#I haven’t been able to draw for so long

[hwere]

like violets | SydCarmy | T | 1.5k words.

Summary: There’s two flights of stairs between her new place and Carmen’s car, so of course Sydney takes her sweet time moving the lighter boxes first, allowing Carmen to put his solid wall of muscles to good use.

Sydney sits in silence in Carmen’s car. He offered to help her move out of her dad’s house and she agreed to. Things haven’t been good between them lately, due to Carmen’s erratic, obsessive and self-destructive behavior and all of the endless problems regarding the restaurant, but he offered with his pleading blue eyes and she said yes. She said yes because she needed the help and didn’t want to bother her dad.

So far, the only words exchanged between them have been “hey,” “yo,” “wait, there’s more boxes inside,” and “let me type in the address.” So, Sydney sits in silence in Carmen’s car, paying attention to the passing world outside the passenger window, feeling and seeing through her peripheral vision his gaze ever so often drifting in her direction, his mouth opening to say something, only for him to click it shut, his eyes back to the road ahead.

It’s awkward, but it’s fine. Awkward is better than arguing for the umpteenth time about the restaurant. It’s fine. They don’t have to talk. It’s not like they have anything to talk about besides the restaurant. They aren’t friends. Just partners. Partners, what a funny word.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for them to reach what’s going to be her new home. It’s a bit distant from the restaurant, but that’s another thing that is fine. She is, once again, out of her childhood bedroom, no roommate and the rent is payable. She’s an adult, she can absolutely manage whatever life throws her way. Having to wake up an hour earlier than usual to be able to get to the restaurant and work alongside her maniac of a partner? A piece of cake.

There’s two flights of stairs between her new place and Carmen’s car, so of course Sydney takes her sweet time moving the lighter boxes first, allowing Carmen to put his solid wall of muscles to good use. It also doesn’t take long for her plan to backfire.

She’s in the middle of the second flight of stairs when Carmen walks out of her place without his coat. Over the top of a heavier box, Sydney notices his too tight white tee clinging to his chest due to sweat. The sight makes her lose balance momentarily and Carmen, ever the attentive, notices and rushes to help her.

“Yo, lemme take this one,” he’s trying to pry the box out of her hands, but Sydney clings to it, using the box as a protective barrier between them.

“No, I can handle it. It’s fine,” she shakes her head, tightening her grip. “I think there’s only two or three more left. You, uhh, you can take care of those.” Carmen stares at her for a second too long before nodding and backing into the railing, giving her space to pass.

Sydney drops the box on the side of the others, heaving a sigh. She fills two glasses of water and sits on the floor, waiting for Carmen to finish bringing her stuff inside. There ended up being four more boxes left, but nothing that he couldn’t handle. He sits down beside her when it’s done and she pushes one glass in his direction.

“Thanks.” Carmen downs the glass in two big gulps and Sydney allows herself to watch his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, the sweat running down the side of his face. When he’s done, she averts her gaze to the boxes.

“Thanks again for offering to help me out.” Sydney says, still staring at the boxes.

“Oh. It’s nothing, really. The least I could do.”

Then, they’re sitting in silence again. She couldn’t say for how long they sat there, shoulders almost touching, in absolute silence. Carmen’s the one to cave in first.

“Syd.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” That makes her look at him and she’s expecting to see him drawing circles in his chest, another meaningless apology to a perpetually buried conversation, but he isn’t. He doesn’t. “Talk to me, please.”

“Why?” Sydney crosses her arms over her chest.

“Why? ‘cause that’s what we do. We’re partners,” he says matter of factly.

She chuckles humorlessly, “Actually, we don’t, Carmy, and that’s the problem.”

“Well, I’m asking you right now to, Syd. So, can you please talk to me?”

Sydney doesn’t know if it’s due to the change in scenario—not being in the confines of the restaurant—or due to Carmen’s earnest eyes, but she gives in to her months-long tiredness.

“Why, Carmy? I’m sorry, but—there’s no point in wasting my breath talking when I already know you’re not gonna listen to me,” she doesn’t hide anything, doesn’t hold back any punch. “Honestly? I am… tired. Tired of the arguing, tired of you doing whatever the fuck you want and then rubbing in my face that you’re doing it for me, that you’re ‘giving me what I want.’ I’m tired of you behaving like a piece of shit with everyone in the kitchen, tired of your apologies, of the back and forth… So why even bother?”

Carmen stays silent for a minute, digesting her words; eyes on her all the while. “I’m trying, Syd.”

