#I was able to trim it down to 50

[meltedmush]

Dumbass thought but shizun (sy) x Tony the tiger

I’M CRYING

[nightly-ruse]

Agh last names for my cats I’m kinda loving it

Like cmon the names Painted Future, Flattering Feather, Shivering Bloom, Chrissy Creek?

[n3tworksucks]

Hey babe! Could you do like a NSFW alphabet headcanon thing for Carl Gallagher?

Ily🤍🤍

HIII BBY OFCC ILYT🤍🤍 (UPDATED!!)

word count;1430

warnings; nsfw n stuff sooo..... do what you want with that💀(an- i updated it because it wasn't too accurate and it was finally starting to bother me so i hope i made it a little more accurate😘)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

he'd probably already have like a towel and water or something so when yall are done he could just quickly clean up then probably cuddle, or smoke and talk or both.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I'd say he likes his upper body(like idk how to explain lmao) so his torso and arms and stuff because like he could do a lot with his arms and stuff ;)

and for you, probably your boobs or thighs because he likes leaving hickeys on them and he love going down on you, so I could definitely see him growing some extra love for your thighs, and it doesn't even have to be sexual too, he just loves every part of you.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

loves cumming inside, like if you're on the pill or hes using a condom, but if not, I feel like his pull out game if pretty strong, so hed like to cum on your lower stomach or back. and for you, he'd love it if you came anywhere lol, like him just knowing he made you cum just makes it better.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I feel like he'd wanna talk to his friends about his sex life not necessarily to brag. but also doesn't because he doesn't wanna risk any information getting out and you getting upset or something. but he'd probably tell a little to Ian if the subject came up somehow, but no details.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

oh god do I even have to answer💀? yes he is. I think we all know lol.. but mostly from like research from when he was younger, because he's not a virgin, but he definitely knows how and what to do in general, but the more you go at it, the more he learns your body and what it takes to pleasure you.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying.)

hes got a few for different places, but his mains are missionary but maybe with one ankle on his shoulder, or dogy, and if you have a favorite he'd most likely try it.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I mean, not all the time. I'd say 50/50. like there's times where its not a need to be serious but thats mostly the vibe, like it was an important date night or something. then other times like if you're both high or a little out of it then I'm sure there's a few giggles and jokes.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

doesn't focus too much down there, but he'd probably trim when he feels like it or wants to look nice lmao.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

yess, he loves the feeling of being close to you and to him it feels like it just builds the bond more, like even if its angry sex, he'd still kiss you lovingly and stuff like that.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

sometimes yeah, like you're not able to see each other for a while, he'd probably jack off a few times, but doesn’t wanna do it often because he wants to wait for when you get to be with each other again ;)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

he'd probably be into tying or holding your hands together, maybe a blind fold here and there if you're feeling frisky, and he'd probably be into smoking a joint or something too, like shotgunning.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

mostly the bedroom, but, if you both were horny enough, probably a public bathroom, either in a stall or he'd lock the bathroom door and fuck on the counter. or anywhere, he doesn't care.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

it doesn't take much, but he's better at controlling now, but what would get him going now is when you'd just physically love on him, like rub his thigh a little, kiss his neck, tell him you love him. if you do all those, he'd probably drag you away from everybody and go somewhere private. and idk why… but I can see this turning him on too, like when you're sweaty and stuff, I think if he thinks of another reason for you to be sweaty, that would probably get him going.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

definitely a no to anything that could hurt you and make you uncomfortable. no knifes, no major rough kinks and stuff, he'd hate to see you get hurt even a little with stuff like that, like wouldn't be too into harsh degradation, and doesn't wanna make you try unless its tears of pleasure.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

loooves going down on you all the time, like, he gets pleasure out of it too, he gets pussy drunk a lot of the time, but also loves a good blow. but he mainly gives first, knowing you give back eventually.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

if its just normal casual sex, probably at a slight faster speed just because. not rough, but if its special or you both have some time on your hands, he'd go slow and sensual

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

not his favorite, but sometimes you both just need a moment, or just need to be quick with it. he's definitely good at quickies though if you need to be fast.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

he doesn't mind experimenting with things youd wanna try, or something he saw on the internet or something. and he doesn't care about where, like a public bathroom or in a car. in a way he likes the feeling, but doesn’t necessarily wanna get caught.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

oh god, after military school he could probably go forever lmao, but obviouslyat some point there's rest. but I think he could go at least 3+. whether thats in the same time or same day, but i think after rounds, there'd be a break then he'd be back at it.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

now… I think at some point, you both would talk about it, like maybe he ask about it after he passed that one aisle at a cvs💀 but if you did end up using toys at some point, they'd mainly be for you, like a vibrator or something, but wouldn't wanna use them all the time, because he wants to be the only one that can make you feel good yknow?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he'd tease a little, mainly with his words, but even if he was unfair, he'd let you get back at him sometime to even it out.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

if he's on top, he groans more, maybe let's one or two moans out, but its mainly heavy breathing. but if you were on top, he'd moan more, and act more subby. especially if he's he's pussy drunk, he'd moan while eating you out.

W = Wild Card ( a random headcanon)

so kinda back to like how to get him going, I feel like he's sensitive to certain touches and words/tones with you. like only if you're trying to get him going, and he can tell the difference between you being horny and you being affectionate, so if you touche him like that, you know he's sighing, closing his eyes, and leaning his head back

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on under the belt)

I'd say.. about 6.5-7 inches. I'm not gonna go further💀

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

pretty high, but can control his thoughts a little more, and by that I mean from 70,000 times a day to probably more times a day lmao

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he'd wait for you to fall asleep, and even when you're asleep, he'd still probably be awake not doing anything but laying with the love of his life.

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

@musclejedi7 You wanted to be a big dumb ginger. And not just that. A big dumb bodybuilding ginger. Meet Kevin. Tired of living his life in his pale skin. Tired of his fiery red hair. He came to me and wished he could be someone else. Someone not this. And all I needed was a willing man to put in his body. With a snap of my fingers the two of you make a permanent body swap. Kevin kept his body strong. Hitting the gym all the time whenever he could but one of the things he didn’t like was that he could gain the muscle mass he wanted. Aside from his other issues he had with his body. But that’s ok. You’re Kevin now. You look down and see his tight abs. His pecs. His chest hair that travels down his furry navel to his ginger bushed package. Legs coated in blondish red hair. Something you can see until you stand in the sun and all leading down to some large ginger feet that had to be a size 15. You have a neatly trimmed beard and you look young. You can’t be more than 23. But you’re finally in the finger body you always wanted. And you can see yourself doing great things in this body.

But you want to be body builder size. In a red heads body. So enjoy this size while you can. Over the next week you’re going to be changing. A pounds or two here and there. Aging up a few months here. A couple days there. Your new body is force muscle mass onto it. Becoming a true muscle freak of nature.

Day three you wake up and you can’t help but take a picture. You’ve exploded with muscle. Sure you look like you’re 32 now but you have packed on 50 pounds of muscle. More defined pecs and larger arms. The sweating is easily managed as long as you use a lot of deodorant. And even your hair has managed to get redder. Your shoes are starting to get tight tho and it kind of worrying you. In your first day in your new body you went to find some more comfortable shoes but it was impossible to find anything for these big flippers.

But the end of your first week you’re even larger than before. Well over a hundred pounds than when you first got trapped in this body for the rest of your life. The sweating became unmanageable after day three. Even deodorant no longer worked on the musky sweaty. You sweat so much now that the deodorant just rolled off your thicker body. You had gained welled over 100 pounds of pure muscle during the week. You started wearing a hat all the time as your woke up on day 5 completely bald. And your body got even hairier after that. It’s like you were constantly juicing steroids even though you never touched a single drug. And your worse fear came to pass on day four. Working out and your shoes split as you seen your toes wiggling and stretching. You still haven’t been able to find a store that hold a size 20 for you. And your height topped at 6’5”. Even your pants couldn’t contain the massive member you had anymore. And when you did find a pair you had to do what you could to not get hard. And that was a challenge in itself as what seemed to be the constant juicing left your horny all the time and ready to release. But this is what you wanted right. Trapped as big body building ginger. The only problem now is your smarts. Maybe we should tackle that in week two ? I think a loss 5 iq points everyday for a week will fix you right up !

[wordsnstuff]

Hello! I just had the realization my original plot just isn't going to work but I'm almost done with my first draft and I'm too married to a lot of my scenes I've already written to feel like i can fully start over. Do you have any advice? Just thinking about starting over is making me want to put the pen down for a while...

Starting over near the finish line

By first draft, I'm assuming you mean that this is the first attempt at putting the your story to paper. What I'm about to say is not to devalue the incredible amount of work that you must have invested up to this point. It is an accomplishment on its own to sit down and put words on that page, let alone reach a point anywhere near a finish line.

The first time you do something (anything) is rarely the time you do it well, let alone perfectly.

If I sat a beginner down with some printouts of blogposts about knitting and a spool of yarn, I doubt they'd make me a sweater without having to undo at least 50% of the moves they make. That wouldn't be because they're stupid or genetically predisposed to suck at knitting. Regardless of how seasoned you are as a writer, each work you approach is like starting a brand new hobby from scratch. You have to mentally allow for space to make errors and to let go of good ideas. This doesn't mean you throw the good and essential core of your story out.

Take significant time to review what you have, identify the bits and characteristics that you find most emotionally and mentally compelling. Write them down, examine the commonalities and congruencies between them, and work out exactly you like about your story as it stands. There is always good amongst the bad. You seem to already have identified certain parts that you cannot bring yourself to let go, so once you figure why that is, you'll be able to trim away what doesn't serve you and move forward.

You aren't starting over. This is not the beginning, and you will never be back at the beginning again. This is process, and process is imperative to making anything. If you continue to visualize writing as an act that starts at point A and ends at point B you will never be done. Nor will you do justice to your ideas. If you don't allow them to waddle around and fall on their face like the newborn babies that they are, they won't develop as they're meant to.

This is not failure. This is writing. It's a necessary part of what you're doing. It's normal. It's good for you. It's good for your story. In fact, it speaks well to your character development and world building and even your plot development that you can recognize there is so much worth salvaging in this first attempt to bring to the next. You're already emotionally connected to so much of what you've made, and plot is only part of that. If you're able and willing to acknowledge what doesn't work, you will be able to trust yourself when you determine what does. A story is a sum of its parts, and this is just one part that you're going to put down, regroup, and reconfigure.

There are several resources that I've created over the many years to assist in plot development and all the problems encountered within, and those are available on my masterlist for your perusal.

I wish you the best of luck and look forward to your triumphant follow up once you finish that second draft.

x Kate

[myosotisa]

Like Real People Do - e.m.

Part 2/2 - What did you bury?

ǁ  summary: After your altercation with Eddie, you find yourself facing a lot of questions and uncertainty. Attempting to look closer at why you're in rehab, how you feel about him, and what the future holds for you feels like more than you're willing to take on until you realize it's only hurting you more not to.

ǁ  tags: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy themes. depictions of inpatient rehab in the 90s. implied fem!Reader, no pronouns used, no y/n. strangers to reluctant acquaintances to lovers. happy ending!

ǁ  content warning: both parts will contain mentions of drug use, struggling with addiction, self worth, society's view on drug users, grief, and death by drug overdose. brief mention of domestic violence and drug assisted disordered eating. please consume thoughtfully and if you have any questions before reading, feel free to message me.

ǁ  word count: 12k

ǁ  Part 1 ǁ  Read on AO3 ǁ

It may help to understand human affairs to be clear that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

You’re sitting on an examination table in the hospital wing in a paper gown with Dr. Lincoln fluttering around you like a nervous mother. Penelope had taken you right here after you had gotten all of the dirt off of your hands and pants, explaining Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln insisted on seeing you. Despite your assurances that you were completely fine, just shaken up, they had gotten you into a gown and prepared for a full exam.

“Are you able to lift your arms above your head?”

You do as asked, face stoic despite the pain in your shoulders from the movement.

“How about twisting? Carefully! How does that feel on your lower back?”

Performing the action, you also easily hide the discomfort the throbbing in your tailbone causes when you shift in your seat. “It feels fine.”

“And your head? You didn’t hit it? Does it hurt? Blurry vision, nausea, confusion?”

“No,” you sigh out, quickly losing patience with Dr. Lincoln’s anxious questioning. You can’t remember now if he was like this when you were first admitted or if he’s going overboard now because he’s worried about some kind of lawsuit. “I told you, I’m fine.”

He plucks your chart off the edge of the table, pen clicking as he begins to write furious lines along the bottom of the page. “I can give you some ibuprofen for the pain. Nothing stronger than that, of course. Given the circumstances.”

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. “I don’t want anything. It doesn’t hurt.”

Liar.

Penelope steps up from where she was having a hushed discussion with Mr. Ford off to the side. “Are you sure? It looked like quite the fall.”

