#i might be an alcoholic idk

[sparkymalone]

Casual reminder post that all of my drabbles are tagged with "sparky writes" in case you want to make sure you've read them all 💕💕💕

[driaswrld]

higuruma who likes wine. i'm thinking he likes it almost as dry as his coffee but he's very appreciative of the fruity undertones — like you can tell the mood he's in based on the wine he's bought.

he wins a case and he already has a bottle of pinot noir open and waiting for when you finally get home, tie loose and manspreading on the couch, hair tousled and a small dopey smile (yes he started without you but don't worry, he's sure you can keep up)

or maybe he's lost a case and you're pouring him a third glass of california cabernet in the warm bathtub, soap bubbles on his frown lines, arms wrapped tight around you while you straddle him, his teeth grazing your shoulder (he's literally just a brooding baby, hold him pls)

either way, he fucks you idk why i was talking ab the wine. idk anything ab wine. basis is he fucks you while wine drunk really.

[waterdroid]

I had the dumbest, least-canon idea of all time and had to put it in comic form. Enjoy!!

[starsifter]

Another Way Out

Yandere!Ford x Reader (who he accidentally trapped in the portal during a fight)

It had to have been a decade by now, a decade of this. Ten years of running, fighting, hiding, tending your wounds and sleeping upright, one eye open. Ten years since you and Stanford Pines had fought, and you didn't quite understand why.

You barely knew the man's name, let alone anything about the goddamn portal that he'd carelessly shoved you into. You didn't think he meant to do it, but it didn't matter, the outcome remained the same.

You only knew that one day he'd approached you in a bar, and you should've known by the sober painted on him that he was trouble, but you were 3 drinks deep and too tipsy to care. Whatever woes you were drowning away that day surely paled in comparison to the years you'd wasted in here.

He said he was going to take you home. Guess he meant his home. He excitedly showed you the portal, blabbering on about it like you cared, and then. Then he started talking about you, about your job, your family, your hobbies. Things he couldn't possibly have known about. Things he shouldn't have known about.

At some point you'd sobered up just enough to be afraid.

You wanted to leave. Stanford Pines didn't.

Knocked into that blinding blue light you found yourself in some other world. Something so far beyond the scope of your imagination. And a voice called out, something high-pitched and grating, something you'd come to recognize as the voice of Bill Cipher.

"AHAHAHA! LOOKS LIKE FORDSY'S LITTLE PET PROJECT IS FINALLY HERE! FIRST ONE TO BRING ME THEM GETS THEIR OWN GALAXY!!"

Apparently any amount of proximity to "Fordsy" was a dangerous thing.

You don't know how you managed for this long, maybe the adrenaline that sobered you up just never left you, maybe it was pure dumb luck. Whatever it was, it was bound to run out eventually.

When a rift in the dimension opened up, you didn't think twice before hopping in, hoping against reason that it would finally bring you home. And home you were.

And there was Stanford Pines, grizzled, 10 years older, ecstatic as you stepped through. There was another man standing next to him, they looked so much alike, he looked about as shocked as you felt.

Fury and exhaustion battled within you.

"You- You're back!" Stanford shouted, rushing towards you.

"Whoa- uh- welcome back?" The other man added, taken aback by Stanford's reaction.

When Stanford wrapped his arms around you, you just stared off into the distance, letting exhaustion win, your body collapsed into him.

"Are they okay?" You heard the other man whisper, closer now.

"They will be, don't worry, it's just- they're just tired, everything will be fine now," Stanford added, holding you tightly as you drifted off.

[iknowwhereyousnoozeatnight]

misa my love

[kankri-vantas-alter]

Tw :gore , blood , horror

Idk what gif i like more honestly but i love this horror game its not. Boring at least. And i love. Story telling like. The one in the game -🕳️ folykl

Honestly this looks. Okay in my opinion but i don't know really. Might hate it later

Art is not mine all credits go to respective artists

[imadecoy666]

might update idk tho

I just chugged back some white lightning (50% vodka) to kick off the night - I'm drinking on an empty stomach rn so I'm going to make myself a snack.. I also have some soju so I'll probably drink a bit of that while I make food

