saying. There’s a murmur of  agreement. When he walks in, he sees all the seats at the table are full. “Don’t get me wrong, it's not bad, but you'd get coffee just as good one block down the other way at—”

“At Ironclad?” Marcus guesses hopefully, leaning in.

“At Ironclad,” they confirm, and there's a mix of cheers and boos.

“Grit is better,” Sydney challenges. “More espresso bean options.”

“You make a compelling point,” they reply. “A latte for $4 though? In this economy? Just try and beat that.”

“It's less at 7-Eleven,” Richie chimes in, and everyone boos. “It's one of the pillars of the working class! Admit it!”

They're not like him, Carmy remembers. They're actually socially competent, and they can do well for themself in a group of strangers. Seemingly with little effort, they’ve already assimilated themself. 

“Family's up,” Carmy announces, sliding plates into the table. “Lemon chicken piccata and caramelized rosemary potatoes.”

“Jeff, didn't you show us this last week?” Tina asks. She leans in to waft the savory smell towards her nose, and she hums in approval. 

“Yeah, I did. I just thought it'd be good to make it for you guys.” He finishes getting the rest of the plates from the kitchen, making sure everyone has a plate of food in front of them. He can tell who's started eating by the pleased expressions on their faces. Other than the fact that their food has a dent in it, of course. 

“Carmy. This is on fire,” Ebra praises, nodding in approval towards him. 

“Ebra, it's ‘this is fire’, not ‘this is on fire’,” Gary corrects, amused. “But I agree.”

“Good, good,” Carmy says. He settles into his seat at the front of the table, which is…weird, actually. He doesn't remember the last time he's actually sat and had family with everyone. 

“Actually eating with us for once, Carmen?” Richie points out. He says it like a jab, because that's always how he speaks, but it lacks the fight that it usually does. Carmy can hear what he's really expressing—I'm glad you're joining us.

“I am,” Carmy responds evenly. He feels his roommate's curious gaze to his right, but they don't say anything. That's when he notices that they haven't started eating yet. His mind supplies a million different reasons at once. None of them sound sane, so they'll go unspoken. “Not hungry?” he asks instead.  

“No, I just wanted to wait until you were here.” They say it like it's not a big deal. “I always did it with my family growing up. Just a habit, I guess.” Now that they're saying it, some of Carmy's memories start to make more sense. He suddenly remembers sitting with them at home, and he had to take a call right before they were about to start their dinner. When he came back, their food was still untouched. He didn't think much of it then, but now…

“Oh, cool. That's…” In the time he's searching for a word, they've taken a bite. “How is it?” He asks instead. 

“Fuck.” They're shaking their head like something's wrong, but it's obvious from the gigantic smile on their face that it's anything but. “Carmy. Carmy. You're crazy.”

“Am I, now?” He knows he's probably got a stupid expression on his face. 

“So crazy. This is incredible.” They slice themself another piece of chicken. “These capers too, man. You actually made me like capers.”

“The capers made you like capers,” Carmy jokes, and they snort. 

“No, that's severely underplaying your part in all this. Seriously, this is delicious.” They always get this glowing smile when they're eating good food. He's witnessed it in their shared kitchen, whether it's food from their mutually favorite joint or their own two hands. He's never seen them smile like this, though. It's a joy that's possibly unique to Carmy's own cooking. 

Carmy doesn't know how to handle that. Not even a little bit.

“Glad to hear it,” he says instead, ignoring the fullness in his heart, and he starts eating.

“I’mma start this week,” Marcus begins. “I'm grateful for the fact that my roommate Chester actually managed not to spoil the episode I missed of this show we’re watching this past week. He’s still a jackass, though.”

“You can say it’s The Bachelor, we all already know,” Sydney teases. Marcus huffs, but he’s smiling.

“Just for that, you’re goin’ now,” he replies, motioning towards her with a fork. 

“Sure, sure. Yeah, um, I’m grateful for my dad’s good health.” Sydney shrugs, nonchalant when there’s a group of “aww”s. “I am! He had this, ugh, awful case of bronchitis, but he's good now. It was scary. Tina?”

“Hm…” Tina chews thoughtfully as she thinks. “Oh! My dumbass son actually passed his finals. Even with some A’s!” She claps her hands excitedly and clasps them to rest under her chin. That gets a variety of cheers. “If he actually tries, he can be so smart. But not without stressing me the fuck out first. What about you, Rich?”

“Easy. I found that pine cologne that Marcus hates,” Richie says, smug. 

“I noticed,” Marcus replies mildly. “Everyone hates it, by the way.”

“I smell like the fuckin’ forest! It's majestic as shit.” Richie makes a show of sniffing his shirt amongst all the booing mixed with laughter. That's when he looks to Carmy’s roommate, who's been politely listening and eating. “You wanna have a go of it, guest of honor?”

“Oh, sure. Something I'm grateful for, right?” They put down their utensils and thoughtfully rub their index finger across their chin. “Well…I’m feeling pretty grateful to be eating this delicious food. It's not often I get to eat food this good.” It's not that good, Carmy wants to say to combat the fluttering in his stomach, but it's far too contradictory. He made sure to make it good since they were going to be eating it. “How about you, Carmy?”

“Huh?” Carmy's been on autopilot, comfortable to watch everyone else. He's not much of a participant. Now everyone's got their eyes on him. “I'm grateful for, uh…”

I'm grateful for that smile you get when you eat my cooking, he wants to say. I'm grateful to have someone like you.

“I'm grateful to be in good company,” Carmy says. That receives a round of hearty reactions, including a look from his roommate that he can only describe as affectionate. He pointedly looks back down at his half-eaten plate when he feels his ears getting warm. 

“Aw, you softie,” Richie snickers. “What, are we embarrassin’ you?”

“Shut it,” he mutters, but there's barely any heat behind it. His reaction only creates more laughter around the table. “Ebra, you go next.”

