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Moondrop sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed so tightly it looked like he was trying to hold himself together. The café was quiet—too quiet for his liking. Soft light, the smell of coffee, the low hum of something warm and safe. It made his skin itch. Across from him, Carmine stirred his drink slowly, like he had all the time in the world.
“I’m not talking,” Moon muttered.
Carmine smiled—not forced, not mocking. Just… there. “You don’t have to.”
“I’m only here because I lost a bet.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched.
Moon clicked his tongue. “This is stupid.”
“Probably,” Carmine said lightly. “Still here though.”
Moon shot him a glare. No reaction. No pushback. No pressure.
That was worse.
Minutes passed. The clock ticked louder than it should’ve. Moon shifted, tapping his foot, then stopping, then starting again.
“…You’re not even gonna ask anything?”
“I can,” Carmine said. “But you don’t seem like someone who responds well to being pushed.”
Moon scoffed. “…You don’t know me.”
“No,” Carmine agreed. “But I’d like to.”
That… annoyed him more than it should’ve.
Moon leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “There’s nothing to know.”
Another pause.
“…You’re scared,” Carmine said gently.
Moon’s eyes snapped back to him. “No, I’m not.”
Carmine didn’t argue. “Okay.”
That calm acceptance cracked something small.
Moon looked away.
“…I’ve been forgetting things.”
There it was.
It slipped out before he could stop it.
Carmine didn’t react dramatically. He just nodded. “What kind of things?”
“…Small stuff. Then bigger stuff.” Moon’s voice tightened. “Conversations. Promises. Things I said I wouldn’t do again.”
His hands clenched.
“And… sometimes I don’t recognize myself. Not like—physically.” He let out a shaky breath. “I mean… I feel like him again.”
Carmine stayed quiet.
That silence pulled more out.
“I worked so hard,” Moon continued, voice rough now. “To fix it. To stop being—” He swallowed. “—that.”
His eyes flickered with something ugly. Guilt. Shame.
“I hurt him.”
He didn’t say Sun’s name. He didn’t need to.
“I said things I can’t take back. I did things—” His voice cracked. “And I told myself I’d never be that person again.”
Carmine leaned forward slightly, still gentle. “And now?”
Moon laughed. It was hollow. “Now I don’t trust my own head.”
His breathing started to shake.
“What if I forget again?” he whispered. “What if I go back to that? What if one day I just—” His hands trembled. “—look at him and I don’t remember why I promised to be better?”
Carmine didn’t interrupt.
That made it worse.
“What if I hurt him again?” Moon’s voice broke. “What if I don’t even realize it until it’s too late?”
Tears welled up, and he immediately tried to wipe them away, angry at himself.
“Pathetic,” he muttered.
“No,” Carmine said softly.
Moon shook his head violently. “I’m supposed to have control. I had control. That’s the whole point. I changed. I was better.”
His chest hitched.
“And now it’s slipping.”
Silence again—but this time it wasn’t empty. It held him there.
“I’m scared,” Moon admitted, voice barely audible. “I’m scared I’m just pretending to be better. That this—” he gestured to himself, shaking “—is who I actually am.”
Carmine finally spoke.
“The fact that you’re afraid of becoming that person again,” he said, calm and steady, “means you’re not that person anymore.”
Moon shook his head. “That doesn’t stop it.”
“No,” Carmine agreed. “But it means you’ll fight it.”
Moon let out a broken breath.
“I don’t want to hurt him again.”
“I know.”
“I can’t—” his voice cracked hard now “—I can’t be the reason Sun’s afraid of me again.”
The tears came fully this time, and he couldn’t stop them.
Carmine didn’t move to fix it. Didn’t rush him. Just stayed.
Let him fall apart without trying to glue him back together too quickly.
After a while, Carmine spoke again, softer than before.
“Then we make sure you’re not fighting this alone.”
Moon didn’t respond.
But he didn’t leave either.
And for the first time since the session started, he wasn’t trying to.
Still untitled and still figuring out the actual story, but the designs of the boys are here. And yes it's reader insert as well. Extra doodles right under!
Also feel free to send asks about whatever for this really, I kinda need help to figure stuff out and talking about it makes it easier lol
What I have so far:
Yknow Shimmer from Arcane? There's smt of the sort going on. Evil juice making things Evil.
Antagonist Moon at first because I love when this lil shit is evil and tries to bash our skull in.
Human DJMM! Heavy on body mods. Our greatest confidant, friend, and soul of the party. (Might end up looking like Big Top. It's inevitable)
A wee bit inspired by AftonBuilt >:3c
The sun brooch is the team's symbol. No one really knows why, though. I'm sure it's not important.
Reader's nickname is "The Tinkerer". Although Sun is the one who builds things.
Theres too much negativity around here, so what do you love about tsams/eaps/laes/eass shows??
I'm going to be pretty honest. Tsams is bad. Like pretty bad. The current arc is bad and lacks direction. The pace is horrendously slow. And the characters seems to regress more and more with each arc.
But for some odd reason. I can't stop watching the show. I really like it because is DCA content. And since SB came out the Daycare attendant has been my comfort character.
And also I'm really hyped for the Tyrant's arc so much.
And for the other shows.
LAES 2.0 is much of the same as TSAMS and I only watch the episodes where Day or Night are in.
I don't watch EASS.
And EAPS. EAPS was epic. And I can say without any doubt that EAPS was the best show of TSBS. The story was very interesting and consistent. The pace was really good. And I really like how conflict was managed in that show. Also being shut down earlier was the best thing that could happen to EAPS.
