#this is very random but i wrote it anyway

[meelusinee]

YOUR SECRET SANTA 𖤐 S.B X READER

in which your sirius’ secret santa for the year (and you also have a hugemungus introvert crush on him)

pairing: sirius black x potter!reader

tags: christmas fluff!

word count: 3k

warnings: just fluff, yet again

author's note: AN UPDATE: I FIXED THE WHOLE COPY ISSUE IM SO SORRY YAWL my tumblr copied it twice and really weirdly for some reason??? anyways, i have very quickly learned that sirius’ energy is very hard to capture at 3-5am in the morning after studying for psych finals BUT oh my gawd i could not not post this. so just imagine that your like the fire to melt sirius’ sugary heart and that he’s super soft and sweet with you okay

SECRET SANTA | S.B X READER

You haven’t had this much fun in a long time.

It had been a long day for you, full of studying and reading up on topics for exams. You had tutoring lessons to get to tomorrow, along with three extra classes to get to.

Studying, however, was apparently not allowed. At least, that’s what Lily must’ve thought as she dragged you to the Gryffindor Common Room with her. Her friends were sitting around the fireplace, Marlene practically laid on Dorcas’ lap like a cat. Mary was sick, currently locked up in her room.

Remus sat closest to the fireplace in a single arm chair, reading a rather large tome. You sighed internally, the sight of the book reminding you of the studies you should be committing yourself to right now. James and Sirius were sitting on the largest sofa near the couch, Peter spread out on the floor with his hands crossed on his stomach.

“Bambi!” James called out, standing up dramatically to pull you in a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you! You’ve been locked up forever, you know? Your studies have kidnapped you.”

“Oh hush,” you chuckled, a small squeaking sound escaping your throat as he pulled you to sit down between him and Sirius.

“Hi Sirius,” you smiled softly as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, leaning your head on his shoulder. He was always rather warm, no matter what the conditions were.

“Hi there, faon.” he whispered. Lily always liked to point out that he calmed down significantly around you, especially in the recent years.

“So,” Lily said ominously, standing on one of the coffee tables with a wide smirk. She had really been shining recently, through her friends and her studies. “We’re going to do Secret Santa this year!” 

“Secret Santa?” Sirius asked confusedly, tilting his head to the side slightly. “What’s that?”

“You put your names in a bucket, kind of like the TriWizard Tournament,” Remus began to explain to them, closing his book after bookmarking it. “Everyone picks a name, and you have to get a present for the person.” 

“So it’s randomized?” Marlene asked Remus, smiling brightly at that. “If I get James, I’m giving him a stink bomb!”

“No you won’t!” James said dramatically, clutching his chest. “That’s so wrong of you!”

“Hush, everyone.” Lily said, pulling out a metal bucket. “Now put your names in here.”

You chuckled quietly at her directness, watching as everyone else grabbed a small ticket and wrote their names down. Sirius grabbed you a ticket and pen, letting you write your name down before he put it in the bin for you.

Lily hummed softly once everyone put their names in, shaking the bucket before putting it down on the table. “Now, you have to remember,” she said to them, wagging her finger. “You can’t say who you got. That’s what makes it a secret.”

“So no tattle-tailing?” Peter said, a small pout in his voice as he sat up to pick a name. “Aw man.” 

“It’s fine, Pete.” James smiled, ruffling his hair.

You looked around the room as everyone made a small yet somewhat line to get their names. Sirius grabbed you a name along with his, holding his name away from your vision with a small smirk.

“You’re ridiculous.” you chuckled, opening your name. It was a fancy cursive you almost couldn’t read, the S extremely dramatic. Sirius Black.

“Do we have to get something specific?” you asked curiously, closing the small slip before James could look over your shoulder. “Like something comfortable, or something school related?”

“Nothing specific, just whatever would suit them best.” Lily said, closing her flap as she sat down next to James. 

You nodded at that, looking down at the flap. You really needed to brainstorm.

It had been a couple of days since you had gotten Sirius’ name in the Secret Santa bin, your mind running haywire with gift ideas. You had tried to study for your final exams, but you haven’t truly been able to focus on it at all.

So you tried to examine what to get him instead.

Sirius Black, while practically estranged from his family, still had access to a bunch of money. He had steadily built himself a fund of galleons over the years ever since he was in Third Year, opening a small bank account in Gringotts in order to save himself money. Which meant that he didn’t need anything material.

You knew that he loved the color red. He loved messy, though he also loved fancy and neat. Whatever it was that you were going to get him, it was going to be something custom.

Lily had invited you shopping with her, both of you heading to the Hogsmeade shops for present ideas. Snow was falling on the both of you, scarves wrapped around your necks and mouths.

“Who’d you get?” she asked curiously.

You looked at her confusedly, eyebrows furrowing at her question. “I thought you weren’t meant to tell.” you muttered to her.

“Well, if you have me, probably not.” she shrugged, smirking softly. “But I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

You nodded before looking down at the floor, still not sure what to even get. “I got Sirius.”

Lily gasped, jumping up and down excitedly. “I got James! Maybe we can get them something to match, I bet they’d love that.”

You nodded slowly at that, looking through the closest shop windows.

It was a cute charm shop, currently filled with Christmas themed things. There was different kinds of candies, candy canes and peppermints displayed at the center.

“Do you see that?” you asked, pointing at the window. “Those charms are cute.”

Lily looked over at what you were looking at. The window had a small poster on one of the panels, promoting an animal charm with star charms stamped out of the metal. “We could get a deer and a dog charm!”

You smiled softly at the idea, both of you walking inside of the store. Lily walked around the store excitedly, picking up all sorts of trinkets and small gifts for Secret Santa and regular Christmas presents. You were looking at the charms still, the gears in your mind turning.

The dog charm would be custom made, potentially gold if you were lucky. You could most likely get a roll of wrapping paper to match it. A small present wrapped with a red bow and peppermint, all with a small charm attached to it.

The idea was custom, something that was cute and made just for Sirius. A cute wrapping that fed into his Gryffindor ego, and something one couldn’t exactly buy at a store.

And that thought got you thinking.

You began walking around the store, looking at gift ideas for Sirius. At first, nothing was sticking out. That was until you stumbled on the journal section. 

They were regular journals, though you quickly figured that you could decorate it. You bought a new pen as well, along with small lace rolls and small sheets of paper to decorate it.