Little does Richie know what he's really embarrassed about. Everyone's teasing isn't helping, sure, but it's not his fellow chefs, it's them. It's their stupid smile that he keeps looking back at. It's that he knows it's from the food he made for them, it's that he doesn't know what to do with all these feelings taking up residence in his heart. 

Between the energetic chatter and the cleaned off plates, Carmy realizes that a part of what he's feeling is happiness. It's an odd sensation, which says a lot about the type of person that he is. It's the truth, though. He's just cooked a good meal for people he cares a lot about, and the happiness that has come with that is weird. 

Not bad weird, though. Good weird. 

If anyone noticed how strange he looked smiling with a fork in his mouth, they didn't mention it. 

Family goes by faster than Carmy is used to. That's what happens when you actually join in for once, he supposes. He just wasn't expecting it to wrap up so quickly. Or, it's more accurate to say he didn't want to see them go already.

“Guess you guys have to get ready for service now, right?” They've returned to his office to grab their jacket, giving the two of them a brief moment of privacy. 

“Yeah. Service starts at 3.” He sighs, and they sympathetically return his sigh. 

“Right. Well, I really enjoyed eating with everyone. And the food? Seriously, it was so good. You knocked it out of the park. I’m sure you get this all the time, but you’re seriously incredible at what you do.”

“I don’t hear that so much anymore,” he admits. “Not like I used to. Um…” He clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’m just glad you enjoyed it. I should really cook more outside of this place. Maybe cook for us in our kitchen for once.”

“You know I’m here for that. I could have your cooking any time,” they gush, like it doesn’t make Carmy’s heart palpitate. “I get it, through. You spend all day cooking here, I get that you don’t wanna come home and cook.”

“Yeah, but…it's different.” It's different because it’s for you, he wants to say, but as expected, he doesn’t. 

“W-What?” Suddenly, their cheeks go pink. “Well, if you put it like that…”

“...” The realization buffers in his head before fully forming. He actually said that aloud after all. Too late to take it back. “Uh, yeah, I mean, I just think, I should give you a break from making leftovers for the week,” he stutters in a weak attempt to cover his accidental affection. “And, um, I just want to, because I…”

“Because…?” He’s taking way too fucking long to finish this sentence. Their face doesn’t betray any impatience, though. It never does, and seeing that makes him relax. 

“Because I—like that you like my cooking.” 

“I love your cooking,” they correct, their smile teasing. 

“Um, right—you love—” he tries to fix his words again, but this one’s far too much to say. The butterflies in his stomach feel similar to nausea. The conflict must show on his face in an insane way, because their smile turns into a wide grin full of amusement. 

“It was a good attempt.” That makes him laugh a little. “Hey, if you’re saying I get to bring your cooking to work this next week, I’m not objecting.”

“I’ll try my best.” His eyes catch the clock on the wall. He needs to wrap this up. “I’m not trying to kick you out, but I really gotta get back now.”

“It’s cool. I should be heading out anyway. I’ll see you at home?”

“Yeah,” he says, poorly hiding the affection in it, “I’ll see you at home. And, uh—thanks. For coming.”

“Of course. I had fun,” they say with a smile. “See ya.” 

He watches them leave through the entrance, hearing that familiar sound of the ringing bell, and they're gone.  

Carmy is left standing there with an odd warmth in his chest. It doesn't overwhelm him, doesn't suffocate him, just sits there. It's a strange, but nice feeling. 

This is what happiness feels like, he realizes, and in this moment, fear is nowhere to be found. 

. . . . .

The dinner rush is fine. It's just fine. It's just another thing for Carmy to get through, and he does. Just another obstacle between him and getting home. 

A wishful part of him always hopes that they'll be able to close before 10, but it is a very lofty wish to make, especially on a Saturday. With great regret, he puts his car into park at 10:44 pm. The night air is frigid and awful against his brittle dry skin and cracked lips. He can't get to his front door fast enough. 

Opening the front door sends warm gusts of heated air across his face. He can't help his relieved sigh, especially not when he sees them sitting on the couch. They’re dressed in a loose t-shirt and bike shorts, a combo that makes his heart pulse.

“Hey, welcome back.” They give him a little wave. He finds it surprisingly easy to smile and wave back. This strange joy keeps finding new ways to pop up. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Fine,” he says, because it was. It was fine. “Busy, but normal. You know how it is. Weekends.” They hum in agreement. He kicks his shoes off by the door, walks over to where they're seated. This is when he notices the laundry basket on the floor with stacks of folded clothes. They grab a sweater from the pile of clothes on the coffee table and lay it out on their lap. “Doin’ laundry?”

“Yeah. I'm trying to be responsible.” They smooth out the sweater, working out the creases in the collar with their fingers. “I think some of your socks ended up in the wash with my stuff.” They motion to a neat stack of miscellaneous white socks sitting on the coffee table.

“Oh, yeah. These are mine.” He picks them up, turns them around in his hand. “Sorry, guess I missed them when I was last doing laundry.”

“It's fine. They're just extra clean now.” 

“And folded.” He does his best to put his socks down just as they were even though he’ll have to move them anyway. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” They pull up another piece of clothing from their basket. Carmy immediately recognizes it as they throw it over to him. It’s his boxers.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologizes on reflex, heating up with embarrassment. He crumples it up in his hand. 

“It’s chill. Besides, didn’t you get one of my bras once?”

“Ah, yeah. I forgot,” he says, like he needed a moment to remember it. It’s all a facade. He couldn’t get that moment out of his memories he tried. It was very lacy, and it made him more nervous than someone his age should’ve been. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention when I saw you earlier. I paid the water bill today. It was 48 something.” They lean forward to grab a white envelope. The monthly payment from the water company. They flip it open and scan the paper again. “It was—48 dollars and 19 cents, to be exact.”

“Lower than last month.” He is grateful to be discussing the water bill instead of their underwear. “Much lower, actually.”

“I’ve been trying to cut back on my 30 minute showers, and I’d like to think that’s why.”