“Oh, I know. That’s another problem,” a rueful chuckle. “I need you to stop trying, Carmy, and to start listening,” she uncrosses her arms, pointing a finger to his chest. “That day that I came back? I came back for my last check. You offered me that,” she motions to the open window, meaning the restaurant, “and I agreed ‘cause I trusted you. I’ve been trusting you since my very first day there, hence applying for the sous position in the first place. But it was the same thing with the loan, with you running the menu by whoever, with every decision regarding the renovation… and even after all that, I kept trusting you. I still do. We were supposed to be doing this, all of this, together.

“You’re not alone, Carm. And I’m tired of waiting for you to realize this; that you can trust us—me. You don’t have to carry the restaurant on your back all by yourself. I’m right here, giving just as much blood, sweat and tears as you. I don’t need you to assume what I want; I need you to listen to me. ‘cause when you self-destruct, you’re not only hurting or making yourself miserable. You take everybody else with you, and that includes me.”

Only when she’s done, does she realize how many different and conflicting emotions she had been bottling up inside of her. She feels her body grow warmer with embarrassment due to her rant, but she can’t take it back now and even if she could, she wouldn’t. More than anything else, she was tired of keeping everything to herself, of burying conversations with a fist to her chest.

“I trust you, Syd. I trust you more than I trust myself.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it, man,” she snorts.

“I’m serious, Syd,” he runs a hand down his face. “I trust you and I didn’t lie when I said that I couldn’t and didn’t even want to do this without you. I’m just… I’m just trying to make it all work, y’know? I fucked up during F&F, things haven’t been great since the opening and you said you wanted a star—”

“Fuck the star, Carmy,” she interrupts him, saying with so much force that both of them are taken aback. “Not… literally. Yeah, I do want one of those bullshit stars, but above all else, I want the restaurant to be different from all of the other places we’ve been at, remember?”

So much has happened between her first month at The Beef and now, that their conversation at the alley feels like it happened a lifetime ago. It may as well have been.

“I’m gonna do better, Syd,” Carmen nods, circling his fist on his chest, looking at Sydney in the same way he always does; she still doesn’t know what to make of it—and by it she means her feelings regarding her partner that have nothing to do with their professional partnership.

“Heard, Chef.” She mimics his action, offering him her first smile of the day.

For both theirs and everybody else’s sake? She hopes so.

“It’s getting late. I’m gonna let you—” he motions to the boxes a few feet away from them. “Yeah.” They get up on their feets at the same time.

Sydney bends down to grab their empty glasses from the floor.

“I know I already said that, but thanks again.”

Then, they’re awkwardly standing there for a few seconds, with Sydney holding their empty glasses in hand and Carmen pinching his bottom lip between two fingers, watching her through his eyelashes, nodding his head like one of those bobbing head toys that people put in their car’s dashboard. Carmen abruptly stops nodding his head, drops his hand and straightens his back, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

His body is halfway out the door when he stops and turns around.

“Yo, congrats on moving out. That’s huge, Chef,” he says smirking.

“Dude, shut the fuck up.”

Carmen finally leaves, laughing.

Sydney doesn’t know what awaits them tomorrow and the days after, but she hopes for the best; hopes that her rant doesn’t go in vain and that Carmen keeps this one promise. On top of everything she has already been doing, that’s all she can do, honestly.

[kingofthering]

if you write for them 9. things you said when i was crying for beznaia

Mandalika 2023, Sunday Night.

His left hand playing with the bedroom access card, Pecco uses his right hand to refresh his text thread with Bezz, very aware that this is not how things work and he’s not going to have an answer appearing to him like this.

It’s not unusual for Bezz to forget about the existence of his phone but given his current condition, Pecco couldn’t help but worry. He hadn’t managed to catch up with Bezz after the race but he knew the heat and the distance must have taken a toll on his collarbone.

Pecco looks at the slim piece of plastic that Bezz had placed in the back pocket of his jeans on Friday night after they shared an elevator ride after dinner, the words “I know the view in my room is better than yours, you should come check it out before we leave” liberated in the air between them like Bezz was simply talking about the weather before he disappeared from the elevator, getting out on his floor.

People always tell Pecco that he needs to learn how to turn his brain off, stop thinking so much, go for his instincts, don’t overthink so much. That’s what Pecco does as he pockets his phone and heads out of his bedroom to knock on another door two floors down.

“Bezz, it’s me,” Pecco tries when he hasn’t received an answer after rasping his knuckles against the door a bunch of times.

Any other person, any other time, Pecco would have taken that as a sign to leave.

Trust your instincts.

Pecco swipes the plastic card against the magnetic reader above the handle. The LED at the top of it goes green, mechanism of the lock making sounds that appear stupidly loud in the otherwise silent hall.