You also bought a small box to wrap it in when you were done, meeting up with Lily outside. She had about three big bags, contrasting heavily with your single small bag.

“What’d you get?” she asked excitedly.

You smiled softly, feeling the Christmas spirit absolutely radiating off of her. “You’ll see.”

You were sitting in your dorm room with Mary, who was still sick from a flu that she had gotten. She was sitting a bit away from you, but you decided to let her watch you make your present for Sirius.

“Thanks for letting me watch.” Mary whispered, her voice hoarse from the flu. “Really, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome.” you smiled softly, your pen nib rubbing against the paper as words formed on the pages. You had been obsessively writing in the journal for days at this point, rewriting letters you had secretly written for him down from memory. 

When you first met Sirius, you were in your First Year while he was in his Second Year. You went on the train along with James, sitting down in the corner of the compartment. 

The memory is still vivid in your mind, the way he sat down next to you and asked about the book you were reading. He was probably trying to impress you was what James and Remus had told you, he wanted to make a good impression on someone so close to James after all. But you still enjoyed it. And he stayed quiet and calm with you, even to this day. 

You remember your first birthday with him, how he got you your favorite author’s novels all hand signed. He had said that the present was a casual present for him to get, but you had been moved to tears almost instantly. You remember his first birthday with you as well, his only request being that he was able to hang out with his friends. He didn’t want any presents that year, the only gift he got being a sweater that your mother made for him.

Suffice to say, you had a lot of memories with him. And you liked to journal them all, a mix between day to day entries, memoir-like posts, or poems. Some were embarrassing, sure, but you planned on putting them in anyways.

“Who’s the journal for anyways?” Mary asked curiously, leaning forward.

“It’s for Sirius.” you whispered quietly, somewhat wishing that you didn’t have to say it. God forbid that she say that the journal was a bad idea, especially when you were already halfway through.

“Sirius?” she asked. “You actually got a gift idea?”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

Mary chuckled, but that quickly turned into a coughing fit. “I tried to get him a good present for his birthday last year, but nothing worked.” she explained, taking a sip of water. “I mean, what do you give a man who has everything?”

“Uh,” you mumbled, looking down at your lap. “Something of yours that he wouldn’t have?”

“Like a whole journal’s worth of handwriting samples?” she joked, smiling tiredly.

You chuckled softly at that, gently nudging her with your elbow as you continued to write in the journal. You were somewhat near the end, about one fourth of it left to go.

“It’s time to give out the presents!” Lily said, ringing a small bell in her hands as everyone gathered around the fireplace.

You were standing by Remus in the back, both of you holding cups of hot chocolate in your hands.

“Who’d you get?” he asked curiously.

“I got Sirius.” you mumbled, taking a sip of the hot chocolate before pointing to your present underneath the tree. “The one with the red bow and peppermint. Who did you get?”

“Lily.” he nodded, taking a sip of his own drink. “She’s been wanting to check out this one author, but his books are pricey. So I bought her a small starter set of his books.”

“That’s a good present.” you whispered softly.

Remus nodded, chuckling softly. “I also got her a book on Quidditch I told her to hide, that way she could impress James. Could you imagine the expression on his face when she starts talking about Quidditch?”

“Oh, it’d be priceless.” you chuckled, already imagining the expression on his face. 

“I know.” he chuckled, turning to you with a curious expression. “What’d you get Sirius?”

“Me?” you asked, clearing your throat. “I got him a journal.” you said awkwardly.

He nodded, not pushing any further. The bell rang again, Lily’s voice calling out to you both a bit impatiently. “Get over here you two!”

Remus chuckled softly as he sat by the fireplace, you taking your spot next to Sirius. Your head found its way to his shoulder as the presents magically sorted themselves, yours landing neatly right in front of you.

It was a stack of boxes that had an ornate wrapping with a pure silk ribbon of your favorite color, a small chocolate hanging off the bow.

You could tell immediately that it was Sirius’ gift.

“Sirius.” you chuckled softly, your hands pausing as they moved to unwrap the presents. You didn’t want to mess it up, especially since it looked so expensive. No doubt he spent hours on it. 

“You can open it anytime you want.” he chuckled softly at you, hand resting behind you as he leaned back just a bit. “I don’t mind if you rip it.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, looking over at him confusedly. “It looks so, like, effort-y.”

“Effort-y?” he chuckled, barking out a laugh.

“Like you put in effort!” you said, giggling softly at his teasing as your hands eventually moved to the bow. “This silk is so soft.”

“It is.” he said, a small smile resting on his face.

You opened the box at the top first. It was a vintage necklace wrapped in a heart-shaped box, a small flower detail painted on it.

“This is,” you whispered, looking at him as you held it in his hands. It was pure metal, you already knew, most likely costing hundreds of Galleons. “Sirius, this is so pretty.”

“It reminded me of you.” Sirius whispered, holding out his hands so he could put it on you. “A lot of things do, to be fair.”

You chuckled wetly at that, sniffling as you pulled your hair up so he could clasp it around your neck. You felt like you were the only two people in the room, everything fading out in the background.

“You have two more to open.” he whispered, putting your hair back in place.

“Okay.” you whispered, opening the first one. It was copies of novels you had mentioned over the past year, some of them you mentioned over six months ago. “Sirius,”

“I felt you’d still want to read them.” he smiled softly, hand caressing your back. “I had Mary tell me if you had them in your room, used cough drops as a bribery.”

“Using a woman’s sickness to your advantage in Secret Santa?” you asked him with a small smile.

He winked at you, putting the last box in front of your lap. It was arguably rather large. “Open it.”

Your hands tore into this one, a gasp escaping your mouth as you saw it. It was a sweater, obviously hand-knit. “Sirius, where did you buy this?”

“Made.” he whispered, chuckling at the shock on your face. “I took small classes with your mom, she helped me make it for you. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you, honestly.”

“You,” you whispered, looking at him incredulously as you felt tears come to your eyes. “You are absolutely ridiculous, you know that?”

“Only for you.” he winked dramatically, looking down at the box in front of him. “Now, I assume that this is from you, right?”

“Uh,” you whispered, nodding. “Yeah, it is.”

He smiled brightly, opening the present carefully before gasping. “A journal?”

“It’s something that a man who has everything wouldn’t have.” you whispered anxiously, fidgeting with your nail beds.

Sirius’ eyes darted over the journal, opening it to look at the different pages. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped slightly, small tears coming to his eyes as he read the introduction.

