#!!!! thank u for ask my friend

[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

[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 🙏)

[doctorwhommm]

I hsve an idea. Could u draw rose and ianto as besties

absOLUTELY I CAN

they’re chatting shit (lovingly) about their tall, long-coat-wearing, time-travelling, death-cheating, alien boyfriends who have spikey hair

[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

[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:

[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.

[sourmiiiilk]

[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:

[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.

[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🙂‍↕️

[gigisriley]

wait people say charpim is toxic or that they wouldn't work out as a healthy relationship??? im so confused is this just angst being grafted onto them or is there a valid argument to be made here?

Im new to the smiling friends fanbase btw and mostly am a lurker that seldom comes by to see fan content lel

first off, WARGGGHHH thank you for the ask i’m literally SO excited to answer!!!

rambling below the cut!!

i’m in two camps on this one. I think charpim in its CURRENT state definitely wouldn’t work. BUT Pim is definitely the kind of person who has the capacity to help Charlie. Pim is a very affectionate guy, and he’s open, honest and sincere. Hle’s very genuine, compassionate and beyond kind. In other words, he’s *exactly* what Charlie needs. Pim can make him better.

Charlie isn’t a bad guy. He’s far from it, actually. His whole job revolves around making people smile, even if his goal is a paycheck and not that fuzzy feeling you get in your chest when you make someone’s day better.

But he’s a very flawed guy. In Charlie goes to Hell and Doesn’t Come Back, I remember reading somewhere that Micheal and Zach wanted to originally make Charlie vape in the beginning, but the studio wouldn’t let them. So they settled on energy drinks. Thats why The Devil says “I can quit my addicted vices whenever I want”- this is supposed to be a moment of realization for Charlie. He can see himself in The Devil in that moment.

In Erm, The Boss Finds Love? Charlie literally gets shitfaced at the wedding. Even as he walks into the break room the next day, he says “I can’t keep doing this. Something’s gotta change, brother.” in reference to his hangover. He’s unhappy with where he is, and he recognizes there is a problem. But he doesn’t do anything to fix that. In the alien episode, both him AND Pim get shitfaced.

Charlie also instigates fights. In both Charlie Dies and Doesn’t Come back and the alien episode, Charlie’s the one to stir the pot. When they go looking for a tree to chop down, Pim keeps a level head and calm voice. Charlie’s the one who raises his voice and takes the axe to the tree. Charlie instigates thus fights with the dudebro aliens, literally egging them on. He’s so caught up in this that he literally elbows Pim in the face.

Plus, you never want to get into a relationship with someone under the notion that you can “fix” them. More often than not, people don’t change. It takes a MAJOR life event or some kind of trauma for someone to change. And Charlie, in the face of LITERALLY being given a second chance, continues to drink, instigate fights, and give in to his addictive vices.

In his current state, Charlie would definitely be the ‘toxic’ one in the relationship. He’d instigate fights, come home drunk out of his gourd, and he’d hurt Pim emotionally. Whether or not he’d hurt him on purpose is up for debate. Pim would overexert himself trying to keep them together, and fall apart. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.

Charlie needs to change if they’re going to work. He needs to get better. THATS why I think they wouldn’t work, at least not yet.

At the end of the day they’re just silly little guys in a cartoon about Friends Who Smile so i’m probably reading WAY too much into a guy who looks like a peep. But oh well. To be cringe is to be free.

(ID LOVE to talk more about this—- if anyone has any comments on this or disagrees, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know in the notes. i like talking about my silly little pink and yellow middle aged men)

[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

[omatoxin]

doing it scared!! (birthday self portrait)

[bisexuallsokka]

please please please please tell me about the old fucks

send me a wip title!

nothing to see here just old fucks in old sappy love that's it 🤭

...

“Are you still awake?”  Zuko hums. “Are you cold?”  Sokka considers it, then shakes his head. “No.” “Too hot?” Zuko asks, already moving his arm, but Sokka grabs it before he can go far and brings it close to him.  “No,” Sokka says, snuggling back into Zuko’s embrace. They won’t last like this for long, their seventy year old aching joints eventually needing to stretch, to spread out. But they stay as close as they can for as long as they can, an attempt to close the gap that was between them for so long.

“Is it your leg?”

Sokka lets out a huff of laughter. He turns around so that they are facing each other, noses almost touching. “I’m fine, love.” At the unimpressed glare Zuko gives him, Sokka rolls his eyes. “My leg does hurt, but it’s fine. I just…don’t want to sleep yet. I missed you today, jerkbender.”

Zuko’s face softens, and Sokka smiles as a result.

