#I’m too drunk

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

Drunk and bleeding at a bar and struggling with the epiphany I just had that the reason I love Dandelion so much is because he looks like my father (blonde one from the books, at least) and maybe that’s the reason I’m clinging to his character, because my dad left when I was a kid

Like link to this dude’s art because I was just stalking my estranged dad’s Facebook with a cocktail whilst I wait alone for my food and he had a photo that looks exactly like the one depicted below HELP

[pangur-and-grim]

I fell on a flight of stairs, and some 5’1 woman helped me even though I’m 6’1. it was a spiritual experience. also I am very injured

[kurooh]

i’m drooling over hawks so bad its not funny.

god just imagine him pressing you into the bed, fucking you so hard your legs tremble in his grip as he holds them open. he’s got a small gold chain on his neck that bounces with his thrusts, sparkles when it catches some of the morning sunlight through the curtains.

the way his large hands move across your skin, his right hand moving to grab at the slight softness at your hips. and he’s so vocal, making the most gorgeous sounds as he pounds you into the bed.

you rub your clit furiously, back arching off the bed, jaw dropping. “baby, fuckin’ cum for me, please.” he sounds so unbelievably desperate, hands alternating so he can spread your legs impossibly wider. his hips keep their strong pace, faltering only when you start to clench down around him.

his wings beat wildly behind him, the curtains holding onto their rods for dear life. “oh, fuuuck,” he groans deeply, “you feel so good, dove. so tight.”

“keigo, i’m gonna cum,” you whine loudly, pussy fluttering on his cock as your head falls back. “wan’ you to cum with me!”

“of course, dove, i’m so close—” he gasps, chest heaving, hips thrusting with much less control than before. keigo’s deep inside you, his body burning with the need to cum, the need to fill you up. the sound of his wings grows louder, the feathers cutting through the air as though it were butter.

you let out a loud, lengthy moan as your orgasm hits you and you clench down on his cock. heat sparks through you as your hole spasms uncontrollably.

“ohhh, i’m cumming baby—” keigo’s head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut, his whole body going still as he cums deep inside you. his wings have stilled completely too, spread out behind him majestically.

when he finishes riding out his high with a few shallow thrusts, he leans forward to lift you up and against him, hugging you tightly and kissing your neck. he turns to lay on his back, his wings finally at rest.

[kait-bait8]

I will never stop thinking about the fact that the Hunger Games was canonically a drunk hypothetical. It wasn’t some great government scheme.

So many bad dystopian novels that have some crazy world building premise make it seem like some great creation from powerful minds. Some great construction. Think of City of Ember with its box or Divergent with its weird scientists(??) or The Selection with its bachelor premise, they are always “grandly designed.” Even in Catching Fire with the Quarter Quells the Games give off an air of grand planning.

But the hunger games were a HYPOTHETICAL. A crazy, extreme, what if. They were never supposed to exist. They were never supposed to be real.

Who wouldn’t drink themselves to death knowing they thought of the idea in the first place?

[its-shells]

“So,” Grian says, “this is awkward.”

Scar says nothing. Scar had said nothing for quite a while, honestly, sitting cross-legged in the void and playing with the hem of his cloak. Or with the flower stems woven through the hem of his cloak, as it were. Lilacs and poppies. Grian had thought it painfully ironic the first time he saw them. Scar hadn’t. Not until now.

“So,” Grian says, again, “I can explain? I think?”

He can hear stifled giggles behind him, Scott and Pearl discussing the last moments of the fight. He feels Martyn’s heated glare between his shoulder blades too, knows that he’ll be getting an earful about taking his final life whenever the fourth winner can get his hands on him, but at least Martyn’s been kind enough to leave him at the mercy of the fifth for now. Or not kind enough, as it were. Whether or not Scar has any mercy for him is an open question.

“Explain what,” Scar says. It’s not a question, which is just as well, since Grian doesn’t really have an answer.

Can he explain?

“Well,” he says, “there’s these death games.”

The death games he technically started, and then technically couldn’t stop. The death games that weren’t meant to be blood sacrifices, but probably count as happening on somebody’s altar. The death games that no one ever wins, but technically–

“Technically, the people who win them get to keep their memories.” He scrunches up his nose. “Or, uh, recover their memories of the previous ones, I suppose. Which is what’s happening to you. And Martyn, and Pearl, and Scott, and I was the first, so–”

“One heck of a headache, right?” Pearl yells behind them. “Was even for me, and you’ve got four whole timelines to deal with!” She flops backwards onto the floor, which is the void, pressing the back of the palm to her forehead theatrically even as she peers up at Scar through parted fingers. Scott rolls his eyes and grabs her hand.

“Give them a moment, Pearl,” Grian hears him whisper. “I know you weren’t there for Third Life, but I’ve explained it to you a dozen times, so–“

“So,” Scar says. “Third Life was real.”

It’s a strange way of putting it for someone who hadn’t remembered it at all until now.

