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@desertpoison || The End of the World
“Can't Sleep?”
He whirls, at first. Snaps around with a face made of surprise and guilt like a kid again, caught slinking out of the window well past curfew – a punk crawling down the hall, consequences snapping at his heels. But it's none of that. Just his brother. Kobra's expression blanks and he shrugs his shoulders.
“Maybe I'm sleepwalkin',” he absolves his insomnia “nobody locked the door.”
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♡ URGENCIA ; @notnavra @kkobra
¿el dolor? no era el peor que había sentido, sin embargo, el largo hilo de sangre que recorría su brazo si parecía ser un problema cuando estaban tratando de huir. mal golpe contra una esquina se había convertido en una herida abierta sobre hombro izquierdo. fastidio era mayor cuando la enfermería estaba vacía. ‘ ¿sabes donde están las gasas? ’ levanta su brazo para al menos no ensuciar el piso del lugar.
# NUEVO ESCENARIO DESBLOQUEADO : ESCAPE, con mars / luna / kobra.
¿alguna vez pensó que sería perseguida por un grupo de extraños? sí, mas nunca bajo un concepto tan aterrador. con el corazón en la garganta y las piernas sollozando por la huida, se detuvo en seco cuando una idea cruzó su mente. ‘ deberíamos... ’ el titubeo marcó nerviosismo, dividiendo su mirada entre compañía y aquel escape frente a elles. ‘ ¡entra al auto! ’ ordenó, tragándose todo vestigio de un juicio crítico, antes de lanzarse a sí misma al interior del vehículo para tomar lugar en el asiento del piloto. ‘ nunca he intentado huir de alguien de esta forma y no depositaría tanta confianza en mí. ’ comenzó, como si su tiempo no estuviese marcado. ‘ ¡pero abróchate el cinturón! ’
@deadasadisco ( Cosmic ) || Shiny!
“If you’re being a gentleman, I may die of shock.”
He fucking hates this place. Hands crammed in his pockets, shades high over his eyes and darker than damnation, flatter face that an idiot who couldn't steer a bike right, he's got every wall up. Blanker than blank. Nothing to read, nothing to see but nothing on him in here. The way it always is when he has to step through their door. Not the kind of place he could pretend not to be who he is, and not somewhere he wants to be, it's easiest to slam through like bullet through glass. Someone else's mess to sweep up.
But this one. This one out on their floor like this always puts his teeth tense together. Hard enough that his temple flexes, too. It's a beat before he can find his dullest voice. “You seen my brother t'night?”
⭐️ [ for Kobra. I need some good Venom Brothers feels 😩 ]
Man I had to go hunting for this; each “⭐️” = headcanon about our muses
this is one star but what if I just say several things anyway
hmmmmm so they're fairly close in age i think, around 2-4 years difference, and i also i think they more or less raised each other. one parent out of the picture when they're little (like, Kobra maybe 4 or 5 years old) and then the other parent either couldn't or wouldn't invest in them properly — they had a roof over their head and very little if not nothing else. they lean on each other because that's all they've got to lean on. always has been.
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?!
-> open.
He seems to appear from nothing, as he so often does. An impressive feat, considering the scalding shade of his jacket and all the infamy that sticks to it. To him. But he does it like it's easy, appearing at a strangers shoulder along the row of bar stools without warning, face painted cool. A single brow raised. Unimpressed.
“You're in my spot,” Kobra informs them cooly.
@hvndredzones || What If They Kissed?
Kobra + Ghoul edition
Kobra stomps across the motel's gritty driveway still fruitlessly spinning the starter on his lighter. Empty empty empty, the sparks remind him as they fail to catch for even just a second. He looses an annoyed growl and plucks the unlit cigarette from his lips, shoving it all deep into his pocket. It's only a handful of steps, one door to the other, but the desert night finds that plenty of time to sink its frigid bite into him anyway, blackening his already dubious mood. By the time he's pressing, without asking for permission to enter, through Ghoul's door, he's considering becoming properly ticked off.
There's no reason for it. None he's found, anyhow. When is there ever.
The wall of weird smells, chemical and smoldering, is a familiar comfort. Ghoul's own madness. Kobra sighs before collapsing -whumpf- next to Ghoul on the pile of scrunched up blanket and discarded clothes that covered his bed. Also without asking. He's only still for fractions of a second. Then he grumbles, and shifts, and produces a wad of denim (jeans? or jacket, he's not sure which) from beneath his ribs. “You're worse'n Sunny,” Kobra complains as he shoves it over the side of the mattress directly onto the floor. And, hey, since he's already shifting — Kobra slings an arm over Ghoul's middle, and lands again with his face newly pressed into Ghoul's shoulder.
