#IT PHYSICALLY HURT TO TYPE

[iamthepulta]

"Geology is 90% vocabulary" feels like such a poor description of such a large, important topic, but it feels like it would solve so much if people just... had the words to describe the world.

It's so unfair to everyone that the majority of the population's understanding of the world stops at "tectonic plates", "ring of fire", and "rock cycle". It's so unfair.

Everyone deserves to go on a hike, and when the rock changes colors, wonder "what is that?" and be able to answer the question themselves. Everyone deserves to be able to fulfill their curiosity and it is such a disservice that they cannot.

#I saw a reddit post of someone asking why the rock was flaking that way and it /hurt/ that they had to go to reddit to learn the word shale. #And that there are maps that will tell them the rock type wherever they go! It's such a joy they know now! And they were so happy when ppl #told them! But so sad they didn't know. #geology #This is also the struggle talking to non-geologists because they ask something like 'why is the hill shaped like that?' and you can't say #'graben'. You have to translate the lingo into the rock's previous physical movement - but in words.

[shahareen]

never has there ever been a ship that goes through this cycle like asaden does

#IMAGE NOT MINE. ITS FROM THE TWITTER FOLKS #almost fooled myself into thinking that i got over this ship.. i was finally gonna live my best life but this chapter reeled me back in DAMN #like SIKE u thought #theyre so ENDGAME otp it actually hurts #the chokehold asaden has is unmatched #asaden #chainsaw man #csm spoilers #chainsaw man 149 #denji #csm #asa mitaka #denji hayakawa #csm denji #mitaka asa #DENJI AND ASA ARE SO STARVED FOR LOVE IM SICK #ASADEN IS LIKE. TWO POOR STRAY PUPPIES LEFT OUT IN THE RAIN TRYNA KEEP EACH OTHER WARM DESPITE THE WHOLE WORLD DROWNING IN A NEVER ENDING #ONSLAUGHT OF MURKY PUDDLE TYPE WATER #SICKENING. I FEEL PHYSICALLY ILL

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i f. i fucking forgot a pencil so i cant scribble out this Thought i had while on a lil road trip today - basically i was thinkin about Wally, as ya do, and i asked myself why does Wally eat with his eyes? its such a Fascinating yet somewhat Out Of Place choice for him. how did Clown come up with that? its so unique. it stands tf out.

and then i remembered Frank & Poppy's convo for their 'bug' audio, and how he says "you eat with your eyes first" and like... thats a real phrase. ive heard it in my life. & it set off lil alarm bells in my head the first time i listened to the clip, i just hadnt connected the dots yet. so its feasible that thats why Wally eats the way that he does - and an in-universe explanation could be that Wally heard the phrase before he could learn how to eat 'properly', and took it literally

essentially:

Frank: you eat with your eyes!

Wally: *rdj meme format* you eat with your eyes

#also dont have wifi so i cant type out my musings on my laptop #and typing on my phone kinda Hurts #so! this is a note to myself to Talk About This and Scribble a silly thing Later! #in a couple of days! #no wonder he only eats when no one is looking.... #they all eat Normally but hes over there like 'oh shit oh fuck i dont know how to do that. uhhhhhhh' #i imagine he heard it and immediately internalized it forever #core memory. this action will have consequences. new skill unlocked. this cannot be undone. #wally just casually fucking with the laws of reality.... good for him! good for him #i mean why not! #its not like he knows what reality is! or the laws of physics! he doesnt have to obey what he doesnt understand! #someone says You Can Do This and hey. look at that. he can! #and wow this beef jerky im eating tastes like chemicals. #absolutely unprompted #homebogging #welcome home speculation #wh speculation #I HAVE BEEN SITTING ON THIS. FOR HOURS. DYING TO WRITE IT OUT AND POST #BUT I WAS IN THE CAR AND I GET CARSICK SO EASILY #so i couldnt.... #but now! now i am in this motel! relaxing! not moving! AND I CAN POST!!!! #anyhow i really need to get on posting more Thoughts bc i have so many #on wally's behavior on other characters & dialogue choices and just!!! Agh!!!! #speculation galore!!!! #ill have to wait though! sadly! #damn. i cant draw i cant Post. whats a bitch supposed to do #good thing i brought my crochet project smh #and a book <3

[trensu]

I set myself a goal to have this fic finished and postedon ao3 by Halloween. As you can tell, I have failed miserably since it's neither finished or posted. In my defense, my hands were in much more pain than usual for most of October and so far November's not looking so great either.

Still, I feel kind of shitty about missing my goal, so I decided to post the first couple of scenes here. This fic is part of the Hawkins Halfway House series and we'll be meeting Billy in it. Enjoy!

Eddie was enjoying a quiet, little Horrors-free day with House. He’d dropped off Max and the Sinclair siblings with Steve in the morning since they hadn’t been able to hang out with Dustin and El for longer than any of the little Horrors deemed acceptable. El had been living with Steve for about a year now, and Dustin nearly twice that long. The transition hadn’t been as painful as expected but the kids were not used to being apart from each other, so an arrangement was reached that every other weekend, the kids could spend the night together either at House or at Junior.

This weekend, the kids had opted to stay at Junior with Steve. Depending on how things went, they might stay longer seeing as the kids were on some extended human holiday weekend as of the night before. If that happened, then Eddie planned on having some slow lazy mornings. However, it was now past lunchtime and he really needed to restock their stores of red meat, thanks to the pair of werewolf cubs in his care. He had very quickly become the local butcher’s favorite customer because of them.

Eddie had just about convinced himself to get going and be a responsible adult when the phone rang. Eddie made his way over to where House decided to keep the phone hooked up this week. He leaned against the wall, already fiddling with the phone cord, as he answered.

“Hawkins Halfway–”

“EDDIE,” Dustin screeched over the phone. “You have to come over right now. Steve is DYING.”