[amongsnot]

there is a certain beauty that lies in the creases of the world, when everything has seemed to pause in the space between what is real and what is fake. it is a space that jimmy can hold his hand up to and flex nimble fingers around, because they grasp a sort of air pressure that isn’t quite there, but jimmy can convince himself it is with enough hope.

the rest of his friends are walking back from a restaurant with full stomachs and big grins. they break off into their respective groups—jenny and manny, who have known each other longer then the rest of them have known robotic girls and have questioned where they stand on the line of good and evil, lead the way through the twists and turns of dimmsdale. 

jenny is wearing a cardigan that she doesn’t technically need, but wears anyways because she likes the way that it makes pretty girls stare at something besides the way her hair thunks together in the wind. manny is bundled up in a coat and a hat and a scarf and a myriad of other things that are not really acceptable for the fall temperatures. he claimed that he gets cold in the winter. the “like a cat” part was left unsaid, but the rest of the group shared knowing looks nonetheless.

and spongebob and danny are behind jimmy, but they do not talk with jokes on their tongues and quips on their lips like jenny and manny do. jimmy can feel their concerned gaze lingering on his back. they wring practiced fingers together and share worried, knowing looks. 

there is a certain truth to this night; one that jimmy had come to the conclusion of long before, but one that he has pushed away and away and away.

he thought that he could convince himself it was there with enough hope; but he failed, and that thought sits heavy in his stomach.

timmy stands next to jimmy. he is talking about a friend he made at college. he talks with big hand movements and a big, wide grin.

he does not stop and make sure that jimmy is paying attention when jimmy does not say anything. he talks and talks and talks: a certain unwarranted confidence to his stride as he grins at girls on the street and looks at drunk men who beat each other up in the hallway with wide eyes. he does not fear rejection, or flinch at the swing of curses that leave their mouths; as powerful and dangerous as the swing of their fists.

and that is why jimmy knows that this is something he has to do.

he sees the smile and the lack of fear in the boy that he grew to love, and he knows that even if he did everything in his power to make him remember, he will never be able to smile as much as he is now.

he sees the way that timmy talks about the family he has made at college with a large smile as he recites memories (memories that jimmy recognizes because they are memories of antics that timmy would do with the rest of them. memories of a different life). he sees the way that timmy furrows his brows when jimmy mentions going home early to eat dinner, before saying that he doesn’t quite remember ever having a family dinner before (and he doesn’t say it because he’s hiding a bigger secret. he’s saying it because he truly does not remember the way his parents left him and the way that he starved himself to sleep). he sees the way that timmy smiles in the face of anything orange (even if once upon a time he would’ve cried).

and jimmy wants to cry, because he cannot fix this.

he is supposed to. but he can’t.

he’s supposed to fix everything; the broken parts of jenny’s body when she malfunctions after one of their major battles. the broken hearts that are left behind when a fight breaks out among their headquarters, where an electrifying tension causes their hair to stand up on end. he is supposed to fix what is broken, and when you’re in the business as long as he is, there is a lot of things you have to fix.

but he can’t fix this.

he thought he could. timmy had warned him about his fairy-induced amnesia as soon as jenny and manny joined their team and they started to become something more than a wayward group that only met when absolutely necessary. he had told timmy, while clasping his hand as tight as he could, that he would fix this. he would get the broken pieces of timmy’s life—the amnesiac body, the torn mind, his absent fairies—and he would save him.

he had found the body with ease. timmy still lived in the same house in the same town in the same dimension. jimmy introduced himself under the faux that he and his friends moved in next door, and they were holding a wii tournament to get to know their neighbors. it was easy to say that timmy was the only neighbor who could make it. it was easy to tell timmy that it felt like they’ve known him forever. it was easy to relearn the boy with buckteeth.

he had relearned the mind with ease. timmy still had a weird adoration for the superhero with the red suit (and jimmy knew that it was because the superhero had a weird face just like him. timmy told him under the stars when it was just the two of them. timmy did not know that jimmy knew.) he still thought his elementary school teacher was weird. he still laughed at sex jokes and won every single mario kart tournament they hosted. it was still timmy.

he could not find the fairies.

