#!!!! thank u for ask my friend

[falafels]

pt.15!!: a saga starring margarita jeremy

<pt.14 pt.16>

tag gang @andrewsleftarmband @blurryhour @you-know-i-get-itt @notexactlythatgirl @strangeoffputtingrat @tessasilverswan @minyard-05 @carbon-dated-gal @bisexualchaosdemon @stormiiflies @watercoloureyes01 <333

[stealingpotatoes]

Thinking about tl4j au and bd-1 hanging with Ezras many loth cats, they have adopted him as one of their own LOL.

Anyways hope you're at least going somewhere fun with such a long train ride?

YES!! he has little ears and funny legs, he’s one of them

[k-meanzzz-better]

dont put yourself down!!! your art is absolutely amazing!!!!! i absolutely love how you draw speeding bullet it brings me so much joy

Oh, God, THANK YOU and everyone else for the kind words! I really, really appreciate it! Yall are awesome ❤

I LOVE drawing Speeding Bullet, so I'm glad that some of you enjoyed my work. They look so cute together, I can't resist drawing silly things with them~

I really thought you wouldn't read my words at the end from the last post, I'm so sorry for that!! It was a bad day, a bad conversation and I just… poured out my emotions here!

The truth is that I understand myself sooo poorly that my dear, beloved friend is doomed to bear with me and this blog. They're the reason I'm here and keep doing something (they're stubborn as hell...) I just can't see my work... complete or decent, and I can be very critical of myself, but who doesn't? Haha yeah…

So, what I wanted to say, a little insult to my art and I’m sad as crap for at least a week. That’s crazy. You should just ignore my outbursts cuz they’re stupid, don't worry.

And again, thank yall for everything!!! You can ask or give me ideas of what to draw whenever you want! I'll be flattered ;)

[jesncin]

I have the most important question on Earth for you; Do you think Goldie had a crush on Ray too?

this is indeed the most important question of all time. Here's the answer:

Goldie doesn't remember meeting a "Ray Monde" but he has. Briefly.

the consensus is that Goldie doesn't share John's unique feelings for Ray, but he does have some things to say about it.

[emry-stars-art]

Just wanna say thank you for drawing Andrew the way you do. I am built almost the exact same way as he is (5 nothing athlete) and seeing his body the way you draw it looks just like me! I never see people do that, and it gets me a lil insecure sometimes lol. But Andrew ain’t some skinny stick!! He gotta have abs to whip that goalie stick around!! He gotta be thicc!!!

thank you for drawing him with a realistic body 🥹❤️❤️❤️

Every time I get an ask about beefy Andrew I only get stronger. Not as strong as Andrew but stronger

(Anyway I drew this bc of @the-greater-grief ‘s comments on my post (this one) based on @02511213942 ‘s post (this one) for “best friend’s brother” Andrew lol. Sorry I didn’t get Neil’s reaction but we can all imagine it 🙏)

[gomzdrawfr]

Fish talk.

Price likes rainbow trout that he cooked himself in garlic and butter in a ration tin over an open fire. Nothin better than trout you caught, gutted and cooked yourself on the river bank. Bonus points for a bottle of something cold and hoppy to go along with it while he eats it on the river bank, still wearing his wellies and waders.

For Nik, it's calamari and grilled sea bass with a glass of white wine, maybe a sauvignon blanc from France, in some swanky hotel on the Adriatic coast. Just sitting there in beige chinos, an open shirt and bare feet, skin still warm from where he was basking in the sun all day, not even checking the bill before he pays for it.

Fish recipes by the one and only, now visualised (somewhat) hehe

bonus of my reaction:

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt���so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[saintbleeding]

Ummmm for the drawing prompt... Could you do a Jon smiling. I need more of that in my life. Thank u <333

[ID: Four digital bust portraits of Jon from TMA. The top two show him in season one and childhood, with the same tight, discomfited grimace. Text between these two says “trying rly hard” with arrows pointing at both of them. The bottom two show him in childhood, smiling serenely with text that says “home alone all day”, and season three, smiling and holding his phone up near his face. A speech bubble pointing at the phone says “Martin (Work)” with a call duration timer that shows 27:46. End ID.]

leave him alone he can’t do it on command ok!!!

[moth-flowers]

moth-flowers #21

[suddenly-stickmin]

draw galeforce right NEOWWQ!!!!! /NF /LOVE UR ART

HERE YOU GOOOOOO THANK U FOR THE NICE WORRRDDDSS!!!!!!

[sourmiiiilk]

[stealingpotatoes]

BD-1 is the most adorable droid ever known to mankind or alien kind 💕

ive been having a bit of a bad week (bc of reasons that largely include "my phone almost blew up and i had to get a new one and i miss my old phone") but this ask inspired me to decorate my new phone and i feel less oof abt it now <3

[artuurle]

How does Bauhauzzo react when Huzzle shows up with a living Click Clack?