Pecco calls for Bezz as he walks in but he only needs to take two steps in the room to find him sitting at the top of his bed, left hand holding his right arm against his chest, his head bent down over himself. 

“Pecco?” Bezz lifts his head and that’s when Pecco realizes that he’s crying, the red of his eyes an harsh contrast to how pale Bezz’s skin looks.

The short distance between them gets eaten up fastly and once he’s in front of Bezz, Pecco’s hands immediately want to reach out before he sees Bezz wincing in pain, his eyes blinking away a couple of new tears. 

Pecco settles for a hand on Bezz’s nape that has Bezz slipping his eyes closed for a second.

“Hey, I’m here, it’s okay,” Pecco says quietly, his thumb drawing circles against Bezz’s skin while his brain tries to take in the situation.

“How did you get in?” Bezz asks after wiping his face with the palm of his hand.

“You gave me your key, remember?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Did you try to reach me? I left my phone in my pants and I haven’t had the force to get it.”

Pecco winces. It’s been a long time since he has seen Bezz like this, years, even. He was there when Bezz injured himself at the ranch and he kept a brave face in front of everyone —they all do whenever they need to— but Pecco knows you can’t always win against pain.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Pecco says easily, now not the day to guilt trip Bezz because he made Pecco worry. Maybe later, when Bezz is back on his feet and the injury is far enough for them to be able to laugh about it. Not now. Now— “Marco, when’s the last time you took pain meds? Do you have some with you or do you need me to call someone?”

“Flavio gave me something after the race but I think it’s starting to wear off. He gave me another pill for tonight, it should be in my jacket.”

Pecco checks the watch on his wrist and does the quick math to figure out how long it’s been since the race ended. Then, he turns around, looks for bright yellow in the mess that is Bezz’s bedroom and find his jacket on the floor next to the foot of the bed.

He grabs a water bottle from the mini bar, opens it for Bezz, and takes the pill out from the foil paper before presenting both objects to Bezz who still grimaces as he uses his left hand to take the medication.

“Good,” Pecco says, his hand catching the water bottle again, capping it and setting it on the nearby bedside table. “Have you eaten?”

Bezz shrugs and immediately regrets the gesture, painful wince distorting his face and making Pecco wince in sympathy with him. “I had dinner with the team. Wasn’t very hungry, though.”

Pecco frowns. He’s more surprised by the admission than the fact itself. “Okay,” he nods carefully, thinking about the next step here. 

There is a small part of him that wants to call for someone else, someone more competent than him that will for sure know how to make sure that Bezz is fine. And then there is the part of him that knows that’s not what Bezz wants and the part of him that wants to do this for him, all on his own.

Pecco picks up the bedroom phone from the bedside table.

“Hello, I’m in room 307. Would it be possible to get a bag of ice, please?”

Pecco feels a tug on his t-shirt and when he looks down, he finds Bezz’s fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Pecco smiles, puts his free hand on Bezz’s forearm. 

“You have food options, right? What about sandwiches? Okay, yes, I’ll have the chicken one please. And a side of fries. Thank you.”

Bezz frowns at him and Pecco rubs his thumb against Bezz’s skin. It’s not the most nutritive of food and it's not a piadina but it’s something Bezz can easily munch on now and something he can eat cold later if his appetite comes back.

“You’ve won from the 5th row and you’ve taken the lead of the championship back, you should be out celebrating,” Bezz says once Pecco has hung up and pocketed his phone again after texting the handful of people that were expecting him to go out. 

Bezz’s head is still leaning against the headboard and he looks so pale, Pecco wishes he could put some colors back into his skin.

As things stand, Pecco lifts his hand to Bezz’s face, pushes some curls away from his forehead and uses his thumb to wipes away some leftover tears. “It’s okay, I’d rather be here.”

Was Pecco in the mood to release some tension after how intense and mentally draining this weekend in Mandalika had been? Yes. Could he party without Bezz if Bezz wasn’t available? Sure. Did he want to when he knew Bezz was in this condition? Absolutely not.

Pecco remembers the days after Barcelona, how Bezz had called for Pecco’s physio when Pecco woke up in excruciating pain, unable to get out of bed. He thinks about Bezz bringing him stuff so he wouldn’t have to move and continuously offering Pecco his arm or his shoulder when his crutch wasn’t there.

Bezz had said “It’s okay, Pecchino, you’ll repay me later” with his usual laugh showing all of his teeth and Pecco had smiled back, some heat pooling on his cheeks and at the pit of his stomach.

