#its not booze

[putriddivine]

i do drink too much diet coke but i used to get blackout drunk and smoke crystal meth so. im doing okay. small victories.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Sorry for not having a Year of the Dragon MDZS artwork; Unfortunately, I can only picture Dragon LWJ in this particular flavour.

[57sfinest]

kim is such a funny little guy like he emphasizes how little the rcm salary is when you ask about it (5500 reál annually- 460/mo) but here he is with his nice electronic sports watch and his little instant camera and his fancy revolutionary cosplay for plainclothes and he's living in the GRIH which can't be cheap and he's got his fancy little mnemotechnique notebooks which are like the moleskine of elysium i guess and his fancy little ballpoints that he does NOT want to share with you which i bet is because they cost him like a week of salary. and this is the rcm he's not getting stipends for supplies or watches or housing or probably even the gas for the kineema. poor as fuck but he is going to buy himself his little treats god damn it. if he lived in our world you know he'd be out getting himself a $9 vanilla soy milk half caf dirty chai iced latte every morning on the way to the station and eating instant noodles every night to claw out room in the budget for it

[charmac]

This is the definition of serving cunt

[lordofdestructionm]

The Lackadaisy Pilot: Gets released and brings a whole new audience to Lackadaisy as well as bring back old fans that will not only draw more attention to the amazing comic but may even lead to a full animated series to let us further explore this amazing world and its characters

My poor diseased brain: I hope this makes even more people fall in love with the Viktor and Mordecai dynamic

If you have seen the pilot but not read the comic and all its side content then you really should. It provides a lot of important extra context for the characters. For example...

[payasita]

Speaking of fic stuff: The Lamb and Nari wake up one morning covered in bandages, surrounded by empty bottles. They have ZERO recollection of the night before. Now what?

He awakes to a taste like bile and rust, and with one hand wrapped in at least twenty layers of gauze.

Narinder takes a second to stare at it, wiggling immobile fingers and contemplating the mechanics of sitting up with a head somehow filled with both cotton and lead. He drops the hand and decides against it, rolling over and pulling a blanket over his head. The movement does absolutely heinous things to his stomach.

A slow minute passes before he realizes he is not under a blanket at all. It's comfortable regardless, so he cannot summon the effort to care. Far softer than anything yet available in the commune. The familiar scent doesn't hurt, warm and securely claimed with his own, and indeed does a good job in blocking out the currently unmanageable stench of the outside world.

Until it's nearly pulled away from him. He clutches onto it with a hiss, and instantly regrets moving so quickly.

"Oh good, you're alive." The Lamb gives it another tug. "Give me back my fleece."

Narinder vaguely remembers having lost a battle against them while at his full divine potential. He'd even had both hands available to him and everything. He cannot truly imagine the odds are with him now.

"Thank you," they huff when he unlatches his claws. He searches for something else to cover his face while they clothe themself. His skull appears to be imploding.

"I am dying," he declares. There's a few seconds of silence. Contemplation on the Lamb's end. Abject suffering on Narinder's.

"Nope. Not sensing it."

"Your competence with the Crown is dubious at best."

"You're not dying," they assure him, lightheartedly, "It just feels like it."

He groans, rolling over and hitting himself in the face with the large gauze lump in his attempt to throw his arm over his eyes. He snarls, and begins blindly picking at it with his free claw to find the edge.

The Lamb snorts, leaning over him. They have an armful of empty bottles under an arm, and are looking infuriatingly chipper.

"How'd you go and do that to yourself?"

He glares at them, pointedly.

"I clearly cannot have done this on my own."

"What, you don't remember?"

"...No," he admits. "What happened, then?"

"Oh, hell if I know," the Lamb laughs, and is saved from having that smile shorn off their face by his vertigo alone.

They move around him and pick up another bottle, inspecting it. "I was at the same feast you were, y'know. And if you'd had all this yourself, you probably would be dead," they gesture to the bundle under their arm, already five or six strong and slipping a bit.

"... Actually, we should probably both still be dead," they tut. "I don't even know what the flock puts in this stuff, 'sides from berries. But wow, they're good at it. Hey, actually, do you think maybe we have the makings of something worth exporting to the outside world? Plimbo's always making trips back and forth to who-knows-where, I bet we could--"

"Lamb."

"Mm?"

"Your chattering is causing me physical pain."

"Oop. ...Guess I should be grateful for the divine healing factor, huh?"

Narinder ponders the irony of wishing Death incarnate to choke, and finally finishes unraveling his hand. He squints at it. He sees no damage whatsoever that might have compelled anyone to waste medical resources on him. Not a strand out of place. He inspects his claws, and finds a bit of blood under them. Odd.

