#Stuttering Days

[gazpachoandbooks]

Currently imagining Arthur + Gwen + the knights asking someone (maybe druids?) who this famous "Emrys" is and they proceed to do a version of "We Don't Talk About Bruno" while Arthur, Gwen and the knights grow increasingly more distressed with each line and Merlin hyperventilates in the background

[lingerdingdong]

Marc Revelado Documentary clip and English transcript

[dizzy-n-busy]

The Lasko Moore Effect (they turned Gavin into a studious bottom)

He’s so tiny baby coded

And a studious ass foo

[cellgatinbo]

pac: and by the way fit, you look so, um... so bald today. fit: oh, t-thank you? yeah, i- (richarlyson attacks pac and downs him) fit: no- richas! calma calma calma calma calma-- pac: ok ok ok ok, you know, actually, i'm sorry, okay- [not again, that's enough-] pac: you know, you actually- y-you look good today, you look good today. fit: oh! huh- Well, uhh- thank- thank you, pac? you-you, uh. you look good today as well- a-as well! as well, as well. pac: thank you thank you thank you :D

[theotherbuckley]

Okay but Tommy drops out of high school — he told his father he was gay and he told him he could either be homeless or go to military school. He goes to military school and joins the army and he likes flying the helicopters because it means he doesn’t have to do any of the killing himself. And he makes some friends.

There's one guy who's like the squad leader who's a few years old and built like a Greek god and Tommy's young and a little bit in love. And they're friends maybe even family because this whole group of people spend every waking (and sleeping) moment together. And they all talk like a family and they all say they love each other and tease each other and it's nice. And one night it's just the two of them trading a flask of some sort of alcohol that Tommy doesn't know the name of and the man asks Tommy why he joined the army and where he wants to be in five years and Tommy trusts this man. He's half way in love with him so he doesn't even think twice before he tells the story about the time he came out to his family and his father nearly beat him to death before sending him here. And the conversation tapers off after that and he doesn’t register the change in the air but when he wakes up the next morning he’s being dishonourably discharged because he poses “unacceptable risk to the high standards of morale, good order and discipline, and unit cohesion that are the essence of military capability”. He knows what that means.

Tommy joins the fire department because he doesn’t know what else to do. He represses anything regarding his sexuality because he knows now that it’s wrong. He almost feels like he has a family again because his captain seems to like him and some of the guys are cool even if they say things he doesn’t agree with. And then he starts agreeing because maybe they’re right and he’s wrong and he’s just inherently wrong. So he follows their leads and is just straight racist because that’s how he can fit in.

And then a black lesbian woman joins and says she’s a black lesbian woman and Tommy doesn’t understand that either because you can’t be queer you just can’t be because it’s wrong.

But he nearly dies and and an Asian man saves his life and a black lesbian woman comes up with a better idea than any of them had and she tells them she’s no different and she is just as capable. So he improves himself he does and he tries to be better but he still can’t be who he is because the last 2 times he was honest about that he was betrayed.

Tommy leaves the 118 and “don’t ask, don’t tell” is lifted and he meets this guy he likes who likes him back and the 217 don’t seem to have a problem with the gender neutral pronouns and he slowly but surely lets himself open up again and be who he is and when the thing with that guy doesn’t work out because he’s moving to New York and Tommy’s not sure he’s ready to leave, it’s okay because his crew is there and they support him and he can still be himself.

[worldwithoutmiracles]

made this in honor of the trans day of visibility/easter crossover event of 2024. get out there and crack some eggs, folx

[sevikasupremacy]

The more I look at Sevika the more I want to be the pavement that she walks on

[ratatatastic]

OH YEAH NO THATS GONNA HAUNT ME FOR AGES. MIKKSY SAYING PLAYBOYS AS HE PHONES INTO A FINNISH RADIO STATION COMPLETELY FUCKING PISSED

the whole exchange is so good (x)

[billy-cockblock]

I wrote a little thing inspired by @saintalondre's swtd afterlife au, before they'd posted more info about it, so this doesn't really fit in their au at all, but I had fun.

Gibbo hated the water tanks. 

But Addair was busy in engineering today, and he was the easiest to push the task of fixing a leak onto. It shouldn’t be a difficult job, just tedious to find the source that was causing all the flooding. 