“Do you like it?” you asked anxiously.

“Y/N, this is,” he whispered, a wet laugh escaping his throat. “The best present I’ve ever gotten.”

You sighed softly at that, smiling as he closed the journal and looked up at you. You squeaked softly as he pulled you into a hug, wrapping your arms back around him.

“Godric, I love you.” he whispered.

“Y/N!” 

You turned around to find Sirius walking up to you, the rain outside becoming background noise the closer that he came to you.

“Sirius?” you asked, pulling your jacket further around yourself. It was cold in the library.

“I love you.”

Those words both broke and caused a silence you weren’t sure if you liked or not. He loved you? What did that even mean? Was it platonic or romantic? Who randomly walks up to someone proclaiming their love, in a library near closing? 

Sirius, apparently.

“You what?” you asked confusedly.

“I love you.” he said, walking forward and taking your hands in his. “I mean, like, romantically. I read your journal twice now. And I can’t just not tell you anymore, you mean too much to hide it.”

“You love me?” you asked incredulously.

Sirius nodded softly, squeezing your hand anxiously as he looked up at you. “Do you?”

“Do I?” you asked him.

“Love me back?” he asked. 

You looked at him incredulously, as if the idea was almost impossible. In a sense, it really was. How could you not love him?

“I do.” you whispered. You giggled quietly at his sigh of relief, a sound of surprise coming out of your throat as his lips met yours. They molded together perfectly, like two magnets made just to connect to one another.

You smiled softly, watching him run off with an excited smile before coming back. But then he did it again, running joyful laps around the library to get his excitement out. 

“Does this mean you’ll be my wife?” he asked.

“Maybe not yet,” you chuckled at his dramatics. “But maybe we can start with dating.”

He smiled even brighter at that, continuing his laps before coming back for a kiss. You kissed him like you breathed, it came so easily to you. 

You two eventually broke apart, a large laugh escaping your mouth as he squeezed you into a hug that got tighter by the minute. You weren’t sure anything could hold tighter.

That was until you two got interrupted.

“Pads, what the fuck?” James asked, both of you turning around with small smiles and an embarrassed flush.

“I’ll see you later.” he whispered, giving you a soft peck before running out the opposite direction.

“You won’t be seeing shit tomorrow morning!” James yelled, running after him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

PHEW this was a LONG ONE let me tell you BUT!!!!!!!! i got it out of my system, i can finally rest and go to bed and sleep and slumber, all of those glory dory things that people do

it's probably not the most realistic sirius depiction out there but i really like the idea of soft sirius okay guys >:( u can pry my boy out of my cold and dead hands when i DECEASE okay, i love soft sirius.

AS ALWAYS, please like, comment, and reblog! it means the absolute world to me yawl dont understand unless u do then u do but anyways HAVE A GOOD DAY LOVELIESSS

[siriusgoneserious]

to be a better boyfriend

a/n: uh so not the best thing ever and this did not turn out like i wanted to but i had no energy to rewrite sooo this is the result of all the lyrason reqs in my anons and isn't based on one single bc like i said idk what i wrote myself.

words: 1,150

ships: lyra x grayson

enjoy ig-

Grayson Hawthorne was positively upset. Walking back to their apartment, hand in hand, Grayson still could not shake off the strange feeling of anger he felt when those random guys were flirting with Lyra.

He wasn't even paying attention while Lyra was telling him about a random incident that happened when she was 11.

He shook off his hand intertwined with Lyras' and instead snaked his hand around her waist and rested it possessively on her lower back.

He definitely wasn't jealous, why would he be jealous? Grayson was Lyra's boyfriend after all, not those unoccupied loafers roaming the streets harassing every girl they saw.

Grayson broke out of his trance when Lyra snapped her fingers in front of his face as he had not picked up her constantly calling his name.

"Were you even listening to what I was saying." Lyra remarked.

"Oh, my mind was somewhere else."

"Clearly." Lyra replied dryly.

"What were you saying?"

"Never mind, it wasn't that important."

"No, it was. Everything you say is important."

"You be honest with me, are you genuinely thinking about those guys who were testing their overused pickup lines on me."

Grayson's eyes wandered around to meet anything that weren't Lyra's amber orbs. "No, of course not. That would be so stupid."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night Grayson, you're forgetting that I know you very well."

"I'm not thinking about that." Grayson continued to insist his lies.

"If you don't want to talk about that, then sure. But you should know that I have standards and eyes only for you."

They both entered their apartment and Grayson closed the door from the behind, silently cursing how Lyra knew him so well.

She was right anyways, he should not dwell his mind to ponder over such unimportant matters. At least that was what he decided.

But needless to say, his brain did not stop revolving around the incident and when it was midnight and Lyra had long gone to sleep, Grayson would be highly reluctant to admit to anyone that he took out his phone and began searching. 

He clicked on the first website that appeared relevant to his query and skimmed through its content while making up scenarios in his mind about them. 

Would they even work...

He glanced towards Lyra sleeping peacefully on his right and for a while was caught off guard by her beauty. 

Her full lips slightly parted open and a few strands of hair were landed on her cheek which with a gentle movement of his hand, Grayson parted away. The right side of her face was illuminated by the moonlight entering through the open window and Grayson had to contain himself to not hold her close to him. He could count all the freckles on her nose if he leaned in closer-

Oh god, this girl would be the end of him.

He sighed and turned his phone off, lowering his body under the blanket to rest his own body and Lyra's face was the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes into darkness.

The next day was a Sunday so both Lyra and Grayson were present at home. It was a regular breakfast morning before Grayson decided to speak whatever had been going on in your mind.

"You look very pretty." 

Lyra stared at him, "Pretty? While I'm still in my night dress without my hair brushed?"

Grayson mentally facepalmed himself; he knew he shouldn't have said this.

"...You look pretty anytime, sweetheart."

Lyra chuckled as she flipped the omelet from the frying pan, "What's with you and these compliments."

"Can a man not compliment his beautiful girlfriend?"

"Yes he can, but these came out of nowhere and right now I feel suspicious."

"You're being dramatic, sweetheart, I have no intentions but the best."

Lyra eyed him suspiciously before saying, "If you say so." 

She then gave him his prepared breakfast and headed towards the table with her own cup of coffee.

"Do you have any plans for today?" Lyra asked him after a while.

"No sweetheart, all my day is for you and you only."