“I’m sure. I don’t want any painkillers.”

This pain is good. I need it. I deserve it.

Mr. Richard Ford steps up then – a severe looking man in his late 50s, always dressed in a freshly pressed suit and tie, with his hair combed just so and his mustache neatly trimmed across his upper lip. You’re still not sure if he’s related to the Ford’s that founded the facility or if it’s just a coincidence that he shares the surname.

His dress shoes click across the tiles as he approaches you, throat clearing uncomfortably when he enters the circle that has formed around the table. “Miss��” He looks down at your file and repeats your last name like he’s never read it before, earning him a cold glare from Penelope. “I am deeply sorry for what occurred. I assure you we don’t tolerate that kind of behavior here.” He adjusts his tie along with his posture, looking proud as he explains, “We’re already in the process of having Mr. Munson transferred to another facility.”

A lick of panic rockets up your spine. “No.” 3 sets of eyes lock on you, emotions ranging from curious to concerned. “You don’t have to do that.” Your fingers curl into fists where they sit on your thighs before relaxing, taking some of the tension in your body with it. “I don’t want you to transfer him.”

He seems to hesitate then, bushy eyebrows drawing together on his wrinkled forehead. “Are you positive? It’s important to us that you feel safe here.”

“I do feel safe here,” you press, looking back and forth between the three of them before settling on Penelope. “It was an accident. Eddie’s barely into his detox – barely started therapy – and I should’ve known better than to get into an argument with him.” Her face remains passive, unreadable. No insight into how she feels about what you’re saying. “It’s my fault as much as his. It wouldn’t be fair to move him, not when he’s struggling this much, this early into his treatment. I don’t want him moved.”

“That’s very kind of you, but you should be more concerned about yourself.” Dr. Lincoln takes a small step forward, adjusting the collar of your gown to take another look at the quickly forming bruises near your collarbone. “You’re not worried about something like this happening again with him, maybe even worse?”

You think back to the moment you hit the ground. Looking up at him, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun, leaving almost all of him cast in shadow. The way he looked utterly terrified at what he’d done. How quickly he had tried to apologize when he came back to himself.

Potentially evil. Potentially good, too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

“No, it’s fi–” Hazel eyes narrow into a squint, stopping your sentence in its tracks. Another deep breath, in and out, and you try again. “I’m not worried. He won’t do something like this again. I want him to stay.”

A few moments of silence follows your declaration, Mr. Ford and Dr. Lincoln glancing at each other before looking to Penelope. Her calculating gaze remains on you, entirely unwavering even as the other two stare holes into the sides of her face. For the first time, you make a conscious effort to keep eye contact, to remain firm despite your desire to shy away.

The corner of her mouth lifts almost imperceptibly in response.

“Then that settles it.” She clasps her hands together in front of her stomach, looking back and forth between the men beside her with a placating smile. “Mr. Munson will stay, pending further transgressions.”

Your shoulders sag in a relief you hadn’t anticipated feeling, but you’re quick to straighten when she addresses you again. “Any other incidents, with you or any other resident, and he will be moved to another facility. Understood?”

It feels like a lifeline. Like a chance. Like an opportunity.

If you want him here, then help him stay.

“Understood.”

The next morning when you walk out for breakfast at 8:30 sharp, there’s something sitting on your table. It strikes you as odd immediately given you’re one of the first people out of your room today and there doesn’t seem to be anyone milling around. You withhold your curiosity – follow the same pattern of line, meds, line, breakfast. Stamp down the nervous feeling in your gut as you cautiously approach.

Completely dusted free of dirt and with your bookmark perfectly in place, is Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. It had completely slipped your mind that you’d even dropped it. You place down your tray with shaky hands and pick it up, flipping through the pages like you’re checking it for wounds. There’s no note, no sign, nothing that could indicate who brought it back for you.

But you know who. It scares you half to death that you know just who, that you know it with certainty.

When is the last time anything felt certain?

The question lingers, festers, and grows as you push around your food and wait for him to plop down in front of you. Imagining what stupid thing he might say, how you would brush it off with a groan and a snarky comment, how he would take that reaction with a smile and never press for more. 

He never shows.

It’s with great annoyance that you find yourself looking for him all day. Sitting in your chair by the window, you glance up every half a page to see if you can catch a glimpse of his shaggy hair around the hall. You actually take a walk during your outside time instead of hiding, and you tell yourself it’s because you want the exercise and it’s finally cool enough outside to not sweat your balls off, but that doesn’t exactly account for the way your eyes search the grounds for any sign of tattooed forearms and lanky legs.

When you walk into Therapy House with the others that afternoon, Eddie is already inside. He’s in the chair beside Penelope, slumped down so far most of his ass is hanging off the edge, legs out long, and looking every bit a kicked puppy. You silently beg him to make eye contact with you as you sit, willing your stare into a physical sensation that might force him to just look at you.

He doesn’t look away from his own hands once, silent as a mouse the entire session.

The moment group is over and the counselors come around to collect their first resident of the day, you’re walking across the sunbathed birch wood floors and stopping short just behind him before you can even think about it.

“Eddie,” it comes out as a sigh, eyes pinned to the way his shoulder blades tense before your very eyes, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve, uh… Been in here, for the most part,” he explains over his shoulder, still not turning to face you. His voice is hoarse around the edges, ragged and torn from overuse.

“Oh, okay.” Your face pinches in concern, hand raising like you want to reach out to him but hesitating there. “About… about yesterday–”

“Sorry,” he cuts you off sharply, turning halfway toward you with red-rimmed eyes still trained on the floor, “I’ve gotta go.”

He’s halfway across the room and climbing up the stairs to the lofts two at a time before you can say another word.

The image of the swollen redness around his teary eyes, half covered by his hair as he refuses to look at you for even a moment, haunts you for the rest of the week.

“So, how are you feeling today?”

Penelope is dressed in a teal silk blouse. It washes out her skin tone and the boat neckline makes her shoulders look too small. Not to mention the strange height of the cinch just below her bust, giving it the appearance of a child’s nightgown. Plainly, it looks really bad on her. All of her clothes are carefully curated and fashion forward – meant to make a statement about who she is and the authority she holds. This is absolutely not making that statement. And you were staring at it for all of group, trying to wrap your head around what it meant.

“Who gave you that shirt?”

This might be the first time she’s ever looked even half surprised at something you’ve said, her lips parting slightly as she glances down at her chest like she had forgotten what she was wearing. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she looks back at you, passive expression back in place.

“You would’ve never bought it, I’m surprised you’re allowing yourself to be seen in it,” you continue, eyes narrowing into a squint as you continue to search it and her for clues. “The fact that you’re wearing it makes me think someone gave it to you and you’re going to see them today, so you felt obligated to wear it to please them. Maybe one of your parents or a sibling or a friend… A partner?”

She uncrosses her legs just to recross in the other direction, attempting to appear amused as you explain. Gotcha.

“A partner, then. One who obviously doesn’t know you very well, or doesn’t understand fashion at all, because the color is god awful and the shape even worse. But you want to impress them enough that you’re willing to wear it anyway.”

If it was an after work date, she would’ve changed after. So it’s someone she would mostly see during her normal day. Plus, she lives and breathes her job, when would she have had time to meet someone?

“I didn’t realize you paid that much attention to what I wear… Or that you were so into fashion,” she offers casually. Too casually to play off.

A bit too sharp, a bit too pointed, you snap back. “I’m not into fashion and you’re deflecting.”

She blinks at you for a few moments before she settles back into her chair, draping her arms over her stomach. “And you’re projecting.”

“No, I’m not,” and it comes out defensive. Too defensive to play off.

So then the quiet kicks in. Queen Penelope Windsor’s beloved uncomfortable silence. Part of you is convinced one of her professors taught her that awkward silence is an invaluable tool in psychiatry. You want to know who that professor is, so you can inform them how utterly wrong they are.

Penelope is, however, utterly right.

“I’m projecting,” you concede, gaze casting down to your lap to settle into the discomfort.

Her pen clicks and it feels like salt in your wound. “Okay then. Would you like to talk about what you’re avoiding?”

And maybe you’re not quite done being snarky when you reply, “Isn’t the whole point of deflecting because you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It can be. But I still would like to give you the opportunity to. You never know, it might help you feel better.”

Your eyes roll hard enough to just see white for a moment, looking off to the stupid little white noise machine in the corner. It’s the size of a radio clock and sits directly on the floor by the door – you’ve almost tripped on it 10 times.

Probably an accessibility hazard. Someone should really complain about that. If someone less coordinated, or even Thomas with his cane, tried to walk in they could really get hurt.

“Fuck!” The exclamation comes from nowhere, probably just barely loud enough to draw attention from outside the room. Penelope remains incredibly passive despite the sudden change in your attitude, not making a move or a sound as you bury your face in your hands with your elbows propped on your thighs.

Probably just interrupted other therapy sessions. Made them lose track of what they are talking about. Maybe even triggered someone unintentionally with your sudden yell. Great job, idiot.

Digging your nails into the skin along your hairline, you take in a hissing breath through your teeth and attempt to exhale some of the tension. It’s been weaving through your muscles all week, infecting all of your time, distracting you at all hours of the day. A part of you hoped it was just another phase in recovery but it just keeps getting worse and worse.

Penelope’s voice is softer when she speaks next, more cautious. “Can you tell me what you’re thinking about right now that’s distressing you?”

“It’s the fact that I’m fucking thinking that’s distressing me.”

Realizing that probably doesn’t help at all, and most likely makes you sound insane, you release your hands to clasp tightly in your lap as you raise your head to look at her again. “I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop noticing everything. I can’t stop.”

“Okay,” she gives a small nod of encouragement, sliding her notebook further into her lap to focus more attention on you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything. Your shirt and the noise machine and how someone could trip on it and hurt themselves. And how we are required to have 1 hour outside a day but half of us sit in the shade the entire time because it’s too hot or we don’t want to get sunburnt, and they aren’t exactly going to start stocking sunscreen and ointment just to facilitate 60 minutes in the sun. I’m thinking about how I finally figured out that there’s a different cook on the weekends and that’s why the stupid scrambled eggs they make us every day are oversalted Friday through Sunday and undersalted all the other days. I’m thinking about how all of the books in the library used to have an organization system but no one takes care of it – so all the books are all in the wrong places and now I feel like I have to take some of my free time to fix it because I know nobody else will, even though I can’t figure out why I fucking care so much. I’m thinking about how you asked me to help Eddie so he could stay here in recovery and I want to do that because he latched on to me when he first got here and now I suddenly feel responsible for him, even though I didn’t even like the guy at first, and now he won’t even fucking talk to me so I can’t do that.”

You inhale sharply, talking way too fast but unable to stop. “I’m thinking about how this facility is built to house 50 people or more but only gets one new resident a month, maybe two. So why is it so big? Why not bring in more people? Probably because they’re only accepting the people willing to turn out their wallets in order to get help or because they know someone who will so then all the people who really need help are left to fucking die under highways and in abandoned buildings because if they don’t have money, they don’t fucking mean anything to anyone. But for some reason I still care about that and feel bad about it and feel responsible for it even though there is literally nothing I could possibly do to change any of it.”

Another heaving breath that makes your chest feel too tight and you’re squeezing your eyes shut against the brunt of the pressure. “I can’t stop thinking about everything and I feel like it’s fucking crushing me and I just want something to turn my brain off – but that’s the entire fucking reason I’m here in the first place. I started using because I just wanted something to numb it all.”

The admission feels like a slap across the face. Like being dunked head first in ice water. The reality of where you started. 

The sprawling, trembling fault line that led you here – to where the tectonic plates move and shift. Where the earthquakes, that used to feel like subtle vibration in the dirt beneath your feet, now knock you to the ground with ease. Standing on the edge of the chasm between that you’re still not ready to cross.

Because what’s on the other side?

And what if I fall through?

The next week of your life passes in a sort-of overwhelmed daze. The realization of that pit before you– what it means, what it could do. It hangs around like a spirit haunting your home. It’s always been there, you just couldn’t see it, too focused on your own feet and keeping them moving to see anything beyond the inches of ground in front of you.

Now, the inches of ground before you are darkness. Unfathomably deep and impenetrably dark. And on the other side, there’s sun. Grass. Trees.

Shouldn’t I want to get there? Shouldn’t I be excited to jump?

The questions follow you through your days on autopilot as you keep to your schedule.

On the two week anniversary of your argument with Eddie, Penelope announces that, instead of talking in a circle for group today, she’ll be pairing you off into partners to play games. Trust exercises, she assures you when you all look at each other like she’s lost her mind. It wasn’t the first time she had used her slot of time to do some kind of activity – but it hadn’t been something like this.

And really you should have seen it coming.

Because Queen Penelope, in her oh so infinite wisdom, points you and Eddie to a pair of chairs facing each other below the skylight. While Eddie shows little to no reaction as he shuffles over, you cast a pleading look at her. Hoping to get across some of the betrayal you’re feeling in your eyes.