(that’s a lie.)

he had looked everywhere he possibly could. he had found mr. crocker with the sole purpose of stealing his portal to fairy world. he had dug through every nook and cranny in timmy’s bedroom when he was out with the others for anything even remotely fairy-like—he had torn open the space between the creases of the world and clawed at the grabbable, holdable, air in front of him.

(he found them.)

but he did not give up. he had promised timmy that he would save him. he had clutched his hand tight and held it against his chest (his heart) as he told timmy that failure was not an option; as he told him that he fixed everything broken.

(they were with a girl with frizzy black hair. they pulled him aside when they saw him and told him that they can’t do anything to help him. that he should let timmy be happy. that ignorance is bliss.)

and, well, jimmy’s always been stubborn; he had no other option but to keep going.

but now jimmy’s attending timmy’s nineteenth birthday party, and time seems to stop as he realizes that the boy singing karaoke is not someone he recognizes.

jimmy does not recognize the boy who stands in front of him, carefree and happy as he sings a duet about russian spies with danny, a boy who he has only known for a year. jimmy does not recognize the way that he does not wear three earrings in his pierced right ear (green pink and purple) or the way that he does not immediately find jimmy in the crowd when singing the verse that annoys him (he always made sure to sing that verse extra loud, just to get on jimmy’s bad side).

jimmy recognizes his body and his smile and his laugh, but he cannot lie to himself for any longer. that boy in front of him is a changed boy without his memories.

and jimmy cannot convince himself that timmy is the same boy he was a year ago with enough hope.

that’s fine. he tells himself, as he watches timmy hand the microphone to manny before walking off stage and towards him. he can relearn timmy. he can learn what the difference is between an adolescent and an amnesiac version of his friend.

(he finds that he does not like the answer.)

“are you enjoying your birthday?” jimmy asks, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his knuckles. he tries to look at timmy in a way that he hasn’t looked at him since he was twelve and timmy was eleven and they were about yeigh-high.

he watches as timmy grabs manny’s shot glass and drowns it with a smile. jimmy flinches when it gets slammed on the table. the old-timmy took an oath against alcohol (it reminded him of his mom).

“yeah!” he says, and then his face twists in the way that suggests he’s trying to recall a memory that was lost as soon as he turned eighteen. “i don’t really recall ever having a birthday as good as this one.”

“that’s good,” jimmy says.

and the conversation ends there.

jimmy cringes, uncurling his fingers from where they rest underneath his chin and dragging his nails against the skin of his cheeks. he had never been forced to endure the tortures of awkward silence six, four, two years ago.

“timmy,” jimmy says cautionary, because he is stepping on egg-shells around a man that he once held so dear. “are you happy?”

timmy does not physically recoil, but jimmy can see the shock in his eyes. he does not respond right away, but the faint line of a smile in his lips is all the proof jimmy needs.

“yeah,” timmy says, looking down at what’s left in the shot glass in his hands. he swishes the contents around with a soft grin. “i got a b on that essay i had to write about that book i told you about! that was pretty cool.”

jimmy hums, but he’s not really paying attention. not in a way that matters.

(“timmy,” jimmy asks, because he had just entered the room after getting off a call with his parents, and they were alone. “are you happy?”

“what’s all this about?” timmy asks with a grin, making himself comfortable on the armrest as he turned to look at jimmy. jimmy knows timmy; he knows the way that his smile doesn’t quite match his eyes, and the way that his voice twangs with anger.

“are you happy?” jimmy repeats, because it’s really as simple as that. “when you were eleven, you had those calls with your parents daily; and you always ended them upset. you seethe about anything to do with babysitters—spongebob bought those books about that babysitting club from a garage sale and you threw them away almost instantly.”

and it’s obvious what jimmy’s hinting at. are you happy? can timmy turner ever truly be happy? can timmy turner have memories of sleeping on cold unfurnished floors after being locked in the basement and be happy? can timmy turner have memories of getting lashed as a child and be happy? can timmy turner have the memories of his childhood and be happy?

jimmy doesn’t think so.

but the worst part is, jimmy doesn’t think timmy turner can be timmy turner without his memories. 

it is the question of the ship of theseus. if it is the same body (that jimmy touches with tender fingers and loves with adoring gazes) and the same hands (that have touched and loved and prayed) and the same hair (that jimmy has ran his hands through so many times), but it does not have the same memories (it does not remember gentle nights alone, or holding jimmys hand as they run through the night, or being held in the lap of a loved one as he cards his fingers through his hair and tells him stories) is it the same man?