“Good job,” he says jokingly, and they pretend to bow like they’ve won an award. “I still think 30 minutes is just a little too long,” he teases after. This is a familiar conversation.

“Maybe to you, Mr. 5 minute showers,” they scoff. They kindly don’t mention how little he actually showers. “I have a lot of serious business to attend to in there! Lots of meetings, lots of calls…” They snicker, and he makes a dismissive noise, but he’s smiling. He's never been good at hiding his amusement around them. “So, yeah. Just venmo me when you get the chance.”

“Already on it,” he says. As soon as he sends it, their phone dings with the notification. 

“Thank you, thank you. And, ah, not to bombard you with more housekeeping, but I'm gonna try and go grocery shopping this monday. Wanted to ask if you need me to pick up anything.”

“Uh…” Detergent, coffee, soap, peanut butter, bread, chips, he notes in his head, rattling off a list. “I need a lot of stuff, so don't worry about it. Actually—” He turns to look at them, and they look up from their laundry with a curious look. “When were you thinking about going?”

“It's my day off, so anytime. What, wanna join me?”

“If you don't mind going in the morning, then yeah.” It feels weird, asking for accommodations like this. When you're running a business that keeps you until 10 pm everyday, though, you don't have a choice. “Like, 9 am?”

“Not earlier?” They smile knowingly. “I don't mind. We can do 8 am, if you want.”

“I wouldn't wanna make you wake up any earlier than you already have to on your day off.”

“It's no different to me, really. Besides, I'm offering.”

“Right. Uh…” I shouldn't push it, he thinks to himself with near certainty, but he stops. Takes a moment. They're offering. “Sure, then. 8 am.”

“8 am,” they reply easily. A wistful smile appears on their face. “When's the last time we've gone grocery shopping together?”

“I can't remember, so at least over a month.” That's also the last time I properly went grocery shopping, he remembers, but he doesn't want to share that. 

“Way too long.” They shake their head. “It's just hard to line our schedules up. You think it'd be easier since we live together.”

“Y'think,” he echoes tiredly. “Not like I’m makin’ it any easier, being at The Beef everyday and all.”

“Well…yeah, I suppose not. It is a little scary how long you go without a day off.” They make a face. “When's the last day you've had a day off?”

“Dunno. Just got a lot to do…all the time.”

“All the time.” They sigh. “Is that really how it's supposed to be? Being a business owner?”

“When your business is fucked, yeah.” The growing distress on their face makes the corners of his mouth twitch in an amused smile. “Scraping by from week to week.”

“Damn.” They raise their eyebrows, shake their head. “I don't know how you do it.”

“I'm used to it.” It's the truth. The longer he thinks about it, though, the festering dread starts to creep out from the hole he's kicked it in. So he changes the subject before it can come out and choke him to death. “Mind if I crack open the window for a smoke?”

“Only if you don't let me join you,” they reply with a wide grin, and he laughs. 

After changing out of his work clothes into a tank top and gray sweatpants, he sits himself at their designated window. He cracks it open just a smidge—it's too cold tonight. The cars are quiet, at least. He pulls his pack from his pocket and places a cigarette into his mouth.

“You want a cig?” Carmy asks when they take the empty seat across from him. Their smoking device of choice today is their water pipe. It looks like a juicebox from the packaging, shape, and the plastic straw arching out of it.  

“Can I just take a hit off yours instead? Not really in the mood for a whole cig right now.” He wordlessly passes his lit cig to them. They take a slow hit, the orange glow creeping up it. They look down at it and frown. “Sorry, I got a little lip gloss on it. I didn't realize I still had some on.”

“It's fine.” He takes it back and inspects it. Little oily pink smudges lay in a messy circle on the filter. “As long as it's not like that other lipstick.”

“God, no.” They drag a hand over their face. “I know I keep saying it, but I'm so sorry about that. That was mortifying.”

“Don't worry about it. Dust under the rug.” When he brings his mouth back around his cig, a faint stickiness clings to his lips. He bulldozes through the jittery feeling it brings with it. 

They sit there smoking side by side for a minute. His gaze flickers between the moving city scenery out the window and the sight of them smoking from their bubbler. Clearly one is more captivating than the other. He watches the translucent smoke fill the glass, go up the straw, and out of their lips. 

They catch him staring. His only saving grace is that he doesn't flinch. 

“You want some?” They ask, turning the bubbler towards him. So that's what they thought he was doing. He can live with that. 

“Sure, if you're offering.”

“Yeah, I am. This one's real sleepy shit, just so you know.”

“Good. I need that tonight.” The taste of the weed is strangely floral as it goes down, but he can't place what it is. “Did you mix this with something?”

“Not this time. Tastes weird though, right? It's kinda��detergent-y. One of my friends says it tastes like dryer sheets.”

“So am I smoking laundromat weed? Tide pod weed?” It's a stupid joke, but Carmy finds that the dumber the joke, the harder it makes them laugh. 

“Laundromat weed,” they wheeze. “No, it's not tide pod weed. I can't afford name brand.”

“Equate weed, then?”

“Kroger brand, actually,” they say, “but I hear Up & Up is pretty good, too.”

“I'm sure it's just as good as name-brand shit.”

“Most of the time.” 

Carmy clears the rest of the chamber of the excess smoke before sliding it back across the table to them. 

“Thanks.” The buzz is setting in. The mix of cannabis and nicotine always feels a little weird, but in a thrilling way. “I really just need to get my own shit, stop mooching off you.”

“I steal enough of your cigs, so don't worry about it.” This is when he notices that their eyes have gone a little pink from the weed. He also notes to himself that he shouldn't be looking so closely. “So, did something good happen today?”

“Good?”

“Yeah. You just seem to be in a particularly good mood, is all.”

“Oh.” He immediately knows why. Surely he can't just be honest with them, but the high's lowered his barriers, and he decides to just let himself say it. “Yeah, something good did happen, now that you mention it.”

