#i Love them more than words can express

[hashtagnevermore]

annabel was abt to send prospero an email just to make this shit official

[coffeeisfortheresponsible]

they are gossiping

request from @chaotic-bumblebee-agenda :))

[rubyiiiusions]

i wonder how the sun feels when it falls // sonknux

word count 2489 - ao3 link

summary:

For his entire life, Knuckles had been alone. It was his fate-he was the last echidna, after all, and he enjoyed his solitary lifestyle, but…

It hurt, sometimes. And, in his typical fashion, Sonic was always there to help alleviate that age-old pain, words light and airy, smile carefree as the wind, breathless and sweaty as they fought in the light of the moon, and afterward picking blueberries and tossing them at each other, building a campfire and making s’mores, laughing at the stickiness of a melted marshmallow stuck in blue quills.

enjoy,,, theyre freaks <3

-

Knuckles could barely remember a time when he didn’t love Sonic. 

He’d loved him for as long as he knew what the word meant, and in every sense of it–they were rivals, friends, and somehow so, so much more. From the very beginning, the blue hedgehog had been different; the first of his enemies that actually put up a fight, that threatened his way of living first by shattering his world and then by rebuilding it, sweeping him into a whirlwind of taunts and laughter and too-warm smiles. Sonic got on his nerves in the best way possible, giving him an outlet for everything he struggled to express in words, a punching bag that fought back. He was infuriatingly stubborn–he never gave up, never left, not even after Knuckles got tricked and fought against him for the umpteenth time. It was a dance they’d perfected, stubbornly insisting on getting in each other’s way just to hear the other’s infuriated scoff, to feel the rush of battle as they sparred with words and fists, genuine smiles. 

For his entire life, Knuckles had been alone. It was his fate-he was the last echidna, after all, and he enjoyed his solitary lifestyle, but…

It hurt, sometimes. And, in his typical fashion, Sonic was always there to help alleviate that age-old pain, words light and airy, smile carefree as the wind, breathless and sweaty as they fought in the light of the moon, and afterward picking blueberries and tossing them at each other, building a campfire and making s’mores, laughing at the stickiness of a melted marshmallow stuck in blue quills. Sonic fell asleep curled next to Knuckles, and carefully a bulky hand snaked around his shoulders, pulling him closer, leaning into each other. He wasn’t built to handle delicate things, and while Sonic was usually anything but, now…

He trusted Knuckles. He was vulnerable around him, even after everything they’d been through. Knuckles swallowed, realizing that without noticing, he’d let his defenses down, too. 

He was terrible at reading body language. It was a language he didn’t speak, could barely understand, let alone translate. But even he noticed the way Sonic stumbled around Ares island, limping and smiling, a hand flickering with cyber-corruption. The moon was high above, mirroring the crescent on Knuckles’ chest. He wondered how many sleepless nights he’d had. Less than Sonic, for sure. 

A flicker. He yelped, spinning around, and there she was–that mysterious girl that had trapped him, reduced him to this. He let out a low growl, but she was floating out of reach, and Sonic still insisted that he shouldn’t fight her. Reluctantly, he lowered his fists, eyeing her warily.

“You care for him,” she noted, gazing at the blue hedgehog in the distance, sparring with one of the many robots littering the desert island. “Why?”

“What do you mean?” Knuckles scoffed. “He’s my friend. Of course I care about him.” 

“You argue,” she pointed out, still staring at Sonic’s figure, illuminated in the moonlight. “You don’t see eye to eye, you fight constantly. You claim that you’re friends, yet there’s this odd tension between you. It’s perplexing.”

“Yeah, we’re rivals. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, too.” Knuckles followed her gaze. A laugh found his ears, carried by the wind. “He annoys me, but I admire him. He’s strong, fast… he’s saved me more times than I can count.” He let out a small laugh. “And he depends on me, too. He’d never admit it, but he’d be lost without me.”

The girl hummed. “He’s a confusing specimen, isn’t he? Almost a shame that he has to die.”

Knuckles snorted. “You can try to kill him. I have too. He’s not going to lose. No matter what. I know him.”

He turned back and she was gone. Letting out a sigh, he vanished and flickered back into existence next to Sonic. Somehow, looking at his drooping eyelids, his words and faith in his rival seemed unfounded. 

“It’s dark,” he commented, not knowing quite what to say. “You seem tired.” 