“That’s a strange way of putting it for someone who hadn’t remembered it at all until now,” Grian says, because he’s always loose-tongued after dying. Scar stares at him, unblinking.

“That’s a strange way of thinking for someone who declared the first ever game a double victory,” he says. His head is tilted to the side.

Grian stares back.

“That didn’t count.”

“It didn’t not.”

“You didn’t remember until now.”

“I didn’t not.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Scar shrugs. He plucks a flower from between the dark threads. It’s a poppy. “No less than the rest of it. No less sense than me waking up with sand between my toes, or burns on my arms, or bamboo in my pockets. No less than the dreams. Those didn’t make sense either.”

“It’s not like you ever asked me to explain.”

“Would you have?”

“Not the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

Pearl is still giggling. Martyn is still staring. Scott is quiet.

“Maybe it is,” Grian admits, quietly. It’s not an apology. It never will be.

Nor is it forgiveness, when Scar leans forward to tuck the poppy behind his ear. Nor will it ever be.

Sure feels like it sometimes though.

[shittysawtraps]

followers if we were in a group saw trap together and we both found out we would be sacrificed in an hour due to the actions of a third party, and because of this I started making fun of the trap and jigsaw in general, would you get pissed at me for making light of the situation or would you join in as one last hurrah?

[osamucide]

drunk texts - osamu dazai . . . .ᐟ

cw: silly drunk dazai

reid: alright alright a little sneak peak considering how the poll’s doing………

. . . .ᐟ

[timblrdrake]

can you rank your family in order of least likely to bail you out of jail to most likely

Damian (not just because he’s too young), Jason, Duke, Cass, Dick, B.

though it depends what i did to get put in jail, (if the crime was funny then Jason moves up and B moves down)

that being said this is the same order from shortest to longest time this is held over my head

[lethality-of-dual-strike]

I love you peri-weri one of these days I’ll learn how to draw you consistently

I think what we need for season 2 is some good ol perirep slapstick I need to see them scrapping it out like looney tunes

[koroart]

Might clean this up later down the line but for rn a messy O’Hara bros doodle ✨

[sqrkyclean]

Someone should donate weed drugs to me

[wigglywormy]

I’m currently Very drunk

And all I can think about is dkbk, and deku being So strong that even without their quirks, he can so easily pin bk down. and I cannot get it out of my head. Have yall SEEN how swole deku has gotten??? It’s insane and I’m going feral over it

Deku just teasing bakugou with the gentlest of touches, his hands rough but so careful, and bakugous just blushing so HARD and squirming and cursing but deku is just smiling so sweetly at him. Bakugou’s palms sparking and deku just goes “no quirks, remember?” And bakugou growls at him, and deku’s still a little but shorter but he’s a fuckin brick house, and bakugou cannot move an inch no matter how hard he tries

And like. Bakugou hates that he loves it. He hates that this stupid nerd can over power him so easily, and he’s actually fighting back really fuckin hard, there’s bruises and bloody lips and it’s messy and painful but then deku starts tickling him, and bakugou siezes up, and he chokes out this cute little giggle that deku becomes OBSESSED WITH, and god sorry I’ve had a whole bottle of vodka and I’m just word vomiting but i need bakugou flushed, red, sweaty and crying a lil bit, and deku just being so nice but so MEAN, and bakugou is trying to fight it so hard that it just makes deku even meaner, and i want bakugou to be so fuckin stubborn that he begs for it to stop but when deku asks him “are you sure?” Bakugou just groans in frustration and doesn’t reply so deku keeps going.

I should stop rambling this is getting insane LOL can y’all tell I’ve been in a fuckin ler mood lately I NEED TO BE DEKU SO I CAN FUCK BAKUGOU UP. HE NEEDS IT I PROMISE LOL.

[tw1nkd3ath]

party poison coming home from some party out in the zones a little too drunk. they stumble in the door and everyone immediately wakes up, they’re crashing into walls and knocking things over and jet runs to help steady them. they sit them down at a booth and they fall over and shut their eyes :( ghoul and kobra are squished by their side trying to wake them up and get them water, while jet’s in the kitchen heating up whatever leftovers they’ve got. ghoul and kobra eventually wake them up, as jet sits across from them. poison sits upright slumped over the table, making a little too much eye contact with jet. their eyes are trying so hard to roll back and close but they’re trying so so hard to stay awake as jet spoon feeds them and ghoul occasionally holds a straw with water to their lips.

‘you gotta cut back honey’ ghoul says into their ears. ‘it’s every night now you’re comin’ home wasted’

‘iknowiknowiknow’ poison slurs and ghoul just wraps his his arms around them. ‘’m soberin’ up n’ i don’t wanna’

jet looked at poison with just a twinge of hurt in her eyes. ‘too bad, you need to sober up. you can’t walk in a straight line let alone do anything else. keep drinking water and please eat another bite or two for me’ she says as she strokes poison’s hand gently.

they hated being sober. but with jet and ghoul and kobra? being sober all of a sudden didn’t seem too scary anymore.