She just smiles. Meets you with silence before shuffling around the other pairs of residents throughout the room.

When you sit down on the metal folding chair across from him, you get your first good look since the day after you’d argued. The last few times you’d seen him, he looked no better than a zombie – half awake and half asleep as he went through his days. He’d kept quiet for the most part in group, only adding in a sentence or two at times, and left his 1 on 1 session in the lofts with red rimmed eyes and looking about ready to pass out. But he’d also gotten into the habit of playing cards most days with his roommate, Howard. And while you couldn’t imagine the gruff old man of few words was very good company to keep, sometimes you could have sworn you’d look over and see them smiling.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

The both of you wordlessly adjust on the seats, warmed by the sunshine filtering through the circular window overhead. Penelope had placed the chairs close enough together that, with his long legs, you both accidentally kept knocking knees. The third time, you muttered, “Sorry,” which brought a small smile to his face.

He ends up with his knees splayed wide, hands resting on his thighs, while you bring your knees in tight together, propping your feet up on the bar beneath your chair as you settle into soft tapping of your fingertips near your knees. Beyond your apology, neither of you say a word or make any eye contact as you watch Penelope and wait for instruction.

“So, the aim of the exercise is simple,” she explains, projecting her voice slightly as her heels click along the wood, “it’s a question and answer. Going back and forth to learn more about each other, being as honest as you’re comfortable being. This is not supposed to be something that causes you intense distress. But don’t be afraid to lean into some discomfort if you feel it. You might end up discovering something valuable about yourself.”

When you glance back at Eddie, his big brown eyes are already looking at you.

A warm feeling creeps up your spine, your fingers twitching in your lap as you adjust to the unexpected attention. His expression is pensive, gentle… Soft. He doesn’t look mad, or hurt, or upset. He’s looking at you like he’s happy you’re here – sitting across from him in the subtle heat of the sun. And while you’re glad he doesn’t seem upset to be forced to speak with you, you’re more confused than anything.

In a move that surprises even yourself, you break the silence first. “Hey.”

His chest rises in a deep inhale, shoulders and arms relaxing on the long exhale before he responds. “Hey.” You offer a small, slightly awkward smile, and he mirrors it as you adjust to tuck your hands under your thighs, bringing your shoulders slightly forward. “I wanted to apologize.”

Blinking at him a few times, you manage an unsure, “Oh?”

“You were right,” he sighs, hands coming together over his abdomen to fiddle with his own fingers. “I… I needed a wakeup call. Some sense knocked into me.” The corners of his eyes pinch up in pain before he returns your eye contact again. “I’m just really, really sorry it came from hurting you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you rush to try to assure him, pushing away the ache of the bruises that have faded from your tailbone, “I was more just shocked than anything.”

He winces, forefinger and thumb pinching some skin between his nails. “I appreciate you saying so, but you don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.” His eyes cast down to your knees before he continues, “I know what a push like that can do.”

Unsure exactly how to take that statement, mind absolutely swirling with possible solutions, you swallow dryly and offer an, “Okay.”

Tense silence falls back over you both, the murmured conversations of other residents echoing throughout the open space into a white noise of unintelligible words. You sit and you wait as Eddie rubs the pads of his thumbs together, lower lip drawing up between his teeth as he continues to stare at your knees. He looks deep in thought – eyebrows twitching together a few times before he seems to remember himself again. Adjusting to sit up straighter in his chair, one of his knees knocks against the outside of yours before he clears his throat. “What are we, uh, supposed to be doing again?”

“Asking each other questions.”

A small scoff leaves his lips in a puff of air, the corner tilting up in amusement. “Like asking what’s your favorite color and shit?”

A soft smile and a smaller shake of your head, you flex your feet to point your toes toward the floor before relaxing again. “I think it’s supposed to be more drug and rehab and therapy related shit but… She really didn’t specify.”

“Ah… A tempting loophole,” he agrees, nodding his head as if he’s really thinking about it. “But I guess we should try to do what the good therapist thinks will help us, huh?”

A wistful sigh leaves you as you roll your shoulders back to sit up straighter. “I guess so. You can start.”

“Oh, shit.” You laugh softly at the awkward face he pulls when you put him on the spot, and the sound seems to put him at ease. “Okay… Oh! I asked you a couple weeks ago what you were in for. Like what you are, were, addicted to?”

A simple enough question, you answer quickly. “Oxycodone. And Alcohol. Normally together, I guess.”

If he’s surprised by your answer, he doesn’t show it, just lets out a low whistle through the side of his mouth. “Downers and downers, huh?”

“Yup,” you confirm, pressing your lips together and offering an awkward shrug. “What about you? You’ve mentioned coke and meth before…?”

“Mostly coke, meth, and alcohol,” his head rocks slowly back and forth in a nod. “But I’ve probably done a bit of everything – ecstasy, xanax, opioids, ketamine, the works.”

“Truly a man of culture,” you attempt as a joke, and his half smile tells you that you were successful.

“You could say that. So how’d you start? Using, I mean.”

“Like, where did I get it?” He shrugs and waves for you to continue with that thought. “A friend of mine, she was already involved in… All of it. And offered to connect me.”

“A stellar friend,” is his attempt at another joke.

The statement twists in your chest painfully, the cold feeling seeping out like a wrung washcloth. A sad smile and a deep breath to try to move past it. “And you? How’d you start?”

“Are you just gonna repeat all of my questions? Feels kinda unfair.”

“I’ll come up with a new one after this. Scout’s honor.”

He snorts, cracking a smile as he shakes his head again. “I don’t think you’re allowed to use that if you’re not a boy scout, but okay.” You’re about ready to retort back that he doesn’t know that you weren’t really a boy scout, but he answers your question before you can. “I was a dealer, back in high school. After my buddy Rick got arrested, I took over the mantle. Mostly just weed to suburban kids. I had other shit but didn’t sell it often. Back then, I needed the money more than I needed to sample the merchandise so… I would only smoke weed once in a blue moon when I had the extra stock.”

“As for when I really started…” He looks back down at his hands in his lap. “Our first tour. It was hectic – fucking nuts. More than we ever thought it would be. But we were living out our dream, y’know? It was like being in a fuckin’ movie sometimes.” A small, wistful smile tilts his mouth as he recalls the memories. “We were going 24/7 between the travel and the concerts and the afterparties. At one of ‘em, someone, understandably, brought the white shit.” The knuckles in his hands momentarily turn white as he grips them together, a subtle show of tension before they relax again. “You can, uh… You probably know where it goes from there.”

“I can assume, yeah,” it comes out softer than you thought it would, affected by his vulnerability. The Eddie you met on his first day would’ve never done anything like this. Would’ve never even spoken like this. How had so much changed so quickly? How had he surpassed you?

“Okay, how about…” Like he’s trying to bring some life back into himself and you, he begins a drumming tap on his thighs, shoulders rolling forward as he applies himself to the motion. You don’t bother to try to withhold your laugh, feeling your nose crinkle with the force of it. His chin tips up towards the sun, a cheeky grin splitting to show the whites of his teeth as he starts to hum a single note out into the open space, an over dramatic representation of his thinking.

“Eddie!”

The sharp call has both of you freezing, faces dropping as you slowly turn toward where Penelope stands with her hands on her hips and a deep scowl. “A little quieter, please?”

Your lips press together tight to withhold your laugh as he offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

When he turns back to you, looking a little embarrassed and thoroughly scolded, you can stop the laugh from escaping you in a snort through your nose. “It’s not funny,” he mutters, lower lip jutting out in a pout as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You got in trouble with mom,” you whisper yell, leaning toward him with a teasing smile. “It’s kinda funny.”

His expression breaks – smile stretching against his will as you make fun of him. “Yeah, yeah. I bet you’ve never even gotten in trouble before. Ever. At all.”

Taking it as a challenge, a single eyebrow raises as you lean back into your chair. “Is that your question?”

Intrigue showing clearly, he nods, hair shifting from behind him over his shoulders as he does so. “Sure, that feels close enough to the topic. Have you ever gotten in trouble before?”

Tapping the tip of your finger against your chin, you make a small show of trying to think about it even though you already know what you’re going to say. “Three times come to mind.”

“Three?!” He gasps, hand flying to his chest in mock drama. “Say it ain’t so.”

“First, I convinced my grandfather to buy this huge box of ice creams for dogs. He thought it was for us so, when he walked into the kitchen, and I was holding it down for my dog to lick, he immediately started to yell at me. When I told him that’s what it was meant for, I swear to god – I thought he was going to pop a fucking blood vessel he was so mad.”

Eddie snorts as he shakes his head back and forth slowly. “That would be the kind of thing you’d consider getting in trouble.”

“Hey!” You point an accusing finger at him, falling into this comfortable dynamic between the two of you. “I’m not done yet!” Putting his hands up in surrender, he mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth as he settles down to look at you again. “The second… Well, I got called to the principal's office in high school. Because,” you take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable reaction you’ll get, “because some kids were spreading a rumor that I was sleeping with a teacher.”

This finally seems to entertain him, jaw dropping slightly as his eyes widen. “Well, did you?!”

“No!” You’re quick to deny, voice rising slightly in pitch as you do. His chin dips down, looking up through his eyelashes at you, extremely unconvinced. “I mean, I probably could have, but I didn’t want to!”

His head rocks back as another low whistle presses out of the corner of his mouth. “Wow, sunshine… Now that’s some juicy gossip. Have you mentioned that one to Melissa?”

Your foot kicks out, knocking into his shin hard enough for him to sit up straighter in surprise. “Shut it, Munson.”

“Okay, okay! Sorr-ee, geeze.” And yet he’s nothing but smiles as he returns to making eye contact with you. “And third?”

“Third was definitely drug related.” You’re quick to amend, tucking your hands back under your thighs. “I was picking up some oxy after completely running out. Desperate enough that I went to his apartment while the sun was up – which I always tried not to do.” His head dips in acknowledgment, showing he’s actively listening as you continue. “It must have been my lucky day because the bag was barely in my hand before the door slams open, police screaming his name and boots stomping inside.” Adrenaline kicking up slightly at the memory, you can vividly picture the way your skinhead dealer went deathly pale in mere seconds at the noise. “It was a good thing that I wasn’t on anything that day because before I knew it, I was out the window, down the fire escape, across the alley, and over a fence. I didn’t stop running until I ducked into a Walmart – hiding in the crowd.”

“Damn.” He sighs, looking impressed but attempting to sound disappointed. “There’s a bit of a rebel in you after all.”

And while you’re not exactly sure if it’s something to be proud of, you’re at least happy to earn his approval as you raise your chin slightly. “See? More to me than meets the eye.”

The moment between you stretches out a bit too long as he seems to appraise you, a soft smile made warmer by sparkling eyes. It takes some conscious effort not to react to his study – heart thumping hard in your chest a few times before he agrees. “Pretty metal, I’ll give you that.”

Exhaling some of the tension in your shoulders, relaxing more into your chair, you’re quick to try to move on from talking about you. “You said you were dealing because you needed the money. Were you saving up to move out or something?”

His expression shifts, smile turning awkward as he brings a hand up to hook behind his neck, bent arm laying beside his chest. “Not exactly.” Giving him your full attention and what you hope is an encouraging smile, he takes a deep breath before he begins. “I moved in with my uncle when I was a kid. My dad’s brother Wayne. My parents weren’t…” His mouth presses into a thin line as he tries to think of how to phrase it. “My dad ended up in jail and my mom didn’t have it in her to be a single mom. Hadn’t worked in a long time, didn’t have the money, all that. So she dropped me off with my uncle with a promise to try to get her life together and come back.”

The implication there is heavy enough, sorrow settling into your gut like a brick, but he still adds, “That, uh… That never happened. So it was just me and Wayne and his one bedroom trailer in a small town in Indiana.” His arm drops from his neck, hands coming together in his lap so he can fidget with his own fingers again. “He did the best he could for a guy who never expected to have a kid – more than I could ever ask for. Gave me his room, worked night shifts at the power plant to bring in cash, made sure the pantry was never empty. But it was more than that, y’know? He is… He taught me how to change the oil of my car, how to fix the little AC unit in my window, how to tie a tie.”

His lips part in a smile, his eyes far off as he tells you, “we used to play cards a lot. I swear, no one has a better poker face than Wayne. You wouldn’t guess it from the looks of him, but he used to make a killing in Texas Hold ‘em back before I came into the picture.” His face drops slightly at that, eyebrows tipping up in an emotion that he’s quick to shake off. “But he has a tell – I learned when I was 13. When he’s bluffing, he’ll do a little sniff as he’s leaning back from raising. It’s really hard to tell but it’s there.” His excitement grows again, fidgeting in his hands ceasing. “He had this crazy collection of hats and mugs, and the one time I accidentally knocked one off the shelf and it broke – man,” he exhales, shaking his head. “I thought he was gonna cry. Never that he was gonna scream or yell or try to hit me or send me away. He would just get so sad, like he was about to start tearing up, and I’d always fold – scrambling to apologize and asking what I could do to make it better.”

