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sunbloomdew · 8 months

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i can't stop thinking about the constant mentions of fall and summer in regard to baxter and mc, in the dlc.

i find the emphasis put on the seasons very interesting. unlike other potential love interests - cove and derek - baxter is not from the sunny state of california, but a town in oregon, surrounded by forests and mountains. in fact, baxter is the only character from the cast of olba that is not associated with summer, but with autumn instead, so it makes perfect sense to draw attention to that dissimilarity.

following that fact, just by acknowledging it we can see how different baxter is from other characters from sunset bird at his core. and since most of his time is spent with mc, that means the focus will be drawn to how different are these two specifically.

on a side note, this might be a complete overreach, but i consider it interesting how baxter uses the phrase 'suitor for a season' to describe himself in step 3. the use of the word 'season' in my opinion drives home the idea that their time together will inevitably come to an end, just like summer will end eventually, and there is simply no other outcome for this relationship.

when we consider the seasons theme even more, a thing that stood out to me is that summer and fall aren't opposites, like i'd say summer and winter are. they are next to each other (like california and oregon) and in some ways they intertwine. still they are different enough, to be regarded as separate seasons.

just like baxter and mc, no matter how alike, feel so different from each other, and they are aware of that.

i really love the monologue in the sightseeing moment, that mc has about them and baxter being different in that way.

"More and more, you felt as though Sunset Bird formed a vital part of your emotional core. Happiness to you was the sound of waves on the shore, the feeling of warm sand between your toes. [...] Maybe you'd forever be seeing the world through sea glass. But Baxter was another person entirely. For him, perhaps the world was monochrome, or maybe it was golden, but with color of leaves instead of sand. Talking with him made it impossible to ignore just how different your lives had been up until now. How separate your worlds were. All up until that moment, when he showed up on your street. Now your lives were intertwined, however briefly, the forests and the seafoam commingling. Though you knew his love was in the trees and the fall air, you couldn't help but feel happy that he'd wandered his way down to the shore. To you."

i find it so beautiful. everytime i read it i get a little choked up, you know? in my opinion, the summer/fall parallel is the perfect way to portray their relationship. the brainrot gets so intense every time i remember about this,,,

the same seasons theme returns in step 4 when the two reunite. to be precise, it comes back during mc's internal monologue preceding a confession. i was unable to recall if it appears somewhere else in the dialogue as well, but if you happen to find some more, feel free to reblog with this post!

"He tore himself away from you like an autumn storm bringing down a sapling/He fell away from you as naturally as a leaf fluttered off its branch in the fall. There was no holding on to your suitor for a season. Yet the affection you'd nurtured never died out. It had gone dormant for a long winter, ready to burst back to life if the cold passed. Seasons were meant to come and go, but there was no guarantee summer would come again for you and him."

(i'm pretty sure the dialogue here changes based on how you decided the break up went, cause i found two versions of the same confession monologue. still, both of them have a comparison to autumn!)

seasons can be used in art with a lot of different symbolism and meanings behind them. the cycle of the seasons is usually used to portray the passage of time, how the nature but also people change.

in this part of the monologue we see the usage of changing of the seasons to show how despite the time that passed ('winter'), mc still had feelings for baxter, that were ready to return ('spring'). the words "seasons were meant to come and go" bring our attention to how wrong things were between the two, to have something inevitable like the seasons cycle stop.

each season on its own also has its own meanings, and can be used to enhance certain themes or emotions in the text.

in case of baxter and mc, summer is the season in which they met time and time again. not only did their relationship start during summer but it developed in that season as well. as such, for them summer is inextricably a time of growth for their relationship.

outside of their relationship, individually their characters' are connected to summer and fall respectively. as mc referred to it, their emotional cores were influenced by their hometowns - one a summer tourist spot and the other a picturesque autumn town.

to bring back one more thing from mc's monologue in step 3, they wonder if baxter sees the world in gold, but in the colour of the leaves and not sand. well, i noticed, how when they make up after the wedding, the whole place is bathed in gold. you could view it as the summer gold and autumn gold merging together, as those two finally reconcile. or you could see it as a summer gold, as this season is important for their relationship. i like both options.