“I missed you, too. I’m glad you had a successful hunting trip though.”

“Yeah. It will be even better when we take ‘Zumi in a few days.”

Zuko snorts. “I’m sure she’s looking forward to it.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you? I promise not to make fun of you if you trip over your feet again when you’re trying to sneak up on something.”

Zuko huffs, and his aching hip forces him to roll over on his back instead of his side. Sokka mirrors his movement, but shuffles close so their arms are pressed close. Their hands find each other without hesitation.

“That was ten years ago,” Zuko mumbles. “I’m much more agile now.”

“Hate to break it to you, darling, but neither of us are getting more agile with age. Izumi, on the other hand, I swear she’s getting more athletic as she ages. And she had two kids!”

Zuko laughs. “That’s our girl.”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, voice warm and soft. “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Zuko turns his head to look at him. “Nothing in particular. Why?”

“Can I take you out on a date?”

Zuko’s face breaks into a wide smile. “What’s the special occasion?”

Sokka smiles. “Just that I love you,” he responds, as if it’s the truest thing he’s ever said.

Zuko grins. “Okay. It’s a date. What are we going to do?”

“It’s a surprise,” Sokka says immediately.

Zuko rolls his eyes. “You don’t have a plan.”

“I do have a plan!” Sokka protests immediately. “Where is your faith in me? I’ve been planning it for a while, just waiting for the right time.”

“Why is this the right time?”

“Just feels like it. I don’t want to wait until our anniversary, it’s too far away.”

Zuko huffs. “Twenty years. Can you believe it?”

“No,” Sokka says immediately.

Zuko knows what he means. Twenty years of marriage, but they’ve been in love for about fifty. He squeezes his husband’s hand for a second and Sokka returns it. 

“I’m worried about Korra,” Sokka says suddenly.

Zuko lets out a long breath. “It’ll be okay. She has us.”

“I just…” Sokka starts. “I don’t want to let her down. I can’t let Aang down.”

“She clearly likes you a lot,” Zuko tells him.

Sokka smiles at that. “She’s wonderful. I didn’t get to be there for Izumi when she was this little, you know? So it’s like I get a taste of that.”

Zuko doesn’t bother bringing up the fact that Izumi was a handful and a half when she was Korea’s age, even without the ability to bend four elements. He knows how much Sokka regrets not being able to be there as her father her whole life. 

He just smiles softly. “You and Korra are as thick as thieves.”

“And I worry about Katara,” Sokka adds. 

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees with a sigh. Losing Aang was hard on all of them, but it was especially painful to watch Katara lose the love of her life. “You think she’s doing okay?”

“Sometimes I catch her looking sadder than usual, but she seems to be doing better. Still,” Sokka sighs. “I can’t imagine what she must be going through. Even when we were apart, at least I knew you were still out there.”

Sokka sighs. “I was always afraid, though. What if an assassination attempt was successful, what if you got sick, what if something happened and I lost you without being able to tell you how much I still loved you?”

Zuko is startled when he sees a tear slip down Sokka’s cheek and he sits up. “Sokka—“

“Spirits, I was a coward,” Sokka says, choking out a harsh self deprecating laugh. 

“We were both cowards,” Zuko says, the only thing coming to his mind right now, but it makes Sokka laugh, so it works, and he keeps talking. It’s been a long time since they talked about this, about their break up and the years they spent apart. “I had the same fears too, you know.”

Sokka moves to wipe the tears from his eyes, but Zuko beats him to it. He keeps his hands on his cheeks, waiting until Sokka looks at him to continue. 

“I know we lost a lot of time together. I will never stop regretting that. But we have had nearly twenty amazing years together now, and I’m so grateful for each and every day I get with you, Sokka. What matters is that we are here now, and we have each other.”

“We have each other,” Sokka echoes, then sniffs. “And we are going to be together until we are a hundred years old and we pass away peacefully in our sleep at the exact same time.”

Zuko huffs out a laugh. “Sounds like a good life. I am more than okay with that.”

Sokka gives him a watery smile, then takes a deep breath. “Wow, I’m getting sappy in my old age.”

“You’ve always been a big sap,” Zuko points out, and Sokka scoffs. 

“Excuse you, I am a brave warrior and defender of my people,” he says. 

“You can be all of those things and also a sap,” Zuko says. 

“I’m your sap,” Sokka says. 

“You’re just proving my point,” Zuko says. 

Sokka smiles, not looking away from Zuko. Zuko lets his thumbs brush the skin on Sokka’s cheek, lets himself appreciate all the ways Sokka’s body has changed, the signs that show he lived a long, good life. The wrinkles from his smiles and laughter are new, but those are still the same eyes he fell in love with. 