“What?” Eddie asked, bolting upright from where he had slouched. He heard the voices of the other kids over the line.

“He is bleeding. Blood should stay inside humans,” El said seriously.

“Bleeding? Where? What happened?” Eddie asked, resting the phone between his shoulder and ear to free up his hands. He got a bit tangled in the cord in his hurried searching of his pockets for his keys.

“Guys,” Steve’s voice broke through. “Guys, I’m fine. Oh god, Dustin, who are you calling? What did I say about using the phone? Junior, what did I tell you about letting the kids use the phone?”

“This IS an emergency!” Dustin protested, loudly.

“There’s so much blood,” Lucas could be heard in the background. “It’s like that time I ate a rabbit just before the moon set.”

“See, Eddie? HE’S DYING!” Dustin shouted directly into the receiver.

“You called Eddie? Dustin, give me the phone,” Steve said. After a brief scuffle, and what sounded like the handset being dropped to the ground only to get hastily picked up, Steve was speaking directly. His voice sounded funny. “Eddie, hi!”

“What happened? Dustin thinks you’re dying,” Eddie said.

“I’m fine! Nobody’s dying,” Steve said. Then, presumably to the kids, “Give me some room, I don’t want to drip on any of you.”

“Steve, are you bleeding?” Eddie asked, his worry mixing with irritation.

“Yeah, but I’m okay. It’s a bloody nose,” Steve said, which explained why he sounded weird.

“And a bloody mouth,” Lucas added.

“His eye’s busted up, too!” Erica said loud enough for Eddie to hear.

“Yes, thank you for that,” Steve said to the kids in that bitchy tone Eddie secretly enjoyed hearing. “Go watch some TV while I talk to Eddie. I promise I won’t fall over dead.”

“I’m coming over,” Eddie decided out loud.

“You don’t have to, honestly, the kids are freaking out over nothing,” Steve insisted.

“You’re due for a home inspection anyway. See you in ten.”

Eddie hung up before Steve could protest.

–

Eddie didn’t have a chance to knock on the door before it slammed open and he was swarmed by the kids.

“He’s in the kitchen,” Lucas told him.

“We couldn’t remember how much blood humans are supposed to keep inside,” El said.

“Yeah, so Dustin freaked out,” Erica snorted derisively.

Dustin started to argue that his concern was legitimate, but Eddie pushed past all of them to get to the kitchen. There, Eddie nearly swallowed his tongue because Steve was indeed in the kitchen. Shirtless. And bent over the sink. The steam rising from the running water dampened his chest hair and made his skin dewy. The muscles in Steve’s arms flexed distractingly as he scrubbed almost violently at a bloodied shirt.

Eddie didn’t have much time to enjoy the view because as soon as he finished processing the vision, he caught sight of Steve’s face. He immediately understood why the children panicked. Steve’s face was a mess. Steve had done his best to clean up most of the blood, but his nostrils were still rimmed with some, and the split lip started to bleed again when Steve looked up at Eddie. The skin around his eye was puffy and bruised.

“It looks worse than it is,” Steve said immediately. “No concussion!”

Eddie covered the distance in a few long strides. He reflexively reached out to touch Steve’s face, then pulled back when he realized what he’d been about to do. Eddie had been adamantly ignoring the small crush he was harboring for his kids’ foster parent. Unfortunately, it meant he had to forcibly ignore opportunities to touch Steve as much as possible. In this case, it resulted in Eddie fluttering his hands uselessly around Steve.

“What happened?”

“First, you should know that I handled it and I was already planning on calling you to give you a rundown of the situation. I wanted to clean myself up a bit before calling but that didn’t go as planned, obviously.”

“Steve.”

“I’m fine, really. I’m more worried about Max.” At Steve’s words, Eddie’s whole body tensed.

“What happened to Max?” Eddie asked before it occurred to him, “She wasn’t with the other kids. Where is she?”

“She ran to her room as soon as we got home. She’s kind of shaken up. I haven’t had the chance to talk to her about what happened because the others saw me and were freaking out the whole ride home.”

“I can talk to her,” Eddie said immediately. Steve nodded as if he hadn’t expected anything different, and began to explain what happened.

“I took the kids to the park nearby to burn off some energy before dinner,” Steve said. “Max stayed in the parking lot because she wanted to practice using her skateboard.”

While Steve spoke, Eddie maneuvered himself around the familiar kitchen. He grabbed a clean kitchen towel and dug out an icepack from the freezer. After wrapping it up, he handed it to Steve, who delicately placed it over his eye.

Steve continued to explain how he made sure he settled in a spot that would give him a good view of both the parking lot and the playground. Everything had been going well. All the kids were having fun, although Max had tumbled a couple of times while trying to find her balance on the skateboard. Then Steve had been distracted.

Erica had gotten a bit too into a game of chase. She had started to get a little wolfy around the edges. Lucas had immediately shielded her from view by throwing his hoodie at her face. Steve guided her a farther away from the playground to somewhere more quiet and secluded to give her a moment to calm down. Once she had collected herself, she and Steve rejoined everyone at the playground. Steve had given the playground a quick lookover to make sure everyone was still accounted for, but when he’d looked for Max over at the parking lot, a man was with her.

Steve had been too far away to hear what the man was saying, but the man was way too close to her. Max had frozen in place. If the unknown man approaching her hadn’t been alarming enough, seeing her freeze like that set off all sorts of bells. While Max wasn’t Steve’s foster kid, he knew her well enough by now to know that, when cornered, Max's first instinct was to fight, not flee or freeze.

“I ran over there as soon as I saw what was happening,” Steve told Eddie, as if Eddie would ever doubt him. Steve had a protective streak to rival a werewolf. “By the time I got to them, he had grabbed her by the arm.”