Brown eyes flick back up to yours, quickly followed by a dusting of pink across his cheekbones and up to the tips of his ears. As if realizing he was getting off track, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway. It was always a struggle for him to get by, having to feed a boy with the appetite of a fucking rhino and everything else on top of that. So, when I got old enough, I started looking for anything I could do to bring some cash in. To try to… I mean, I could never repay him but like, to at least try to help, y’know?” You nod, not sure if he was actually looking for confirmation but he seems to appreciate the gesture regardless. “So I was doing odd jobs and started getting involved with stuff and eventually became an errand boy to Reefer Rick. Who I took over for when he got put away.”

Sensing a pause in his story, or at least what you perceive as one, you can’t withhold your curiosity as you press for more answers. “Is Wayne still alive? Like are you two still close?”

His face falls, that heavy feeling in your gut following closely after. “He’s alive, at least, as far as I know.” His attention is off in nowhere again as he visibly shrinks back as far as he can into the metal chair. “I went back to see him a year or so ago. I wasn’t doing so hot – couldn’t seem to even get out of bed without a line. He caught on pretty quick what was going on. Got more mad than I’d ever seen him.” He swallows harshly, attempting to get rid of the lump he feels growing there. “We both said some nasty shit – how he wasn’t really my dad and didn’t know what he was talking about. And he said I was turning into my dad, that I’d never looked more like him than I did that day. I stormed out. And we haven’t talked since.”

Your heart bleeds for the defeat you can see in his expression, the pain in the way he explains. How heavy it must be for him to carry that. While your first instinct is to offer apologies and words of comfort that really won’t matter much in the end, you settle for looking to the future. “Are you gonna reach out to him again? When you get clean?”

“I…” He looks confused then, hand coming up to rub at his forehead roughly before he settles. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it.”

Taking a deep breath of your own, you muster up some courage. “It’s not my place, at all, so feel free to tell me to fuck right off but… I feel like you should. I think he’d be happy for you.”

The sentiment rocks him – face twisting in a mix of emotions before he brings up both hands like he’s going to rub them off of his face. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

Silence falls, heavier like it was before. The momentary comradery falling away to reality again – two strangers trying to figure out what the hell they were doing. The tension in the air is palpable, at least to you, as he continues to stare off for another minute or two because coming back into himself.

“So…” He clears his throat, anxiously adjusting in his seat and knocking against your knee again. “What made you decide to get help?”

The million dollar question.

Another thing you feel like you should’ve seen coming, should’ve prepared for in advance. But here you are: sitting across from a stranger you feel inexplicably tied to and faced with a question you still don’t know the answer to. The question that has hung over your head for the past week and half.

Why are you trying to get better?

“Well, ending up here – like, in rehab – was easier than the alternative. So that part wasn’t hard.” The skin between his eyebrows folds as he looks at you, a bit confused but not interrupting to ask for clarification as you continue. “As for why I’m getting help…”

The rest hangs there, suspended by hesitation. Uncertainty blooms in your chest like a burst of frozen air – like blue tipped fingers gripping your heart in their fist. A threat and a warning.

Eddie hits the toe of his shoe against yours, bringing your attention back to him. “You don’t have to answer. Not if… You don’t have to.”

And the sun is shining down on him from the skylight above, casting him in a glow. A soft auburn hue shines in his wiry hair, the red undertones coming forward in the sun. He’s still pale but you can see them now – freckles across his face and the skin just beyond the collar of his shirt like a dusting of cinnamon. Brown eyes that have a bit more life in them than they did before.

There’s still a sense of frost beneath his skin, half alive and freezing like it used to be, but it’s thawing. Warming. Before your eyes and beneath the light of day, Eddie Munson was coming out of his cold shadows, one small step at a time.

“But you can't just leave it at that!" said Anathema, pushing forward. "Think of all things you could do! Good things." "Like what?"

“I guess I’m still trying to figure it out.” Out comes the honest truth. Truth he wasn’t expecting based on the way his eyebrows raise, skin wrinkling beneath his bangs. “It feels like there should be this big reason – some grand goal or something that would be a good answer in a biography. And I don’t really have one of those. Not right now.”

There’s a long pause then, like he wants to make sure you’re not going to say anything else before he replies. “I don’t think it has to be something fantastical or anything like that. Maybe it would be a better story if it was but… I dunno, I think any reason is as good as any other.”

A self-deprecating smile and joking change of tone, you ask him, “Even if my reason is just because I want to make more bad jokes that people can’t decide if they want to laugh or groan at?”

His answering smile is filled with genuine determination when he tells you, “I think that’s a fucking stellar reason, sunshine.”

Your 60th day of rehab comes with a party.

Not for you, of course. It would be a lot of resources for the center to celebrate arbitrary anniversaries like that for every resident. No, this is a graduation party. A going away party. A ‘see you never’ kind of party.

When you walk back into the main hall after group, there’s a hastily made banner hung between the nurse’s station and the kitchen that says ‘Happy Graduation Tony!’ in shades of blue and yellow, with some splashes of green mixed in. There’s a weird animal drawn on the right side that you can’t identify – but you guess it’s supposed to be a wolverine based on the ‘Go Michigan Wolverines!’ underneath in blocky text.

There are various basketball-themed party decorations scattered throughout the tables, all looking like they came from a big wholesale package of party favors. It looks alarmingly like an 8 year old’s birthday party, but Tony’s smile is brighter than you’ve ever seen it as he laughs at the attempt Kathy, Melissa, and Thomas made at decorating for him.

The University of Michigan Wolverines is his favorite college basketball team, he explains to the rest of you as you look on confused. He gives Thomas a joyful ribbing at having remembered a comment like that in passing, and Thomas’ bashful smile makes even Howard soften with fondness as you all filter in among the tables. There’s music playing – a Best of 80’s CD spinning in a shitty old speaker system in the corner of the main hall that is barely used. Down Under by Men at Work plays softly as you settle down at one of the tables covered in plastic-y yellow, feeling lighter than you have in weeks watching Tony cross the room to where there’s a small selection of snacks and a sheet cake with his name written on it.

Eddie sits down beside you at the same time Howard sits down across from him, the older man immediately brandishing his deck of cards and arcing them into a professional shuffle. Lola, the newest resident, an older woman who kept taking morphine long after her hip surgery healed, sits down uneasily next to Howard, content to quietly watch him deal out the cards between himself and Eddie.

Switching back and forth between watching Eddie and Howard playing a game you can’t seem to identify and watching Melissa and Kathy grill Tony about what he’s going to do first when he gets out, you feel a sort of contentment. An emotion you’re so unused to, you’re not really sure what to do with it now that it’s sitting in front of you.

Two games in, Eddie drops his cards with a groan before pointing an accusing finger at Howard, who smirks in pride. “This isn’t over, Finbar.” And while your eyebrows draw together in confusion, lips parting in preparation to ask, Eddie keeps going before you can. “I’m going to go grab a water and some cookies, anyone want me to get anything while I’m up?”

Howard waves him off without a word, huffing as he has to lift up slightly off his chair to pull in the cards Eddie left on the other side of the table so he can shuffle the deck together again. Lola, in her syrupy, southern drawl, asks for a cup of water, if he doesn’t mind. A short nod and then he looks down from where he stands beside your seat, a gentle smile on his face as his eyebrows raise in expectancy. The words get caught in your throat for a moment before you are able to force them out. “A cup of water and some chocolate chip cookies would be great. Thank you.”

Another cheeky smile and a dip of his head and he’s walking off, lanky legs knocking against a chair or two like he’s a newborn calf who hasn’t learned how to walk steady yet. The sight makes you laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you turn back to the table.

Lola is watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, when you turn back, making you jolt backwards in surprise. “Y’all make a cute couple,” she says sweetly, with a smile just a kind as always.

“Couple?” You question in a slightly higher pitch, feeling the blood rushing north to warm your face and make your brain spin. “We’re – we’re not a couple. Just friends. We just met here, only a few weeks ago.”

“No?” Her head tilts in curiosity, but her expression reads like she knows something you don’t. Can see something you can’t. “That’s a shame. Looks like a match made in Heaven to me.”

Your jaw drops, mouth opening and closing uselessly, as you try to think of something you could possibly say to that when Eddie walks back up, shakily balancing three plastic cups of water between his hands and a packet of napkin wrapped something tucked under his chin. The waters are safely set on the table, one passed to Lola, who replies “thank you, sugar,” before he lifts his head, the packet falling directly into his now-free hands. Dropping into his chair, he sets the packet on the table before unfolding the white napkins to reveal several slightly smushed cookies.

“Oh,” he blinks a few times at them before offering you a sheepish smile. “Guess they didn’t quite survive the journey. Hope you don’t mind picking at crumbs?”

You shake your head, mischief infusing your smile as you tell him, “I don’t mind, I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to be a pigeon.”

He snorts in amusement at the same time Howard rolls his eyes and Lola uses her hand to cover her smile. The mix of reactions is perfect – exactly what you were hoping for – as you pinch a big chunk of cookie between your fingers and pop it into your mouth while Howard deals out another hand of cards.

Your contentment continues through the next hour or two, watching as Eddie and Howard go back and forth between winning hands while songs play on – Come On, Eileen, followed by Pretty in Pink, and Africa.

When Melissa shrilly announces it’s time to cut the cake, everyone turns toward the front of the room while Billie Jean by Michael Jackson weaves its way into the open air. Tony laughs at himself and how his hands shake in nervousness, making jokes about how he feels like he’s at a wedding, as he cuts into the sheet cake directly through his name. Using the plastic serving utensil, he deposits a huge square on his paper plate, the ‘o’ from his name completely removed as everyone cheers and claps.

Looking incredibly embarrassed, he turns and gives a little bow to the crowd, missing Kathy as she reaches over the table to grab the huge slice. A sing-song call of his name, and you all watch as he turns and is met with the slice of cake to the face, white frosting smearing across his skin before the entire plate hits the floor with a dull slap. No one moves for a few moments, quiet enough you could hear a pin drop, until he starts to laugh. Almost the entire room joins in, cackling as he scoops frosting away from his eyes and shakes it out onto the floor.

Everyone who wants a slice of cake moves through to grab one before settling back down at the tables. And when you look over at Tony, glowing as he has an animated conversation with Melissa, you can see a small smearing of frosting across his cheek that no one seems willing to tell him is still there.

You all say goodbye to him that evening before the sun sets, watching as he departs out of the double doors with a bag slung over his shoulder and is immediately met by a young boy – a Michigan Wolverines jersey on his back as he tackles Tony around the waist in a tight hug. The doors click closed just as Tony’s hand meets the boy’s head in a rub, both sporting the exact same bright smile.

Despite being back on good terms, Eddie continues to sit across the room from you during group therapy sessions. You kind of like it better than way, not that you’d ever admit it to him. Sometimes you find yourself looking over for reactions to things people say and it makes it easier to give him your full attention when he adds to the conversation. Being able to sneak glances  without it being too obvious makes you feel a bit more comfortable than before.

And although you feel like you’ve been making progress, you still rarely join in the conversation in these group circle sessions, and you never talk about yourself in them. Penelope has never tried to push you – she is satisfied as long as you continue to make progress in 1 on 1 sessions. Talking in a group setting isn’t for everyone, she explained, but it can sometimes be more beneficial than you think it might be.

It just never struck you as something you wanted to do. It never spoke to you, as some people said. Besides, other people always had plenty they wanted to say after Penelope did a bit of prodding.

“I talked to my husband on the phone the other day,” Kathy admits following a small silence. She’s playing with the drawstrings on her sweatpants as she speaks. “We haven’t talked in a couple weeks – the kids have been staying with my mom while I’m here.”

Penelope shifts in her chair to face her more directly. “How did that go?”

“Bad,” she answers with a sigh, eyes falling closed for a second before she forces them back open. “I guess I was just hoping he misses me… Misses the kids, misses our life. But he actually seems like he’s happier now.”

“That must’ve hurt to think about.”

“It did. It does.” She takes a deep breath, eyebrows turning up in what looks like an attempt not to cry. “It’s hard to think that picturing going back home to be with him and Sarah and Ben is what really gets me through all this but he… It doesn’t seem like that’s what he pictures anymore.”

“No offense, Kathy, but he sounds like a dickhead.”

Her and Penelope both turn on Eddie, looking surprised and annoyed in that order. “Eddie, that’s not very nice.”

“No, it’s not,” he concedes, hands coming into play as he tucks his elbows into either side of his waist, “but neither is the way he treats you. I mean, the whole reason you ended up here is because he refused to help you – with anything! Ever! And left you to take care of him and the kids and the house and everything.”