He thinks that’s why they assigned Douglas to come down with him and help. Got him somewhere in the belly of the rig and away from the sea below. Poor guy needed something to take his mind off yesterday’s… incident. Gibbo’s heart dropped every time he thought about what happened, and he wasn’t even the one to pull Caz out. Douglas had hardly said a word since Rennick had taken the situation over and shipped the body back to the mainland. They’d been told to “avoid spreading rumors around the crew” and he’d completely shut down. Still, despite their boss’s attempts to cover up the incident, word of their missing crewmates had spread. The mood over the whole rig had doured after that morning. Dobbie and Trots had to make yesterday’s lunch, and when Roy had returned, dinner and breakfast tasted flavorless. 

Bringing himself back to the present, Gibbo stepped into the flooded water tank room. It was up to his knees, but shouldn’t get any higher that he couldn’t wade through it. 

“Right, this shouldn’t be hard,” he said, turning to face Douglas wading in behind him. “All we have to do is follow the water pipes. If you find the leak, call me over so I can patch it, aye?” Douglas nodded absentmindedly, eyes still distant like his mind was somewhere else. “Hey,” Gibbo put his hand on the other man’s shoulder, snapping him out of his trance with a start. “Let’s just focus on patching the leak, okay lad? Water’s cold, and we’ll lose our toes if we take too long.”

“A-aye,” Douglas looked away again. “Water’s real cold.”

“How about you start looking that way, and I’ll go this way, eh?” Gibbo pointed towards opposite sides of the room. “We’ll get done here and get to warm up twice as fast. Just keep an ear out for flowing water and look for the source.”

Without a word, Douglas just nodded and turned to go the way he was told. Gibbo watched him for a moment before sighing, trudging his own way. 

He’d only been searching for a few minutes when things started to get strange. He heard a metallic bang from the walkway and jumped. Finding a gap through the tanks and pipes, he saw the door of the locker hanging open. The water at the bottom of the stairs was rippling like someone had just passed through it and walked out of sight.

“Douglas?” he shouted, checking on his coworker.

“Aye?” Douglas responded, coming from the opposite side of the room as the sound.

“You hear that?” While he wasn’t moving, Gibbo could hear the quiet sounds of something sloshing through the water past the pipes around him.

“No? Hear what?”

“Hello?” Gibbo called out. “Anyone else is in here?” He listened closely to track the sounds, but every quiet noise echoed in the enclosed space. He started walking slowly to try and pinpoint their location. “If you’re trying to joke, it’s not very funny.”

The sloshing, drips, and creaks blended together, seemingly coming from several directions at once. As he wandered, Gibbo also picked up on the sound of breathing. It was shaky and muffled, like someone was trying to be quiet but too nervous to slow their breaths.

“Hello?” he tried again. “Aren’t you cold? You sound like you’re shivering.”

He’d been passing by a row of tanks when he heard a splash right on the other side.

“I’m not looking, I promise,” a small voice whispered, small and terrified. They sounded familiar somehow, but Gibbo couldn’t place it.

They started walking away where Gibbo’s path ended, and he’d have to go the long way around if he were to get to the main tanks where they were headed. He crouched down to see if he could see them under the tanks, soaking himself up to his waist, but only caught a hint of a blue uniform through the shadows before it disappeared around a corner.

“Douglas, meet me by the main tanks,” he called across the room.

“Uh, okay.”

He hurried through the pipes until he reached the raised walkway by the tanks. The stranger wasn’t there, but there was a trail of water and he could hear the metal rattling of a ladder. He hurried around the corner and only caught a blur of boots as they climbed over the top.

“Oi! Get down from there!” he yelled, climbing up after them. The top of the main tanks was fenced off and the only way to go was into the tanks themselves. They may have been mostly drained to prevent more flooding, but they could still be extremely dangerous. 

He only saw the top of their hardhat as they descended through the hatch, causing him to scramble the last way up.

“Wait!” He rushed to the edge to stop them, but they were already too far down the ladder. They looked up at him, blinding him with their torch as their grip loosened in surprise. With no warning, the hatch moved on its own and slammed shut, nearly taking Gibbo’s hand with it and locking itself. 

“Shit!” he cursed, gripping the wheel to open it, but it refused to budge. No matter how much force he put behind it, it wouldn’t twist. 

“Gibbo?” Douglas asked from behind him, startling him so bad he screamed. 

“Don’t do that, Douglas! How’d you get up here so quietly?!”

“What are you-“

“No… No!” The voice cried out, echoing out of the second tank. They looked over and saw the second hatch open, allowing sound to escape. 

