ghost band · papa emeritus · chaotic · gamer · satanic rock · brotherhood · writer's block · italian curses · submissive · roleplay
The single lamp on Tobias's desk cast a tired circle of light over the empty staff paper. "Copia, could you throw me the pen?" he asked, his voice frayed with creative exhaustion. Across the room, Copia paused his chiptune battle just long enough to flick the pen in his direction before diving back into the pixels. On the worn couch, Terzo's snores rose and fell like a discordant metronome. Secundo, his patience snapping, tossed a heavy magazine onto the sleeper's chest. "Stupido," he grumbled, not looking up from his book. Tobias caught the pen, his fingers tight around it, the block in his mind as solid as stone.