Sonic brushed him off, waving a hand. “Psh. I’m fine, Knux. If anything, you seem like you’re struggling to keep up. Did I wear you out?” he teased, instinctively elbowing him. His arm fizzled through flesh, flickering in and out of existence, a constant reminder of the predicament they were in, the state Knuckles trusted Sonic with his life to help him escape. 

“Hardly,” he snorted. “But I’m not sure I trust you to take down that titan while you look like you’re about to collapse.” 

“Please.” Sonic yawned. “I could take that hunk of junk down in my sleep. ”

“It almost blew you up yesterday.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“I–” Knuckles bit back his concern, turning away. “Fine. Just… be careful, ok?”

“Please.” Sonic laughed, far too strained. “Careful? Where’s the fun in that?”

-

He was limp, frozen in place, flickering and corrupted. Knuckles mirrored him, trembling at the sight. Amy let out a cry, running to Sonic, and he tried to force himself to do the same but he couldn’t move , paralyzed by shock, dread, the world spinning so much he barely noticed the ground that felt solid at his feet. 

“What happened to him?” He asked, head spinning, and this all felt like a scene from one of those horror movies Rouge loved to watch with him, something that couldn’t be real, there was no way, but there Sonic was, paralyzed, grinning, ever upbeat, the spitting image of the optimistic hero, the light of hope, snuffed out. 

“He took on so much cyber energy,” Tails’ voice was soft, miserable, almost shrouded in disbelief. “It… it corrupted him.”

“Meaning?” His ears were ringing. 

“He’s stuck between realities. He’s in limbo. He… he lost.” 

No. There was a lump in his throat, forcing its way out in the form of a tiny, choked cry, finally finding the strength to stumble forward. It was all blurry except for him, a frozen statue, eyes open, flesh blackened and flickering that vile red, corrupted through and through, and, of course, the small, pained grin on his face. His hand found a once-blue shoulder and didn’t pass through it. He forced back a sob. He can’t be dead. He can’t–

He didn’t lose. There’s no way.

Eggman was cackling(he was here, of course he was here), but it was faint background noise, deafened by the ringing in his ears, and Sonic wasn’t breathing, Chaos, he wasn’t breathing – 

“Wake up,” he breathed, barely audible, shaking Sonic’s shoulders, and he was stone-cold. “Please. You have to wake up. You can’t--” 

A rumble, booming ominously in the distance, shaking the very ground below his feet. Knuckles pulled away, jolted back to reality, looking around frantically. Whoever did this to him is going to pay, he thought, grim. His light of hope had been snuffed out, but what could he do except fight on? It was all he knew how to do anyway. Hope was a weak drug compared to vengeance. 

“Since time immemorial I have languished here. Now, the locks are broken. I shall tear down the walls between dimensions and consume all.”

Knuckles growled, clenching his fists and stepping forward, mouth parting to shout his defiance to the stars, standing between it and the fallen celestial next to him. Eggman was panicking, shouting something about mobilizing the Egg Fleet, but it was helpless. If Sonic had lost, what chance did any of them have of winning? A broken record of his own hopeless concerns, data backing up the inevitable conclusion, the girl he’d seen earlier gripped Eggman’s shoulder, shaking it frantically, eyes flicking from Knuckles to Sonic to the sky and back again. “It won’t be enough! It triumphed over the Ancients’ technology! My simulations show a success rate of zero percent!” 

Of course, Knuckles thought, grim, blood running cold, turning back to look at Sonic again. His eyes were no longer green, consumed by that sickening, flickering, lifeless red. He stepped back, still in disbelief, looking down at his now-solid hands. He sacrificed himself for us. You selfless idiot. 

“No!” Tails’ voice cut through the daze, drawing his eyes to him. His face, screwed in determination despite the tears brimming in his eyes, somehow mirrored his brother’s in a way that tore and shredded at Knuckles’ heart, tugging at his heartstrings. Things will never be the same again, will they? “Sonic worked too hard for us to give up now. Those visions we saw… we can drive back the corruption and bring him back!”

Knuckles inhaled, gaze traveling from his hands, no longer flickering, to the corrupted hero. Of course. When he freed me, the energy keeping me prisoner went into him. A small, sad smile found its way to his muzzle. We’ll see who’s self-sacrificing now, you bastard. You’ve saved me time and time again, it’s time to return the favor. 