“Oh,” Bezz muses. “Okay.” Pecco lifts his thumb to smooth the creased lines between Bezz’s brows. In answer, he gets tugged to the bed after Bezz’s hand has grabbed on his belt loops and Pecco stumbles a little, catching himself on Bezz’s thigh, avoiding his chest and the arm he’s still cradling there. “If we find the good position, I might be able to give you a decent celebratory BJ.”

Pecco feels very hot and then very cold, the sensations sobering even if he hasn't had a drop of alcohol. A stupid noise escapes his mouth. “If you injure yourself more because of sex, I’ll kill you.”

What Bezz does with other people is the last thing Pecco wants to think about right now. The concept of Bezz thinking an orgasm or two are the only reasons Pecco came tonight? Definitely makes Pecco feel a little sick.

“I only came for the view, remember?” He tries, conscious that his joke is going to fall flat the moment the words leave his mouth.

Pecco can hear the fingers on his waist fall back down on the mattress right before there is a knock on the door.

Follow your instincts.

Pecco leans down to press a kiss to Bezz’s forehead before turning around to get the door.

[kirbyfanclub]

the thing is; gabriel would’ve been absolutely content in hell with beezlebub. crowley, even with aziraphale at his side and a say in the workings, would have been miserable in heaven.

[anewp0tat0]

Black Butler Amino, Black Arts Magazine - Holiday Party

it doesn't quite look like a holiday party from here, but what I imagined as a humble little piece is~~ Ciel and Lizzy sneak away from the big bustling midford Christmas party and raid the kitchen desserts, like they did when they were kids(it was Lizzy's idea, Ciel clearly hasn't been himself since he returned, and she wanted to bring him back).

[airborneice]

“What’s this one supposed to mean?”

“Hmm..beauty or strength, sometimes.”

“Perfect.”

@sketchbookweek Day 2 - Wilderness / Witchcraft

going back to my roots of drawing sketchbook being gay in a field

[bubblystinkfreak]

🤳Smile 📸

[remake of that one ppgz art <33]

[theswedishpajas]

✨🫖🕷🍩✨

[incorrect-fnaf-quotes]

Look at her!! The amazing art of Violet/Kit was done by @squidthechaotickid and I love it so much!!

[kismetmoon]

what if he had like…proper dad drip…

[ID: a digital uncoloured drawing of an original, stylised Flatland character named Atlas on a light grey background.

Atlas is an isosceles triangle with limbs, a single eye and a star-shaped pupil, a bushy eyebrow, a chip on his top corner, scars on his side and across his eye, clawed hands and a long tail with a V-shaped tip.

He is wearing a hoodie under an oversized leather jacket, wide straight leg trousers and platform boots.

Atlas is standing and turned slightly to the right. He is holding up his left hand as though waving, while his right hand is held down at his side in a horizontal fist. His tail is curled in a C-shape to his right. He has a relaxed, half-lidded expression with his eyebrow slightly raised. He is looking over to the left.

End ID].

[cherrysnax]

havin the weirdest crisis of my life

[citrucee]

sketch page

[smol-fan-creations]

It is Spooky Month!!! (Spooky Month Dance belongs to Sr Pelo)

[ebonytails]

Hey everyone, if I opened a Patreon, what would you like to see from me?

I’ve already thought of it as the place to post WIPS of both personal and commission work. But what else would any of you be willing to pay to see?

Would you be interested in Procreate Files? It’s been several years since we last had a Patreon running, so I’d like to know what interests you! Feel free to send me asks or replies to this post!

[asexualjedi]

Just spiraling being like 🤪🤪🤪 what am I doing with my life I miss art I miss making videos I miss making coming and animation do I really want to do law. And logically I don’t really think I would want to move away from everyone I know to move to where I would need to be to do film or tv and animation. So like. 🔫🔫 accept it. And like I think helping people is something I’m very passionate about and will make me happy and I think if I just did art and comics I would feel bad about like big things like prison abolition and how terrible people are treated in our justice system is would bother and upset me and at least I can feel productive. But idk idk what to do. I just don’t know what is my anti drepressants or what. But truly working for the knife by Mitski whenever I watch tv or see cool art I get really depressed and yearn to be doing that stuff and idk what to do??? Like did/do I define my identity to much to being an artist but idk. I want to make things I misss working with people to make things and I know as a lawyer I will collaborate a lot. A lot of what u do seems so not fun and miserable and idk idk. But I’ve spent so much money and also i going to law school allowed my friend to have housing for foreseeably 3 years. Do I just get the JD and end up completely turning around and doing fucking. Like?? Entertainment law but in my head that’s always just disneys evil lawyers idk.

[bbreaddog]

.

[suwunnysideup]

pspsps moots cmere