Kathy’s face twists, looking conflicted. “Well, yes, but–”

“But he works to put food in the fridge. That’s what you’re gonna say, right?” Her mouth presses into a tight line before giving him a sharp nod. “And yeah, that’s important. Having money to survive is essential and all that. But so is taking care of yourself. And your kids. Taking care of your house. Those are all things people should try to do the best they can. Sure, a lot of people fall short sometimes. It can really suck trying to get everything done by yourself. But that’s what your partner is supposed to be for. To help you.”

Everyone watches on silently as Eddie continues, looking entirely impassioned in his defense of her. “Yeah, he works a job. But you work three jobs just trying to take care of yourself, him, and both your kids. It’s not fair. And it’s fucked up that he not only doesn’t do shit to help but also doesn’t appreciate how much fucking work it is for you and the fact that it was killing you.”

“I mean, that’s just how marriage works,” she tries to argue. “Men go to work and women take care of the house and the kids. I’m sure that’s how your parents did it.”

“No,” he answers with a humorless chuckle, “not even close.”

“Then what did they do?”

“My dad beat my mom.”

The room falls into a tense hush, all eyes on him. While a part of him still looks worked up from his debate with Kathy, and another looks angry at even admitting the fact, the rest of him looks like an exposed nerve. His shoulders shake slightly as he takes in a breath and lets it out just as slow. “He wasn’t… He wasn’t a good guy, my dad. Kind of a piece of shit actually. In and out of prison on assault, drug charges, petty theft, the works. And whenever he was out, he was coked out of his mind and making my mom’s life a living hell.”

Brown eyes descend to the floor as his voice wavers, clearing his throat to try to fix it. “I remember one time, I was 6? Maybe 7? My mom was trying to convince me to do my homework at the kitchen table. And in storms dear old dad, fresh snow on his nose, and already screaming.” His eyes close, hands clenching with white knuckles. “Mom always made sure to get in between us. She didn’t want him to hurt me. But I guess he was mad at me for something, and her getting in the way was even worse, because before I knew it she was on the floor.”

Teary eyes open, glancing up and meeting your gaze. Eyes entirely focused on you as a few tears escape with his blinks. “I can see it so clearly, y’know? My mom was on the floor, bruises around her eyes, begging him to stop. And my dad was standing over her with his fists clenched like he was ready to go another round.”

I know what a push like that can do.

Your mouth opens wordlessly when you realize – chest twisting in agony as he offers you a sad and knowing smile.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t wanna end up like my dad.”

A feeling in the base of your stomach catches hot and burns. Ashes smolder and leak smoke up your esophagus until it brings tears to your eyes. Beneath the dull roar of your blood in your ears and the murmured ‘Thank you for sharing’ from Penelope, you can hear the tremble of the earth beneath your feet. A vibration that rumbles up through your bones in a cold shiver that breaks out across your back. Stones fall into the chasm before you as the world shakes and bends with the force of the quake. 

You stare into the cold darkness of the space between the tectonic plates and the cold darkness stares back.

“I have something I want to talk about.”

All eyes turn to you, a pair of wide brown iris the most important of all. Penelope is nothing but encouraging as she says, “By all means, what would you like to say?”

A deep breath in, an attempt to clear the smoke in your lungs, you force the words out into the open. “I… I want to talk about how I got here.” You pause, eyes leaving Eddie to glance over at Penelope to register her shock. “Why I’m here. Because I’ve never told anyone.”

“Okay,” is her simple reply, an attempt to be encouraging. But you’re already faltering, the cold creeping in and dampening the ashes until you return to making eye contact with Eddie. And while his expression shows very little, attention wholly focused on you, he does dip his head in a slight nod.

Go ahead, the movement says. You can do this.

“Two days before I got here, I was with my friend Luna.” The name feels like ice water down your throat, swallowing hard to try to push past it and keep going. “Luna was the one who got me into taking oxy in the first place. I’d told her I was too wound up all the time and couldn’t relax, too caught up in my head. She told me it would help. We’d been friends for a long time by that point. She… She’s my best friend. She saw me at my worst and didn’t blink an eye. And maybe it was a fucked up way of helping, but she was really just trying to help. Suggesting what she thought would help.”

“That day, she called me all excited. Saying she got some pills from a new guy and she couldn’t wait to try them. So I went over to her place like we always did. She was all excited about the new stuff, but in my head, it was just the same shit, so I told her I was going to take from the old stash of pills. I guess I didn’t want to waste them or something. She just kinda said whatever, your loss, didn’t fight me on it.”

The visuals start to press in now, like a slideshow playing behind your eyes. “I remember waking up in her bed. It was dark. I don’t know how long I was out for. I got up,” your feet hit pink shag carpet, “I called her name,” you look around the girly bedroom, barely lit by the lamp on the bedside table. “I was still pretty out of it. I walked out from around the bed and…”

Your eyes squeeze shut, head shaking to try to clear the images like an etch-a-sketch. It doesn’t work.

“She was on the floor. I thought maybe she was just in it but her – her lips a–and her fingers were blue and she wasn’t breathing. I called 911 but… She was already cold when they told me to check for a pulse.”

“Those new pills she was so excited to take were laced. Fentanyl. She overdosed. And… And maybe if I had been awake, y’know?” When you blink back into the room, there are tears pouring from your eyes, your breath coming in hiccuping gasps. Cutting yourself off from any more what if’s, you rub your forearm under your nose as you sniffle. “Anyway, I got picked up when the ambulance came. I don’t really know why they gave me the option but it was basically rehab or jail so it felt kind of like a no brainer.”

You huff a wet laugh, crossing your arms over your stomach as you try to fight back the sobs, breathing through the freezing cold feeling in your chest. “It’s easier to be here. Then to think about leaving,” you admit softly, eyes trained on Eddie’s shoes. “In here, I don’t have to see her stuff around my place. I don’t have to think about who I’m going to spend my Saturday’s with. I don’t… In here, I don’t have to face the fact that she’s gone.”

When your eyes meet his, they’re watery again. Red rimmed, swollen. His hands open and close on his thighs like he’s holding himself back. Pale, pink-toned fingers, cast in warm, gentle light from the sun above, that look like they want nothing more than to reach out to you.

Blue tipped fingers reach out from the cold below, a threat and a warning of what lies before you if you fail. But on the other side – the sun shines. There’s grass and cherry blossom trees and birds singing and music playing and life.

“She’s dead. And I can’t get her back. But I’m still here, and I still have a future. I… I want there to be a future.” 

You jump the gap.

Bright green grass folds beneath your sneakers as you cross the field, hand raised along your brow to search for a familiar face. It’s the first Saturday of July and there are people everywhere – blankets and lawn chairs and folding tables set up across the wide open greenery ringed with trees.

A familiar whistle echoes toward you, giving you a vague direction to continue your trek. Sweat collects at the base of your neck and trickles down your spine as you go, the heat of the summer sun bearing down despite your careful choice in clothing. You’re just about desperate for a drink when a familiar flop of brown hair catches your eye.

“Steve?” You call, hoping to confirm before you walk all the way over. His head swivels in a full circle before his eyes catch you, a grin stretching across his face as he waves you over.

Steve is a relatively new friend, you’ve only hung out with him a handful of times since you were introduced. He’s shirtless, cotton discarded after sweating through it, and a pair of shorts that show off an alarming large amount of his tan skin. He’s tucked under a large umbrella with Robin, another new friend. She’s draped over a beach chair with her head rolled back, an unbuttoned shirt hanging off her shoulders over a bikini top and a pair of oversized shorts. The closer you get to their blanket in the grass, the more clearly her complaining becomes.

“It’s so fucking hot,” she moans, arms flopped down beyond the sides of the chair. “Why did I agree to this?”

“The music is going to start soon, so shut it, Buckley.” He turns toward you, head tilting back as he braces his arms on his knees. “Hey, good to see you.”

“You too,” you set your things on one edge of the picnic blanket, dropping to your knees at the boundary of where the umbrella covers. “And good to see you too Rob, even though it looks like you’re actually melting.” She groans loudly, sliding further down in her chair as you laugh. “Speaking of melting, cooler?”

Steve heaves it over his lap toward you and opens the lid, twisting back toward another bag as you dig through the melting ice and drinks. Drink in hand and an ice cube in the other, you use your elbow to close the lid again before pressing the ice cube to the nape of your neck in an attempt to get some relief from the heat.

Just as your mouth opens to ask, you hear an, “Incoming!” ring out right before a heavy object makes impact with your side, knocking you into the cooler with a yelp. The furry projectile pants wildly as it rights itself from its sprawl across the blanket, paws immediately climbing up onto your thighs in a happy greeting.

“Hey Oz,” you laugh, chin receding into your neck as you try to dodge his eager licks toward your mouth. “Are you having a good day, buddy?”

“He better be after the fucking pain in my ass he’s been all morning.”

Both hands scratching at the dog’s ears, both to calm him and keep him away from your face, you tilt your head back to catch sight of warm brown eyes. Eddie’s hair is pulled up into a messy bun on the back of his head, the wisps by his ears and parts of his bangs slicked down with sweat. He’s in a tank top that looks like a modified graphic tee, arm holes cut absurdly low to show off almost the entirety of his tattooed ribs. As he settles onto the blanket beside you, the light wash ripped cut off shorts he’s wearing stretch further to show more of his thighs.

His arm loops around your back, hand pressing into your ear as he directs your head lower so he can press a happy kiss to your temple. “Hey sunshine. Have any trouble finding us?”

The heat suddenly feels more like it’s diffusing from the inside out as your smile grows. You shake your head as you sit up straight again, Eddie’s arm still propped behind your back. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I could hear your stupid dog whistle from space.”

“Hey!” He cries in mock offense, leaning away from you as he yanks on the purple plastic whistle around his neck. “The training is going really well with it, actually! So shove it.” And he ducks down toward the pup sitting in front of you, coming to eye level as he says, “Isn’t that right, Ozzy?” The dog lunges forward in an attempt to lick his face but Eddie’s expecting it, blocking the attack and using a gentle force to push the dog down onto his side. “Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy!” He chants as he rapidly rubs the pup’s stomach, both of them shaking with excitement.

“Munson, you’re gonna work him up again and the fuckin’ music is about to start!”

Eddie sighs in disappointment, slowing his scratches and rubs considerably, running his hands along fur in an attempt to calm the dog. “I know, buddy. Your mom is so lame and doesn’t know how to have fun.”

Steve levels another glare at him, leaning back on one arm as he complains, “I’m not his mom. We’re both dads, dude.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ozzy. That man is your mom and you know it.”

The dog doesn’t care either way but does settle, laying out long with his belly in the sun just as some speaker feedback echoes out into the space around you.

“Finally!” Robin sighs in relief, pulling her sunglasses down her nose as she lifts her head. “I was starting to think we were roasting out here for nothing. Might as well be in Hell for how hot it is outside.”

Steve snorts, cracking open a gatorade as he explains, “Pretty sure Hell would be way hotter than this.”

“How do you know, dingus? Have you been?”

And the two start to bicker, something you’ve come to learn is a pretty common occurrence. Tuning out of their platonic marital dispute, you look back toward your boyfriend only to find him already looking at you.

“If Hell is this hot, I never wanna go,” you joke, vaguely aware of the sweat that continues to collect on your skin and how much you dislike the feeling.

“I dunno babe,” Eddie sighs long and loud, head tilting your direction as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, smile tilting in mischief. “It is said that the Devil has all the best tunes.”

The cherry blossoms in your chest unfurl in the heat of the sun, petals stretching out at the same rate as the smile parting to show the whites of your teeth. A soft laugh of disbelief, a grin that matches your own, and you’re quoting Good Omens back at him by saying, “It’s true. But Heaven has the best choreographers.”

And he laughs. Head thrown back, the sun’s rays grace the planes of his face as he barks out laughter into the blue sky above. Robin and Steve look at each other confused before shrugging slightly and then you’re laughing too. Falling backwards onto the blanket beneath you, you roll with it, shoulder knocking against Eddie’s when he falls backwards too.

Warm with the heat of the day, the music pouring out across the field, and the hope of a day just as bright tomorrow – you and Eddie laugh like it’s the best joke you’ve ever heard. Like there would never be a better joke than this.

If you want to imagine the future: imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends. ― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

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thank you so much for reading. the response to this story was more than i thought it would be and i hope you're satisfied with the ending. i'm grateful you chose to come on this journey with me. i hope you find your way to greener grass and gentle sun whenever you're ready to find it <3

[marquisegallery]

The last thing from the backlog I had at the beginning of this year. And a thing I've been meaning to talk about before then anyways. :u

First and foremost, this is a reference to this old drawing!

Second, basically I was original planning to do a big story thing as a sequel to my Maddy and Match fic. But after a lot of planning and attempts at rewrites, I think I'm going to have to scale things back on that potential sequel.

I've come to realize I bit off more than I could chew and was planning to make it like... basically like a whole season of the anime in terms of scale. A main plot! Subplots! Tons of characters! Plot twists! Surprise villains! etc.