“Douglas…?” The voice sounded farther away than it should be. It had an odd quality to it, like the whistling of the gales in the outer rooms of the derrick, or the sound of waves from the middle of the deck. Like holding a phone away from your ear but having it still close enough to hear a caller’s voice. “Douglas!” They continued muttering to themself, too quiet to be understood through the echoing and strange effects. 

Gibbo turned to ask Douglas a question, but his words were lost when he saw his face. It was ashen with dread and he looked like he would vomit. 

Douglas pushed past him to get to the hatch, twisting the wheel open with ease. 

“Hey! What are you-!“ The hatch was already open and Douglas practically sliding down the ladder. He at least felt relieved seeing the water so low, but he still hated the idea of anyone going in there. 

Douglas disappeared from view, heading towards the connecting space between tanks. Gibbo almost reached for the ladder himself, but hesitated. 

“Douglas, get back here!” he whisper-shouted into the dark, keeping an eye on the other hatch and the stilling water below. There was no reply other than fading sloshing sounds.

After what felt like far too long, a familiar knit hat emerged from the opposite hatch, looking around wildly.

“Where’d he go?!” Douglas asked, voice frantic. “Did you see him?”

“Calm down, lad,” Gibbo tried to reassure. “No one’s come out of there other than you. You sure the guy isn’t still in there?”

“I-I don’t think so, but it’s so dark…” he was starting to break down; Gibbo figured it was the stress of yesterday catching up to him. “I heard him, I know it was him…”

“I have a torch,” Gibbo said, reaching into his pocket where it was located. Douglas didn’t seem to hear him, forcing Gibbo to make up his mind. “Alright, lad, stay there. I’ll check the tank and meet you up there. Don’t move, alright?” He waited for Douglas to nod before shakily grabbing the ladder.

He hated the water tanks. He was vehemently reminded of that fact as he landed in water up to his knees. It was as cold as the water filling the outside room, but the solid, enclosed walls made it so much darker and easier to flood if someone were to forget he was in there. 

He shined the torch around the first main tank, going as far as to look up the walls. No sign of the mystery man in here, but he couldn’t shake the childish fear of something lurking in the dark. 

That meant he had to do his least favorite part…

Coming up to the connection between the tanks, he had to turn sideways, squeezing into the narrow gap. He wasn’t the smallest man, so the fit was very tight. He hated having to do maintenance inside the tanks, he hated the dark, he hated the tight fit, he hated the water-

He just hated the water tanks.

He was eventually released, coming out on the other side with a relieved sigh. He pointed his torch at the dark corners and-

His light shut off, plunging him into darkness. 

His whole body tensed and his breathing picked up. He quickly flicked it on and off again, trying to get it to come back with no luck. He shook and smacked it, only succeeding to get it to flicker rapidly. 

He spun around, pointing the blinking light behind him, in the corners, and all around, searching for beasts lurking in the dark, making his anxiety worse. 

He pushed through the water towards the ladder, wanting to get out as quick as possible, when he froze solid, his heart dropping to his stomach.

At the base of the ladder, his light caught an orange uniform floating just under the surface. The light flickered and he noticed the body’s dark skin. It flashed and he caught his grey knit cap-

The torch died again, and in the low light filtering in from the hatch, the body was gone. 

“Gibbo?” Douglas called down from above. “Is he down there?”

“N-no!” Gibbo finally managed to stutter out, trying to shake the panic off. It had just been his mind playing tricks on him. It had to be. “He-he must’ve snuck past me somehow. I’m coming up!”

He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten up a ladder faster in his whole career working on rigs. Douglas seemed to have calmed down a bit, still occasionally wiping his eyes. 

“He didn’t come this way either,” Douglas said. “How’d he get past?”

“I don’t know,” Gibbo replied. “He must’ve slipped out while I wasn’t looking.” He looked over the tank room, looking for any sign of movement in the shadows. “Who was he, anyway?”

“What?” 

“You said you knew who he was and it got you in a right state, so who was it?”

“Ah,” Douglas hesitated. “I must’ve just imagined it, it couldn’t have been-“

A slam echoed through the room, making both men jump. It sounded like the hatch door up the stairs to Accommodation. 

“Well, sounds like he got through okay,” Gibbo joked, trying to shake off the tension. “But who’d you think-“

“Is that the leak?” Douglas interrupted him, pointing to something in the half of the tank room they hadn’t searched. Sure enough, Gibbo spotted the junction between pipes where a steady stream of water was leaking out. 