“That's good,” they say, like it has nothing to do with them. “It's nice to see you with a little less stress on you. What happened?” 

“You don't already know?” He asks, because there's no way they don't know. From the look on their face, though, they really don't. “It was you.”

“...” Their face colors. “Oh,” they say, just like he did a second ago. He likes seeing them smile with a blush to match. “I mean, I thought, maybe, I just didn't wanna assume…”

“It was nice. Having you there with everyone, I mean.” 

“They're really cool. You've got some great coworkers.”

“I do,” he replies quietly, faintly. It's true, even when he wants to let The Beef catch on fire. “Everyone really liked you.”

“Really?” The surprise is clear on their face.

“Yeah, really.” Throughout the rest of the day, the others had come up to him expressing some sort of approval. Not that he needed their approval. It felt nice, though. How'd you find someone so…nice? Marcus had asked, entirely genuine, and all Carmy could do was shrug. It was a good question.

How was a person like him allowed to have anything good in his life?

“Am I allowed to ask what they said?”

“You're allowed,” he says, amused. “Marcus said you were really nice. So did Syd. Seems you hit it off with them.”

“I think I did, too.” They sit with his reply for a moment, staring out the window and idly tapping their fingers on the bubbler. “Feels weird.”

“Weird?”

“A good weird,” they clarify. “You ever get weirded out by the fact that people talk about you when you're not there? And it's like, good things they're saying, too?”

“Constantly,” he admits. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to it.”

“Yeah.” Their hands are fiddling with the ends of their hair. “I guess I just have a hard time believing that people will think the best of me when I'm not around. Like…like, I don't know, just…”

“No, I understand.” Carmy's feels acutely more alert now. “It's like, uh, object permanence, kinda. But with—with people.”

“That's exactly it!” They exclaim, and then they deflate again. “It's stupid, but I just…”

“It's not stupid,” he assures them, and their lips quirk in a tiny smile. “If it helps, I…I don't think the worst of you when you're not around.”

“Hearing you say it aloud makes me realize how crazy it is for me to think like that,” they murmur, “but thank you. That does…that does make me feel better, actually.”

“Sure.” It's better if you don't know the details, he thinks to himself, reminiscing on naked dreams and daydreams around their bright smile. 

He really shouldn’t sit on the couch with them. It’s late, and he needs to be in his own bed at this time of night. Unfortunately, logic isn’t at the forefront when he sees them. He’s high and wants to stick to them like glue, so he does. They’ve turned on these HD videos of people making drinks. It’s like sensory videos for babies, except for adults, they told him, and that got the two of them giggling. 

It’s nice. Far too nice than what Carmy’s used to. But this time, he doesn’t want to let it go, and he’s not afraid of that, either. 

I want this to last, he thinks, unafraid, and he falls asleep listening to their voice.

. . . . .

Carmy wakes up by jolting up from the couch. He’s hunched and heaving for air, and all he can think about is that he needs to see Michael.

“Mike,” he calls out. His voice is raspy and shaken. His body feels like a piece of stretched twine. He’s about to call out for Mike again until he lifts his head to see his roommate who is definitely not Michael. 

Fuck.

“Hey. Are you okay?” Their expression is alert, but gentle. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just keeps his mouth shut and breathes heavily through his nose. He manages a nod. He imagines it doesn’t look very convincing.

“Just need a second,” he gets out. God, he sounds awful.

“You’re fine. You don’t need to explain anything, just…take your time.”

“I thought today was going to be a good day,” he gets out between gritted teeth. “Stupid. Fuckin’ stupid of me. Fuck. Mi—” He cuts himself off. That indescribable fear he thought was far has resurfaced, pushing in between the cracks in his ribs, desperate in the space it’s vying for. 

Why the fuck are his eyes hot? He shouldn’t cry. Not over this. Not over anything.

“Who’s—?” They stop themself, mouth closing in a thin line. “Sorry. I don’t need to ask.” The question starts and ends there, but he knows what they’re asking. 

Who’s Mike?

It feels like two knives sharpening each other, the tinny sound of steel against steel. It pierces him once, twisting, turning into a dull, painful ache. Like an old wound that hasn’t had enough time to heal, an old throbbing scar.

Michael.

“He...” Carmy starts, but it’s too much. It’s too much, and his hands are trembling, shaking terribly. It’s gonna happen again. He can’t do this. 

Softer hands hold his, thumbs rubbing soft circles on the back of his dry hands. With each rotation on his skin, with each lap, Carmy slows down. He returns. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” they whisper. Their hands are so gentle. “I didn’t mean to ask, it just sorta popped out.”

“No, it’s okay,” he responds without thinking, surprising even himself. Even though it’s not really okay, even though he doesn’t really wanna talk about it, maybe he does, because he hasn’t gone completely silent yet. “He was my brother.”

“Ah...” Realization sets in their voice. “I see.”

“He was a drug addict,” he explains, pretending like saying it doesn’t feel like crumbling dough, like sugar dissolving into boiling water. “Killed himself.”

The grip on his hands tighten. He appreciates the feeling. 

This is the mark you’ve left, Carmy thinks suddenly. How fucked up is that, Mike? The first thing I tell people is the last thing you ever did. When did you stop being my best friend and start being my older brother who killed himself?

“I’m sorry,” they say quietly, because of course they do. That’s all anyone can think to say. Carmy’s too tired to feel angry about that anymore. “When did he pass away?”

“Last February,” he answers like it’s a quiz question, like it doesn’t mean anything. “It’ll be a year in a couple months.”

“I see.” Their hands are holding his gently again. Carmy finds he prefers this. “That must’ve been really hard. Still is, I’m sure.”

“...Still is, yeah. Especially with the restaurant. It was his,” he explains, when he sees the confusion beginning in their eyes. “He was the previous owner, and he left it. To me.”

“So that’s why you’re here and not in New York?” They ask. He nods. 