Steve had shoved the man away from her the moment he had gotten within reach. From there it had devolved into a fistfight that left Steve in his current state. Thankfully the other kids were too wrapped up in their playground games to realize what was happening at the time but one of the other parents at the playground had seen and used the nearby payphone to call the police. The cops showed up to break up the fight. As far as Steve was aware, the man who had grabbed Max was taken away by the cops. They took some statements from witnesses, but Steve, to Eddie’s utter lack of surprise, insisted on going home with his kids rather than going down to the station.

Eddie was grateful for that. He had seen how cops treat people they consider less than human, even when they didn't have an ounce of supernatural blood in them. Little Horrors in distress were not always great at keeping their human faces on.

Once Steve finished updating Eddie, he went to reassure the other kids while Eddie made his way to see Max. Eddie had barely stepped into the guest room Junior had made for Max before Max shot to her feet. She was very pale, made even more apparent by the dark red feathers that had sprouted through her hair and along her face. Her hands were rough and clawed.

“He found me,” Max said. “Billy found me. He tried to take me away.”

Eddie swore under his breath. It was just as he had suspected. He didn't think the cops would hold Billy for very long. He had to start planning a defense but first, he wanted to comfort Max, offer some reassurance. He stepped closer to her but slowed his movements at Max’s flinch. Instead, he redirected and leaned against the dresser close to Max. Her jaw was tense. She crossed her arms, clutching at her elbows.

“But he didn’t,” Eddie said firmly. “You’re still here. Steve stopped him and you’re safe.”

Max’s breath hitched.

“Is…is Steve mad at me?” Her claws dug into fabric at the elbows of her hoodie, nervously shredding it. “I have my backpack in the closet. I can leave. If he’s mad.”

“What? No, no, no, Max, Steve’s not mad at you. He’s worried, but he’d never get mad at you for something like this.”

Her voice dropped to a shamed whisper.

“But Billy hurt him so bad. He broke Steve’s face,” her breath hitched again, but she had yet to break into tears. It hurt Eddie to see her try so hard to keep it together. “It's all my fault, he’s going to be so mad.”

“Max Mayfield, listen to me,” Eddie said fiercely. “None of this is your fault. This is all on that hunter. Steve doesn’t blame you and he’s not mad at you.”

She gnawed at her lip, eyes cast down. She didn't believe him, he could tell.

"Billy's going to come back. He’ll hurt Steve again," Max said.

"If that happens, and I'm not saying it will!" Eddie said. Though he knew she was right about Billy. Billy was a stubborn, possessive, and angry man. "But if it does, it still wouldn't be your fault. He's a grown up making his own awful decisions, okay?"

"Okay," she said despondently, though she no longer sounded like she would break into tears.

"I need to let Steve know what to expect but he'll probably come up here after to check on you if you're okay with it."

Max nodded jerkily, not looking at him. Eddie suppressed a sigh. Max had been making so much progress, opening herself up more to others and getting attached to things that interested her. If Eddie hadn’t hated Billy already, the sight Max retreating into herself again because of his reappearance would’ve done it.

"Do you want to be alone? Or do you want some of your friends up here with you?" Eddie asked.

Max shrugged. Eddie glanced over at the unmade bed. The underneath looked darker than it probably should be. He smiled tentatively at Max.

"I think El is already under the bed, so if you want to be alone…"

An oozing black tendril squirmed out from underneath the bed to wrap gently around Max's ankle. Some of the stress that pinched Max’s expression eased at the touch. She easily dropped to the ground and scooched into the cramped space beneath the bed.

“You are safe, Max,” El’s voice hissed from the dark space.

Eddie left the room and closed the door quietly behind him. It was time to fill Steve in on some things he had hoped would never come up.

#trensu tells stories #hawkins halfway house for homeless horrors #i wanna say I'm about halfway done with the fic #but since my job has me typing 8hrs a day 5 days a week #ive stopped typing at all when off the clock in the hopes that the brief respite will give my hands some time to recover #they haven't hurt this bad in a LONG time and idk what's triggered it #but as soon as im physically able ill writing finish this fic and post it on ao3 #stranger things #steddie #hhh: tradition

[vexedallay]

Something that bugs me is how everything Rae does is called science. Like, this man was basically a conspiracy theorist who happened to strike gold with his theory and had a vague notion of scientific method at the start of s1 and at the current point in time he's more of a historian/family drama counselor. The closest he's ever come to science (to my knowledge) is when he was experimenting with the sculk, which probably should've been given to sherb anyways, since they (as an alchemist) are probably the best equipped to handle mysterious substances. Not saying the outcome would've changed but my point stands. The reason Rae is the man everyone goes to with their problems is bc in s1 he was the best equipped to handle the issue, being the one who knew the most abt the end. When we hit s2 stuff, though, the science/research based problems should've gone directly to sherb.

Not to say I don't love with my entire heart what heyhay has done with raes character, but sometimes it feels like everything ic is important for is the problems they have rather than the solutions they can offer, and that hurts my little icarus-obsessed heart

#Rae sure claimed to be the closest thing to a doctor #To Sherbert #The single person who actually understands how healing potions and alchemy as a whole works #It hurts me in the soul #Rae is still amazing though #And I understand why they were written like that #But. #This also comes a bit from my own frustration with different branches of science and types of intelligence being equated #Just because I can do math and physics doesn't mean I'll be good at biology when I haven't taken the class yet #Which is a concept my classmates rarely seem to understand #but anyways #fable smp #icarus morningstar #fablesmpicarus #fable smp rae #rae morningstar

[eky11]

My kin trinity

#I NEED TO DRAW THE THREE OF THEM #IF PHYSICALLY HURTS NOT TO DO IT #AEUGHHHH #I cannot spend that much time drawing today #I have things due next week x'd #So you get this type of posts #Sorry

[reasonsforhope]

Crowdsourcing a question

Okay totally personal post here because, now that search engines suck, my research is failing me. So I'm crowdsourcing my question about the residential care work industry!