Some people are able to handle that all on their own, but... yeah, I'm definitely not one of those people. Also after breaking things up during the outlining, it could potentially end up a good 50+ chapters, and committing to something that big for one fic is just... really intimidating tbh. ^^;

So yeah, Lan being pulled away from the "conspiracy board" is basically symbolic of me taking a step back and trim things down a bit.

That is not to say there won't ever be a sequel to my Maddy and Match fic! There's at least one loose thread of sorts involving Match's family. That was going to be resolved in the original sequel, and I've decided to basically rip that out of the original plan and make it the focus of a smaller fic. Hopefully it will be satisfying and tie everything up! Hopefully.

In the meantime I still have my BRC fixation, so who knows when I'd ever get to that anyways. It'd be nice to make this a collaborative thing with another BN/EXE writer, but I'm not gonna try and force that to be a guarantee.

For now, we'll see what the future holds! \o/

[heybaetae]

hii i love ur gifs so i have been wondering if u know how to low down the size of a gif without losing its quality?? i hate when i want to post a certain gif and it being 13MB but if i cut it it's ugly 😔😔😔 sorry for my english 😔

hi, thank you 💕 i think i have answered similar questions before in my gif help tag, but i can offer some more (hopefully) helpful tips and things you should consider to help keep your gif under 10mb.

1. crop size & amount of frames

the two go hand-in-hand. big cropped gifs with a large number of frames will result in a big file size. if you're making a 540px wide gif, you're either gonna wanna make the gif shorter in height or use fewer frames. for a square gif, i try to keep it between 50-70 frames, but sometimes i still have to trim it down depending on how bright or colorful the gif is (i'll get to that in the next points).

however, making the gif a shorter height like 350px or 400px might give you a little more room for more frames without having to delete any. i like big gifs if i have a great quality file. 600px tall is as far as i'll go (though it's rare) and in that case, i try to keep it limited to 40-50 frames.

basically:

540px wide gifs = fewer frames or shorter height

268px wide gifs = more frames, more potential

tip: for the sake of convenience, i really recommend making presets of all your go-to crop sizes by selecting "save preset" in the drop down menu next to your chosen dimensions. note that mine are all set two pixels more than i need because some photoshop versions leave a transparent border around gifs. when i use my convert to frames action, it deletes those two extra pixels for me and my gif will have the proper tumblr dimensions before i export.

more tips to get rid of extra frames:

delete frames with camera flashes, you will rarely notice a difference.

always check for duplicate frames.

original footage is slow motion? it's got duplicated frames. delete them.

2. sharpening

your sharpen settings can also increase the file size. here is a great post with examples of when to know when your sharpening is crossing into unchartered territory and how to avoid it. manually adding noise effects can also increase file size, so keep that in mind when you're doing it for aesthetics (i personally love noisy gifs too!).

3. brightening

adjustment layers that handle the "light" in a gif such as curves, levels, and exposure can all affect the file size in different ways. darkening the black points using these tools in your gif helps reduce grain as well as the amount of colors in the final product.

curves: use the white and black eye droppers to find the lightest and darkest points in the gif, thus adjusting the white balance of the footage if needed.

levels: move the left and right sliders inward to balance them out even more and bring back more details.

exposure: my favorite trick EVER to lowering the file size if it's over 10mb when i go to save for web is moving the "offset" slider of an exposure layer slightly to the left. it will darken the black points even more and add some contrast to your gif and it can minimize the file size by quite a lot.

3. coloring

you want to be able to save your gif with 256 colors without reducing the number manually in order to get it under 10mb (we've all been there). sometimes you can get away with doing that without losing much of your quality, but it's always ideal to NOT have to do this. selective coloring and color balance are your friends when it comes to enhancing and/or getting rid of tones you don't want. i can't give you a whole course on coloring alone, but i can say that ONCE AGAIN, darkening the blacks under the black tab in selective coloring will help. i usually go up to about +5 or more if i need to. neutralize your reds and yellows for skintones, especially when giffing idols. don't go too overboard with the vibrance if you use it. be conscious of colorwashing. experiment with photo filters or gradient maps if you're aiming for a cooler or warmer look.

i hope this helps, i am not a magician but i do think a lot of these key details help me a lot when my final gif is over 10mb and i need to go back and make adjustments.

[ramblingsfromthytruly]

7th September 2024, Saturday

the weekendddd (more like my end)

day 13/50 productivity challenge

🕒 10:00 a.m. - so i planned on waking up at 4 BUT my alarm clock literally stopped working so when i actually woke up and saw the time i was fully ready to break down into a sobbing mess (but i didn't, somehow). i'd been feeling sorta shitty since yesterday and that was sort of the last straw. i don't actually have any pressing deadlines and such but i told myself i would stick to my plans so i will stick to them. i want to complete everything i planned to this weekend so that i don't have to interfere with the meticulous plans i made that start from monday.

morning skincare

extended duolingo streak

practiced playing keyboard

texted my bestiee

studied psychology ch: human development

applied hairoil (haven't done it in few months but i want to get into the habit of applying it at least once a week)

rewatered my desk plant

read newspaper

cleaned my room

took headbath (my parents had gone grocery shopping and they had to wait like 20 mins outside the door because they hadn't taken the keys as i would be home lmao)

did an exercise video

trimmed my bangs (they're the only thing saving my appearance atp)

[a sneak peek into what my "schedules" look like, they're my organized mess] [an excerpt from my psychology textbook, literally that entire page explained the difference between sex & gender so clearly & gender roles, stereotypes, etc but ppl still walk around spewing all kinds of bigotry in the name of "science". ofc the focus on 2 binary genders is not appreciated AT ALL]

🕒 9:00 p.m. - went downstairs for the ganesh chaturthi pooja & celebration in my apartment, it's a pretty big deal in our society actually. saw an old friend who i hadn't seen in AGES (whenever me & my other friend call her she's always busy studying) *girlie has been in jee allen coaching since 9th grade*

🕒 10:30 p.m. - came back up home !!

played 1 game of chess online

posted a youtube short and downed a cup of coffee

outlined note structure psychology ch: sensory, attentional and perceptual processes (wow that's a mouthful)

outlined note structure psychology ch: learning

outlined note structure psychology ch: human memory

🕒 1:00 a.m. - confession: i planned an all nighter but i fell asleep for longer than i anticipated. also i NEED to fix my alarm clock. i'm questioning if coffee even makes a difference because i was able to sleep like a log (for that specific time) even after drinking.

[ptolomeia]

Who wants to hear my thoughts on how my disability, fatness and grief all intersect?

If the answer is not you, please press j to continue to the next post!

So, we're coming up on a year now since our disability meant we had to come to terms with the fact that we would never be able to work and had to drop out of school for our dream job and become a housebound/bedbound lump person. Now my dream job was in construction, it was unionized and extremely well paid and I was three months short of graduating when reality became undeniable. I was never going to be able to do this.

I may have been the only person in my class who had to double check the weight capacity of my harness and shock absorber, but I was fucking good at the work. One of my teachers had me tutoring classmates before the brain fog made that impossible. And while it was hard to find clothes that fit me, mens clothes typically came in larger sizes, which worked for me.

And then came MECFS, slowly robbing my life of, well, most things really. Including, but very much not limited to, my sense of identity and my dream job.

Being a poor student, I didn't really have many clothes that didn't fit with that life. And being very fat, i couldnt exactly go to a mall and buy fast fashion that suited me better for cheap. So, I find myself almost a year down the line with still not many clothes that make me feel good or happy or non additional grief.

Which brings me to my next set of issues. Due to sensory and temperature regulation issues, I can only wear natural breathable fibers (another thing that cuts me off from fast fashion). Between the exhaustion from my ME/CFS and my sensory issues, shopping is hard on me.

But HAHA! I think. I've been sewing on and off for near two decades now (ow my brain). I can just sew myself a new wardrobe! Besides, the non construction worker styles I like (vintage 40s-50s) is even harder to find plus sized, well fitting anyway. If I can't do my dream job, at least I can enjoy some expertly sewn (eh, close enough), perfectly (that could probably use some quotes) fitting clothes in a style I've long loved but thought impractical!

Except, here's the thing. Sewing requires energy. Laying out and cutting out fabric requires energy. It requires precision and focus and when I only have a few good hours a day and have to take care of myself and my home on top of my sewing ambitions...

Last summer I made a pair of shorts (two front pieces, two back pieces, a fly, a waist band, belt loops, 4 pockets and facings) in three days at the start of my decline, and that was on top of doing some basic renovations at my parents house. Last month, an extremely simple t-shirt (front, back, two sleeves and a neckband) took me... a week? More? And there's so much more I want to make working through my stash. Pj's that aren't falling apart. A new raincoat and a new fall coat. A simple 1950s style dress in a wonderfully loud plaid that would just be so much fun.

But this morning I was trying to get my jersey to lie flat and nearly ended up crying (knits are the devil fabric. Curse them and their comfort and stretch). There are days where it feels like there is nothing this disease won't take from me.

But at the same time... even if a year ago I could have trimmed assembled and cut out a pattern in one day, at least today I got to trim the papers? And even if cutting out that jersey took more fabric that it strictly needed to, at least I'm one step closer to having some new, hole free pjs.

So, even as i grieve the many many things I lost, I try to hold to what I still can do. And also rail against the world for making things harder for fat people than they need to be. Because seriously, I'm having to learn to make my own patterns (and yes, they will fit better but that is not the point) because most patterns (and definitely none of the big commercial ones) come in anything close to my measurements. This makes me extremely annoyed.

But yeah, to sum up, disability, fatness, grief, and hope all make a very complex ball. And I wish it could be easier

[scummy-writes]

For Gil 👁️ ⩊ ◼️

B, N, W, X, Y

Awww the emote is so cute... thank you!! (this is from this NSFW ask meme)

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

Hm. Torso. I dont know if this counts, because its not explicitly a nsfw hc, but I imagine he gains comfort being able to hear your heartbeat regularly. Its so nice to rest his head against your chest .... to nibble at your neck, to leave marks in such visible places... he likely loves every part of you, but he is fond of it.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Hm... i don't think he enjoys hitting you. Spanking? Sure. Manhandling you? Yeah. He'll even bring out a knife if you plead sweetly. But raising his hand at you, to hit your face? To actually bring you harm (outside of marking you with harsh bites)? No. Not fond of it at all.

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

Would be very into being used as a toy. For a multitude of reasons, but a big factor would be your desire. Being used in such a way means he can watch you finally act out on your wants, riding him for everything he's worth. He learns further about how rubbing or grinding affects you, the type of pace you love to set for yourself, if you end up pleading closer to your orgasm for him to help finish the job...

But he also gets to feel so very wanted. A man like him is listened to, hardly questioned in Obsidian, so it's easy for him to question if sex is actually what you want... if you're with him out of fear, rather than love. So being used as a toy also displays just how needy you become for him, and how much he affects you....

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

Ouu okay I might be. Boring with this. I'm not too fond of trying to say my faves are like 10 inches or smth.

For Gilbert, I've always imagined his dick as... hm. 6 inches? Maybe 6 and a half? I feel like it would have a slight curve to it... i think its a myth about jerking off causing curves? But i think he jerks off on a semi regular basis before a relationship. I assume that most of the ikepri boys are uncircumcised due to time period, but maybe not? I am 50/50 on it. The girth is nice and solid, nothing that takes ages to work up to taking him, but a comfortable fullness that has you curling your toes. He keeps his pubes trimmed, pretty regularly. He's sensitive on the frenulum, and enjoys it when you lightly drag your teeth along the length. The tip of his dick, when hard, has a pretty blush to it, one that shows better than the flush of his cheeks. The first time you realized it, you were surprised (but didn't get much of a chance to *stay* surprised, as he was keen on keeping your attention in a different manner).

Hmmmm..... shower, not a grower.

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

Beginning of the relationship: would love to do it every day that he could. Maybe even twice in one day. He's so happy to have you in his arms, and he's eager to test out every single kink he's expressed an interest in, and ones he's noticed you may have. You're not forced into it, if you give an actual *no*, he'll back off and not push. (He enjoys you actually wanting it)

Later: cools down a Little. He still wants to do it often, but not every day possible. He's still enjoying trying to drag out new reactions from you, still wanting to test your limits, but he's also able to accept (for himself) that its fine to just snuggle when he needs it. (Okay maybe sometimes he wants to cockwarm during those nights too but-)

[jakelandryshorts]

New Year for Growth

“Why not try this?” Kyle asked Eric. “I made it for someone else but I don’t know where they went.”

Eric stared at the protein shake with a bit of skepticism. He’d been coming to this gym for over a decade now and barely ever tried something new. He’d found that his banana protein shakes were best at keeping his trim muscular physique a lot better than anything else. And why try to fix something that wasn’t broken?