“Remember when we would stay up talking those days leading up to the end of the war?” Zuko asks. 

Sokka smiles. “Always. We both knew we couldn’t sleep because of everything going on, but it was nice to pretend that we just wanted to chat.”

“You should get some sleep,” Zuko says. 

Sokka makes a face. “But I want to keep talking to you.”

Zuko huffs a laugh. “Save it for the morning, okay? Or for our date.”

Sokka seems satisfied with this. “Okay. In the morning.”

They lie back down, pressed close, and Sokka leans over to kiss Zuko’s forehead. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

…

“Zuko?” 

Sokka’s tone wakes Zuko from sleep instantly. 

“What’s wr–?” he starts, seeing the terrified look on his face, but Sokka motions him to stop talking.

Zuko strains his ears, but he can’t hear anything.

“Something is wrong,” Sokka says, grabbing his sword and lunging outside. 

Zuko scrambles after him. “Sokka?”

In the darkness, Zuko sees a shape move. He throws a fireball above their head to illuminate them, and doesn’t recognize the shadow. 

A child cries.

“They’ve got Korra!” Sokka yells.

[surreal-duck]

midoyuzu is canon to me because of you

thank you anon..... im doing my part.... still havent recovered from the dream live interaction they had so heres doodles from last year of that. i cant believe they did that

on a separate note ive been kinda having mixed feelings regarding enst as a whole and while i dont think ill stop like. making/interacting w fanwork and such ill most likely step back a bit as well. even if it isnt new the racist shit that happyele's pulling really does suck ass, the fact im also really fond of akatsuki myself aside im sure its doubly worse for lots of other fans

[strangersteddierthings]

Steve, Gareth and Chrissy are cousins AU (sad edition) [prologue] [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Final Part]

"So," Robin says after they clink their molotov cocktails together, "do we also get to talk about the whole cousin situation now?"

Steve looks across the field, where Eddie and Dustin are defending themselves from invisible enemies. Gareth and Lucas are swinging the finished spears at each other while Erica shakes her head at them, working on a third. It looks like Nancy is showing Max the proper way to hold a shotgun, which isn't nearly as bizarre as it probably should be.

"What's there to talk about?"

"Are you doing okay?" Robin asks.

Steve doesn't mean to making a scoffing noise. It just leaves his body involuntarily. "No. But I'm not the only one not doing okay. Now that we know Vecna doesn't have to do the whole weeklong build up to murder town, that he could get any of us, as any time and he's just being a sadistic bastard-"

"Steve. He'll take the bait. If nothing else, we have to believe that."

Steve looks from Max to Gareth, then back to Robin. "Yeah. Right."

Robin is quiet for a moment, before her eyes flick away and back to him again. "Do you want to talk to Gareth? He was... God, Steve, it was awful, hearing him scream for you. While Vecna was... Anyway, I know you two are like avoiding each other for whatever reason, but I think you can let go of whatever it was."

"I just wanted to keep them safe, Robbie," Steve swallows down the sob that wants to break free. "I never wanted them involved in this. I was so scared that I'd somehow infect them with the Upside Down that I just kept them away and it took Chrissy anyway. It-it-"

"It hasn't taken Gareth, though," Robin says softly, cutting Steve's spiral off. "It hasn't taken him. But he needs you. I think you need him, too. You should talk. Before we drop him at the Creel house. Because."

She doesn't finish, but that's fine. Steve knows what she's saying. They could die today. Any one of them. Chrissy died without Steve making it right. He'd started to work on hanging out with Chrissy again, but it was all surface level. He didn't even apologize. With Gareth he could justify, however shitty that was to do, that he was staying away because Gareth asked him to.

Chrissy hadn't asked for Steve to step out of her life. He'd done that himself in '83.

He can't do right by Chrissy anymore, but he can try with Gareth.

He stands and Robin gives his knee two solid pats before he walks away.

"Dustin, you piss off Steve somehow?" Eddie asks.

Gareth, in the middle of facing off with Lucas, pauses to look around, which gains him a light tap to his side by Lucas' spear. Sure enough, Steve is stalking their direction with a grim determination on his face.

"What, why am I the one getting the blame?" Dustin says, offended.

"It is usually you," Lucas adds, which earns him a squawk of indignation from Dustin, who shoots back, "he could be coming to lecture you for making Erica do all the spear making!"

Steve doesn't approach either boy, though.

"Hey, can we talk?" Steve asks once he comes to a stop in front of him.