Hoping at least some of my followers have experience in/with the industry and some intel on this:

Actual question: How common is it for jobs in residential care work (residential centers, btw, not home care) to actually have two people on the night shift? vs. just saying they always have two people on the night shift in interviews and their official policies, and actually it's not true?

Because my current job was, it turns out, apparently totally lying about "you'll never be on shift alone with clients" at orientation (when it comes to the night shift, anyway). Which, holy fucking safety issues, Batman!

Suffice to say this was a very fun thing to find out like three days before my first regular shift

So, I'm thinking realllll hard about switching companies, and I'm trying to figure out if I could expect to actually have a coworker at a different company, or if it's like an open secret in the field that actually, basically all the night shifts end up being solo shifts, because the industry is so chronically understaffed or w/e

#not news #ask #me #ideally only answer if you actually have specific knowledge of or experience with the industry #technically I'm working with disabled clients but also open to other sectors of residential care work if I do get another job #so if it's something that differs by sector please do let me know! #thanks so much #safety issues are for both me and the clients btw #this is not like “I'm afraid of the clients” in any way #it's about the fact that if something happened and I got hurt #I am the only staff in that whole house until morning #and there is MAYYYYYYYBE one client who is actually physically capable of calling for help #if I can't for whatever reason #also!!! this is an incredibly vulnerable client population with horrifyingly high abuse statistics!! #they should not be leaving someone they literally just hired completely alone with the clients every night for eight hours??? #not gonna give more details for many obvious reasons #but like. just. no. don't do that. no. #in any residential care work facility imho but ESPECIALLY in this type of facility #also like if a client has a medical emergency #you're really gonna want both someone who can render aid AND someone who can call 911 and the on-calls and such #and yes the chaos and “surprises” around this job and scheduling is why I haven't been doing original posts lately #so answering also helps me get back to doing that sooner!

[boag]

Abt to watch Theater Camp just bc the cast is such an insane assortment of people I need to see what is going on here

#u know I’m a former drama kid bc typing this title hurt me physically #bc it should be theatre camp #a theater is where u go to see theatre 😞 #the camp would be a camp where you learn theatre

[fancy--that]

Writing Jefferson as the softer lover, the one doing the most pining and the most feeling and being the most vulnerable yet simultaneously hiding it all behind his....✨idgaf im Thomas mf Jefferson✨ and only being this vulnerable with Hamilton and even then at the slightest hint that Hamilton might pity HIM he has to be indifferent again because "love is for losers" and he doesn't really care as much as he seems to until he's eventually emotionally hurt and has to cope with the fact that Hamilton has done this because he seemingly believed that there was nothing emotional between them because of all of Jefferson's hiding and the only way the can try and salvage what they might be able to have is Thomas finally being honest with himself and Hamilton and telling him how he feels....is so much more satisfying than with Hamilton and idk why.

#idk if its just me but when i write Alexander as having feelings for Thomas with no way to express it #i always perceive it as a crush type of thing #Alexander finds him physically attractive until they get closer (because Thomas wants to be closer to him) #and he discovers theres more under the surface. which ofc i eat up every time #i always found pining Thomas to be more heartbreaking because he's so full of himself how DARE Alexander break his heart he's beneath him!! #everyone knows i only go based off the musical and in these dynamics Thomas has more to lose than Alex #Alex has been hurt his whole life whats one more chip on the shoulder but Thomas has been lucky his whole life #So how dare one insignificant man come along and fuck everything up

[the-lightless-flame]

omg iloved when mr bonzo said 'its bonzo time!!' and then bonzoed all over jason collins

#morbius jokes are still funny. right #anyway every word of this physically hurt me to type im not happy with this but there ya go #tmagp #tmagp arg #mr bonzo #fuck it he gets his own tag now

[impishtubist]

Cackling at the idea of Sirius and James constantly holding hands at school, kissing each other on the lips, hanging off each other all the time, sharing a bed, and everyone is like “but I thought Sirius was dating you???” to Remus, and Remus is like “oh he is, they’re just Like That.” 

#meanwhile remus and sirius sometimes hug in public but they always leave room for jesus #look i made a r/s post are you happy? #even though i don't condone it because sirius deserves better #the words platonic prongsfoot physically hurt me to type #but this is platonic prongsfoot #sadly

[hum--hallelujah]

don't want to kill time like it doesn't matter - 3.5k words, (platonic) funkobra hurt/comfort

---

Ghoul is actually younger than Kobra. They always forget it though.

At least, they usually do.

Kobra's stopped shooting upright and reaching for his blaster whenever someone wakes him up at night. Stopped two years ago, honestly, when him and Ghoul started sharing a room. That was a collective decision that is very much not discussed. It left the old office as a perfect room for the Girl, in the end. Between Ghoulie and Girlie, the former of whom has wild, sleepless tendencies and the latter liking to scramble her way into bed with somebody else every other night of the week, Kobra's knee-jerk reaction has become more of a lack of reaction.

"Yo," hisses a pitchy voice. It's dead daylight, the heat of the day. This is the time of the year when you sleep while the sun's up, wait until the darkness falls to do anything or else it's too miserable or too dangerous. "Kobes."

Kobra utters a verbose "Hrrmngg?" and rolls over. He cracks an eye open to see Ghoul standing at the end of his bed. If it hadn't been light out, he'd be doing a good job of living up to his name. His hands are shaking, but when aren't they?

"You good, man?" Kobra asks groggily. He's half awake, half asleep, drifting in between the two states of being. Ghoul is shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. It makes the floor creak. It makes him look even smaller than he is. "Ghoulie?" He mumbles again when he gets no reply.

Ghoul makes a noncommittal half-whispered sound. "Wanna go for a joyride?" He asks instead of an answer.

Kobra blinks himself more fully awake and pushes up on one elbow. "Mirage or the 'Am?"