“I’m trying to fix it.” He doesn’t say I’m fixing it, because that would mean he’s made progress. 

“I don’t know how it was before, but it seems like you are fixing it. I know I’ve barely been there, you know it a million times better than I do, it just...it seems like people are happy there.”

“Happy,” he muses. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Everyone seems to really like you,” they go on. “That’s something, isn’t it?” 

“It is. Doesn’t fix the debt, but...” He shrugs half-heartedly. No, not even half. Quarter-heartedly. “It’s somethin’.”

“I had no clue.” There’s something regretful, rueful in their words. “This whole time, you’ve just been...”

“Don’t,” he interrupts. 

“...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I’m sorry,” he backtracks. “I just mean...don’t give me your pity,” he mutters. It’s a bitter thing to say. Luckily, he’s so drained it comes out without any of the venom. It’s better that way. They don’t deserve his poison. 

“It’s not pity,” they argue, their reply so instant it sobers him. “It’s...respect, I guess.”

“Respect?”

“Yeah. You’ve got a lot on your plate. I couldn’t handle all the stuff you do, but you’re doing great.”

“I barely sleep most nights,” he says suddenly. He’s unsure why. It’s like he has to prove something. “When I do, there’s nightmares. You saw that tonight and yesterday. I almost burned down the house. My stomach’s still fucked. I’m not...” His eyes feel hot again. Breathing suddenly feels different. There’s ringing, static clogging his ears. “I’m not doing great,” he realizes with stunning, raw clarity, and the pain of it knocks the wind out of him. 

“You’re doing great,” they say again. “Look at me, Carmy.”

He looks at them. Their eyes are warm. 

"I,” he starts, but he’s having an awful time trying to breathe. When he inhales, he feels like he’s splintering, a unified whole breaking into jagged, drifting parts. 

Dread overtakes him in the blink of an eye. He doesn’t want them to see him like this. Hasn’t he already done enough?

“Breathe in with me.” They inhale, slowly, counting to 8. He counts with them like a lifeline, which it partially is. His breaths come out staggered, but he claws forward. Tries his best to keep his eyes interlocked with theirs. “And exhale...”

He clings onto every beat in their voice, every circle their thumbs make. Their words wrap around him, bringing the broken pieces back together, clicking them into place again. They restore his sense of gravity, returning his feet to solid ground with every breath. 

“You’re okay,” they say softly. One of their hands moves up to brush back hair from his face. The feeling of their fingers tucking hair behind his ear makes his eyes flutter briefly shut.

“I’m okay,” he whispers back. It doesn’t sound very convincing. Fake it until you make it, he reminds himself. 

“You’re okay.” They take one last deep breath with him, and when he exhales, his head feels clear again. 

“Sorry. That was...” He shakes his head. “I don’t usually...”

“Never gotten one of those before?”

“No, it’s not that. I’ve had tons of panic attacks before, just...not in front of anyone else,” he finishes awkwardly. 

“Yeah?” Carmy finds himself looking down at their conjoined hands instead of their eyes. “Well, you certainly don’t have to apologize. I get them too, from time to time.”

“Thank you. For...calming me down.” He takes another deep breath to steady himself. “It helped a lot.”

“No problem.” There’s that glowing smile he can’t get enough of. “How’re you feeling now?”

“I…” He tries to pinpoint something in all the noise. It’s proving difficult. “I’m calmer,” he notices. 

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know what to, how to, explain my…feelings.” The words are so haphazardly put together that he stammers as they tumble on the way out of his mouth. 

“Don’t worry, you’re doing great.” From anyone, the sentiment would make him shut down even more, turn his head the other way. From them, though…

“I’m okay,” he says, and it’s the truth. “I think, um, just a lot hit me all at once.”

“I get it. It often happens like that, doesn’t it?”

“It does. I just...” He briefly shuts his eyes, and there’s a flash of Michael. “It’s hard. Doing all this without him.” They nod. “I never wanted to. Not on my own.”

“He must’ve been a great guy.”

“He was,” he starts, and his throat closes up. They seem to understand, because they don’t say anything else. He doesn’t say it, but he’s glad for it. This is all he can bear. 

It’s hard to put into words, the way Carmy feels right now. He’s never been great at describing how he feels, even when he was a kid. Sometimes he’d cry about the wrong things, and he wouldn’t cry at the right things. But there wasn’t quite any right or wrong way to feel. It just was. It just is. 

The grief comes in waves. It always has, and it always will. Each wave is a natural disaster on its own, a tsunami that fills his lungs with water, leaving nothing in its wake. But something about this one just washed slowly over him, leaving just droplets of water in his hair. If anything, he just feels...lighter. 

He supposes this is what really trusting someone feels like.

The moment of peace is eventually ruined by his stomach growling. Loudly.

“Hungry?” They say first with an amused grin.

“I guess.” He hadn’t realized. “I didn’t eat much today.”

“Hm, I do suppose you had a late lunch, too, if that matters.”

“Sure. That’s also all I had to eat today.” He doesn’t know why he lets that slip, but he does. 

“Oh no!” That makes them jump up, detaching their hands from his. He tries not to mourn the loss for too long. “No wonder you’re hungry.”

“It’s fine. It’s like this sometimes,” he says, like it’s a normal and healthy thing to be doing. “Just one of those days.” They frown. 

“What do you do when your stomach gets like this? What do you eat?”

“I don’t eat,” he answers honestly, and they gasp. 

“Carmy! That is not the answer. I mean, like, don’t force it down, but is there really nothing you can stomach?”

“If I start chewing, I just feel worse. I’ll usually just have some water and a cigarette. If I have time, coffee.”

“You can’t be having that French girl breakfast. You just can’t.” That gets a laugh out of him. “You’re becoming a French girl, and you’re laughing. Carmy! This is serious.” That only makes him laugh harder. 

“Do all French girls also have stomach issues?” He wheezes out. That sets off their laughter. 

“I don’t know. You tell me, Ms. France.”