His hand found Tails’, Amy grasping his other fist as if her life depended on it. Her voice was shaky, full of emotion that Knuckles wished he knew how to express. “Sonic, you still have love to share with this world, too!”

“Sonic, I want you to see the hero I become!” Tails cried, squeezing Knuckles’ hand tightly. The world was beginning to hum, echoing in his ears. He stepped closer to his friend--no, so much more, that warmth in his chest, that faded from enemies to rivals to friends to whatever they had been, could be if this only worked. He supposed that he could call that love. Whatever it takes. 

“Sonic.” His voice was far shakier than he would have liked. “We’re even after this, ha!” 

And everything flickered to black. 

-

 “You look tired,” Sonic commented, pushing through the brush as he followed Knuckles through his island. Knuckles snorted, laden with something… more. “You’re one to talk.” 

“Nah.” Sonic shrugged, and though Knuckles was unsure if his grin was real or not, it still made his heart shiver and pound in his chest. “I’m more awake than ever after punching through that planet. Eclipse cannon who, am I right? At least I finished the job.” 

Both paused, a bitter taste spreading across Knuckles’ tongue. It wasn’t just Sonic that had sacrificed in the face of the End. The girl–no, her name was Sage –had given everything she never had and something more. 

“Hey,” Sonic murmured, breaking the silence, leaning down to scoop a sad-looking chao off of the ground. “You alright?”

“I’ve been away for a while. I guess they’ve grown dependent on me to shake the trees for them.” Knuckles absentmindedly punched the trunk of a tree beside him, catching the fruit that fell and handing it to the chao. “Here you go, little guy.” 

The chao chirped happily, curling closer to Sonic as it munched on the triangle fruit, seemingly content to remain in the hero’s arms. This time, his smile was genuine–Knuckles was sure of it, and it made his head spin, the tiny laugh that Sonic let out. His head was spinning in a good way this time, like he was sliding down a hill, leaping into a pile of leaves, freefalling as far as he could before gliding just inches above the seaspray. 

“Sonic?”

“Mhm?” The hedgehog turned, eyes glimmering with joy as he scratched the chao on the belly. 

“I–” he paused, trying to find the right words, and giving up when he realized he never would, there would never be a way to encapsulate the way Sonic made him feel, but he’d try anyway. Funny how losing him, even if just for a moment, made everything feel so much more temporary and simultaneously shoved it into place. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad that you’re alive.” 

Sonic laughed, joyful and free and real . “Wow, thanks for the sentiment,” he joked, playfully elbowing Knuckles, careful not to disturb the chao that had clambered onto his shoulder. 

“No.” Knuckles looked away. Why were his cheeks burning? “Sonic, when you got corrupted, I–I guess it made me realize how much I need you, how much I care about you as… well, as more than just a rival or a friend. More than I thought. You’re just so… so free, and yet you care so much, even though you don’t have to. You sacrifice so much not just for your friends, but for your enemies, for people you’ll never meet. So… thank you, I guess.” He bit his lip. “...Don’t make me say it again, you know how I am with feelings–”

Sonic swallowed his yelp of surprise, hands suddenly clinging to his dreads, pulling him close, somehow sweet and frantic all at once, and oh.

Oh.

That’s what that was. 

He began to pull away but Knuckles pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, hands coming to cup his grip on his dreads, and suddenly he was being shoved backwards, pressed against the trunk of the tree he’d just punched to give the chao fruit. Sonic hummed against his lips, parting for just a second before diving in again, clinging to Knuckles as if his life depended on it, not the other way around. “I love you too,” he murmured against his lips, and Knuckles shuddered, refusing to let the kiss end. It didn’t feel real but it somehow felt so, so right , as if he’d been waiting for this his entire life without realizing it, and maybe he had been, maybe that was what he’d been missing all this time. It was like he was walking on a cloud, Sonic pulling him up among the stars, outshining all of them with the way he unraveled Knuckles, piece by piece, delicately yet completely pulling him apart and cradling him close. He was trembling like a leaf, Knuckles realized, and suddenly they were falling.

They separated with a gasp, Sonic tumbling to the ground and swearing as he lost his balance, Knuckles following with a yelp. In an instant, they were a tangled pile of limbs and fur on the forest floor, stunned into silence before Sonic laughed, raspy and real . 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he admitted. Knuckles scoffed. “What, you waited ?” he teased. “Do I know you?”