aside from that monologue, there are several instances of baxter's appearance being compared to things associated with autumn or nature, like descriptions of his eyes as "brown rich like the earth" (i love this one sm it lives in my head rent free) and "oak brown eyes". i think it's a great characterization to have baxter be a 'woodsy person', despite most of us (me for sure) thinking he would be a 'city boy' kind of character at first glance.

i think the reason there is such strong focus on the fact that mc and baxter embody different seasons, is to make the differences between them even more pronounced. when they ultimately reunite and overcome their struggles to mend their bonds, it's even more impressive to witness.

either way, i cannot stop thinking of summer/fall parallel and how genius i think it is. the vibes! the emotional turmoil!! the art potential!!! it's incredible. especially if you try to implement it more into your mc, which is what i'm trying to do.

i'll leave you with this screenshot, that is kinda making my stomach go funny, because of the whole summer/fall parring thing,, i am so unwell in the best of ways

because like if you think about it way too deeply which i of course had, he's saying that summer/fall combination is beautiful, like he's not saying anything besides that BUT when you remember that mc is summer and baxter is fall, then you know?????

i hope you had fun reading this spontanous post! i've been thinking about the summer/fall thing since my first playthrough, so i'm happy to finally gush about it <3

i should not be here, it's 4am and i'm leaving in three hours,,, my time management skills never fail me. toodle-oo~

#zzzzzzz mimimimimimi zzzzzzzzzz mimimimimi #i've been thinking about it for AGES #anyway idk why i wrote it right now #just kinda felt like it #but yeah summer fall parallels!#there is a song called “changing of the seasons” by two door cinema club that i think about a lot in the context of mc/baxter #i like it but it's a bit too angsty for my mc and baxter....#it's more a song for people who didn't like baxter that much or want a more painful relationship with him lol #baxter ward #olba baxter #olba #our life beginnings & always #our life beginnings and always #sunbloom talks #gamer hours

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bakubunny · 5 months

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Please, please bunny, I need back of the truck stargazing date with Kirishima 🥺♥️ I need it like I need to breath. It doesn’t even have to get to the smutty part of making love in the truck bed (but if it does, that would be the best bonus), I just neeeed sweetheart Eijirou ♥️ I humbly request the rock hard soft boi

ugh ugh ughhh i am so excited to do this but fair warning i may end up writing another truck date as a full blown one shot at some point with a different premise if that’s okay with you? <3 i hope this lil ficlet feeds your soul for now.

tw: suggestive themes, l-bomb, f!reader

Eijiro hummed along to the radio as he drove down the dark road. His massive hand rested on your thigh, giving a gentle squeeze before he pulled off the beaten path onto a gravel road. Eventually he came to a clearing overlooking a nearby lake. The hum of his bright red truck died down. He took the soft cover of the truck bed off to reveal a mattress, a pile of blankets laid out with pillows, a bluetooth speaker, and your favorite drinks and snacks.

He pulled you into a tight embrace. “Happy an anniversary, sugar.”

“Happy anniversary. This is perfect,” you replied.

“Only the best for my girl,” he said with a grin.

Eijiro gave you a kiss on the forehead. He lifted you into the truck bed before climbing in. You both knocked off your shoes at the end of the bed and got cozy. He pulled up music that played softly in the background as you sad under the stars.

You stare into the twinkling sky when you realize that, as you two talk, he’s staring at you. You thought when you’d started dating that you’d someday get used to the way he looks at you with a warmth and tenderness, even in the dark, but it never failed to make your cheeks flush just a little.

“…Yes?”

“You’re beautiful. I like looking at you when you talk, pretty girl. I thought you knew that by now,” he teased as he finally turned his eyes to the sky.

You sighed. “I do know that, thank you.”

“What, am I making you blush?” Eijiro’s tone was playful as he rubbed your arm with the hand around your shoulders.

Your cheeks heated up further. “You know what? Yes, you are. You still make me blush when you look at me like that.”

He laughed and gave you a squeeze.

“Look at you like what?” He already knew the look he had on his face - one of affection and care - but this was the first time he’d asked you about it.

You pondered a smart remark but decided against it as you turned to him as he watched the stars.

“You look at me like I’m the only person in the room. Like I’m the one who painted the sky and hung the stars,” you said.