Ghoulie shrugs. Won't meet his eyes. Oh shit, that's not good. Something's got him worked up. It's too late for this. This is why they share a room now. They didn't used to, but Kobra refuses to let him sleep alone anymore. Kobra knows how he got that wicked scar that runs from the corner of his mouth nearly to his eye.

"Either," Ghoul says. "Doesn't matter much to me."

"Mirage," Kobra decides. He'll never say no to a late-night joyride. Not this kind. Party'll have his neck for sneaking out on the bike without letting anyone know, but the 'Am is too conspicuous when strange crews are out and from the look of him, riding double on the motorcycle will be good for Ghoul.

It's still too hot to be out. But going for a spin won't take too much exertion, getting to someplace with shade, so long as it's away from here, won't take too long. Ghoul's gonna get sunscorched. Maybe that's the point. While Kobra covers up with his jacket, Ghoul is still in the loose, half-covering clothes he sleeps in.

The sun glints painfully off the sand when they climb quietly out the window. No reason trying to get past Party when they've got an exit right here. Ghoul clambers out first with a probably accidental but surprisingly graceful roll and then flinches, violently, when Kobra jacket catches on what's left of the glass in the window and he tumbles haphazardly to the ground. They both hold still for a long dozen seconds, Kobra staring at the diner wall and straining to tell if anyone heard them, and Ghoul staring at Kobra and shaking.

When Party doesn't come along, eyes glinting with annoyed amusement, and yell at them for sneaking out, Kobra sits up and checks the hem of his jacket where it caught on the sharp edge. "Great," he mutters when he sees the tear in the lining. He'll have to sew that back together later. "Ghoul, you good?"

Ghoul shrugs and stands up. "Aren't I always?"

"No."

They stare at each other for a few seconds while Kobra rubs his palms together to clear the sand off them and reaches into his pocket for his gloves. "You're wearing a helmet," he says flatly.

Ghoul rolls his eyes and sneers. It crinkles the scar running up his face. "No way."

"Fine." Kobra doesn't push. Half the time he doesn't even wear his helmet. He's the driver. He'll keep them safe. It was worth a try, though. "Come on."

The heavy bay door of the garage makes too much noise to open without being caught. They slip in the side door and Kobra brings Mirage carefully back through it. He wears a helmet this time. Ghoul stands and waits, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet, while Kobra starts the bike and, out of habit, does a couple checks.

"You ready?" Kobra says, with the visor of his helmet flipped up.

Ghoul grins, but it's lacking in heart. So often, Kobra thinks he's not all there. So often, Kobra thinks this is his best friend. "Born that way," he replies.

"Come on then," Kobra says and nods for Ghoul to get on the bike with him. "Hey, hey. Hey, Ghoulie-" he says, when Ghoul is standing right at his shoulder, about to throw a leg over Mirage and climb on. "You okay?" He asks again, because he needs to know how safe any of this is.

Ghoul doesn't respond. Just settles himself behind Kobra and wraps his arms, tight, around Kobra's middle. Kobra stays there a second, until he's sure Ghoul's grip is solid, so that he can feel Ghoul breathing against his back, before he kicks off. He doesn't care if Party and Jet wake up now, they won't catch them. The bike's tires kick up a fountain of sand as he spins a loop, leaning into the turn until Mirage tilts close enough to the ground that Kobra could touch the sand if he reached out. Ghoul asked for a joyride. This is that.

"What the hell, man?!" Ghoul yells over Kobra's shoulder, muffled by the engine noise and his helmet. Kobra feels Ghoul's hands grab at the fabric of his shirt as he pulls around the first turn, bringing them around the back of a sand dune at full speed.

"Trust me?" Kobra shouts back. He's getting into it now, relaxing into each wide, showy swerve and fishtail. He slows down just a bit when he can feel Ghoul's fingernails start to bite into his skin. It makes him edgy when Ghoul is like this.

Ghoul sniffs sharply. "Well, yeah, but I've seen you crash out enough times at the track-"

"Aw, shut up," Kobra snaps back, without venom. Ghoul's his mechanic. He's seen his best wins and worst losses. "Where you wanna go?" He asks, after a few random turns, just drifting around in the sand. Ghoul is quiet. Kobra reaches back with one hand and smacks him on the leg after awhile. "Ghoulie, where we goin'?"

"I'm thinki-" Ghoul cuts himself off and when he speaks again his voice is flat and so quiet Kobra has to strain to hear him. "Turn right up here."

There's the remains of a road cutting across their path and Kobra hops Mirage up onto it, swings right and follows the pavement. Ghoul's grip around his chest has loosened, but Kobra can feel the fast, shallow rhythm of his breathing and the shaking of his hands even still. The road goes on for ages, long enough that it starts to feel infinite. This must have been a highway, back before the wars and BL/ind. At some point, Ghoul leans forward and puts his forehead against the back of Kobra's neck. Kobra can feel him pressed just below where his helmet sits.

"Get off at this turn," Ghoul mumbles suddenly, but not soon enough because Kobra completely overshoots the exit. He flips around the empty lanes of the highway, admittedly showing off mostly just to make himself feel better.

The group of buildings along the former highway off-ramp isn't really a ghost town. It's a cluster of old stores and restaurants, like the diner but mass produced, and down at the end is an ancient truck stop and gas station. Kobra slows the bike to a crawl as they drive down the street, struck with an eerie sense of deja vu. He's been here before. They both have.

He pulls over and stops in the middle of the road, beside what used to be a coffee store. Coffee is usually made in the form of compressed, dried out shots now, called Motor Juice in the Zones when rehydrated. They don't have coffeeshops in the City. They have prescriptions.