Gibbo sighed. “Aye, that’s it. Good job, lad.”

[fisheito]

my princess nonsense is being encouraged watch ouyt imabout to be eneaabled

OK WHATF ATHAT'S SO CUTE I HAD TO MAKE IT i know realistically there's little to no chance that rei DOESN'T know how to work heels 🤣 BUT IMAGINE.....ING.... YAKUMO GENTLY GUIDING REI IN HEELS, WEEKS BEFORE THE BIG GALA AND HAVING NONE OF HIS NORMAL FEAR OF PHYSICAL TOUCH BC HIS [TEACHER MODE] IS OVERRIDING HIS INSECURITY

[ursie]

Happy mothers Day to Nico di Angelo and all other single mothers out there 🖤

[sketchy-tour]

Oh why is my brain buzzing today???

Anyway hi. So I have this silly joke I make a lot of Dandy not knowing how to talk to pretty people. Like, they just got not a clue as to how to interact with someone pretty.

That shit so includes Wally. You bet the first time Wally spoke with Dandy, they genuinely didn't even realize he was talking to them. Assumed he must have been talking to someone else, cause why would someone as pretty as him be talking to someone like them??? At least that's how they see it.

Takes them ages to really understand that Wally LIKES their company.

[floridazcrazy]

Donald Trump is guilty on ALL 34 COUNTS BRO, LANDO NORRIS AND MCLAREN HOW DO YOU FEEL NOW!! I thought Trump was a "cool person" huh lmao

[lialox]

I don’t know who needs to hear this but IKEA’s one year return policy could save someone.

During the pandemic I had to go through some weird moving/living situation dilemma. I thought I would be fucked over with all the furniture I just bought and nothing to do with it.

When someone pointed out the one year return policy and I just.

Returned my whole apartment.

Got all my money back 100% after almost a year of using it all it was great.

[kalsiferdraws]

Even when it's just him and Bill, he can't get Richie out of his head

[hum--hallelujah]

like a sledgehammer to a disco ball - 3.9k words, Fun Ghoul angst and protective Kobra Kid

Kobra jerks awake at the first creak of the floor. The only person who has any right to be in his room at night knows better than to step where the floor creaks. Instinct takes over and he's holding his blaster at body height by the time his brain and eyes are awake enough to see through the dark.

"It's me, it's me, it's me," Ghoul stammers, holding his hands defensively in the air. Only, it sounds more like "'smee," because of the way Ghoul is slurring. And he's bleeding.

Kobra drops the blaster as soon as he realizes that the dark smear across Ghoul's face is blood. "What the hell, man," he hisses, groping in the dark for a light with one hand and trying to pat Ghoul down to make sure he's not like, actively dying, with the other. He could be blackout drunk or he could have gone out alone like he does sometimes and any number of things could have happened. The cold metal of an old flashlight meets his fingers and he flicks it on, shining the dim light over Ghoul.

"I did something stupid," Ghoul says. Only, it comes out as "Uh did su'hn stooid," wavering slightly, because the entire right side of Ghoul's face, from the corner of his mouth to his cheekbone, is sliced open. There's a horrific flap of flesh hanging loose that's supposed to be connected to the rest of his face. That's where the blood staining his face and clothes and hands is coming from, and why when he speaks, it sounds wrong.

"Holy shit," Kobra whispers, feeling cold Zone night air sting his eyes because they're open so wide. "Okay. Okay, what happened?" He holds Ghoul carefully by one arm, feels the way he's shaking. He's always shaking, except when he's got his hands in a bomb. This is worse than normal though. This is so much worse than anything Kobra's ever seen.

Ghoul shrugs, waves his hands vaguely and wildly. Kobra hisses a sharp breath through his teeth, frantically runs a hand through his hair. "Okay," He says again. "I'm gonna get-" He needs Jet, de facto medic, he needs Party, needs his brother-

"No," Ghoul says sharply, and that at least is completely clear. His eyes are wild from what Kobra can see in the dark. If human eyes could glow, his would. He grips Kobra's arms. "Please don't," he mumbles around the gruesome injury. His voice is high and frantic, and it has to hurt to talk. "Just you."

Kobra freezes. There's a slowly building feeling of dread, growing stronger by the moment. He pulls Ghoul off him, holds him by the wrists. "Okay. Just me," he promises, and feels sick about it. "Just me."