“On the house,” Kyle pressured. “It’s just going in the trash otherwise.”

Eric bounced the idea back and forth. Free was always nice. “Sure. Why not? New year, new me. Eh?” he smiled, taking the shake from the gym employee.

“Exactly,” Kyle said. “Enjoy your workout.”

“Will do,” Eric waved back at him. He took a sip of the protein shake and was surprised at how good it tasted. Somehow it was sweet, but not overpowering, and the thickness added a nice texture as he felt it rolled down his throat. If he had one complaint, it was that it felt a little bit heavy, but why not try it again on one of his cheat days?

Eric had always been a pretty standard gym bro. He always wore his sleeveless shirts to show off his thick muscular arms and every shirt that he wore seemed to strain against his chest. But every time he could get away without one, he’d happily show off his abs. Even as he passed 30, he was able to keep them pretty well in check. That was more due to his strict diet and keeping it even back when he was in college. Sure, he’d enjoy himself on weekends. With a body like his, there was no reason not to.

Even as he walked away from the ‘Protein Shack’ he could see people’s eyes following him. Eric loved the attention. He loved when people would stare. It was like they could never get enough. Sometimes he’d even show off a bit, just see their reaction. His lean muscular form always looked so much better in the bright lights of the gym. Shadows would deepen making his biceps pop even more than they already did.

Eric took another swig of his protein shake and then started his workout. However, something seemed off. He’d felt like he’d hit a bit of a plateau a while ago, only being able to go up in weight very slowly as he reached his current max. So, on normal gym days he’d go for higher reps with lower weights. Yet, these lower weights felt like almost nothing. It was almost like he was all the way down at the end of the rack where all the noobies would start.

He set down the weights, rechecking to make sure it was his normal 50’s. Then went up. The 55’s were still the same. Even 60’s didn’t feel like that much of a struggle. Eric pushed through, thinking that he still just needed to go through his workout. And that maybe he’d have another reason to try the new shake. He took another drink.

Then paused.

Something had to be wrong with the mirror. He got closer to see his face. Hair was starting to sprout around his chin and up the sides of his face. It surrounded his mouth and his pretty boy blond hair turned black. Even the hair on his head was turning into the same color.

“What the hell?!” Eric looked down at his body as more dark hair started sprouting out of the back of his hands and ran up his forearms. Stranger still was just how swollen his hands looked. They looked to have a more rugged appearance. His fingers were growing thickened and being covered in hair. It was the same with his forearms. They were growing. His entire body was getting bigger.

Eric cut his workout short as he rushed back into the locker room. He stumbled over the new weight that was rapidly adding onto his frame. His legs were growing closer together as thick meaty thighs filled in his cut quads. He wasn’t used to them rubbing so much together. Nor was he used to seeing his sleeveless shirt start to ride up against a growing belly. He instantly took it off, regretting it as saw his cut six pack turn into a beefy stomach.

His massive hands gently ran his hands across it, giving it a tight grip. “Oh God!” he cried out. A mixture of pleasure and embarrassment as he looked at what he was turning into. “I’m—I’m—I’m—”

“Perfect!” Kyle said.

He appeared out of nowhere and quickly invaded Eric’s space. His smaller hands gently parsed through the thick hair coating Eric’s round belly. Eric felt a warm tingle run through him as his thick arm naturally went around Kyle’s body. “Oh God…” he moaned. Blood was filling his cock and making it near impossible for him to think. Every part that Kyle touched just felt so sensitive. He couldn’t help but moan deeply as the other man pressed his face deep into his hairy armpit and give it a powerful sniff.

“But what’s happening…” Eric barely asked through the haze of his sexual arousal.

Kyle let out a bit of a huff as his hands continued to rub the large tummy in front and thick ass from behind. “Well…” he pressed his body completely up against Eric’s. “It’s just that you were looking so down. You work so hard all the time and then show off. But then the smile would fade and you would just try harder for less of a reward. And I just wanted you to be more content.”

“But… But… But…” Eric stammered.

Kyle leaned in from under his arm and gently rubbed his bigger pec. “But how do you feel?”

“Full…” Eric answered. Dieting and cutting were always so hard to do as his body would have to stay in a constant state of hunger if he really wanted his abs to show. But now he was a big bear of a man. He could feel the odd satisfaction of finishing a full meal that wasn’t just chicken breast and rice and resting after it.

“Exactly,” Kyle said. He kissed the large belly in front of him. But the kisses continued downward as his hands gripped Eric’s shorts.

It wasn’t until Eric felt his hard cock slap against his belly that he realized what Kyle was doing. “Wa-ait!”

Kyle only paused for a brief moment as he looked over the bear’s hairy stomach. “Something for you and something for me,” he said as he opened his mouth and slid the hard cock inside him.

Eric’s knees went weak. His big hand instantly reached out to grab onto the top of Kyle’s head as he felt the other man suck on his cock. Just feeling that wet slippery tongue slide around and lick his member drew out another heavy moan from the big guy. He couldn’t help it. It felt so good. Better than he’d ever had before. His cock continued to throb.

“Oh fuck!” he cried out as he released. Even if he’d masturbated from time to time, this felt like he hadn’t done it for almost years. His mind practically shut down and restarted as he finished.

A haze held over him as he watched Kyle stand up. Something about the other man seemed a bit off, but through his daze, he couldn’t quite figure it out. “Sorry…” Eric said as he continued to stare. It was almost like the other guy was growing as well. His thinner muscles bulking up as though he was ready to go on stage in one of the heavier categories.

“It’s alright,” Kyle gave him a slap to the back. “You were so distracted that there was no way we’d finish without doing something about that,” his hand gently stroked Eric’s cock again, waking it up. “Oops…” he smiled.

“R-right,” Eric smiled awkwardly as he tried to force it back down by flexing his thick beefy arms. “But what about you?”

“I’m fine big guy,” Kyle gave him another tender slap. “Something for me and something for you.” He flexed his toned 20 inch arm happily. “Come on. Let’s go finish our workout.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=

More stories over on my wordpress 

[are-you-judd-enough]

last updated: 26/Oct/2024

Submissions open: see below the cut.

Submitting a map, best practice; a masterpost

I thought I'd make a styleguide and masterpost for how to submit a map!

On backups: First things first, take a video of the result as a backup. Load the code, skip to the end, see the funny cephalopods dance and hold in the screen capture button. If an update ruins your code, this backup will live on until you delete it. I take the video right away instead of watching a replay and take the screens from that video recording where I can pause and scrub for the frame I want.

1st preference: I love receiving your codes; I'll do all the work for you! Please also make a backup via video capture because updates kill your match codes (learned this the hard way). You can go to the terminal in the lobby and save a game to recieve its code!

The splatoon font is utterly incomprehensible, so please make a backup screenshot of the code; if you typo and then play too many matches, you can lose the code and with it the map. this happens more than you think and it's sad to not be able to feature your map!

On codes: Codes can be generated from any of your last 50 matches, "no-contests" included, and remain available until a patch breaks continuity. Once you have a code, it's saved and you can play as much as you want right away, play 60 more matches and your code persists! Patches can take us by surprise, however, so please prepare a backup.

Second preference; If you're the kind of person who wants to submit screenshots, remember that you need to submit two!

The "question" image should be a clean image of the map, before it is obscured by the handsome judges. This one is easy to grab because the map is displayed for about 3 seconds. This should not be the mid-match map.

The "answer" image should be after the splash of the colliding ink, but before the banner drops. This can be a little tricky to pin down unless you're taking the capture from a video capture. This is very difficult to grab from a twitter video because you cannot pause the video without the video controls being overlayed, but easy on switch where you can track, pause and save the frame as a screenshot.

For Splatfests, if you want to include the vicory or defeat message becasue it's a multiplier battle, feel free to keep it included.

Some advice: Lil Judd and I like to curate interesting and close maps, especially ones that have you scratching your head: to this end, please also submit interesting losses too, noone is thinking less of you for it, we are not @squids-posting-their-ws. It's no fun if you can guess the answer, just because it's a submitted map.

Finally; A video capture (hold in the screenshot button) of the results screen is also a valid option. You can upload the video somewhere manually, such as to youtube. It is no longer possible to upload directly to twitter from your switch so you'll either need to read the information from your SD card, download your video, or by connecting to your switch.

It helps out if you trim your clip: best practice is to have the clip start at the black screen before the map is shown, and end after the banner has come down, but before the players are displayed.

Asks and messages are open! If your messages are open, too, I'll let you know when I've queued your map so long as I have the spoons (as in, when your map enters the hopper, I have a lot of maps and am not sure when it will be seen, but it will be!). To be able to post properly, the blog can't accept submissions via the tumblr submission section; strange, I know.

I make a note of your blog name, for credit purposes, when I queue the map, so if you change your blog name between submission and posting, I might have diffculty crediting you.

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

Corbin was a cocky red headed git.

Which was all the more reason to bring him down a few pegs. Literally. Which is why I was called again. To do what I do best. I followed Corbin around for a week. Getting to know the ins and outs of who he was. Know all his likes. Dislikes. And things that he absolutely hated. He was such a simple and easy to figure out. I just always hate that I have to possess someone to make them change. To really wreck them …….. haha what am I saying that’s the best part. Only this time I’m under a bit of a time crunch. Normally I like to get the bodies into habits they are not able to break. It used less magic. So this time I’ll have to use a bit more umpf. When Corbin went to sleep that night at the end of the week I slipped into his frame. Taking control of my new home for next 2 days.

The next morning I woke up and rolled out of bed. Walking to the bathroom I took a good glance at my reflection. Hairy chest and pale skin. A beard to go along with it that was neatly trimmed. I looked down at my thin tall frame. “Well this just ain’t gonna do is it ?” I look at at my reflection and using a bit of magic I forced this frame to shrink rapidly. Going from 6’4” to 5’9”. “That’s more like it. He deserves to be shorter than average for making fun of people. Hmmm for good measure …”. I shrunk him a couple more inches. “Now that’s more like it. !” I turned sideways finding it hard to see my reflection now. Look at my body I decided that my next step was going to a gradual one. That way my magic isn’t used up all at one leaving stuck in this body for me get the strength to leave. With a few simple words my curse had started. I could feel the pressure building in my stomach. But nothing visible. I aged the skin on this body to make me look older. And changed my beard to unruly. A Mohawk formed on my head. Tattoos popped up in other places. All things that this body hated. Each individual change made with a purpose to make him hate his new form. I look at my feet and wiggle them which caused them to grow wider and slightly longer. Thick and heavy now. I was exhausted after the changes and had to go back to sleep. Well rather the body needed rest. While my body rested I worked my magic on the kind. Putting triggers that couldn’t be fought. Routines and other habits that this body would be forced to follow against its will. The next morning when I woke up I could feel the changes. I went back to the back room and was happy with what I’ve done. The intense craving for a beer and cigarette making this bodies hand s shake but jot before s weigh in. This body hates bloated men so I made him exactly that. Looking down I couldn’t even see my feet anymore. My gut stuck out Rock hard and bloated along with my pecs and arms. I made a thick chain appear around my neck along with a thick septum ring to match nipple rings. Getting my weight on the scale I could see if managed to make this body gain a 30 pounds over night. From 175 to 205. I put my hands under gut that was growing snd jiggled it a little. “How’s about another 50!”

On the third day I left Corbin. Over bloated. Body permanently changed. He would try and fail to quit his new habits he would be forced to do. And even if he managed to lose some of the weight naturally my magic would linger and force his body to gain it back. Forcing him to be an over bloated read headed bull.

November 18th, 2021 7:59pm bodywrecker male transformation

[somediyprojects]

DIY Paper Ranunculus

Project by Susan Beech:

Sometimes, I wish Instagram was a real person so I could shake its hand and give it a huge hug for the endless amounts of inspiration it provides. From discovering great new home tours, photographers and florists to talented DIYers, I am constantly screengrabbing things and sending them to myself to follow up on later. This week’s final DIY project before the holiday is one I’ve been excited to post for weeks. I follow a number of crafters online, but few inspire me as much as Susan Beech. Susan’s Instagram account, A Petal Unfolds, is full of beautiful paper flowers. Most of the time I can’t believe they’re not real, but especially in the case of her rich purple and red ranunculi. They looked so much like the real thing that I wrote to her to ask if we could do a how-to together. Thankfully she was game and today I’m thrilled to share her project, just in time for holiday centerpieces. xo, grace

Materials:

-Single Ply crepe paper 40g (I use a piece about 23cm/9in x 50cm/20in for each flower) in reds, purples and a green for the stems -2 cm diameter Polystyrene balls -Florist wire, 20 gauge –Aleene’s Tacky Glue (the Turbo Tacky Glue is my favourite to use) -Hot glue gun and glue stick -Scissors -Thick card for templates -Pencil -Ruler -Wire cutters –Petal Template

Tips for working with crepe paper:

•When working on this flower, the grain of the paper must always run with the height of the petals, so your grain will run from the top of the petal to the bottom and not across. •Cupping a petal involves holding the petal between your thumb and forefingers of both hands and then gradually stretching the petal carefully and evenly in to a curved shape. •Stretching the paper means holding the paper at both ends with your thumb and forefinger and gently stretching until it can’t be stretched further.