“Wait, stop, I don’t wanna be in a beauty pageant.”

“Then stop following their diet! Look—” They try to speak again, and they cut themself off with more laughter. “Okay. No. I’m fine. I’m not laughing. You, you need to eat. No skipping meals.”

“I usually end up having lunch,” he argues.  

“Y’know, as someone whose whole life is food, I would expect you to know the importance of breakfast more.”

“Just because I know it’s important doesn’t mean I’m gonna have it.”

“Hm. I don’t love your reasoning. Stop laughing! I’m mad at you. I’m so mad I’m gonna give you homework.”

“Homework? Just so you know, I wasn’t a good student.”

“It’s okay, I grade on a curve. Here’s your homework—you are going to use my protein powder that is sitting in the cabinet to the right of the fridge, and you’re going to put it in some milk. And then you’re gonna drink that shit. That’s what I have when I wake up nauseous.”

“I think I can try that.” His cheeks hurt from smiling. “Do you accept late work?” That makes them sigh dramatically, making a show of it.

“I suppose. Just don’t make it a habit! I won’t be this lenient every time.”

“Yeah, you will,” Carmy says without thinking. They gasp.

“No, I won’t! I can be mean.”

“I don’t think you have a mean bone in your body.”

“That’s actually a really nice thing to say, but keep this up and you’ll see my mean side!”

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does. That just ruffles them up further. 

“You just don’t seem real, sometimes,” he admits. “It scares me.”

“It does?” He has to commend them for their calm reaction. 

“Good things scare me, I think. I know that's…fucked up, but…”

“No, it makes sense. It shouldn't, but…it does to me.” He can't place their expression. It's some mixture of nostalgic and haunted. Or maybe just plain haunted. 

“Yeah?” They nod. “That's not good,” he mumbles, and the beauty of their shared, awful truth makes them both smile. 

“Well.” Their cheeks are less flushed, but there's still a dusting of color, like faint cocoa powder on cake. “I promise that I am, in fact, very real.”

“Pinky promise?” Carmy doesn't know where that comes from. They have a habit of bringing a strange silliness out of him. 

“Pinky promise. I'll even prove it to you.”

“How do you plan on doing that, exactly?” 

“Easy.” They outstretch their arms, and it clicks in his head with a rush. “Unless you're the sort of person that's not into hugging.”

“No, I am.” The words rush out, as if they're desperate to keep the offer on the table. “I mean, I hug my family when I see ‘em.”

“I'll admit, I'm a hugger. I give my friends hugs all the time. I just didn't know if you minded that sort of thing.”

“I don't mind. I like them, um…just don't usually initiate ‘em, I guess.” The anticipation is speeding up the beat of his heart like a coach on the sidelines. 

“Then bring it in, big guy,” they say, and he leans in.

The last time they hugged each other, Carmy was sleep-deprived and they were half-lucid from alcohol. This time is different. It's purposeful, tight, and all-encompassing. Their arms go over his shoulders and link around his neck to bring him in close. His arms naturally slot underneath theirs, meeting in the middle of their back. 

He can feel their hair tickling his neck. His heartbeat is in his ears, and he prays they can't hear it. They squeeze him, light, and his eyes flutter shut. 

“This is better,” Carmy whispers. He doesn't know why he's whispering. He supposes his mouth being so close to their ear makes him quiet. 

“Better than what?” Their voice has gone soft to match his. The vibrations next to his ear send a slim shiver up his spine. 

“Than the first time we hugged.” He pauses. “Unless you don't remember.”

“I remember.” They laugh, breathy and shy. “God. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

“It didn't.” He tightens his hold on them. He doesn't know if they meant for the hug to last this long, but they're warm and perfect to hold. They smell like smoke and a flower he can't place. 

“Good.” He feels them turning their head, shifting their face into his hair, and he thinks his heart is going to explode, turning into a red jam inside of him. “So, am I real or what?”

“Mm, you're real. You've convinced me.” He thinks he could fall asleep like this. Sadly, as soon as he says that, they take it as the cue to unlink their bodies. 

Their hair's messy from where it was pressed up against the side of his head. He notices how cold he feels without them.

“If you need reminding, just let me know.” Their cheeks are rosy again. Cute. “Like I said, I'm a hugger, so…”

“I wouldn't be opposed.” I think I need that, actually, he thinks to himself. 

“Okay. Good to know.” 

“Um.” Awkwardness is suddenly his primary emotion. “Shit, I didn't even think to check the time. What time is it?”

“Lemme check.” They pull out their phone from their pocket. “12:40 am.”

Carmy sighs. 

“Better than I thought.” When he stands up off the couch, he feels every aching muscle protesting in disapproval. “I should sleep in my actual bed. But, um…” He fidgets with his hands, anxious. “Thank you. For staying with me. And talking to me about stuff.”

“You don't have to thank me. Thank you for trusting me with all that.” They cock their head to the side as they look up at him. Cute, he thinks again, unbearably. “I feel like I know you a lot better.” 

“Mm.” Carmy feels his face getting hot, meaning he has to change the topic as quickly as possible. “It feels nice. Being known by you. I…” He thinks about that night he held their hair behind them as they cried into the toilet. I want to know you, Carmy, they whispered, beautifully genuine even in their drunken stupor. “I want to know you, too,” he finally allows himself to say, and he knows by the full feeling in his chest that it's the truth. 

They get that shy smile he's seen so much of today. Carmy realizes he likes that he's the one that keeps making them smile like that. 

“Okay, then. I wouldn't mind that.” They stand up from the couch next, and they stretch their arms far above their head. “Maybe another night, though. It's late.”

“Right. I didn't mean…”

“Hey, if we didn't both have work tomorrow, I'd love to keep talking.” There goes their uncanny ability to wash his anxieties away so easily, a washcloth dissolving dirt. They start walking down the hallway to their bedrooms, and he trails behind them on instinct. “But I think we've kept each other up late too many nights recently.” 