"Got some end of the world regrets, Harrington?" Gareth says, trying to keep his voice lighter than he feels. He wants to tease Steve, not bully him.

He must succeed because Steve gives a chuckle and says, "I don't think we have time for all the end of the world regrets, so, uhh, just the one for now."

"We're cool, dude," Gareth says, eyes flicking from Steve to Eddie. The kids know, Gareth told them himself, but Eddie doesn't. "I started it."

"Yeah, but I graduated and still pretended you didn't exist. Which isn't what you asked for."

Gareth shrugs, because he doesn't know everything but he knows enough. Learned this isn't anyone else's (besides Eddie and his) first rodeo or whatever. That there have been other times, dating back to the year Will Byers was lost for a week. "Dude. Seriously. We're cool. You've been dealing with... whatever the fuck this is. So, just, like promise to be around more once we all survive this."

Steve looks pained but before he can reply, Eddie cuts in, "I'm sorry. How do you know each other?"

Gareth looks to Steve, who just shrugs as if to say your friend, you responsibility and honestly? Fuck Steve Harrington. Keeps traumatizing secrets and pushes Gareth away and also throws him to the wolves. Except, this is the secret Gareth has been keeping from Eddie. He sighs and turns to Eddie. "Well, uh, Steve's my cousin. We used to be super close before I started high school. Actually, Steve here is the reason I joined Hellfire!"

Eddie seems to go through all 7 stages of grief before settling into a confused. "I'm sorry. Steve talked you into joining Hellfire?"

"That is not what I did!" Steve defends himself.

"God no. He just went into great detail about how loud and obnoxious and attention-grabbing the current president was, as if that would make me want to not meet you for some reason."

"It was a warning!" Steve yelps at the same time Eddie sing-songs, "You think I'm attention-grabbing, Harrington?"

Dustin, Lucas, and Erica are all laughing at Steve has he tries to sputter through what he meant by attention-grabbing ("It's hard to not pay attention when he's shouting from the top of a lunch table!"), and Gareth just watches on, amused.

After they fight an... evil wizard? Vecna or whatever his name is. Once this is over, Gareth is going to sit Steve down and make him tell him everything, but that can wait.

He wants to watch Steve flounder trying to defend himself from the accusations of watching Eddie just a bit too much back in high school.

Later, as they all pack up and load up in the RV, Nancy stops Steve from entering the RV, ushering everyone past until Gareth and Steve are the only ones left outside.

"Are we acknowledging that you're cousins, now?" she asks.

"You knew!?" Steve sounds surprised. Gareth's surprised, too.

Nancy just rolls her eyes. "Steve, I've been to your house." When that just makes Steve look confused, she rolls her eyes and says, "there are family pictures covering almost every inch of your living room."

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?" Robin pipes in, appearing in the doorway with an angry expression.

"It wasn't really my thing to talk about, was it?"

"Yeah, but did you even check in with Steve? If you knew, and knew what happened to Chrissy- you didn't even ask if he wanted to go to the funeral!"

"Robin!" Steve hisses.

Nancy doesn't look upset by whatever accusation Robin seems to be trying to make. "If Steve wanted to go, he could have said something. We aren't his keepers. But, also," her gaze goes from Robin to Steve, "I didn't want to pry or seem pushy. I figured you'd tell us when you were ready."

Robin frowns but doesn't say anything else, disappearing back into the RV. Gareth gestures for Steve and Nancy to go first, and then he's closing and locking the door behind him before heading to sit by Eddie along the back bench seat. A bunch of shit has been piled there, so Gareth shoves it off the seat and to the floor. The pile of things ends up being a hazard and he almost brains himself while turning to sit down; something under his foot slides and Eddie saves him, yanking him to fall onto Eddie. After some fussing and laughter from those around, Gareth gets seated and looks down to see what almost killed him.

It's a phone book.

Eddie leans in close once they're back on the road to town to whisper, "so, you just let me go on all those rants about King Steve and never once thought to tell me you were related?"

Gareth just gives him his best impression of a King Steve smirk and says, "I would have hate to have deterred you from talking about your favorite school subject."

It's worth seeing the scandalized look on Eddie's face, even as the man socks him in the leg for the comment. "I hate you, man."

Gareth rubs his leg and says, "you don't mean that."

There's a long silence from Eddie after that before he says, "you're right. I don't mean that. And. Uh. In case I don't- in case it goes south down there but ends up fine up here, I just-"

"No," Gareth growls. "Fuck you, Eddie. We're going to be fine. All you gotta do is shred on your guitar and get the hell out. You're going to be fine."

"You didn't see the bats."

"Eddie."