“yeah,” timmy says, but he says it with the smile doesn’t quite match his eyes. jimmy knows this. “i could always be happier, though.”

“how so?” jimmy asks, entertaining timmy’s attempts to change the topic.

“maybe if i had my loving boyfriend by my side while i made dinner,” timmy says, reaching his hand over and entangling his fingers with jimmy’s (and does a happy timmy turner remember this sweet moment? unimportant and unnecessary but so sickingly them?)

“you’re so corny,” jimmy says, but timmy grins and jimmy decides to push all thoughts of greek heroes and longingly grand gestures in the back of his mind.)

timmy turner says that he is happy with a smile that reaches his eyes.

and jimmy’s heart breaks, because he knows that if it is a choice between timmy being happy and forgetting, or timmy being sad and remembering, he will pick timmy every time.

no matter how much he can convince himself that he is enough, jimmy neutron knows that he will never be able to replace the burden that comes with forgetting.

nobody can.

and so timmy turner smiles about college essays and karaoke nights, because he has never known about a life harder.

(jimmy cries, later that night, running hands through his own hair and prodding gentle fingers against skin. he wishes he wasn’t cursed with the knowledge of remembering. he wishes he could forget like timmy).

and timmy comes to their next house with a grin. he is nineteen years old, and happier than jimmy has ever seen him

[gobullworth]

casey harris more like hot dog

[amekeii]

Criminal Minds Characters as Cocktails pt.2

JASON GIDEON - ABSINTHE absinthe | sugar cube | cold water

ELLE GREENAWAY - SIDECAR cognac | triple sec | lemon juice | orange twist

ALEX BLAKE - CHERRY MANHATTAN rye whiskey | dry vermouth | angostura bitters | maraschino cherry juice

TARA LEWIS - SANGRIA red wine | licor 43 | havana rum | fruits

MATT SIMMONS - YOGURT SOJU lychee soju | yakult | sprite

LUKE ALVEZ - PENICILLINE scotch | honey ginger syrup | lemon juice | candied ginger

PART 1

[rabbitprintart]

some more favorite panels from Trigun:

Vash, Merryl, and Milly are all equally cunty as they are silly, especially Vash (like jesus fuck y'all seeing this shit, like we don't talk enough how fucking amazing of a gun slinger he is). He even somehow has time to apply eyeliner as he is running away from the cops, as philosopher RuPaul once said: "YOU BETTER WORK!"

[pepperpixel]

The adventures of goofball mcchucklefuck part 1, aka, art dump of myself / evil me stuff that I’ve drawn over the past 2 years! That I either never finished or just never posted! I’m gonna try my best to sort these in chronological order. But… I kinda forget exactly when I drew a few of them. Mostly it should all be correct tho.

This part featuring! Quite a bit of vent art! And a few sketch pages from my first forays into bars! Cuz… I was sad 2 years ago lol… and desperately searching for friends.. not all of the art is going to be venty tho I promise!!!

[hawyeer]

Love gomer and all but why are his eyes so big

[ge]

still crazy to think that when chung myung reincarnated, he was still mentally fresh off the battle field.. he fully expected when he opened his eyes to be face to face w the magyo.. i know it's more so played off for jokes in canon but i cant even imagine how stressful and jarring it was for him to have to integrate back into a wholly peaceful era all while he is still mourning and grieving his lost sect/family/comrades/etc who, to him, had only died mere days/weeks/months ago, with no outlets or like minded people he could lean upon

[why-the-heck-not]

22.09.23, friday

Got my laptop unstuck ! So in theory it now works. But in practice? The loser’s throwing me error messages and has not downloaded the essentials. So I’m drinking wine & fighting with my laptop. Friday evening.

things done today:

half-way fixed the laptop, but still have some fuckery to deal with

went to a thrift store and found Bowie and Kiss t-shirts and a coffee cup from a random medical conference; a great thrift store haul

2 long-ish walks (20k steps babeyy, I’ve been walking)

[dailykugisaki]

Day 347 | id in alt

Kugisaki hasn't been around Gojo enough to gaf about him LMAO.