Lyra burst out laughing, "Why are you acting so flirty, Gray? It's so uncanny, did you stay up all night watching cheesy romance movies?"

"What's so wrong in being flirty?" Grayson smirked slightly.

Lyra moved closer to Grayson, "There's nothing wrong, but this," she tapped the tip of his nose lightly, "is highly out of character for you Mr. Hawthorne. Are you trying to seduce me with this behaviour?"

"Depends... Is it working?"

"Hm well, I think you'll have to try better than that." And with that Lyra got up from her chair and gathered the dirty dishes heading towards the sink as Grayson contemplated his own attitude.

.

"So that's why you've been behaving weird all day. Oh, you're unbelievable Grayson Hawthorne." Lyra said in a loud voice to no one but herself and Grayson sitting in the room.

Grayson gave her a confused look and his mouth turned into a small 'O' as Lyra showed him the screen on her phone which had "how to be a better boyfriend" searched on it.

He had completely forgotten that Lyra had his account logged in on her phone since a few days for work purposes. Shit. And his search history had shown up on her phone too.

"How to be a better boyfriend huh? Why do you even think you're not good enough in the first place." Lyra put down her phone and turned to face Grayson.

"It wasn't that-"

"Then what was it? You know I fell in love with the Grayson you are, not a Reddit made flirt."

"I just want to be better and more interesting for you, sweetheart."

"You are perfect to me." She said to him with her eyes reflecting sincerity.

Lyra got onto Grayson's lap and straddled it, "But I must say, I like you better when you're like this." She then brought Grayson's hands to her waist and her face millimeters away from his, smirking.

"Are you trying to seduce me now." 

Lyra pretended to think, "Depends, is it working?"

"You should know it works every single time."

And with that, Grayson was the one to close the distance between the two of them.

This was the feeling he could relate to the most, his lips pressed perfectly against Lyra's moving in sync, her fingers messing through his hair, and his hands moving underneath her shirt on her bare skin. Oh, she was a missing puzzle piece to him which he had connected to.

Screw those guys from yesterday.

Screw how to be a better boyfriend.

Screw those forced techniques to flirt.

To him this was better than everything.

[cyber333angel]

thinking abt sevika saying she hates cats but when you guys get one the two of them are best of friends.. like you come home one day with a cat that you found somewhere in the undercity while you were walking home from work, and you couldn’t bear to leave it there alone so you keep it warm under your coat till you reach your apartment. giving it a bath and some tuna packet you found in your pantry thinking to yourself how you would convince sevika to let you keep it, when she arrives home you give her a kiss and welcome her home and somehow she instantly can tell something is different. asking you why your smiling and giggling so much its either you want something or you did something. and it is kind of both but she gets it out of you anyway and your instantly coming up with reasons why she just has to let the cat stay and she gives in as usual, meeting the small pet and looking at it weird. she just doesn’t understand what you find so cute about this little thing, the next week she warms up to it though, bringing back little toys that jinx made for the kitty and having to check them for powder bombs before you play with them 🙄. then when you get home after getting some food you find the cat sleeping on your girlfriends chest, sevika sleeping after a long mission with silco while she holds it gently on the recliner chair, the cutest sight you ever saw and you couldn’t wait to tease her about it when she wakes up.

she sighs every time she comes home to see you pouting at the entrance, knowing you must have took in yet another cat because you just can’t leave them alone like that :(( and when it gets to her limit (which is like 4 cats) she takes them to jinx and isha, where they have plenty of space in their hideout and isha loves to play with them

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[ohbo-ohno]

happy new year's eve @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's another version of the purge au (4k) that i forgot i finished in the process of trying to get the first one done lol

(also when i said "it's essentially the same thing but with different smut" i meant... no smut. i didn't post this one bc i couldn't figure out what to do with the smut. but this has some kidnapping and overall rough creepiness!)

cw: noncon touching, kidnapping, graphic murder, blood & violence, unedited bc im lazy

The soles of your feet burn against the hot asphalt, even though the sun’s been set for hours. The flames roaring from the burning high school alongside you are enough to heat the ground, enough to leave you wincing with every step and trying your best to walk on your toes.

You’re not sure if the wetness on your cheeks is tears or blood, or some sick combination of both. You’d wipe it off to see, but your hands are covered in red, and you don’t want to smear it across your face.

It’s impossible not to flinch at the sudden sound of cackling laughter, some indeterminate distance away but clear as a bell. The laugh cuts off abruptly, followed by a high-pitched scream that makes you wince. You speed up as much as you can, breath shuddering in your chest. You feel a few tears slip down your cheeks, just adding to the tacky mixture already covering your face.

The street is crowded with Purgers, people wearing all sorts of different gear to make themselves seem as terrifying as possible. You’d feel lacking in your black pants and shirt, if you wanted any attention like them. Instead you pray that whoever’s looking for fun won’t focus on you, that you’ll disappear with so many other distractions out tonight.

The sound of a chainsaw revving makes you shudder, and you tuck your arms close to your chest. 

You can’t believe you were stupid enough to come out on Purge night, but there’s no use dwelling on that now, not when you’re still blocks away from home with absolutely no way to defend yourself.

You should’ve known your friend - your now very dead friend - didn’t have good intentions. She’d invited you out with her to vandalize your most recent ex’s house, and like an idiot you’d agreed and walked yourself right into a trap. Your only defense is that you’d had a few drinks before leaving your perfectly safe apartment, in hopes of forgetting all the screams you’d hear outside. It’s the only reason you can think that you were so quick to agree when you’ve got absolutely no way of defending yourself.

Her blood is still wet on your hands. You don’t feel bad about her death, and that makes you feel sick. You’d never thought you’d be the kind of person to actually partake in the Purge, let alone kill during it, but here you are - stumbling home covered in blood with two deaths on your hands. The fact that it was self-defense isn’t nearly as much of a comfort as you need to make your heart beat less erratically, to make the blood stop burning against your skin.

The quick flashes of their deaths won’t stop playing on repeat in your mind - you would’ve died if you’d been any less lucky, and you doubt your piece of shit ex would have made it quick. 

If you hadn’t caught them together - your friend fucking him in the bed you used to sleep in, that fucking bitch - you might not have had the anger necessary to kill them. Might not have had the rage, the energy, to stab them both until they stopped screaming.