Instructions:

Refer to petal template, draw out template and cut this out of the card.

Cut strips of crepe paper about 3cm wide and cut out your petals. You will need approximately 75 for each flower. I tend to cut out my petals and keep them as they are in their little piles, as it’s easier to trim the petals down to the different sizes later.

Cut floral wire into lengths about 16cm long.

Find the center of the polystyrene ball and insert floral wire with a little hot glue on the end. I push the wire in about a centimeter. Once the glue has cooled slightly, I press any above the surface down onto the polystyrene so it doesn’t create too much of a bump around the base of the wire. This is the only time you need to use the hot glue.

Cut a little circle of crepe for the very dark center base of your ranunculus flower. I tend to use a darker shade of the colour I plan to do the whole flower in. A brown/green colour can be good, too. Stretch the paper a little and glue to the top of the polystyrene ball.

For the first batch of petals (center petal) you will need approximately 45 to be cut about 1cm from the top across the width. Lightly cup each petal in the center between your thumb and forefinger to give the petal a little shape. The petal template shows the petal when cut down and stretched. Apply a small amount of glue along the straight bottom edge.

These first petals will be forming the very center circle. Place the first petal so that the top edge almost meets the center of the polystyrene ball, holding the petal down so it is sure to stick. Glue the edge of your next petal and overlap it on the previous petal about 50%, positioning it so it is forming a little curve away from the previous. Continue doing this with your next petals until you have formed your center circle. Throughout making the flower, you will be overlapping your petals and you will be able to keep track of where you need to place your next petal because the last petal you glued down will be the one that hasn’t been overlapped yet.

For the next row of petals, you will bring the layer slightly down from the edge of the center circle and then continue overlapping round and round, following the center circle, bringing the layers down until you have completely filled the center of your flower.

Your next set of petals are the outer petals on the petal template and you will need about 30. These petals are cut across about 2mm from the bottom of the petal and are cupped in the middle.

With this layer I tend to bring the petals up around the center of the flower a little. Continue overlapping the petals as before and applying a little glue along the bottom edge. Once you have completed one layer, bring the next layer down slightly and continue around and around as before.

Once you’ve reached a point where you are happy with the shape of your flower (I usually do about 5 layers of outer petals), cup 4 full-size petals deeply to give the bottom of the flower a full shape. I glue this down along the bottom edge as before, but this time I simply glue the petals down overlapping at 90 degrees with each other to cover any remaining polystyrene that is showing and any of the hot glue.

Stems & Calyx

To make the calyx, I cut a strip of green crepe about 2cm wide, across the grain, accordion fold and hand cut out a little leaf shape 2cm in height, cupping slightly in the middle to give a little shape. Glue the end of the calyx shape, then push the glued paper up against the base of the wire, pinching the paper to it once it is stuck down. I apply four of these to each flower.

For the stems, cut a strip of crepe about 1cm wide and 13cm across and stretch it. The paper should be cut across the grain. Apply a little glue to one end and fold this over the top of the wire underneath the calyx. Hold the flower in your right hand and twist the paper down the stem with your left (or whichever is easiest for you), trying to keep the stem as smooth as possible by wrapping tightly and pinching the paper in as you go. I also apply small amounts of glue after every 6 turns or so to keep the paper secure. When you get to the end of the wire, cut the paper down to just above the wire, apply a little glue, fold the top over the wire and pinch the rest of the paper around to seal. I usually repeat wrapping the stem a few times to get the thickness I prefer.

Now you have your finished flower and you can style it as you wish – by shaping the stem and also gently bringing down a few of the lower petals of the flower if you like.

[helluva-world-innit]

So...they are far from perfect, but they have taken me months and I finally have these two as close to what I see in my head as I'm going to get them for now. I will just hope I improve as I draw them more or something. Digital art is also something I'm still adjusting to so...yeah. Anyway, say hey to our protags (reimagined)! Buckle up, this post got looooooong.

Charlie is the only child sired by Lucifer himself even if it's in a most unconventional way. He's essentially her father and her mother. No Lilith here, folks, sorry. I'm not Jewish and I don't feel comfortable adding her considering what Jewish folks have said about her inclusion in modern works so she's just...not appearing in this comic. A lot of this will be based on my Protestant upbringing with my Hellenic Polytheist sensibilities thrown in, just fyi.

Now, about the redesign...

I don't actually hate the redesign of Charlie in the show. Her hair is fun, her being masc-presenting is interesting, and red is actually my favorite color. However, I completely redid the Rings and like the idea of Charlie trying to unify Hell with her cause instead of just Pride Ring. She kept some of her red because Lucifer has blond/red hair in my version, depending on how much of his angelic persona drops. There's also red in her coat of many colors which is a Biblical reference as well as an extension of Charlie's ideas about Hell and how the "rainbow" of the Rings should be working together to rehabilitate Sinners instead of just torturing them and making them worse. She even made it herself from scraps of the Ringmasters' clothes, Belphagor's fleece, and an old sewing machine. Her dad hates it because it makes her look poor. They are locked in constant battle over him trying to discreetly destroy it and her salvaging it last minute. She also wears spats on her shoes. They're tap shoes because ofc they are. I let her keep her love of theater because it's cute. Lucifer secretly loves that his daughter is just as much of a showboat as he is.

JC is also Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Comic, but at least we have Charlie.

Now, some of you are probably noticing that I made Charlie darker...that's not an accident. Charlie, by the method of her birth here, has black skin. She has her father's eyes and hair. As I get better at drawing and rendering black hair, we will see it in other styles because I love some of the things black folks with more textured hair than myself do with it. I just really like the bubble braid too. It suggests thickness not a lot of people have in their hair. Charlie has had to learn how to style her hair herself a lot since Luci can barely manage some puff buns. Doesn't help that It seems to grow back as fast as it's cut so Charlie mostly trims the ends and moisturizes the hell out of it.

I think it's fitting for Charlie to have a bit extra vibrancy with demon and angelic features because she isn't mortal. At least not completely. She does have a more horrifying form with horns and eyes and wings but she hardly ever has to use it. She also has a natural charm to her she gets from her dad that makes it very hard to turn down what she suggests. Not impossible, just very unappealing. Hoping I can get to a point where her eyes aren't so scary looking but she does have cat pupils so, we'll...see.

Funny thing about Charlie is she is a bit like Elsa. Born with powers beyond comprehension, lives in an icy castle in the mountainside of the remote (only) city in her country, and was kept away from most of her citizens until her 200th birthday.

Okay, it's not a complete 1:1 here. Yes, Lucifer kept Charlie under wraps for about 200, well 50 years from his family, the other Ringmasters. The other denizens of Hell had no idea they had a princess until the events of the comic. They really aren't sure what to make of it either. Some Hellborn think they'll be able to marry into Lucifer's good graces (Sinners cannot legally marry anyone), others consider ransoming Charlie when she ventures out to start the rehab hotel (they are so painfully mistaken; everyone from her dad to her aunt Bel has taught her how to fight viciously even if it's not her preferred method of conflict resolution. to say nothing of the protective friends she gathers quickly). It also makes Charlie a little...well, naive about just how well her plans to rehab Hell are going to go. Most of what she knows about interacting with others come from pop media and her loving and protective family. It's an eye-opening experience when she strikes out on her own.

Debating on adding more black fleece to the bottom hem of her coat too. Thots? The background is just a deserted little corner of Pride Ring which is covered in snow (yes, Pride Ring is cold like in the Divine Comedy here). The orange trees in the background are courtesy of @holoanarchy for giving me the idea when I asked "what's a good color for the leaves of Hell trees?". I'll talk more about those when I post that Ring up, though.

Okay, let's talk about this lovable asshole now.

Blitz Wire has had to struggle and fight for most of the things he has in life. From the very beginning, things have been...tough for him. Imps are not the very bottom of the social ladder in my version of circus Hell, but they still make up the majority of the working class. If you've never been working class, take it from me, it sucks rocks. Sucks even more when neither of your parents were ever really successful or good with money either, as is the case with the Wires. Blitz's parents met when they were young and idealistic in Greed Ring and shortly married after a brief courtship. Beatriz (this is what I named his mom to keep with the 'B' theme), worked in a factory where they painted figurines of Mammon and the gold paint she huffed developed into Imphysema over time. She stayed sickly throughout Blitz, Barbie, and Fizz's childhood while Buckzo took over the family carnival to help put food on the table. When Beatriz could no longer work, he put the kids to it. They were happy to help and work to get noticed by Mammon so they could rake in some dough to get better medical treatment for their mother, despite the Ringmaster being the very reason she was sick in the first place (capitalism, baby!).

Blitz, as in the canon...is not very funny. Despite having a range of acrobatic tricks and being able to think and react very quickly, he just never had a knack for nor got a grasp of how to hold people's interest and make them laugh. Is what it is. Fizz was always the star of their little sideshow attraction. Barbie came as a close second with her death-defying knife acts and torture plays. Blitz just never stood out as an entertainer as the maladjusted middle child. Over time, that became a resentment. Coupled with Buckzo's disregard for him as his son, Blitz started pushing the envelope with the acts he performed.

Finally, when he was sixteen, Blitz decided he was ready to run a giant obstacle course straight out of Hell. It went about as bad as you would expect. Fizz got the brunt of the damage when he pulled his surrogate brother out of the jaws of certain death. While he was still recovering from being scalded by holy water, Blitz was fired and kicked out of the only home he'd ever known by his father. Barbie and Beatriz kept in touch, despite Buckzo's "banning" it, but Blitz spent the remainder of his teenage years on the streets of Hell, urban foraging and doing odd jobs to save up for a place away from Greed and the posters of Fizz's face as his fame grew.

I didn't really want to change much about Blitz's clothing choices since it makes sense for him to want to look professional, but also be comfortable while slicing throats and blowing people up. Also, blue and gold comes from him being from Greed and Asmo being his company's sponsor. Took away the boots and gave him proper hooves, though. Now, I didn't base the imps' lower halves on any specific ungulates, but Blitz's top half is defs based on an iguana. I want them to be more reptilian since Wrath is pretty desert-oriented and Satan is lizard-like herself. I could probs get away with making his tail a little shorter, but I'm happy with how his horns and spines turned out. He smokes this shitty brand of cigs called Blak'N'Bluz. They aren't called that because of the black filter and blue of the Hellfire they burn on, though. It's said they actually make one's lungs black and blue with one drag because they're so caustic. They're the easiest to steal as a result and the one Blitz started with so he always comes back to them.

I wanted him and Barbie to look more twin-like and I really don't care for OG Blitz's horns. As far as the pendant he's wearing goes, it never made sense to me that his mom only left him something and never left anything for her other kids (which could not be the case but we just don't know because...well, we're never given this info). Blitz and Barbie split their mother's necklace down the middle and each of them wears a piece of it. No idea what to give Fizz from her yet.

I changed Blitz's facial scars and I'll tell you why. Forget who pointed it out in the critical tag, but the type of face scar OG Blitz has would likely leave him blind, with low vision, or with no eyelid in the eye covered in that scar tissue. No matter how you slice it, his sight would be compromised. Given that I gave that particular trait to Loona and Vaggie also has an eye patch, I decided to vary him up. He's still disabled though. As another person pointed out on a totally unrelated to HB/HH post, burn scars can impact everything from self-esteem to physical movement depending on what caused them and how they heal. Due to the majority of Blitz's scarring being on his right and back, his tail and right side usually suffer some debilitating pain flares when he overworks himself. Also, migraines and trouble extending his limbs fully. Basically, he carries a bottle of percocet around (it's like demon ibuprophen; it's fine). His pain is part of why Blitz is such a cussy grump. Hard to be pleasant when you're poor, traumatized, AND hurting all the time.

I.M.P. is still a thing in this rewrite (still debating the name), but Blitz got the idea for it when he was dating Verosika (yup, that's still a thing too). She's the one who got him an in with her boss, Asmodeus. So, he has access to Asmodean crystals since the Ringmaster also liked the idea for snatching extra wicked souls early (they're a power source and, therefore, far more valuable then someone committing tax fraud or whatever) They parted on okay terms, but Blitz adopted Loona shortly after entering his 30s. Kid's gotta eat, so he expanded the business from an imp with a knife to two imps with a van full of guns. Hiring on Moxxie from his old stomping grounds of Greed, they were able to take on more clients. That led to meeting and hiring Millie. Loona comes on hunts now that she's old enough too and they all have a blast. The rest, they say, is history.

The other side of his face for ref:

Gave him a tear-shaped scar because why not? Also a horntip cap. That one is damaged and his trying to keep it from getting worse and breaking the whole tip off.