Huzzle almost immediately went to Bauhauzzo in the au, actually! He's busy trying to slow the advancement of the rift (just as a precaution, it'd be fine without him- but to err on the side of caution is a good idea, he thinks.) He responds pretty calmly, all being considered.

I also thinks he tries to offer his perspective to his sibling to calm it down a little bit. Loss has been one of the most reoccurring themes in history, a chorus of "If only"s and "what ifs" everyone experiences after all. bonus sillies:

[anywayxstarchild]

— mojo magazine full interview, oasis, may 2005:

+highlights:

liam gallagher: it's biblical innit, cain and abel... it's me and our kid. or me and you. two people who are the opposite, who become one.

[interviewer: are you holding an olive branch out to noel?]

liam gallagher: it's nice to put a band aid on it for a bit, knowwhatimean? i love him, i adore him, more than anyone else in the fuckin' whole wide world. but we also don't speak that much. we don't have to speak. but that song is basically for him. it's like, shut the fuck up. give respect and you'll get respect back. life, brothers and sisters, that's what we all want isn't it, respect?

[interviewer: or love...]

liam gallagher: but love is the same kind of thing. if you love someone you respect someone, you respect someone, you love someone. it all comes in the same... sandwich.

+

[interviewer: he says ggtia is about you and him...]

noel gallagher: oh is it? is that what he said? for 6 months, i thought that song was ggti a-b-I-e. i'm very fucking confused as to what it means, but if he's writing songs about me then great. it's fucking better than writing songs about the missus.

+

liam gallagher: me and him are brothers and we'll never be over. that's the beauty of the band. if we were mates then we'd be out on our arse before now, but we're in this forever. i'm a sense it was never over. but [la, 1994] was a dark time. what with our 'new found fame' and all that nonsense, and i thought maybe this was it. but in the back of my mind, there was always a way back. me and 'im will go on forever, and beyond... beyond this time. it'll go on forever and ever and ever.

+

[interviewer: what would persuade you to pack in oasis?]

noel gallagher: what, altogether? i'd never pack it in. i can't leave oasis. i am oasis. it's be like pete townshend leaving the who and roger carrying on. i can never leave. i am the fucking band.

saw the famous excerpt about ggtia circulating again and decided to unearth the full interview. have never seen it on tumblr before, so ! had to provide🙂‍↕️

[wyervan]

Hiii i saw this post about how Slasher Moon would react if a stranger complimented his vertiligo and i wanted to know- How would he react if a friend or someone close to him complimented him or said his vertiligo is pretty

Cuz i find him real pretty along with Sun teheheehzehzjdhd > - >

(I love your Slasher and Yuletide AU so much they're really amazing i'm goin INSANEEE for them- the boys' designs are neatttt)

Have a good day/night :3

Referencing this post

Hmm well even from a friend, or someone he’s sweet on, Moon’s knee-jerk reaction to a compliment is still suspicion. Trauma’s a bitch like that ☠️. He struggles to let himself believe that someone could really think that of him. “Laying it on thick. Trying to butter me up for something?” he might joke back, but looking away, genuinity catching him off guard.

Too much flattery would be excessive, but little doses here and there and he might start to believe that you mean it… and then you have a bigger problem on your hands because Moon’s ego was already big enough 🙄. Remember tho, he might not mind being called a pretty bird, but he’ll always revel in being a little bit scary 😛

[rogdona]

I love your ocs so much!! Just had to doodle one of them!! ^_^

OMGGGGGGGG THIS IS SO PRETTY THANK YOU SO MUCHHHHHHH🌹♥️🌹♥️🌹♥️🌹♥️🌹♥️♥️🌹♥️🌹 LOVEEEEEE THE PAINTING STYLE IN HERE ITS LOVELYYY💕🌷🌷💕🌷💕🌷💕🌷💕🌷💕🌷💕🌷💕 AND THE WAY U DID THE FUR ON THE EARS AND TAILLLLLL🌺💗🌺💗🌺💗🌺💗🌺💗🌺💗🌺💗 THE POSE AND THE COLORS ARE SO GOOD TOOOO💗♥️💗♥️♥️💗♥️💗♥️💗♥️💗♥️ AND I LOVE THE MIX OF BLENDING PLUS THE DOTS TO TRANSITION BETWEEN COLORSSS🌷💗🌷💗🌷💗🌷💗🌷🌷💗 THANK U SMMMMMMMMMM💕🌹💕🌹💕🌹💕🌹💕🌹💕🌹💕