Ghoul noticeably relaxes, though he's still trembling head to toe, and lets Kobra drag him across the diner in near-silence aside from the occasional seemingly involuntary whimper on Ghoul's part, into the single-stall bathroom with a barely working lightbulb. Somehow, they make it past the front room where Party sleeps without waking him, much as Kobra wants to let his brother take care of this. He's practically trembling at how badly he wants Pois right now.

There's a medical kit in the cabinet that Kobra pulls out immediately. He knows how to handle this, physically speaking. It's whatever else, the shit he doesn't know and is scared to find out, like how this freaking happened, that makes him nervous. Ghoul stands in the flickering light like he doesn't know what to do.

"Sit the fuck down," Kobra snaps nervously, gesturing to the toilet lid. Ghoul does. Kobra pulls a dubiously clean rag from the cabinet and eyes it. It scares him to see Ghoul like this. Usually if he's scared, he fights. He hisses and spits and claws at whoever comes near him. More often than not, that's Kobra. But this, the wide-eyed jittering, is a whole other animal.

"This whole thing is gonna suck," he says stiffly. Ghoul nods. With a little more light, Kobra can see the thick, shiny blood streaming from the wound through his cheek. It isn't enough that Kobra's afraid Ghoul will bleed out, but the cut is so long and clear through and absolutely grotesque. He crouches down in front of where Ghoul is sitting, sideways on the toilet, and he can't tell if Ghoul is looking at him or through him, almost as if he's the ghost.

In a quick motion that startles both of them, probably, Kobra grabs the back of Ghoul's head with one hand and presses the rag to the seeping wound with the other. Ghoul's eyes go even wider and even greener, and what starts out as a shout of pain from him turns into a choked keening sound. Hearing it feels like being stabbed.

"What happened?" Asks Kobra again, when he's convinced that the bleeding has slowed enough to try and actually deal with this thing. He twists the handle on the faucet on and off, on and off, enough times that the ancient water pump starts up and clean water gurgles into the sink. He cleans the rag that way, then wets it and wrings it out before shutting the water off.

Ghoul's shoulders rise and fall in short, panicky breaths. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm- I didn't think, it was stupid, I'm sorry," he continues babbling like that before going silent again aside from the sharp sounds of his breathing.

In a testament to Kobra's selfishness, his biggest worry is that Ghoul took his motorbike out for a spin and crashed it. He can't think of what could have caused something like this. He has visions of his bike sliding out on a turn, crumbled metal and Ghoul's body flying through the air. But if that had happened he'd be hurt other than this. If that had happened he might be dead.

"Yo," he says quietly. "Chill. Just tell me what happened." He presses the now-damp rag to Ghoul's face, trying to ignore just how grotesque the wound really is. Maybe because it's fresh, maybe because of the fear, but somehow it's worse than the space where Jet's other eye used to be. Kobra never wanted to see an injury of that level on another person again in his life, let alone someone he cares about.

Ghoul flinches away, but Kobra shoots him a look and it must process somehow, because he stills and lets Kobra clean the already drying blood away from the edges of the wound with barely a whine. "It was stupid," he repeats, his voice shaking as much as it's slurring. "I don't know why I did it, Kid."

Something about the way he says that, voice small and wavering, sends a chill down Kobra's throat. Sudden understanding dawns on him. The blood on Ghoul's hands. He's not injured anywhere else. "You did that to yourself?" Kobra asks hoarsely.

Ghoul's eyes snap onto his and the rest of the color drains from his face. Kobra thinks he's going to pass out for a second, but he doesn't. He pulls as far away as he can, scrabbling awkwardly against the cold tiles and porcelain of the bathroom. "I don't know what I though, I was stupid, I don't- Kobra," he whines, with enough animalistic despair that Kobra wants suddenly to burst into tears, if he weren't so utterly stunned.

"Ghoul, calm down, I've gotta stitch it still," he says on autopilot. "Cool your engine, man."

Maybe it's the practicality of the thing that makes Ghoul momentarily stop panicking. "I'm sorry," he says again, tears welling in his eyes that he then blinks away half-frantically. Kobra's never heard him apologize for anything before tonight. He never wants to hear it again.

"It's okay, man. I've got you." He replies. If his own voice is shaking now, too, no the hell it isn't. "Come on, you have to let me..." he trails off, eyes wide. "Ghoul, why..." Then he shakes his head. He can't think about that now. He needs to disinfect the wound and stitch it up. And it's going to hurt Ghoul really, really badly.