Your arms already ache from the force you’d used. You can’t stop seeing your friend’s face, torn to shreds beneath you, blood splattering up onto your own face and neck while your ex’s corpse cooled beside you. You’re not sure if you’re hearing her screams still, or if someone nearby is suffering just like she had.

The only thing you can bring yourself to regret is leaving behind the knife. It would come in handy now, as you walk alone down one of the poorest neighborhoods in your city.

It would come in especially handy as a hand grabs your shoulder, yanking you to the side and into an alleyway, shoving you against rough bricks and ignoring your yelp.

“Well, well, look’it you…” the man drawls, his face hidden by a bright red skull and a black hood covering the rest of his head. “Wha’s a bonnie lass like you doin’ out tonight, all alone?”

You can’t speak, heart thudding painfully at your ribcage as you blink up at him. He’s all you can see, just a bright red skull floating in place.

“Please,” you manage to gasp, hands shakily raised in front of your chest.

“Please? Please what?” His words are sharp, almost bitten off, and he leans closer. “Haven’t even threatened ye yet, pretty thing. What’re you beggin’ for?”

You whimper as he leans closer, hardly inches away from your face, and a loud boom from somewhere nearby shakes the wall at your back. You still can’t tell if it’s blood or tears dripping down your face. You jump at the sound, and your chest hits his. Before you can move back, his hands are on your shoulders, keeping you pressed to him.

“Oh, did that scare you?” He coos, patronizing and mean. “You a little scaredy cat, all alone and afraid?”

You sob, hands pushing at his chest, and he makes a sound somewhere between a hum and a laugh, pushes you against the wall without pulling even an inch away.

“No, no, you’re not goin’ anywhere. ‘S not safe out there for you, kitty. It was so easy to grab you, you want someone else to get a hold of you? They won’t be as nice as me, I can tell you that.” 

“Get- get off!”

He laughs, loud and rough, right in your face. “Oh, I’ll be gettin’ off, kitty. Might take some teamwork, huh? A good way to get to know my new friend-”

He cuts himself off with a sharp Oh! as your knee jerks up into his crotch, the man doubling over in pain and groaning as his head comes to rest against the wall by your face. You barely have enough sense left in you to duck out of his way before his body goes limp against the wall, hand cupping your target.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” you hear him hiss, right before you stumble away, legs weak as you put all your energy into not tripping over your own feet. Your only thought is getting out of the alley, even though being more exposed is probably riskier than just taking your chances with the man in the red skull. Still, there’s some instinct at the back of your mind telling you go, run, and you’re not stupid enough to ignore it.

You hardly make it five steps away before you hit a wall - no, not a wall, a person. 

It’s almost comical, the way you bounce off of him and stumble backwards, losing your balance on weak knees and sending yourself straight to the ground. He’s a monolith above you, a massive figure clothed in all black, the light from the flames behind him almost making him glow. He’s all black cloth and white mask, a skull hovering well past six feet in the air.

The sight of him makes your heart stutter, brings everything into acute focus around you, slowing the world down to a near stop. That same instinct at the back of your mind tells you this man is worse than the last, that you should’ve taken your chances with the red skull. 

You’re jerked back and to the side, shoved roughly against the brick wall. Your face scrunches up at the rough texture against your cheek, your torso flush against the wall and the first man flush against your back. You manage to open one eye and track the new man, your other forced shut from the way your head is angled.

The white skull tilts, and its wearer steps closer. You can’t help the small cry you let out, the way you flinch back into the first man like he’ll do anything but expose you more. His hands are rough on you, one hand locked around the back of your neck and the other harsh on your hip.

The body behind you laughs, push further into the wall regardless of the stinging pain as the white skull steps closer. He stops hardly a foot away, when your vision is eclipsed by only him. You try to struggle against the hands holding you, whimpering when they dig in more harshly.

“You got her?” A voice asks, and it takes a minute for you to realize it’s the new man in front of you.

“Yeah,” the first man pants, holding you close and alleviating some of the pressure against your cheek. “Woulda caught her without you, y’know. She just caught me off guard.”

The white skull rumbles low in his chest, a rejection. You’re not sure if he’s got faith in your ability to escape, or doesn’t trust his partner’s ability to chase. He’s close enough that you can only see the black of his chest, close enough that you can watch him breathe.

“I’m sure. You got a good hold on her?”

The hands squeeze, you can’t help but make a sound disturbingly close to a squeal, and- “Yeah, course, got her tight to me, Ghost. She’s not goin’ anywhere.” There’s an air of desperation in Red’s voice, a strained tension underlying every word. He’s almost eager, but it’s all directed towards the man in front of you - Ghost - instead of towards the prospect of hurting you.

Ghost doesn’t respond, but he steps close enough to press his chest against your shoulder. The three of you are all less than a foot apart, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to get away. Another tear slips down your cheek.

You can feel Red’s chest heaving behind you, and at first you can’t understand why - he hasn’t had to chase you, hasn’t had to fight, there’s no reason for him to be out of breath.

It hits you when you feel the hard plastic of his mask press into the top of your head. He’s eager, and it’s making him pant like a dog. You’d bet he’s drooling behind the mask and the thought makes you shiver.

You flinch when a gloved hand cups your chin, tugging your face up so you’re staring into the eye sockets of the mask.

His eyes are dark brown, so dark that you almost can’t see them past the shadows and the paint over his skin. The flames roar behind him, giving him a monstrous glow.

“Pretty thing,” he hums, chest rumbling against your side. You try to push away from him, but there’s nowhere to go. “You’re gonna be our little toy for the night. Things’ll get worse for you if you try to run. You hearin’ me?”

It’s pure instinct to nod, to give this man what he wants, but you know you’ll still try to run the second they look away. 

“Alright then. Let’s get you home. Johnny,” the man steps away, jerking his head in clear instruction for Johnny to follow and turning away. “Come.”

“Right behind ye,” Red - Johnny - assures, that same eagerness in his tone as he tugs you away from the wall, trotting behind his partner. “It’s gonna be a great night, lass. You and I are gonna have fun.”

You can’t help but whimper at that, letting your body go nearly limp as the man drags you by the elbow. You can’t even fathom the horrors they’ve got in store for you, what fun is to two men hunting for lone girls on Purge night. 

You try to let your feet drag, but they hurt too much for that to last long. You consider going limp, making them carry you, but you’re too scared that they’ll just drag you across the concrete and let you bleed. 