The circus had always smelled like sugar, sweat, and sawdust.
Every evening, under the striped canopy, laughter echoed like music. Lights shimmered, drums rolled, and the audience leaned forward in their seats, waiting for wonder. And among all the performers, there were two who worked in perfect harmony—We weren’t the stars of the show, not exactly. We were riggers, stagehands, sometimes clowns when needed—men who held the magic together from behind the curtains. We joked while hauling ropes, shared cheap meals, and laughed at things no one else found funny.
For a long time, everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.
It began quietly. He stopped laughing at jokes. Then stopped talking altogether. His movements grew sharper, impatient. Where there had once been rhythm, there was now tension—like a rope pulled too tight, ready to snap.
I would mutter sometimes, “you ever feel like something’s… wrong?”
My Sun would shrug it off. Everyone in the circus had their bad days, But his bad days didn’t end. They grew. His eyes, once warm and alive, became distant—then restless—then something else entirely. He began snapping at the others, but especially me. Small mistakes turned into accusations. Silence turned into hostility.
One night, after a performance, under the dim glow of a single backstage lamp, it broke.
He was already yelling the moment he stormed into the room. I don’t quite remember why he was yelling about.
The argument escalated too fast—words overlapping, voices rising, years of friendship collapsing into something unrecognizable. And then, suddenly—
Sun lunged.
I barely had time to react. The glint of metal flashed in his hand. Instinct took over—fear, raw and immediate. We struggled, stumbling into crates, knocking over props. The circus outside still roared with applause, unaware.
I begged him to stop.
But he didn’t stop.
So I did what I had to.
It was quick.
Too quick.
A single motion. A desperate push. The knife changed hands. And then—
Silence.
Sun fell.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
I stood there, trembling, staring at what I had done. The sounds of the circus seeped back in slowly—distant applause, muffled music—but they felt unreal, like echoes from another life.
My hands were shaking.
Red.
Not just red—carmine.
Deep, vivid, unbearable.
It stained my fingers, soaked into my sleeves, splattered across my face. Carmine—too bright, too alive, too present. It clung to me, refused to be ignored. It wasn’t just color—it was memory, it was guilt, it was the moment frozen in time.
I raised a trembling hand to his cheek.
The carmine smeared.
I stared at it, his breath uneven, eyes wide and hollow.
“I… I didn’t…”
The circus continued outside.
Lights. Laughter. Applause.
Inside, beneath the dim lamp, I stood alone—my face painted not by performance, but by something far more permanent.
The circus had always smelled like sugar, sweat, and sawdust.
Every evening, under the striped canopy, laughter echoed like music. Lights shimmered, drums rolled, and the audience leaned forward in their seats, waiting for wonder. And among all the performers, there were two who worked in perfect harmony—We weren’t the stars of the show, not exactly. We were riggers, stagehands, sometimes clowns when needed—men who held the magic together from behind the curtains. We joked while hauling ropes, shared cheap meals, and laughed at things no one else found funny.
For a long time, everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.
It began quietly. He stopped laughing at jokes. Then stopped talking altogether. His movements grew sharper, impatient. Where there had once been rhythm, there was now tension—like a rope pulled too tight, ready to snap.
I would mutter sometimes, “you ever feel like something’s… wrong?”
My Sun would shrug it off. Everyone in the circus had their bad days, But his bad days didn’t end. They grew. His eyes, once warm and alive, became distant—then restless—then something else entirely. He began snapping at the others, but especially me. Small mistakes turned into accusations. Silence turned into hostility.
One night, after a performance, under the dim glow of a single backstage lamp, it broke.
He was already yelling the moment he stormed into the room. I don’t quite remember why he was yelling about.
The argument escalated too fast—words overlapping, voices rising, years of friendship collapsing into something unrecognizable. And then, suddenly—
Sun lunged.
I barely had time to react. The glint of metal flashed in his hand. Instinct took over—fear, raw and immediate. We struggled, stumbling into crates, knocking over props. The circus outside still roared with applause, unaware.
I begged him to stop.
But he didn’t stop.
So I did what I had to.
It was quick.
Too quick.
A single motion. A desperate push. The knife changed hands. And then—
Silence.
Sun fell.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
I stood there, trembling, staring at what I had done. The sounds of the circus seeped back in slowly—distant applause, muffled music—but they felt unreal, like echoes from another life.
My hands were shaking.
Red.
Not just red—carmine.
Deep, vivid, unbearable.
It stained my fingers, soaked into my sleeves, splattered across my face. Carmine—too bright, too alive, too present. It clung to me, refused to be ignored. It wasn’t just color—it was memory, it was guilt, it was the moment frozen in time.
I raised a trembling hand to his cheek.
The carmine smeared.
I stared at it, his breath uneven, eyes wide and hollow.
“I… I didn’t…”
The circus continued outside.
Lights. Laughter. Applause.
Inside, beneath the dim lamp, I stood alone—my face painted not by performance, but by something far more permanent.
Also do you have any tips to draw more dynamic poses and expressions
Would you like some ranch with that?
And to answer to your questions. Mirrors.
I have a big ass mirror in front of my desk so I (sometimes I force my sister too) can pose like a Mrs. Universe model. The same thing for expressions(except I have one that is smaller for that). And also Pinterest helps too.
Basically using the old methods used by the animators in the 30s for poses.
Also studying Arcane expression and composition style helped me a lot.