Eijiro looked down at you. He stroked your cheek. “You are the only girl in the room. The only one I want to see. Don’t ever forget that,” he said quietly.

He kissed you tenderly. Shifting his body downward, he laid down and gave his chest a pat. “Snuggle with me.”

You curled up into his arms, half wanting to leave your head on his chest, half wanting to look at the sky, so you did a bit of both.

Eventually, Eijiro’s hand ran down your head and neck to your chest, then your waist. You laid back as he moved to his side to pepper your cheek and neck with chaste kisses. He nuzzled into your skin with his arm tightly around your waist, inhaling the faded scent of your shampoo with contentment.

“I love you, Eiji.”

“I love you, too,” he said, his breath tickling your neck.

A quiet peace settled in the air as you laid together, music softly playing in the background, so much so that sleepiness began to take hold. You didn’t really mind that so much even though this was supposed to be a “date.” Resting in his arms, a hand reaching up to run through his hair, your eyes fluttered shut for a long moment.

Eijiro kissed your neck again; it was soft and slow, something he’d intended to merely be pleasant enough to make your breath catch for a moment, and it did. With skill and familiarity, he went directly for the places he knew would make you shudder as his lips grew more fervent and his teeth grazed your neck, trailing up to your ear. Even in the haze of sleepiness, a heated throb rushed to the apex of your thighs. A soft whimper escaped your lips.

“Baby, stop.” Your tone was halfhearted in your objection.

A smile crept across his lips as he continued anyways. His hand moved up your body, gently squeezing your chest on its way back up to cradle the other side of your neck, stroking your cheek as he did.

One song faded into another, and the familiar sound of an acoustic guitar filled the speaker. Whether it was happenstance or the universe aligning in that moment, it didn’t matter, the song was fitting. Eijiro paused for a moment and half sang the words into your skin until you joined him.

“Look at the stars, look how they shine for you….”

He laced your neck with kisses between the words, soon abandoning mumbling the tune altogether when he shifted and closed you in with his body. Eijiro gripped and ran his hands along your thighs as he wrapped your legs around his waist. Soft lips met yours, large warm hands held your face as you kissed. You pushed him away weakly for a moment, not really wanting him to stop, but knowing that if someone came by, you didn’t want to get caught.

“Eiji….”

He heard it in your voice as he leaned back in to kiss his way down your jaw. “We shouldn’t do this here.”

“Let me love you,” he whispered. “Please.”

With an unspoken understanding, you gave in to his request when his eyes met yours and you tilted your chin upward for a kiss.

Eijiro’s hips rolled into yours, and a soft moan fell from your lips. Again, and you reached up to pull his body in closer still, the heat and firmness of his cock pulling more pretty sounds from you that he wished would never end.

#the song just felt right hope that’s not too weirddd #i hope u like it #do not ask me where sugar came from it was the first thing that came to mind so i kept it 🫣#requests #aged up characters #bakubunny #bnha #mha #x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou #kirishima eijiro #kirishima smut #f!reader #bnha smut

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22degreehalo · 8 months

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Something I see a lot in talks about AI art is something I've seen about a lot of different kinds of art: a desire to have the product reflect skill and/or talent.

Like, it reminds me so very much of how some (usually older) people react to music software. It used to be that you'd have to go the long way and spend years learning the guitar; now just anybody can simulate that sound for you and clean it all up and make it perfect!

Of course, there are many provisos to that; not anybody can open up that sort of program and put together a great-sounding song. The people who make e.g. really classic Vocaloid songs are very skilled with the program and very talented r.e. music. (And perhaps that is or will be true for AI, too: that anybody can just create a picture, but someone very skilled with a particular program can make something very specific and good!)

But it's that initial impulse that just... bothers me, a little. Because, yes, of course I understand the fear that you devoted years of your life to a subject and now it can be generated by just anyone. But why turn it around and treat it as some sort of principled, purist stance? Why does someone HAVE to devote years of their life to something to make art?

It just feels a bit. Suffering romanticisey. Either that, or making art inaccessible to ordinary people. Like 'Artists' are some inherently different kind of person.