He reaches behind him, grabs at the bottle of alcohol. This stuff is rare out in the Zones. They try to use it as little as possible. Only in emergencies. This is enough of an emergency, though. This is a fucking crisis.

He pours the bare minimum of the alcohol onto another piece of cloth, feels the cold soak in. Ghoul watches every move with jerking, stilted intensity. Kobra looks up at him from where he's now kneeling on the cold tile. He puts a hand behind Ghoul's head again. "This is going to hurt," he warns. They've nearly gouged each other's eyes out before, yet suddenly Kobra feels like he's going to be sick at the thought of causing Ghoul any more pain. Ghoul shuts his eyes in preparation.

Ghoul still nearly screams when Kobra dabs the alcohol over his wound. Kobra can see it in the way he holds his breath, the spring-tight tension in Ghoul's entire body. The only noise he makes is a quiet, drawn out whine, though. When a tear streaks down his cheekbone, Kobra catches it before a drop of salt can enter the wound.

"'Kay," he says in a ragged whisper. "That's done. Now I have to-" he gestures like he's sewing. Ghoul's eyes pop open to see what he's saying and he visibly forces himself to breathe again.

"'Kay," Ghoul says back in an equally torn up voice.

It only takes Kobra three tries to thread a needle. Medical supplies of any type are hard to come by, a whole new kind of commodity, but this stash has been here for as long as he can remember, just in case. Blaster burns, the most common injuries amongst 'Joys, come pre-cauterized. He's rarely had to sew sutures before.

Ghoul flinches back when the tip of the needle first touches the edge of his torn skin, and Kobra pauses. "Hold still," he grumbles, more out of familiar sniping than any real frustration at this point. He keeps his hand in Ghoul's hair the entire time he sews.

The feeling of a needle piercing flesh is horrible. The fact that it's his friend, someone he'd give his life for before seeing them hurt, is even worse. Kobra wants to fucking throatpunch whoever did this to Ghoul, or better, do the same thing to them, before he remembers with a sinking feeling in his stomach that Ghoul did this to himself.

He ties off the suture just barely keeping his hands from shaking. He doesn't know how Ghoul does this with bombs. Ghoul flinches again, violently, when Kobra cuts the excess line, and Kobra has to jerk back to keep from catching a flailing, uncoordinated fist in the face.

"Hey," he snaps. "Ghoul!"

Ghoul slips off the toilet lid and onto the floor almost as if he intended it but halfway as an accident and immediately curls in on himself. He pulls his knees to his chest and curls his arms around his head and Kobra can hear him hyperventilating. Kobra fucking freezes. He's used to fighting and wrestling and knee-jerk reactions that wind up with someone sporting a black eye. He is terrified right now. And there's still Ghoul's blood on his hands, too.

"Ghoul..." He cautiously reaches out, puts a hand on Ghoul's leg. Ghoul twitches, lets out a hiccupy sound that takes a moment to register in Kobra's mind as a sob. Ghoul, chaos loving, cackling Ghoul, is crying. And not just a single tear, now, his whole body is shuddering with the force of how hard he's crying. Kobra's heart is pounding with how hard he does not know what's happening, but he grips Ghoul's arm and lightly shakes him. "Hey, I'm still here, man."

Ghoul makes that keening whine again and Kobra thinks at first that he's going to pull away at best, or throw a real punch at worst. They fight enough, for any and no reason at all, that he expects it now. That's their normal. This isn't.

Ghoul scrambles to his knees, his hands finding the front of Kobra's shirt. This restroom is small, they're already in close quarters. But maybe unintentionally, maybe just scrabbling for a little purchase on anything, Ghoul winds up grabbing onto Kobra. And Kobra has always had a hard time letting anything go.

Ghoul's forehead crashes into his shoulder and Kobra instinctively puts his hands up, grabs back onto Ghoul in return. Ghoul's usual shaking is familiar to him, but the repressed wracking sobs aren't. Kobra clutches desperately around Ghoul's back, like he could hold together what he's just sewn up, like if he keeps Ghoul close enough he can't shake into pieces. No one should be able to break Ghoul. Not even Ghoul himself.

The edges of the cabinet dig into Kobra's back, but he ignores it. Ghoul is folding in on himself, making himself as small as he can against Kobra, and Kobra doesn't fucking know what to do. He's never seen Ghoul cry like this. He's never seen anyone cry like this.