The chao let out a whine and Sonic winced, turning to look at it, sitting grumpily on the floor with crossed arms and an upturned nose. “Sorry, little guy. Didn’t mean to drop you.” It peeped, frustrated, and Knuckles sighed in contentment, holding out a bulky hand for it to climb into and pulling it close. “Really Sonic, have more respect for the wildlife,” he scolded. 

Sonic sniffed, turning up his nose. “I had more important business to take care of.” Knuckles growled playfully, capturing him again. 

[intheorangebedroom]

Good morning, Orange besties 🧡

How are you all doing on this fine whatever-the-fucking-day-it-is?

I'm taking a leaf out of my wise and darling Cee's (@fuckyeahdindjarin) book to let you all know that, even though I've been back since Sunday, it's been very difficult to ease back into real life. Who would have guessed that spending a week with your besties lying on beautiful beaches, eating good food, laughing your tits off, reading actual books and daydreaming about the Pilot would be that challenging to come back from, huh? Unbelievable.

ANYHOO. I've got a lot of backlogged tags, reblogs, comments, posts (I love you all SO DAMN MUCH) to go through, and I'm not even going to mention irl chores and work (the nerves on these things), nor will I address tybtm's next chapter which is coming along at fucking SNAIL PACE 🤯🙃

So thank you all so very much for your patience while I sort my shit out 🧡

[celaenaeiln]

heyyy

this is just me guilt posting because i think about this a lot and feel really bad about it but not everything i post about a subject came to me at the same time. What I mean is some of them are older asks and some of them are newer ones, I just post them as a group because there's so much I want to say on the subject but sometimes what I want to delve into relating to that subject would be a tangent of one post but the focus for another so I kinda post the multiple asks and own posts at the same time because I want to give the maximum amount of what can be said on it and my full attention and focus because it means a lot to me that you took time out of your day to send me something that you find interesting or have a question about and I want to reciprocate that to the full extent. This is also just me feeling guilty because I know i take an incredibly long time for some of them, and I'm so incredibly sorry and just thank you so much for your patience <33. Also because the asks come in at different times and I post them as one cohesive unit, I want to say that the asks aren't always influenced by each other. They are the writers' own thoughts and opinions and I want to give credit to that because they're brilliant.

And I also want to say that I love yall so, so much. It means more than the world to me that you guys chose to follow me, like my posts, reblog them, ask me how I'm doing, send me stuff you like...y'all are the light of my days. Thank you so much for being amazing and wonderful and kind and it makes me extremely happy to be here because you guys make it that way.

[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.

[dawdlecentric]

Man, this doujin isn't fucking around

Meanwhile, Seikuri in the background...

Doujin: Flashbackers by Totobe

[sysig]

I also made a card for him (Patreon)

[murdleandmarot]

Hiii!!! I mainly wanted to say hi how ya cooking :3 I misplaced my murdle book after a road trip but I realised I'm really bad at figuring out who's lying do you have any tips?? Ty for reading this :D 🫶

HI HELLO SORRY FOR NOT RESPONDING

I got sick and then got sad 💔💔💔

Okay so my irl friend who also has the murdle book (I threw it at their head for their birthday <3) is also having the same problem. The witness statements are the worst in the world, I’m kinda bad at them too, and it’ll be difficult to explain in text but here it goes:

Go down the line and take turns operating under the assumption that one statement at a time is untrue. That’ll make it easier to figure out who’s telling the truth, because if you reverse a true statement, that means 2/3 of the statements are false, and the whole problem falls apart.

Fill out the whole box too, because then it’s easier to figure out what’s what.

I’m so sorry if this is incomprehensible it’s very late here and I’m tired <3333 also logic puzzles are hard for me to explain because words no go work <333333

ALSO!!!! A really quick way to figure out if there’s a flaw in a problem is to make 3/4 of a box with the check marks. Kinda like

Like this *shrugs apologetically*

Thanks for reaching out ily lots 🫶🫶🫶‼️‼️‼️

[freezer-bird]

Anya taylor joy and Mia goth came out of a final girl factory

[pythoria]

hello everyone! a quick break from your scheduled art posting to talk about this incredible fic i think ever bloodweave enjoyer should read.

i know it'a already very popular, but imo it's a must-read. i could not praise this fic enough for what it is, the amazing ideas it brings to the table, the incredible execution of the timeloop trope. it's by far the fic i look forward to seeing in my inbox the most (not that other fics aren't absolutely gorgeous), because every chapter is just. a delight to read. it's got angst, fluff, and an amazing romance, but the plot is what really makes it stand out. it's tight, packed with great characterisation and has perfect pacing. please give it a shot if that sounds at all interesting to you. oh yeah, and did i mention that it's got art for every single chapter? yeah, read it. bask in its genius.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[rosicheeks]

OMG! OMG! OMG!