“I think so, yeah.” Without context, that'd make his stomach squirm with the implications. Their bedroom's first down the hall, so they move to hover in their doorway. “Um,” he starts, a sudden unspeakable urge gripping him, “just one more thing.”

“What is it?”

Fuck it, Carmy thinks. Fuck it. 

With only minimal hesitation, he leans down and pulls them into a hug. They make a small noise of surprise, but they reciprocate almost instantly.

“Just wanted to double check,” he mumbles. He keeps the hug short this time, because he knows if he doesn't, he won't be able to let go. 

“Still real, right?” 

“Still real.”

“Good idea, to double check.” They step backwards, one hand on their door. “G'night, Carmy. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“G'night,” he murmurs back. “See you.”

I'm fucked, Carmy realizes once the door shuts. The hallway is dark, and there is an unusual amount of good in his life. I'm so fucked. 

~

@zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @carmenbrzatto

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

Hey I just wanted to ask you, what do you think of the fact that in ToA the fact that Apollo bullied Harpocrates was basically made up and has no basis in myths? I'm kinda conflicted, because I can get behind holding the deities accountable for the stuff they have done, but that one think was made up.

Hellooo <3

I have seen this as a common complaint about ToA. And yes, I see the view - it has no basis in the actual myths, and therefore shouldn't reflect on what actual mythological Apollo has done.

Buckle up. I've got some thoughts to share here.

There are a couple things to consider here:

The Camp Half-Blood Chronicles are not meant to be 100% accurate to the myths. Nor did Rick really intend to do so when he first created the series - after all, PJO started out as Haley's new bedtime story, and to give him a character he could relate to. That was the main goal of Rick's.

Does Rick do his best to stay true to the myths? I do think so. Sure, he trips up at times (details of the myths [ie, Midas was not the judge of the Apollo V Pan contest], characterizations of the gods [ie, Aphrodite & Ares), ect.) but all in all he does do his best to give us a well-rounded story that has Greek Mythology as its influence.

Because also remember - PJO started out as a story about the demigods, not the gods. If the gods had originally been Rick's focus instead, I think we would have a bit of a different tale.

So a bit of creative liberty can be taken here, especially since Rick basically decided 'all myths are true!' with his Kane Chronicles and Magnus Chase books - it makes sense, from a storytelling perspective, that (ToA) Apollo would have crossed paths with Harpocrates at some point.

With all honesty, the CHB Chronicles shouldn't even be taken as fact about the myths - about the gods. Because no mythological series is ever 100% accurate, and to assume they are is disrespectful to the culture these myths come from.

And continuing with the storytelling perspective...honestly I think it was a pretty interesting choice on Rick's end. It's not myth-accurate, but I think it does add more to the story Rick is telling us.

He's not using these gods to make them look bad, after all. He's using them to tell a story. To give us a message.

And ToA's mainly centers around abuse.

Zeus isn't an abuser in mythology, but Rick made him one in his books to show us how abuse works. How it can be difficult to accept that you have been abused.

How hard it can be to acknowledge the fact that you have caused pain yourself.

Because while it seems like Harpocrates would cause Apollo's whole character to take a bit of a dive (after all, nobody likes a bully, right? Who would!), I...disagree.

I think Harpocrates deepens Apollo's character.

Stick with me.

I have been bullied in school. Fourth grade and seventh grade in particular were Dreadful for me and in seventh grade I would come home in tears about 95% of the time. I would even skip track practice because I was so emotionally unbalanced from the day I just couldn't take another minute.

There was something that my parents, grandparents, the parish deacon, ect all told me. There is probably a reason why bullies picked on me;

They were jealous.

There was something wrong with them; or, connecting to this point;

They were hurting.

They were hurting.

Anybody else's brains go "Bingo!"?

Because think about it. By the time Harpocrates comes around, Apollo's already spent a lot of time under Zeus's thumb - under his abuse.

And personally, I don't think Zeus likes the other pantheons. And I bet he really doesn't like it when pantheons...mix.

Which is something Harpocrates is. A mix between his original Egyptian self, and what Ptolemy made him to be.

So imagine this: You are Apollo. You have been dealing with your father's abuse for centuries. You are hurting - physically, emotionally, and mentally. You come across this god who's a mix between Egypt and Greece. He is the opposite of you - silence where you are sound.

Wouldn't he be the perfect target to lash out at, without repercussions? After all...I doubt Zeus would care if Apollo was kicking around a mixed deity. Perhaps...he would even encourage it...

But I hear you - "But Apollo barely remembers Harpocrates!" And yes, he does barely remember him and it takes him a bit to acknowledge the fact that he did bully him.

So here's the kicker; I think Apollo lashed out at Harpocrates only a few times. He tried to transfer the pain he felt onto another, on the hope it would make him feel better.

But it didn't. Nothing made him feel better about himself.

And what's something we know about Apollo?

It's how much guilt he keeps bottled up. And I bet that after a few times, Apollo just...stopped going after Harpocrates. I think Apollo started feeling guilty about it, but quickly stamped it down and tried to forget about such feelings by forgetting about Harpocrates.

What you don't know can't hurt you, after all, right?

[thecluelessdoctor]

finally

It's done

Fuck you Tumblr for butchering the quality

Anyway!! Tahdah!

Close ups and notes below

The moon from @justmwahstruly!

I love her design, andddd took some creative liberitys. I gave her a silk, floaty scarf to kinda differ her colors from the background. I also have her a sparkly phantom arm because.. that's cool in my brain.

Hope you like my take on her

Next is this bug dude from @3amclothesmonster

This bitch is silly. I didn't know what personality they would have so I kinda. Gave them this silly, childish pose.

This smokey thing is up next by @thegreatgeodo

They seemed very childlike to me. Kinda went ham on the smokey look

Then sadako by @gojohnbishop

They look like they smoke/pos

Meat ball by @meatybunger

They reminded me of a DND monster lol.