Ghoul is off the bike and Kobra's back suddenly cold even under the heat of the sun before Mirage even comes to a full stop. "Ghoul-" Kobra snaps, angry for reasons he can't even say and unsettled in ways he doesn't want to. This is a ghost town. Just not in the normal way. "Ghoul. What are you-"

But Ghoul is walking away, his back to Kobra and the bike as he moves toward the gas station as if it's a magnet and he's the blade of a knife, trembling so hard with the pull that it might break. Kobra hesitates, then swings his leg over Mirage and bumps out the kickstand. Ghoul is standing stock still, or as still as he can, on the faded pavement of the gas station parking lot. Kobra's glad it's faded. He doesn't want to see the bloodstains.

Ghoul looks small as he approaches, absolutely miniscule. He's got his arms wrapped tight around himself and Kobra can hear the harshness of his breathing even from several strides away. He doesn't want to get too close too fast. Ghoul's enough like a wild animal that it could turn out badly, and Kobra for once really doesn't want to fight him today. Not out here, at least.

They're within two years of each other, Kobra and Ghoul. They usually forget they're not the same age. But right now Ghoul looks so small and so, so young and Kobra doesn't know what to do.

"Gh- Ghoul. Ghoulie." Kobra calls carefully, stumbling over his tongue. He clamps his teeth together, takes a deep breath. "Ghoul."

Ghoul doesn't turn, doesn't look away from the door into the gas station he'd been found in, back when Kobra and Poison and Jet were a crew of three and Ghoul'd been even more feral than he is now. The gas station where Ghoul watched his entire family die and he was helpless to do anything about it. He still thinks he hadn't done enough. Kobra knows that. Ghoul always thinks he didn't do enough. That one kid with a blaster and wild eyes could take down a full squad of Dracs and two Crows.

Kobra doesn't know how to tell him that if he'd tried, he would be dead too. Kobra doesn't know how to tell him he's glad he didn't. When it comes down to it most, Kobra finds he can't speak.

"Ghoulie," he says again. "Hey. Hey." He moves closer, pulls off the helmet he'd almost forgotten he still has on. "Ghoul," he tries, one more time, as gently as he knows how even though it's not that gentle. He's never been good at this. Some of the scars scattered across Ghoul's body are from him. But Kobra had stitched up Ghoul's face and he's not going to give up now.

Ghoul finally turns and Kobra breathes a sigh of relief. Just a response. Proof of life even though he's still standing. And then Ghoul steps toward him and suddenly he's right there, shaking but otherwise just as eerily still as this entire place, like he's trapped in frozen time just like the rest of it, and he collides with Kobra's chest in a way that's both surprising and yet entirely expected.

"Oh." Kobra drops his helmet, dangling from one hand, and his arms hover uncertainly in the air for a moment before he carefully closes them around Ghoul. "Oh. Okay. Okay." He says quietly, startled, but not really. He'd felt the way Ghoul was holding onto him as they rode Mirage all the way out here.

Ghoul unfolds his arms from around himself and grabs onto the unzipped sides of Kobra's jacket. He doesn't cry, not out loud at least. He's just shaking, so much, and so, so small. Kobra's not good with words. He's even worse with them under pressure. Anything Jet or Party could say to make it better, that kind of stuff gets stuck on his tongue when Kobra tries to say it. So he doesn't. He just holds on.

"You plan on coming here?" Kobra asks eventually, even though he has a feeling the answer is no. Unless it's an engine or a bomb, Ghoul never really plans on much. Ghoul shakes his head, hair scrubbing against Kobra's shoulder and neck where his head's pressed. "You wanna... y'wanna go inside?" He asks then, against his better judgment. But then again, he's never been known for that, has he.

Ghoul tenses, but it momentarily stops the shaking. "Can we?"

Kobra huffs. "Nobody stoppin' us, and even if there were, we'd do it anyway, wouldn't we?"

Ghoul pries his fingers from their hold on Kobra's jacket and turns back toward the station. "Should we?"

"Dunno." Part of him thinks it might help. Part of him remembers exactly what happened the last time they were here. It's the Killjoy way to call death ghosting. It means some part of you lives on even when you're gone. There's a lot of ghosts in this pavement. "It's your-"

He can't think of what word goes there. Choice. Past. Grief. Place. So he stops talking. He shrugs, bends to pick up his helmet. "I can." He sucks a breath through his teeth. He's going to say it again. "I can... I can go with you. If you," he shrugs one shoulder again. "If you, uh, want to. I'm not- I'm not trying to force you," he adds, like it needs to be said. "It's your... yours."

Because that's all that really can be said. This place, the place that made Fun Ghoul what he is. The journey, however brief, that brought them here. Even, kinda, Kobra himself. It's all for Ghoul, here and now. Kobra drove, but he's just along for the ride. Weird how that happens.

Ghoul steps toward the station. Magnetism, again. And Kobra follows, because how could he not. He feels sick at the though of letting his friend go in that place alone.

The doors are gone. Shot out years ago. It looks to Kobra exactly as it did back then, but Ghoul probably remembers better. There are shelves toppled and glass and plastic broken all over the floor. Whatever hasn't been scavenged is broken and shattered. Ghoul walks toward the back of the store, the corner that's not so much a mess. Kobra stays back a bit, trying to give his friend space.

It's where they found Ghoul. Or, where Pois had found him. Ghoul was half in shock, terrified and scarred and fighting, and Party was the first one of their then three-strong group to notice the dark shape watching them hopelessly trawl the carnage for any survivors. It took Pois physically restraining the much smaller kid to keep Ghoul from going for all of their throats.

Kobra has a lot of bad memories of Ghoul. None are as bad as remembering the way he'd screamed when they first met.

"Y'okay?" Kobra asks after a while.

Ghoul has his moments. They all do. Sometimes, you wake up bad in the night and it's hard to pick yourself up. Sometimes you just gotta hit the bottom before you even can. But Ghoul's a fighter. "Yeah," he says, walking back and forth between fallen shelves once stocked with food and stupid trinkets. He crouches to pick up the shattered remnants of something once made of colorful glass and when he looks back over his shoulder at Kobra, he doesn't seem quite as small.