I never thought I would see a video of you singing! You are so beautiful. Your voice is amazing! To see your cuteness while you sing is wonderful. Those cheeks! Your face is so expressive, and your shoulder roll was so fun. Those freckles! and that giggle at the end...(big sigh)...

The sound I made when I saw the ask about it was not as embarrassing as the sound I made when found that the video was still up. You have made me so happy with this. I know it's silly but I teared up listening to it because I had to close my eyes to stop from crying. This is so beautiful! You are so beautiful and it has nothing to do with how you look. Thank you Princess! Thank you!

[shewantsitall]

It's angst on a new level tbh

[gingerbreadmonsters]

[eyes narrow]

[jenanigans1207]

Good evening. Today I am feral with the need to introduce you to my OCs. You don’t understand the unrelenting desire I have to share them with you. I love them so much and I want so desperately for someone else to love them, too. So if you are so inclined, please read this scene for them that has me foaming at the mouth.

(Tw: mentions of death (nobody actually dies), mentions of blood (not graphic))

—x

“I swear to god.” Cam huffs, nearly collapsing alongside Cayden as he tries to slowly lower him to the ground. “If you think you can die by someone else’s hand—”

“What are you going to do?” Cayden rasps around a painful, choked off breath as he falls to the ground uncerimoniously— and far more quickly than Cam intended, if his wince of sympathy pain is any indication. “Kill me?”

Cam’s sharp glare is anything but intimidating to Cayden who has gotten that glare more times than he can count in his life. From the first time they met, when his glare really was filled with malice and disinterest, all the way to about ten minutes ago, even to thirty seconds ago— Cayden is a master at parsing that look.

There are subtle nuances to it that indicate what Cam is really feeling. For a long time, Cayden had thought that it was all in the eyebrows. The more furrowed, the sharper the lines of Cam’s eyebrows, the more genuinely angry he was with Cayden. But that wasn’t it— or rather, that wasn’t only it. There were little subtleties in all aspects of the look— the corners of his lips, the shape of his eyes, the set of his jaw— that really told Cayden what he needed to know. In this case, the look was exasperated, fond and worried. Definitely worried. That was the largest emotion that was swimming in Cam’s eyes every time he had looked at Cayden in the last ten minutes.

“I’ll haunt your stupid ass,” Cam remarks instead of addressing anything that he’s currently concerned about.

Not that he really needs to say anything— the gaping wound in Cayden’s side is a pretty big indicator of Cam’s worries. Not to mention the way he can’t put any weight on his left leg without it feeling like it’s going to buckle underneath him. He’d had to be partially dragged by Cam all the way to cover. He’d attempted to limp as much of it as he could but somehow, even when he was making active effort to go as fast as he possibly could, ti was slower than if Cam just dragged him. And really, he’d been so tired that he hadn’t minded the dragging,

“Pretty sure I would be the one doing the haunting.” Cayden tries to ease back against the wall behind him, his side sending sharp jolts of pain through his body that caused him to jump and pause periodically. He tried to breathe through it, doing his best to relax his muscles. It was incredible how much pain made a difference in such simple things. “Living people don’t haunt ghosts, it’s the other way around. So I would haunt your stupid ass.”

Cam doesn’t reach for him immediately but Cayden can tell he wants to. Cam’s hands hover at his side, just a little bit in front of him as if they had started to reach out to him immediately and it had taken Cam a second to notice and stop them.

“I’ll be the first one.” Cam replies, but the downturn of his lips tells Cayden that all the humor has bled out of the situation. Now Cam is just outright worried, somewhere on the verge of panicking, he thinks. “I’ll make history by haunting you in the afterlife.”