You only manage to keep up with Johnny because he doesn’t give you another choice. You’re practically hobbling from the pain in your feet, forced to walk on the balls of your feet and lean your weight into his hand where it’s wrapped tight around your arm. He doesn’t give you any slack, doesn’t even seem to notice when you struggle to match his pace.

The three of you have walked several blocks - you can’t quite focus enough to count - keeping to the sides of buildings and dodging other people, when you’re tackled to the ground out of nowhere.

It’s impossible to stop the blood-curdling shriek from leaving your throat. Your bare arms feel torn to shreds as you slide across the ground, head bouncing off the ground and leaving you with black spots dancing across your vision.

You’re hardly able to blink, body alight with pain, and the heavy weight over you only serves to make your panic worse. You moan as you roll your neck, staring wide-eyed up at the dark sky and praying the ringing in your ears isn’t permanent.

Your vision is just starting to clear when the man on top of you - and he’s definitely a man, he’s not even wearing a mask and his expression is mean and you find yourself glad you can’t hear what he’s saying - jerks back, his head pulled back until all you can see is his bared throat. 

You can hardly even register what’s happening in the next few seconds. Some distant, detached part of you can recognize that someone slits the man’s throat, that his blood comes gushing out and covers your face.

The first sound you can hear again is your own screaming - it’s an ear splitting sound that melts from the ringing in your ears. When you gasp underneath the man, the corpse, you can feel his blood falling into your mouth. Every breath tastes like iron, and the world is tinted pink from the drops of it falling from your brows.

You can do nothing but pant and shake when the corpse is thrown off of you, replaced immediately by Johnny. You can hardly focus on him, are only really aware enough to know he’s there.

“Hush, bonnie, yer fine,” he scolds, one big hand coming up to cover your mouth, pinky and ring finger holding your jaw shut. “Wanna draw people over? Ye wanna see me and Ghost kill someone else for you, ‘s that it?”

You shake your head on instinct, tears running down your temples, dampening your hair. Your chest aches with the force of your breaths, nose congested from all the crying. 

“Then hush,” he hisses, face so close that you can feel the breaths from his nostrils. You flinch at the loud sound of gunshots disturbingly nearby, desperately pushing against his body to try and see what’s going on. You can hear grunts and moans, the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, and your heart races.

Then, the sounds stop. It doesn’t go silent - not with other Purgers still out, still killing - but the area you’re trapped in is quiet again. Johnny drops a little more of his weight onto you, making it even harder to breathe. 

You have to focus on every breath, deliberately making sure you get enough air so that your lungs stop aching. You only notice the movement on top of you after nearly a minute of slow breathing.

Johnny’s hips grind slow and steady against your stomach, and it makes you sick to realize you can feel his erection through his pants. His chest rises and falls with harsh breaths, and his movements are just harsh enough to force your body to move with his.

There’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. Not with shock settling in, his weight holding you pinned to the ground, and the pain in your head shifting to something closer to a migraine. All you can do is focus on your breathing and stare up at the stars.

“Johnny,” Ghost eventually calls, and you can hear him kick what you can only assume to be a corpse out of the way. You can’t help but whimper when he crouches nearby, his boots splattered with blood. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Need-” Johnny gasps, hips stuttering against you before working even more quickly. “Needed to feel her, fuck, Ghost, she’s so fuckin’ soft. Can’t wait to be inside, to fuck her full, feel her squeeze-”

You whine against the hand over your mouth, trying to pull your face away from his grip and only succeeding in dragging your sensitive head across the harsh concrete.

“You’re gonna fuck her out here, where anyone can see? Doubt you’ll be able to keep her safe when you’re pussydrunk.”

Johnny moans above you, dropping more of his weight on each thrust. “Tha’s why you’re here, yeah? To keep me and the lass safe?”

Ghost grunts, fisting a hand in the strip of hair left revealed by Johnny’s mask. “Don’t be a fuckin’ brat, Johnny. You know I don’t have to do shit for you - either of you. Maybe I want to see my mutt get all defensive, growlin’ over his girl. You ever think about that?”

The whine that slips from Johnny’s throat is nothing less than pathetic, his pace becoming uneven as his eyes screw shut behind the mask. “C’mon, Ghost, I’m close, just let me… just watch for another minute, yeah?”

The scoff from Ghost is mean, and even you feel the absurd desire to try and placate the man. He stands abruptly, stepping away from where you’re pinned and leaving you staring at the cooling corpse of a man you don’t recognize.

“You do whatever you want, puppy. Stay here and get yourself off or behave and heel. You know what you’ll get either way.”

You can’t help but furrow your eyebrows as Johnny hisses out shit above you, hips working desperately against you for a few long moments before he drops his entire body weight onto you, knocking the air out of you.

“Okay,” he whispers, seemingly to himself. “Okay, alright, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

He pulls himself away from you with a long oan, pushing up until there’s no place the two of you are touching but you’re still entirely caged in by him. He takes his hand off your mouth to hold himself up and you wince at the string of blood between his hand and your lips.

“Not gonna fuck ye yet, kitty,” he tells you, staring into your eyes with an intensity you don’t quite know what to do with. “Ghost’ll make the both of us regret it, and ye don’t deserve that on your first night home.”

You hardly manage to bite back a whimper. “Please…”

His eyes crease, like he’s smiling beneath the mask. “God, yer so scared, aren’t ye? I can fucking taste it in the air, kitty. It’s delicious. Cannae fuckin’ wait to have you on my tongue.” You shudder, eyes dropping to his neck when his gaze becomes too heavy.

He forces you to stand before you’re ready, leaving you to lean on him if only to avoid crumbling to the ground like a ragdoll. You ite your tongue against a sob at the sight of three corpses around you, a twisted sense of appreciation and disgust warring in your mind.

Johnny herds you like a dog, pushing you by the small of your back and your shoulders as he tries to catch back up with his partner. You’re left stumbling in front of him, unsure and terrified, not quite strong enough to think running away would be a good idea. It doesn’t take long for you to spot Ghost’s large back on the street in front of you, and a part of you resents the fact that he’s already so recognizable. 

He’s an overeager shadow, unable to decide if he wants to tug you forward or chase you from behind. He ends up almost circling you, shifting from your back to your side to your front and back again, always moving, always rushing. It leaves you unstable and nervous, unable to predict what he'll do next.

Chills run down your spine at the thought of this man… taking you. If you’re this terrified of him fully clothed, you’re loath to think of how you’ll react when he gets you where he wants you.