"'M sorry," Kobra mumbles, not knowing what to say now. Somehow, the shaking and the touch are so much easier than having to talk about it. He's never been the talker. That's Party. And he knows his brother regrets not getting there — here — sooner that day, but there's a sick, selfish part of Kobra that's too glad to have Ghoul to want anything different. But really, it's all he can say. If there's remnants of bones that haven't been carried away by carrion-eaters, he doesn't want to see it.

Ghoul slowly stands up from his spot on the floor, staring intently at the broken knick-knack in his palm. It might have been a glass teddy bear, once, something a parent might grab up for a child waiting at home. It's partially shattered, though. Half of its cartoonish smiling face is gone. The heart shape it once held in its paws is cracked down the middle. Kobra isn't great with metaphors, but this is pretty fucking obvious.

"I didn't save them," Ghoul says quietly, his voice grating through the charged, silent air. "I didn't save her."

Something clicks into place. They all know that the crew he lost was Ghoul's real actual biological family. He's a sandpup. He was born and raised in the Zones. He doesn't talk about it much. Kobra's shocked he even came back here, let alone with anyone else. Ghoul doesn't talk about his family, but they've all figured for a while that he had a sibling. You can see it in how he treats the Girl.

"Your sister," Kobra says. It doesn't sound like so much of a question when he says it out loud, but he knows Ghoul will understand it as one.

Ghoul nods. "Yeah." He steps over some toppled displays, sun-bleached ads that used to be bright colored, and slips the shiny piece of broken glass into one of Kobra's pockets since he doesn't have any of his own. Kobra can already see the sunburn forming on his friend's shoulders and the tops of his knees. "She was like, eight."

That's all the more he says about it, but Kobra slips his hand into the pocket and runs his fingers over the broken glass toy still warm from Ghoul's hands, and hears the years of grief and bitterness in the few words. Ghoul's more talky than he is, but he's cagey, too. Kobra can hear him, though. He gets it. Doesn't mean he knows what to say, though.

"Shit," he spits. He wants to say I'm sorry again, but that feels fuckin cheap. He wants to say stop beating yourself up about it, but that sounds even stupider. "Fuck." Sometimes that's all he can say.

"Yeah," Ghoul replies. "Fuckin shit."

"Exactly," Kobra agrees, fiercely relieved that Ghoul gets all the shit he's trying to say. "Hey, uh. Y'know I'm-" He stumbles over the words, cringes at himself for the inability to get past a stupid two-letter word. "I'm glad I know you." He manages, as selfish as it sounds standing here in the ghosted wreckage where Ghoul's family was killed. But if that hadn't happened, they wouldn't be here now. They wouldn't be friends. And Kobra needs Ghoul to know he's glad that any suicide run to save his family failed. The pain sucks, but he's grateful for the outcome. He hopes Ghoul can understand that.

Ghoul doesn't reply. His acid green eyes bore straight into Kobra's for a few seconds while Kobra's heart hammers in his chest. Then he kicks at some dust and looks at the floor and shrugs. "Let's go, man. I don't wanna stay here."

"M'kay."

Kobra's almost tempted to reach out as they walk back out into the glaring sun, grab onto Ghoul like he's a ghost, too, and the light might evaporate him. But he doesn't. He can't.

He thinks the feeling of Ghoul hanging onto him as he steers Mirage away, back up the ramp to the road they came down in the first place, will make him feel better. It doesn't. Ghoul holds on much looser than he had on the way here, and it makes Kobra nervous. He wonders if he should have made him wear a helmet, and steers more carefully around the turns.

And then Ghoul adjusts his seat and throws one arm up over Kobra's shoulder, loosely hooking around his neck. He leans up forward and shouts, "C'mon, Kobes, let's play with it!" Like he's itching for the risk that a couple hours ago had had him holding on for dear life. Kobra's used to thinking his best friend isn't all there. But he's also familiar with the times he is. Sometimes, he forgets they're not the same age because Ghoul is so larger than life.

He tips his head to the side in acknowledgement, and punches the throttle. He even pulls a couple of tight, quick loops. He can't slide on the pavement the way he would on sand, but he can catch a little air when there's a thermal bump in the highway. Ghoul clutches onto him, but it's not scared. Something's cleared up in the gas station. Maybe it was closure. Hell if Kobra knows.

When they pull Mirage off the highway and the diner finally comes back into view, just a small glint of signage, Kobra slows his pace and can feel Ghoul sigh more than he can hear it. His friend's arms stay firmly around him. "Hey, Kobes?" Ghoul says, just barely loud enough to be heard over the engine.

"Yeah?" Kobra says, a bit louder to be heard past his helmet.

Ghoul hesitates, then says in a rush, "I'm glad I know you too. Like, really glad." And then he squeezes Kobra a little tighter for just a second and Kobra can't even say anything in reply. It's been a long night at the wrong time of day. And they're almost home.

#yes I know kobra is doing that annoying ''r u ok'' thing very repetitively he's like me he repeats himself A LOT it's ok. we still love him #I cannot express this enough. kobra has a stutter. literally sometimes the only word that will come out is just. F bomb. #the others have gotten very good at translating him skskskddkfj #btw wrt kobra's speech patterns just know I'm cutting WAY back on the amount of repeating I do irl #like I'm giving him my (mild) stutter but cutting down the repetitions by a lot bc it looks weird on paper #so whenever he's repeating himself and stammering? yeah it's a lot more like a scratched CD than how I typed it out #in my head it's like SUPER noticeable. like everyone knows this happens and that sometimes he has to stop and be quiet #and take a minute before he can get on with what he's saying. it's just a thing #ok now that I'm done rambling about kobra kid having a stutter- :) #btw they're like 16 and 17 here. they are children trying to navigate these very big emotions and I love them so so dearly #next time I need to emotionally or physically hurt kobra skfjfnskdn I keep going after poor ghoul #ok I think that's all I have to say for now #she speaks! #she writes! #danger days #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #ttlotfk #kobra kid #fun ghoul #this isn't really funkobra just bc I don't actually ship ANYONE here skskfjdghkdjgfkd #I'm much more compelled by platonic relationships that are kinda the Secret Third Thing than I am by romance. so. yeah