Cayden manages one huff of a laugh before the pain spikes again and he’s wincing, taking in a deep breath through his teeth and trying to keep his head on straight, “You’d go that far for me?” He tries to tease because he knows his reaction is only making Cam more anxious and right now they can’t afford for either one of them to lose their cool. “And here I thought you wanted to kill me.”

“Shut up.” Cam whispers as he finally reaches for Cayden and there’s so much tenderness in those two words, so much fond adoration, so much fear that Cayden almost does lose his mind.

Tenderness is something that hasn’t been meant for him in years. Ever since his mom had passed away, he hadn’t had anyone treat him with the same kind of concern and kindness that he saw in Cam’s eyes now.

And that wasn’t strictly true— for awhile now, Cam had been caring for him and trying to tend to him in ways that felt similar to the love his mother had but somehow entirely different. He tried not to look at it too closely sometimes, afraid that he would scare it off if he acknowledged it. Because he was used to a lot of things, but by now he certainly wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to deft but delicate fingers pressing his side, wasn’t used to listening to Cam murmur concerned half-sentences under his breath as he bit the corner of his lip in an attempt to keep whatever darker thoughts he was no doubt having from slipping out. He wasn’t used to being cared for so openly, so honestly.

Because this tenderness— this cut worse than a knife.

Cayden knew that with absolute certainty because he had been cut with a knife before.

This, though— this wasn’t a physical wound. There would be no marks of Cam’s concern marring his skin, no scar he could point to and explain this situation. The cut that Cam gave him with his distress was entirely emotional— it cut much, much deeper than any blade possibly could. It would leave the kind of scar that nobody could see, but Cayden would be able to feel forever. If he ever lost this, if he ever lost Cam—

“If one of us has to die here,” Cayden mumbles as Cam presses a hand over the wound in his side to see if pressure makes any sort of difference. “I’m glad it’s me.”

“Don’t say shit like that,” Cam growls immediately and the pressure on Cayden’s side increases for a moment as Cam’s anger flares. He leans into Cayden, his eyes flashing and for a moment, he looks as lethal as he actually is.

It’s a rare sight for Cayden because Cam is his best friend and he knows only the good sides of Cam. That is to say, he knows Cam for who he really is. It just so happens that who he really is is made up entirely of good sides.

Cayden presses his own hand over Cam’s, the temperature difference between their skin stark and probably alarming if Cayden had the energy to be alarmed. “I’m serious.” He breathes, trying to catch Cam’s gaze but Cam steadfastly refuses to allow it. “Not just because the world would be better off if you were the one to survive, though that’s true, but because I don’t want to see a world without you in it.”

“And you think I want to see a world without you in it?” Cam all but roars, only their dire situation keeping his temper even the tiniest bit in check, preventing him from raising his voice as much as he’d probably like to. His chest heaves as he takes ragged breaths, his shoulders rising and falling with so much effort, Cayden can feel the strain of it. “You think that it’s okay for you to just leave me here? That I would be okay if you— If I lost you?”

The air is cold— or maybe that’s Cayden, he can’t quite tell anymore. But he knows there’s a chill creeping across his skin. Despite it, he can feel the warmth of Cam’s meaning pressing against his heart, nestling into a home between his ribs.

“You’d find a way.” Cayden’s hand slips off of Cam’s, his arm feeling weak. He lets it drop to his side, lets his head fall back against the wall behind him. “To be okay, I mean.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Cam says with so much sincerity it steals what little breath Cayden had managed to get into his lungs. “I would never be okay, do you hear me? I would never be okay if you died on me here and now. So don’t you even fucking think about it.” Cayden blinks slowly back at him, trying to get his hazy mind to focus. “Cayden, you asshole, do you hear me? You’re not allowed to die right now! You’re not allowed to— I wouldn’t— I couldn’t—“

There’s a pressure on his chest and it takes Cayden a moment to realize that Cam has bowed his head, pressing it against his sternum. His shoulders shake, his hand trembles where it’s pressed to Cayden’s side, Cayden can feel it. He’s so warm, like a personal furnace who is here specifically to fight off the chill that’s threatening to steal all the way across his skin.

And maybe it’s the fact that Cam’s breaths are as ragged as his own, maybe it’s because Cam has been so raw and honest in his words. Maybe it’s because a small part of Cayden is afraid that he actually is dying right now, afraid that any fo these words could truly be his last. He isn’t sure and at the moment, he doesn’t really have the time to make himself sure, all he knows is that he has a truth he has to ay and this very well may be the last chance he ever gets to say it.