The two of you only manage to catch up to Ghost because he stops for a cigarette. His pale jaw is exposed when he tugs the mask up enough, and you try your best to memorize the scars covering his face, telling yourself that you’ll remember him, that you’ll never let him near you again once this night is over.

The look he sends Johnny is approving, the look he sends you is distinctly smug. It makes your teeth grind, makes you really wish you still had that knife so you could lurch forward, thrust the blade into the solid center of him and twist, pull out again and aim a little higher, then again, then again, then again-

“Made your choice, then?”

“Yes, sir. Wanna be good.”

Ghost hums, flicking the butt of his cig then dropping it to the ground, the cherry still glowing. “Settin’ a good example for your girl, huh? That’s my boy.”

The sound Johnny makes is animalistic, and despite the harsh grip he’s got on your arm you try to lean as far away as possible. There’s a building energy under his skin, a twitch in his fingers, that unnerves the animal part of your brain in ways Ghost doesn’t. 

“‘Course. Gonna teach her how to be good, too, gonna keep her perfect for us.”

Ghost is completely stoic with the mask tugged back over his face, nothing but his heavy gaze as he stares you down. It’s hard not to jerk away from Johnny and run, no matter how futile you know the effort would be. 

He reaches out a big, gloved hand towards your face, moving quickly enough that you can’t fully flinch away and hide your face in your shoulder or chest. His thumb strokes across your cheekbone, smearing the sticky mess of liquid across your face and huffing a sound just loud enough for you to hear.

“Cat got your tongue, girl?” He rumbles, a faint note of something in his voice lost in the sounds of anarchy behind you.

You try to shake your head, unable to manage anything more than a, “Please.”

Johnny scoffs beside you, wrapping both of his massive arms around your shoulders and holding you close. “Broken record, this one. Hasn’t said much else since we nicked her.”

“That’s alright,” Ghost rumbles, give Johnny one firm stroke over his mohawk. “I’m sure you’ll drag all sorts of pretty sounds out of her tonight. Now, let’s get goin’. Don’t want your little toy gettin’ her nerve up and earnin’ herself a punishment so early in the night. Come, now.”

Johnny laughs, loud and harsh as he tugs you to follow him and Ghost. You know you should be upset about what he’s said, know he should be doing exactly what he warns against and try to get away.

But you’ve got no energy left to fight. Everything hurts, your system is overrun by fear and just the tiniest drop of adrenaline, and your best chance of making it through this night is passing out and forgetting any of it ever happened.  

A few tears, stragglers, drip down your cheeks when Johnny tugs you beside him. The places his fingertips squeeze against your arm have gone numb, and your feet feel like they’re on fire. Your arms are sluggishly bleeding and you’re not convinced you don’t have a concussion.

It’s hard to hold back sobs when you think of how much worse it’s going to get. Staring at the broad back of Ghost, feeling the feral energy of Johnny hardly contained by your side, all you can hope is that they let you survive the night.

You close your eyes as Johnny guides you, take a deep, steadying breath, and pray for your own strength. You tell yourself that maybe next year you can seek them out, find them at the very start of the Purge and get your revenge.

It’s a comforting enough daydream to lessen the aches of your body, to shine a spot of light after the hurricane of your future. 

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

four walls playlist

[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."

[whos-hotter-jjba]

[crescentfool]

i really love the rivalry that forms between two e-liters on different teams in splatoon. something about this matchup is inherently fun to me; it's a very unique experience that comes from playing the weapon with the longest range in the game.

you're unreachable. you're a dominating presence, the anchor to keep your teammates afloat. the battlefield is yours to watch over. your laser sight line sees all, aiding your teammates from a place of safety.

even as you snipe the frontliners who challenge you and your teammates, there's always one person who remains. they're just like you. another who pressures the enemy from afar, intimidating those who dare to push further. they're always within your sight, as are you to them.

your teammates want them splatted. and so do you. the rivalry begins.

it's about the refusal to get in range of them. the refusal to give up the space you control to the other e-liter. the dedication to staying alive for your team.

in spite of all these reasons to live, there's an undeniable temptation to throw yourselves at them. to try and surprise them with your superior range in a way your teammates can't. it's the ego of believing that you can get a good shot at them.

and so it becomes a dance, with your pride on the line. a dance to stay out of range of the other, alternating shots at each other as you rotate around the map. peeking out of cover, jumping behind blocks at the chance to splat them. any minute now, they'll slip up.

but you know that it's not that easy. after all, they know your tricks, and practiced the same techniques themselves.

they've splatted you. it's a death more embarrassing than letting a frontliner slip into your perch unnoticed. you overstepped. and yet, you can't help but respect them. their aim was just better than yours in that moment.

you're back behind cover. you find an opening, and jump over the block to shoot your shot. you've splatted them. more than any other opponent, you've watched and studied their positioning like a hawk, all for this moment.

and the cycle begins again. (until you pick a different weapon on the weapon select screen.)

[bonefall]

Oghhh Ive been translating SO many of my oc names this is so so fun

One of my characters name actually ended up the same as Leafpool’s would likely be, russslof. My gal’s name is actually Mintspring, but spring as in the kind of water source, not jumping, so pond felt more fitting. I was less sure about her prefix—I figured hahrr for catmint would be a bit of an unusual name? So leaf felt like a more sensible choice.

My other favoritest fella would be Sipkawu, later Sipshai! I’m not sure kawu, for fuzzy, is a perfect fit—his warrior name is Brindletuft, after the distinctive fur texture that he and his mom share, that tends to stick up kind of ridiculously. It was either that or bach, but his fur is more soft and messy than spiky or coarse.

MINT! Mint is one of those things that is very interesting in Clanmew, and totally unrelated to catmint both linguistically and cladistically. Mint is completely harmless to humans and one of our favorite flavorings, but it's a very potent poison to cats!

There are three kinds of mint for you to choose from, if you'd like Mintspring's name to change!

WATERMINT (Mentha aquatica) = Mwash

Grows near water, very fragrant with large flowers. Abundant but difficult to cultivate, this is the species Clan cats collect (along with lavender) for parasite treatments when there's no salt. Be very very careful with how poisonous it is, though.

SPEARMINT (Mentha spicata) = Mwel

Hardier and grows in more areas, but has less flowers. This thing cannot stop spreading, it will take over an entire area if there's nothing around to beat it back. Can also be used as a repellant, but water and pepper are more useful.