"It hurts," cries Ghoul suddenly.

"I know," Kobra says, before he realizes that crying like this is probably making everything worse, that he'd worried about salt in the wound a minute before for this exact reason. He can't imagine the pain Ghoul is probably in.

"It didn't hurt at first," Ghoul mumbles, then chokes on a sob. "It didn't hurt when I started. And then it did."

Kobra wants to ask again, why? But he won't get anything intelligible. There's a part of him that doesn't want to know. He's terrified of knowing the truth. Instead, he threads his fingers through Ghoul's hair again and just repeats, "I know. I know."

A few minutes pass in speedy, spiraling silence. The only sound between them is their shared too-fast breathing.

"I can't," stammers Ghoul finally, after his cries have tapered out into raspy gasps. "I can't turn it on or off."

"Huh?" Is all Kobra can think to say. "Ghoul, you're not making sense, nothing about this makes sense," he snips, too quick and too tense. He's so beyond his depth. He wants Jet or Party to come help but he can't have it his way because he promised. He promised Ghoul. He wants to hit something. A wall, just to feel the impact. To imagine he's hitting whatever it is that hurt his friend so badly he hurt himself.

Ghoul sniffs. All Kobra can see of him is the top of his head and the cheek with the stitches. The wound is swollen and red and is going to leave a horrific scar. Kobra clenches his fist tighter behind Ghoul's back. "When I'm having fun or not," Ghoul says. "I can't. I am or I'm not. But."

"But what?" For fuck's sake, Kobra just wants to understand. He can read Ghoul like a book from cover to cover most times, and it scares him that he's so lost right now.

"It isn't good enough," he mumbles. "It's... It's in my fuckin' name, Kid, if I can't live up to that what am I?"

Kobra stares, wide-eyed, at the wall across from him. Something clicks. The clean cut through Ghoul's face, clearly from a recently sharpened knife, clearly intentional, reached from the corner of his lips almost to his ear. "Oh fuck no," he whispers. "Hell no. What the fuck. You're not-" He feels himself shaking suddenly, with restrained searing hot anger. Ghoul cut his head open, mutilated himself, to make himself permanently grin. "You're not fucking beholden to your fucking name," Kobra says. He never swears this much, only in his own mind. He's running out of words. "Fuck," he says, with feeling.

Ghoul shudders again. "I'm fuckin insane, aren't I?" He asks with sudden clarity.

It's exactly what Kobra had been thinking, for once completely unable to figure out Ghoul's mind, but he can't just say that. He can't just say that he's terrified because nothing makes sense and he's never going to freaking leave Ghoul alone again because this is all completely unhinged on so many levels that he can't even begin to sort through it. He can't say anything. He hopes Ghoul is sane enough to understand that, at least.

He just holds his friend tighter. He wants his brother more than anything right now, wants Party to come and take this weight out of his hands, but a part of him knows that even if he did, he wouldn't be able to let go of Ghoul. Why didn't Ghoul want anyone else but him? Why, after pretty much imprinting on Party like a feral kitten when they'd first met, to the point that sometimes Kobra thinks bitterly than Ghoul might know Party better than his own brother does, did he come to him? Why did he do any of this?

If a few tears of his own drip down Kobra's nose and land in Ghoul's tangled hair, no the hell they don't. He's never seen anyone go to pieces like this and he's struck dumb at the fact that it's literal. Very, very literally, Ghoul has gone to pieces. Taken a knife, that's probably still lying on the floor of his abandoned-office bedroom, and cut a line through his own cheek just so others might see a smile there.

There's crazy in his veins. Acid, maybe. And Kobra's always known that even if Party recognized it first. Watching your whole family die, failing to save your baby sibling, doesn't leave a person without any scars. Only, now, the scar is far too visible. Kobra's always known that Ghoul is more wild than any of them. Feral, unpredictable. He was raised by a pair of Killjoys who named themselves Hoot and Holler, and the thing is, a ghoul is just a ghost, and ghosts wail too. He should have known.

"I should've known," he says out loud, the first words in a while. He knows Ghoul so well. Better than he knows himself. He should have known something was wrong. He should never have left him alone. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He can't even blink. He stares hard at the opposite wall and tries not to scream.