Of course we can still value the dedication that went into specific kinds of work. Maybe that's your favourite thing about art. But doesn't it open up art to so many different kinds of people when barriers are taken away? People who can't afford to slave away for years on it? People who for some sort of physical or mental or whatever reason just can't ever really be as good with the 'traditional' process?

Again: this is not really about AI art and whether it does offer those opportunities to people. This is about the initial reaction that letting ordinary people more easily create art is somehow bad, and takes some kind of soul out of the process. But people have different capabilities; what is easy for most people is very difficult for others. Why is making art impossible for some people so important? What is so much more 'real' about art that requires very special tools, or knowledge that is barred the masses? What are we losing by letting 'untalented' people overcome certain obstacles?

#same thing with autotune #my mum always hated it. if they need autotune they can't sing!!#but i always felt. some people maybe arent QUITE good enough singers #but have really interesting ideas for songs or singing #and id like to hear them!!!#also autotune became a thing not to hide imperfections #but to create a unique sound of its own #VERY quickly #i just.#want to question people's reasoning here #it may be that ai art is bad inherently. but we should dislike it for the right reasons

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redrattlers · 8 months

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i genuinely think this might be my favourite video in my camera roll

#ashton irwin #5sos #caramel #the 5sos show tour #the 5sos show tour toronto #like come onnnn do you see him do you hear him!!!!#do you hear this crowd!!#i just think this captures how i felt in this moment so nicely #i wish i had taken a longer video because the breakdown right after might be my favourite part of the whole show<3 #caramel loml the best fucking song<3333 #*

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midnightsslut · 30 days

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the reason why bejeweled feels very calvin to me still is how it parallels high infidelity. in general, the 3am tracks seem to explore a darker, more explicit side of a storyline that’s already present, if only in the form of subtext (like we don’t have a direct parallel for wcs, but we do have two songs exploring formative past relationships vaguely sexually, and wcs is the darker example), on the main album, and bejeweled/high infidelity is perhaps the best example of this. its similarities to tolerate it, which is about something she felt ‘at one point in her life,’ back this up. HOWEVER, I do think it’s exploring a potential outcome of the then-current state of her relationship with joe. like, this is how things could go - I have forgotten that I have a man in the past, and I can do it again.

#it is not fully joe and anyone who comes to me with bUt ToLeRaTe It Is ClEaRlY a JoE sOnG #no it’s not #it’s literally just not #I don’t see that dynamic at all #‘you’re so much older and wiser’#they weren’t having the greatest time in fall 2020 but it’s not bc she was watching him sleep #are there shades of how she felt yeah okay maybe but I honestly don’t even think she saw it that way at the time #the parts about putting someone on a pedestal and using your best colors to paint their portrait was always interesting though #but I digress #bejeweled #tolerate it #high infidelity #midnights #ttpd #I actually had an argument about tolerate it in a tiktok comment section once (not my wisest moment) and this person was like ‘oh but I wasn #talking about specific people in her personal life!!!! just her music’ the deflection #like if you want to draw parallels between her songs go right ahead #but #own up to it #have a backbone #sorry I’m sleepy #anyway my beloved muricans are asleep and my dash is quiet now

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hum--hallelujah · 9 months

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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."

#uhhhh anyway. come to killjoys world with me #I keep calling these two my mongoose and snake #they take out their worst on each other but at the same time it's like they were *made* for each other #also a few notes in the tags: kobra repeats himself a lot. that's intentional. it's because I do it irl #quite honestly at this point I might almost have a stutter??#anyway also there's a TON of super vague song references in here. I almost called this ''a scar away from falling apart''#but I couldn't stop thinking about that one boygenius song while I wrote this. would you still love me if it turns out I'm insane?#also the two(2) minor refs to famous last words!!!!#and very very loosely the ''what a pair they make'' line is bc what a catch donnie came up on my playlist right then #also this is WAY more swearing than I would usually write but... it just felt right? like it helped the flow?? and fit the characters? idk #ANYWHOMST. random danger days precanon fic. the girl isn't here yet.#she speaks!#HMMM do I need a writing tag for this blog?#she writes!#danger days #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #kobra kid #fun ghoul #K I think I've got it covered #wait trigger tags #self-harm tw #self mutilation tw

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