[milimeters-morales]

(NOT ATSV) my ideal miguel and miles friendship (bordering on enemies) dynamic is where Miles is sort of a Mean Girls figure where he’ll say the worst things to Miguel, who actually has no problems dishing that shit right back out, is usually too fed up or somewhere else mentally to reply. They fight a lot, more physically than verbally, usually in a slapstick comedy type of way. Miles is banned from Nueva York once a month and got a restraining order against Miguel in his own dimension. His parents fucking hate him and Miguel hates them right back. Rio has tried and failed to poison him via food and Jeff is considering hiring a hitman. Gabriel is beloved by them. Miles takes Miguel’s money at least twice a week to go spend it just because he can. Miguel has tried (and succeeded once) to get Miles sick with a future illness because he figured out the lesbian bar Miguel liked to perform at in drag. Miles has cried at least once in every room of Miguel’s apartment and Miguel has been confused on what to do each time besides an awkward hug and pat on the back. People are rightfully worried for Miles’s safety at least 80% of the time but when they aren’t they’re shaking their heads at the two’s antics. They need to be separated until they have a healthy “this is a grown ass man / this is stupid little girl i don’t like at work” relationship and it’ll take an act of god for either of them to realize their current one isn’t healthy at all and has extremely negative impacts on their mental state.

#i wanna write this so badly bc like . this type of relationship with adults as a kid when you can’t 100% trsut them and place your safety + #in their hands is sooo interesting to write esp considering Miguel’s past and what Miles is used to #which is dangerous fights from adults (his villains) but also the loving ones like his parents his neighbors ripeter and peter b etc #and this miguel (imo) wouldn’t hurt miles on purpose because he knows the pain BUT he also doesn’t realize some shit is pain-causing both+ #mentally and physically bc yknow some abused kids grow into adults who subconsciously do similar shit #and for Miles and Miguel to finally realize beating the shit out of each other almost constantly and the negative back and forth (if miguel #feels like talking that day) is just. not a good thing #it’s sort of like the way i write pavitr and miles’s relationship regarding their fighting because it’s genuinely helpful but #can seem borderline awful and physically abusive to each other #peter b is so fucking worried sometimes bc he sees Miguel in a completely different way than other people. like he’s off in lala land #like. he’ll see this 15 year old stickbug of a kid fighting his buddy Miguel who has been known to kill #he’ll say some fights tou just can’t win Miles… and Miles is setting Miguel’s apartment on fire #like they have good moments. okay. trust me. but a toxic friendship like the kind you see that people take too seriously from a show like. #idk bluey. or some kids show like that. #spiderverse fans DNI ‼️‼️‼️🤦🏾🤦🏾🤦🏾🤦🏾🤦🏾🤦🏾🤦🏾🤦🏾🤦🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾‼️‼️‼️‼️ #not ship never ship don’t even tag is as such bc i’ll just delete the post #miles morales #spiderman #spider man #gabriel o’hara #rio morales #jefferson morales #miguel o’hara #m&m posts

[shadowed-dancer]

I can’t wait for Best Jeanist to finish Bakugo’s new jeart

#bnha #bnha spoilers #bnha 363 #bnha 364 #katsuki bakugo #typing that word physically hurt me but it had to be done

[eff-plays]

Sometimes I read fic and I'm like ... did we play the same game

#this is beyond 'he would not do that' #this is 'his entire storyline is about him not doing that' type shit #listen i know it hurts that astarion doesn't ACTUALLY want to fuck your pc the moment he sees them but it's the truth!!! sorry!! sorry!! #(doesn't hurt me though i am strong and powerful and have written original slow burn 200k+ fic and my meat is huge) #but come on #at least appreciate a slow burn #will you melt if confronted with the idea that he finds your PC repugnant at first #will you die if you have to wait for that emotional and physical FICTIONAL catharsis #anyway

[wri0thesley]

You know, I have a burn scar on my arm. Accidentally smacked it into the wall of my oven while trying to pull out a pizza. Months later, it hasn’t faded all the way. It’s a shadow of darker skin on my arm, most people don’t realize it’s a burn scar. Just, thinking about Yan Diluc’s Darling, with burn scars easily hidden under all the layers Diluc makes them wear. Even if the scars have mostly faded, and even if Darling is compliant now — Diluc feels a little bad seeing the shadows of the marks he left

he's covered in them too, of course - so at least there's one thing that the two of you have in common. he tries to justify it to himself, that you needed those burns to really understand your situation - that he needed to teach you a lesson, and words were not doing the job, so actions were required. still. you cover them up yourself. even on hot summer days when he takes you out into the winery grounds, you do not let him see your bare shoulders. you ask for nightwear that falls to your ankles, covers you up as completely as you can be-

in the night, when he tries to take them off, you tell him not to and simply hitch them up to your hips. ask him to keep the lamps turned low. that will not stop him kissing every one; knowing where they are on your body (for how many times has he dwelled on how monstrous he was, to have made them bloom on you to begin with?).

he's torn. he hates himself for hurting you, but he would hate himself more for letting you get hurt by somebody else. you should be proud of them; that you have survived this long, that you have lived through all of this. but in another life . . . you are unmarked. you are free. you cannot see what diluc sees - that your safety is far more important than your freedom.

#nat.txt #yandere for ts #not sfw text #dub con for ts #physical abuse for ts #genshin impact posting #diluc is a 'nobody can hurt you but me' AND a 'i only hurt you to keep you safe' type #soggy but so very dangerous