Ghoul shakes his head against Kobra's shoulder and winces. "Nuh-uh," he mumbles. "I'm crazy, man. I'm insane." The fuzzy way it sounds around the stitches and the swelling just seems like proof. Just last night Ghoul's cheek was smooth and soft as he grinned across a table in triumph after winning a card game. How is it that that was just a few hours ago? He shudders again. "I'm scared," he says more quietly.

"Me too," Kobra says. As soon as the sun comes up he thinks he's going to storm out into the desert and find something, anything to beat up. Even a freakin cactus would do at this point. He doesn't know how he's going to explain this to Pois or Jet but he knows that much. He's gonna shake so hard he blows up, like a can of soda, unless he hits something. "I fucking hate you," he snaps suddenly.

Ghoul starts to flinch away, but Kobra doesn't let him. In fact, he curls tighter around him without even knowing why. "What the hell," Ghoul rasps.

Kobra hisses through his teeth. Speaking of living up to names. He fucking hates anyone who hurts his friends. But he can't say it. Hard as he tries, in the one moment of clarity about his own mind that he has, he can't speak.

"I fucking hate me, too," Ghoul says finally. The single dusty lightbulb above them flickers. If it goes out, they'll be in total darkness. Kobra thinks one or both of them might have a wicked eyeshine by now. The desert makes you wild. For some people, they're born that way.

"I think you're my best friend," Kobra finally manages to whisper. It isn't exactly what he was going for. It's not something he would ever say if he had thought of it before it popped out of his mouth. But Ghoul gets the point. Of course he does. Ghoul always gets his sharp edges, snakebite teeth and misspoken definitions and all.

"I think you're mine," Ghoul says back. "I'm-"

Kobra smacks the back of his head, like this is in any way normal, like they aren't collapsed on a dim bathroom floor in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning and like one of them isn't mutilated for life by his own hand. Like this isn't the worst thing they've ever gone through together. "If you say you're sorry again, I'll cut you myself."

It's rough, and it's torn up and pained and choked, but Ghoul laughs. Just a short bark of laughter, hardly like the dry, rasping cackle that Kobra knows so well. It sounds like agony but it also sounds like the sun coming up. Kobra makes a noise in the back of his throat, more whine than laugh, but he's so close to blowing up that it's as good as it gets. He wants to freaking die if that would keep Ghoul in one piece.

Ghoul shifts in Kobra's arms and pulls away just far enough to look him in the eye. He clumsily wipes at the tears and snot all over his face and Kobra has to snap a hand out to catch his wrist before he unthinkingly swipes at the fresh wound and stitches. "Kobra," Ghoul says, shivering in the dark. The sun won't take long to come up once it starts but until it does, the Zones are freezing. "Kobra."

"Yeah, man, I'm still right here." Kobra forces himself to look Ghoul in the eyes and not the stitches. The wound takes up so much of his face. It's all Kobra can see when he looks at Ghoul, his best friend's mutilated mouth, sliced open by his own hand. Kobra flinches just imagining it. He focuses instead on Ghoul's green eyes, boring holes into his head with the desperate pleading in them. "I'm still right here," Kobra repeats, quieter. Reminding himself, too.

Ghoul doesn't blink. Kobra doesn't blink. Their eyes reflect the dim light back at each other. This is what wild animals must feel for each other. Terror. Uncertainty. Just themselves, each other, and whatever comes. Ghoul licks his lips, tongue flicking briefly, visibly, to the corner of his mouth that he cut open. "Don't let me-" Ghoul starts and then falters. "You gotta make sure," he says. "Don't let me- do stupid shit like this, don't let me go crazy again, Kobra, please."

Kobra stares back at him, matching Ghoul's trembling desperation. He's known Ghoul since the day their crew found him, shell shocked between the shelves of an empty gas station with the bodies of his parents and previous crew around him. Perpetually shaking hands and feral bared teeth, animal eyeshine. No one can match Ghoul for determination, and no one knows Kobra as well as he does. Even if Ghoul does know his brother better than him, the same is true in reverse.

Kobra Kid has a hard fucking time ever letting go of anything once he's got it. Fun Ghoul holds on too loosely. They're both terrified. What a pair they make. But when Kobra Kid makes a promise, he means it. He grabs the ends of Ghoul's hair and pulls, not too hard, but hard enough. That's their normal. Play fighting and hair pulling, and they both know it's a kind of language for when they can't speak. "Okay," he says, and because it's a promise, he repeats it. "Okay."