[jiraisupportgroup]

[lukesaprince]

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[mister-a-z-fell]

People often say to me ‘Aziraphale, what exactly is Firmament?’

And by ‘often’, I mean ‘twice’, and they don’t so much say it as send me little enquiries on the Twitters and the Tumbler, along with inexplicable demands to know whether Crowley or I go ‘on top’.

I’ll get to the point in a moment, but, since you’re here, I would like to make it clear that our sleeping arrangements are nobody’s business but our own.

In any case, we don’t own a bunk bed, so the point is moot.

The subject of Firmament first came up on a clear night a few hundred years after I followed Adam and Eve out from Eden. Seth — their third child — was lying on a stone outcrop near the settlement, watching the sky, and I was sitting a little way off, keeping an eye out for scorpions.

‘Ol-ah-kwa*?’ The boy was usually full of questions, but that night he’d been uncharacteristically quiet. ‘What are they called, the lights above?’ It wasn’t the first time he’d asked and he already knew the answer perfectly well, but that was his way.

‘Those are stars. Has your father shown you how to find your path by them?’ He shook his head, and I resolved to talk to Eve in the morning.

‘How are they there? Are they like flowers on a bush? Or spots on a lizard? How many there are.’

I wished Crowley had been there, just then. He could have explained it so much better. I did my best, although I think I left him with the impression that every star hovered high in the heavens like a hummingbird, and he took some convincing that they wouldn’t eventually grow tired, having nowhere to perch, and come crashing down around us.

‘But why are they like fires? If they were made to fly up there forever, why don’t they grow feathers and just be birds?’

‘Well, that would rather defeat the purpose, B-qa-lyl**.’ And that might have been the end of the matter, but the boy had long since learned my weakness.

‘Don’t you know?’

And this is what I told him:

‘They are stars, because God told them to be stars. If She ever decides that they should be birds, then birds they will become. She told your father and mother to be human, because there was a place made in the world for humanity. Your purpose in this life is to discover what it means to be human.’

‘What about the next life?’

‘Wait and see.’

And this is what I didn’t tell him:

In the Beginning was the Void. And God spoke into the Nothing -That-Was, and that word was the first Firmament.

Firmament exists without mass, without substance. It is the Almighty’s intent, Her design, Her love; it is a blueprint for reality, pure potential and the Universe is spun with its threads. In the hands of the Virtues, it takes on form, accretes matter — becomes Material, a mechanism turned with a key that sounds like ‘LET THERE BE’.

Firmament can only be seen by the shadows that it casts. Gravity. The way that particles converse. Electromagnetism. Slood. It moves in mysterious ways and it reaches everywhere that is not Void. One day, scholars will glimpse the outer edges of ‘omnipresence’, and call it ‘quantum entanglement’.

I should have found a way to explain that — while stars aren’t birds — they share their firmament as all the brush stokes of a masterpiece share their canvas, as the individual notes of a melody are carried on the same breath. Everything touches everything. ‘Look what ye have done unto one of the least of these my brethren, the same have ye done unto me.’

Perhaps if I’d taught Seth that all that lies between each of us and the furthest, strangest star is a triviality called ‘distance’, which only really has meaning inside the preserve of mortal dimensions, he might have understood. I tried to explain it to his descendants, but perhaps they were too old, too certain of themselves, to listen. I was never much of a teacher.

Later, in all the confusion of Babel, rāqīa (something beaten thin to form a surface) and rakhmyn (love) went their separate ways, and whenever I encountered the subject of… celestial scaffolding — for want of a better word — it came in the context of the former. A shell to support the stars, to hold back the upper waters. They forgot about the ‘love’ part.

Later still, Crowley got volubly drunk with a fellow named Copernicus and made some progress, but even his controversial model couldn’t let go of firmament as the pastry around the universal profiterole.

Then there was Giordano Bruno… but we don’t talk about him.

So, here I am, trying again. Hoping that I’ve explained myself better this time, because, after all, that’s what an angel is: Firmament imbued with mind, and grace, willed into life by words of purpose unique to each one of us. Wearing atomic fancy-dress so that we can speak to you in words you can comprehend (ideally without falling down and giggling while your hair smoulders gently).

We are, at base, figments of Her imagination, which is so powerful that it was necessary that She invent free will to stop all things yielding unfailingly to Her whim. As a consequence, reality tends to become malleable in our immediate vicinity.

What is Firmament? It’s everything. It’s Creation. It’s humans, and demons, and angels. It’s stars, and it’s the walls of Eden. It’s the bullet, and the finger pulling the trigger, the magician and the audience, and the shocked air expanding in ripples from the burning powder. It’s the scalpel, and the flesh. And inside, beneath the dancing atoms, it’s love.

Try to remember that part, because sometimes it seems very well hidden.

It’s love.

*Brother

**Something small