“I’m glad I met you.” The world is starting to seem hazy around the edges, the background fading away until it’s only Cam that Cayden can see. “I’m glad you showed up that first day and interfered with my fight. I—“ He takes a shuddering breath and raises a hand to gentle cradle the back of Cam’s head. Cam’s still pressed against him but Cayden knows he’s listening, absolutely rapt. “I didn’t know it then, but I needed you in my life. “

It’s silent for only the length of one, slow heartbeat before Cam pulls away and looks at him, “And, what? You don’t need me anymore so you’re just going to leave me?”

“Cam, you idiot.” Cayden’s arm falls to Cam’s shoulder and he lets it rest there, lets it connect the two of them, a physical representation of their paths that crossed that day. Cayden would’ve never guessed that Cam would matter like this to him some day, that he would be one of the only people Cayden would burn the world to the ground to protect. “I will never stop needing you. I’d spend every goddamn day on this Earth by your side if I could.”

“You can!” Cam cries, throwing his hands up into the air. He pauses for a moment and then settles his palms against Cayden’s cheeks, cupping his face gently. He repeats himself, quietly this time and it’s so much more broken when it’s spoken so softly, so overflowing with fear. “You can. You can fight, you can get through this and then we can spend every goddamn day together. Cayden, you must.”

“I’m so tired of fighting.”

And it’s true— it’s so painfully true, it hurts more than his throbbing leg, more than his bleeding side. He is so tired. He’s been fighting since his mom died— fighting for a place in his dad’s heart, a spot in his own family and then a spot in this world. He’s been fighting Malumbra, he’s been fighting the Dargobiu, he’s been fighting himself. He’s so tired of fighting because he hasn’t been given anything in his life without a fight. Even this, the potential last moments of his life— he had to fight for these, too. He had to fight to make it out of there alive, to even get to this place where he can have this fleeting moment with Cam.

“I know.” Cam’s thumb strokes gently across his cheek and the motion is so soothing that Cayden can’t help but close his eyes. “I know, but you have to keep fighting. You have to do it for me. Please, Cay? Please? For me?”

“That’s not fair.” Cayden coughs once and it rattles his whole frame, His ribs feel like they’re bumping into each other as he does, loose and brittle and just as close to falling apart as the rest of him is. “It’s called a dying with and I’m the one who’s dying. Stop trying to steal my wish.”

“It’s too late.” Cam leans forward again and Cayden can feel Cam’s forehead press against his own. “I already took your wish. If you want it back, you’re going to have to stay alive and come get it from me.”

Cayden laughs. It tries to turn into another cough but he fights it off. “Always playing dirty.”

“You know it.” Cam all but whispers, so close that Cayden can hear him perfectly anyways. “Anything to keep you here with me.”

“Cam—“

“No,” Cam shakes his head and it disturbs the hair falling across Cayden’s forehead, jostles him just enough that he feels momentarily more awake. “You don’t get to say anything else to me unless you’re promising to survive this.”

“What if—“

“I know you don’t ever listen,” Cam cuts him off gently. “But listen now. I won’t hear it unless it’s you promising me that you’ll survive.”

“I can’t make that promise.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Cam—“

“I can’t hear you!”

They’re silent for a long moment and Cayden fights to blink his eyes back open. Cam is there, barely an inch away, his own eyes closed. He isn’t crying, but Cayden can see how tightly he’s clenching his jaw to fight off the tears or any other unwanted emotions. He knows that he would do anything for Cam, he’s known that for a long time now. And anything, he knows, includes fighting to survive, even when every cell in his body is begging him to give up, to let them rest like they haven’t done in so many years.

He takes in a slow inhale, focuses on really expanding his lungs.

“Fine,” He says, and Cam’s eyes fly open to stare back at him. “I promise, I’ll survive.”

“Really?” Cam sounds breathless as he sits upright.

There’s blood on his hands, blood on both of their shirts and no doubt blood on Cayden’s cheek. He’s aching from head to toe, from his skin all the way down to his bones. There isn’t a single part of him that isn’t protesting his promise but he knows that he can’t give up now, not when Cam is asking him to fight,

“Really.” He nods weakly, “But I’m going to make your life hell when I recover.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Cam agrees with a smile.