PEPPERMINT (Hybrid between spearmint and watermint) = Mwelash

Definitely the most fragrant, displaying hybrid vigor between its parent species. If Clan cats were ever cultivating mint for use in gardens and as insect repellent, it would be peppermint.

[lieutenantselnia]

Some thoughts on the choice of Carina Smyth's first name

Ngl even though there are many things I don't like about DMTNT, I think that Carina is like one of the best names that could be chosen for Barbossa's daughter. It sounds like a pretty regular name at first, but I think the backstory is what makes it actually a really great choice.

"Carina" is the name of a star constellation which is also known as "keel of the ship". In the german dub of the movie this is actually made more obvious, as Carina says that she's named after said star constellation, whereas in the original she says the the brightest star in the north (which is part of the constellation) gave her her name. Being named after a star constellation which resembles a ship (or at least a part thereof), her name is connected to both the stars and the sea, two focal points in Barbossa's life as a pirate and as a captain. He's a man of the sea and an exceptional navigator, and I think it's safe to assume that he has a very good knowledge of astronomy, particularly for navigational purposes. As he said himself, he knows which stars to follow home.

I like to think that Barbossa consciously chose his daughter's name because of its meaning. However, we unfortunately don't know under which conditions it was chosen, since we simply don't have enough information about his and Margaret Smyth's relationship. How many months before the birth did he learn that he was going to be a father? Were he and Margaret able to prepare for the changes in their lives that might come with having a child, did they make any plans for the future? Did they think up names together, and he suggested Carina, should they have a daughter? Or did Hector just return to land one day to learn his partner had died while he was at sea, and left him a child, and he had to come up with a name on the spot and the first thing that came to his mind were the star constellations?

I kind of doubt that we will get any canonical answers to those questions, so they are left to the realm of headcanons. I personally like to imagine that Barbossa chose the name carefully, and because of what it meant to him personally. Even though he kind of said in the movie that he never wanted his daughter to be associated with pirates (which happens to include himself), I think as her father he still wanted to make at least one meaningful impact on her life, which happened to be the choice of her name. Maybe also, in that way he would never forget her, since whenever he observed the sky and saw the star constellation Carina, he would also think of his daughter.

[solardee]

UTEV - Drabble #1

The castle was calm and quiet, for all intents and purposes. Sure, his boys were wandering about, causing their usual mischief as they were want to do, but otherwise it was quiet.

His office was undisturbed, paperwork neatly filed away in the drawer below. Dusk’s hands were folded in front of him, hiding his mouth as he gazed emptily at the door. It would be flying open any moment now, if the telltale steps of his brother down the hall were anything to go by.

There has always been a balance to maintain, after all.

He was the Guardian of Negativity, in stark contrast to his energetic brother; it was inevitable they would conflict. Natural even. Life is not always filled with ease or joy. Disagreements, betrayals, tragedies, all find themselves at home in all of our existences.

Some, perhaps more than others, the cracks in his skull dripping corruption was testament to that.

Keeping a balance, between striving against adversity and being rightfully discouraged and grief stricken in honesty isn’t easy. An ever-lasting fight between positivity and negativity, that shows no signs of settling soon. A fight to last all of eternity.

The door slammed open in front of him. Dusk’s gaze didn’t flinch, slowly traveling up until his singular eyelight bore into shining save stars in his brother’s sockets.

“BROTHER,” Dawn hissed, the talons hidden under his glove gouging slightly into the wooden frame, “I know what you’ve done.”

“Oh, do you now?” Dusk responded, head slowly tilting to the side, the corruption pooling on the inside of his skull. His hands remained folded in front of his face.

His brother scoffed, slamming his hand onto Dusk’s desk to tower over his sibling (though it isn’t like he needed Dusk sitting down to do that) “Of course I do!” Dawn shouted indignantly, “and I won’t allow this crime to continue!”

Dusk’s unoccupied tentacle curled around his chair as he lowered his hands, the barest hint of a smirk on his apathetic face, “You won’t allow it?” he mocked. His other tentacle laid comfortably on his lap.

Dawn’s wings flared out in rage, “That pudding cup in the fridge was mine and you know it!”

Dusk shrugged, raising the aforementioned confectionery in front of his chest, but out of Dawn’s reach, “What a shame. I didn’t see your name on it…” he drawled despite Dawn’s offended huffing.

“Dusk…” his brother warned.

“If you want it so badly, come and get it.”

Thus, the fighting begun.

Feathers flying, apathy dripping to impede determined progress, what Dusk lacked in height he made up for in maneuverability. Dawn shoved and reached for the treat, even as Dusk twisted further away.

It was a good five minutes before Dawn shoved his wing into Dusk’s face and made him choke on feathers, his good arm snatching the slightly crushed cup from the distracted tentacle with a shout of victory.

‘Well,’ Dusk thought to himself as they settled down from their vicious battle, ‘There are worse ways to spend an eternity, I suppose.’

“You’re such an ass sometimes, you know that?” Dawn muttered as he sprawled in the chair across from his office desk.

“Brother, you simply give me far too much to work with,” Dusk replied simply, pulling a drawer in his desk open to grab a treat of his own.

The battle for balance paused, if only briefly.

[themyscirah]

Friends: yeah this comic is kind of bad

The comic: *is kind of bad*

Me:

[andthebubbles]

ho hum. i'm insane!!!

[steakout-05]

i made a post about this ages ago BUT for a while i have been thinking up a fucked up little combo of Barry and Spamton

i haven't finalised his name yet but i like the nicknames 'Barry Big Shot' and 'Spamfries' for him!

here are some shitty sketches

(his yellow lens is meant to be orange by the way and i didn't realise it was the complete wrong colour until just now 💀)

he sells garbage stolen scammy mobile games and does that thing where text isn't formatted correctly so all apostrophes are replaced with '�', he also sounds like an extremely unhinged australian man who's always yelling and on the verge of screaming! (just barry's voice but LOUD)

he uses brackets to affirm himself or add filler, sometimes may say [App not found.] or something similar. will bite your fingers off :)

[netscapenavigaytor]

if i had a nickel for every time while headcanoning character dynamics that don't exist much in canon, i ended up making the fan-favorite yaoi pairing instead a worryingly toxic friendship that's only hanging on by a thread, i would have two nickels but it's weird that it happened twice