"Fine. It's gonna be fine," Eddie agrees and falls silent.

Gareth frowns at that. Eddie must really be worried, to not argue back like he usually does. Gareth's worried, too, but what can he do?

He thinks about his mom. When did he last tell her he loves her? If they don't succeed tonight, will he get a chance to say it again? Will anyone get a chance to say it again?

Gareth looks down at the phone book at his feet.

"Wait, does anyone have change for a payphone?" Gareth asks from somewhere behind him. Steve turns in his seat to look into the back of the RV.

"Uh, yeah," Robin digs into her pockets, but then narrows her eyes at Gareth and asks, "wait. Who are you calling?"

"I have to let my mom know I'm alive. Just... hear my voice," Gareth says. "She needs to know I'm okay. It's already been too long since last we talked and... after Chrissy she was..."

Robin's face drops into the guiltiest look Steve's ever seen on her face and she produces her wallet, dropping the whole thing into Gareth's open hand. "Yeah, no. Sorry. There's still plenty of time for a phone call before the end of the world. You better return my wallet, Cunningham."

"I'm not going to rob you, Buckley," Gareth says before ducking out the RV with Max, Lucas, and Erica.

Steve tries not to let the guilt well up in him as they drive away. Gareth had wanted to come with Team Kill Vecna but Steve had quickly argued against that. He wasn't going to let Gareth anywhere near the Upside Down.

So it was decided. Max, Lucas, Erica, and Gareth at the Creel house, Dustin and Eddie on distraction, and Nancy, Robin, and Steve were going to face down Vecna.

There was still hours to go before they'd try, with a time set for 9:20ish, since that's the time Vecna's been enacting his curse according to Eddie's broken watch. Plenty of time to fortify Eddie's house in the Upside Down, plus the almost 40 minute walk to the Creel house from Forest Hills.

This was going to work. It had to.

Max and Lucas opt for hiding around the back of the house, waiting for time to pass until it's closer to dark, and Erica said she was going to snoop around the abandoned playground, so Gareth decided to head to the payphone a couple of blocks down the street.

He makes it halfway there before Erica scares the shit out of him by saying, "why do you need a phone book?"

Gareth yelps and spins, stupidly trying to hid the book behind his back even though he knows she already saw it. "I- uh, no. No reason."

Erica eyes him and he's suddenly very aware of whatever Eddie saw in her that night at Hellfire, that let her join the club. She's pretty scary for a middle schooler. "Do I look stupid? Who are you calling." It's not a question. It's a demand.

"I'm going to try and get a hold of Eddie's uncle," Gareth answers, trying to sound like an authority figure. "Tell him he'll find Eddie at his home at eight tonight. I know you all are so used to not telling people but this is- we need a real adult and Wayne's an army vet. He'll know how to help. He'll want to help."

She purses her lips, stays quiet for a moment before she nods. "I'm usually surrounded by stupid people, but you're kind of not one. I've got more change if you need it."

Gareth calls the plant and asks to speak to Wayne Munson. It's a bit of back and forth before the secretary agrees, but only if Wayne agrees to speak to a Gareth Cunningham. The plant must be getting calls from angry locals.

"Are ya really Gareth, or are ya just wantin' ta yell at me for helpin' raise the devil incarnate?" Wayne sounds tired and Gareth feels bad for him.

"Eddie would love for you to call him that to his face when you see him again."

"Thank God, son," Wayne sounds relieved. He must recognize Gareth's voice. "Ya okay? No one's harrassin' ya, are they?"

"No. Listen Wayne, I'm going to say something crazy but please just listen and do your best to be casual. I know where Eddie is. Or, where he will be at eight tonight. He's.... not physically hurt but he's going to need you. He might hate me for telling you this but I had to."

There is a pause where all he hears through the phone is a long inhale followed by a slow exhale. "Mmm hmm. I appreciate yer concern and glad ta hear no one's botherin' ya just for knowin' Eddie."

Gareth is only confused for a moment before he realizes Wayne is trying to make this conversation sound routine from his end. "Just. He's going home. But please don't show up until after eight. If you... if you beat him home he might run. Try to keep you out of this, y'know?" Gareth is just lying now, but he's a teenage boy in a garage band that plays in a dingy bar at the edge of town. That is to say, he knows how to lie off the cuff.

"I read ya loud and clear. I'll let ya know as soon as Eddie's been found safe so ya can quit worryin'. I gotta get back to it, but thanks for reachin' out."

Gareth hangs up and looks to Erica. "Well. Let's hope I haven't ruined everything."

"Let's hope that you know Wayne as well as you think you do."