This Twink/j by @choppytransteenageangst your user is TOO LONG and CHANGES TOO MUCH

I was watching someone play Amanda the adventurer while drawing this

Oh and a little tip! For the colors lower the saturation ^^ makes it easier on the eyes. Still good oc

then we have Jupiter by @lucytsukii.

I love them?! Their design is fun and I feel like I didn't do it liberty at all. I'm not good at curls/waves. Still I hope you like it <3

finally we have this oc by @thegenderconfusedpuffball!

They are also, very silly.

And the last oc on it is mine so I'm not displaying it lol

Hope y'all enjoyed seeing these as much as I enjoy drawing your ocs

[thegnomelord]

okay i finally caved and wanted to talk about my idea for a nishruu inspired monster of sorts? i just enjoy rambling a little bit as you may be able to tell

so nishruu. red whisps that endlessly hunt down magic and magical items to sate their hunger, so these creatures are a nightmare for mages and magic wielders. all of my knowledge for these guys comes from dnd, so ill have to take a few creative liberties but im not complaining! pure nishruus are rare - as well as humans that have under some circumstances become fused with these little magic eaters. they're slightly similar to wraiths - having whispy bodies that are impossible to contain considering how they can slip through even the smallest of cracks. they look... mostly human, besides the way their forearms, into their hands, fade into a red mist that flows off of their form, and how they can turn fully into whisps and slip away. these half-nishruus rely on magic to sustain themselves the same, so it isn't uncommon for these acceptionally rare monsters to seek out mages or other magic wielders and make a deal. i really love symbiosis - and considering that half-nishruus have human intelligence, making a deal is typically the best plan for them.

the deals are usually simple - in exchange for some magic to keep them sustained, the nishruus will fight to keep the person they made the deal with alive. after all, it's wise for them to keep their... supplier? alive, considering how many magic wielders will likely throw salt the second they see red whisps. oh, and nishruus main weaknesses are salt. it deals damage similar to poison to them. some magic wielders have even been spotted with sealed amulets containing a strange red substance inside, containing these nishruus until battle comes, where they release the magic eaters (which are likely very hungry) to aid them against any enemies who may have magical weapons or spells

also just imagining a nishruu hybrid crawling over to ifrit and begging for a deal, then ifrit keeps them like a pokemon lmao

-🪸

Okay this is cool and got me brain doing the hyperfocusing thingy so here's a noncannon blurb with Ifrit set at a time when Ifrit's been, mostly, redeemed lol. Probably doesn't make much sense but idk

You stare at Price, unmoving, unblinking. Then your gaze slowly slides to the man sitting across Price's desk. Corporal Simmons shrinks into himself, shoulders hunching and looking down, unable to meet your eyes. He doesn't know why he feels like a little boy in your presence, he's your superior for fuck's sake, but the way you look at him. . . if fucking scares him.

Finally, you speak, voice softer than Simmons expected it to be. It only makes the cold edge to it press against his throat harder. "Captain, with all due respect, which is none." You say, your hard gaze falling back to Captain Price. "What the fuck?"

Price lets out a low sigh, already done with your shit yesterday. "Don't make me write you up private." You both know he won't, you've said and done worse things than this. "You heard me clearly."

"Yeah, I heard you." You say, unable to hide the way your muscles tense, your fingers curled into fists. "I just don't understand why I have to keep the damn leech alive."

Simmon's tries to speak up, "Hey, I'm not-"

"Shut your mouth." The way you say it leaves no room for argument. Even without using magic, Simmons can feel the way it simmers beneath your skin, like lava bubbling beneath the earth. So plentiful and vast it makes his mouth water, stomach coiling itself into knots as red smoke fizzles at his fingers. God, he's so hungry, he hasn't eaten in weeks.

"Captain, there are other mages that would be more than happy to have this parasite attached to them." You grunt, motioning loosely to Simmons. "I don't get why I have to feed the damn thing." You make your disgust for Simmon's painfully clear.

"That's enough private." Price's growl forces you to listen, your attention on him as he stands. "This is an order." His hand reaches out to grip your chin, his touch making your skin prickle even when the balaclava you wear dampens the touch. "You will follow." His blue eyes stare into yours, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. It's almost endearing, the way he does it, but you know enough about dragons to see the hidden dominance in his touch. "Am I clear?"

You feel yourself frown, your eyes narrowing. "If it tries anything funny I'm taking it behind the barn and putting it down."

"Ifrit." The latter half of your callsign rolls off his tongue into a low rumble. Price tightens the hold on your chin, making it clear you're skirting the line of how much you can push before he needs to tan your ass to get some obedience back in you.

It makes your lightning prickle beneath your skin, "Yes sir." You grumble. "I understand."

"Good mage." He tuts and lets you go, "Dismissed."

You nod your head, your eye catching Simmon's as you turn to your heel. "Follow." You say, the sharpness in your voice making him scramble out of his seat after you. He sticks close to you as you walk through the hallways until you reach the training area, the walls and floors singed and blackened from weeks of training.

"Just so you know." You say, turning to look at Simmons. "As far as I'm concerned, death would suit you better." You say as you take off your glove, revealing the cooled mana texture of your mage marks. You hold your hand out, your fingertips starting to glow as you let a bit of mana flow to your palms.

Simmon's nearly stumbles over his feet, hands reaching out to hold your hand. He can't help but moan as he presses his lips to your palm, the smoke coming from his arms curling around your skin. He feels like a starving man finally getting a glass of water, feeling the mana flow into his body. He feels hot, his tongue tingles like he's just eaten something spicy, but god if feels wonderful.

He doesn't think he's ever met a mage with so much plentiful mana as you, his teeth nibbling on the volcanic chunks of your palm as he devours more mana. It curls in his belly, traveling through his veins, making him feel so warm and he just wants more, more, More—

"That's enough." You growl, pulling your hand back and quickly putting your glove back on. "Should be enough for a week." You grunt, leaving him standing where he is.