"There must be, like, a dozen bottles of wine in here. Do you think I drank most of it? I remember everyone in the temple cheering when I started chugging one. ...Or, uh. Three," the Lamb recounts, setting the pile down on a nearby table. Narinder watches them, scanning down their body for any abnormalities. No claw marks or stab wounds remain, but they would be gone by now. Still. The fact that he feels metal when he pushes his hand under his pillow is probably worth noting.

"You have a basket around here?" the Lamb asks after a point, "I need somewhere to put these."

Narinder says, "I do not live here."

"...Whuh?"

"This is not my hut."

The Lamb pauses. They glance around, newly curious. Narinder grasps at the bit of metal under his pillow, and retrieves a dagger. It is smeared with blood. He eyes it, vaguely toying with the way light plays off of the dull blade.

"Did I attempt to kill you last night?" he asks idly. The Lamb looks over. They see the knife.

"...Nnnno?" They try, not even attempting to sound certain.

"I believe," Narinder mutters, hardly feeling bothered to spare the focus, "I might have killed someone."

The Lamb looks at him, having the grace to at least look troubled. Narinder, on the other hand, remains far more concerned with the roiling in his stomach.

"... Okay, wait. Wait, I think I remember-- yeah," the Lamb snaps, and points at him. "Yeah! You lost your hand privileges."

"What," Narinder says.

"Yeah! You were doing-- something," the Lamb waves off vaguely, "Yeah, I think I remember-- I had to take the claws away? I mean. That would explain the bandages?"

Narinder glances over. It certainly sounds like the sort of logic they would act upon, in the event of his own uninhibited violence.

"...So I did try and kill you, again."

"Iiii, dunno? I mean. Maybe?" Again, they don't sound remotely sure. The "divine healing factor" does not, it appears, account for episodes of alcoholic blackout. Good to know.

So, trying to kill his spouse was one possible explanation. Admittedly, it wasn't even a far-fetched one. But the ambient stench of this hut offers another.

"Lamb," Narinder sits up, winning a valiant battle with his own vertigo, "Whose shelter is this?"

The Lamb pauses. They look around again at all the bottles strewn about. They look up. At the same time they do, a droplet of blood plops onto their cheek.

"...I think his name was Bremar," the Lamb hums.

"You think?"

"I mean, the Crown can only tell me so much. 'Specially when the corpse in question has somehow been reduced to... uh... streamers."

"Ah."

"So, uh, we should--- we should go."

Narinder growls. His stomach does not agree with the prospect of standing up anytime soon.

"Ten more minutes."

"Nari," the Lamb deadpans, "You eviscerated a guy."

"...Five, then."

[hanzajesthanza]

[raises hand to ask question] so can regis eat black pudding or blood sausage or any of these kinds of foodstuffs. is it like a slice of rum cake. or is it like a weed brownie

[cutemeat]

fingers crossed rob wont be in the writers room for sunny

[hangsawoman]

the episode beginning with everyone sitting around almost lifeless waiting for it to stop snowing and being so relieved when it does so they can continue living vs the women at the end going insane over the falling snow and running outside to dance in it and be free. when they were young they had to be adults and now that they are adults they are back to being little girls

[sketchy-julia]

Always Sunny Season 16 doodles ☀️

[nqn]

i wish i could talk about ocs here openly/without nervousness. like adrian drew a comic of a conversation we had about some ocs last night and im so fucked up and weepy about it i love the ocs so much. yes theyre inspired by pcov style but theyre also Not That anymore and i. augghhh.... chewing...

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

These FFS inner demons are very “disco elysium skills” reminiscent. I NEED to meet that cast! Also freaking awesome work to you and your buddy :]

May it be an open secret that one of my inspirations was Disco Elysium. I think they could party together.

[kanos]

"dep, what is all this?" wheaty can't contain his surprise or curiosity to the mountain of records she tossed on his table. theo grins as she sifts through a few of them. "music, my darling wheaty. in return for helping you, how about you play me some tunes on your radio?" she points out a few that are her favorite and a couple that are a must have. the temptation to listen to every single record crosses his mind - there's some good bands hiding in the stack and a few he hasn't heard before, but then a rotten thought takes over. "you aren't asking me for this just so you can throw parties again, are you?" "how could you possibly think that?" theo holds her hand against her chest as if she were wounded by his words. "but if i do, i will be sure to invite you. deal?"

DEPUTY DRIVING THROUGH HOPE COUNTY PLAYLIST with vast and beautiful sceneries, both day and night flying by. music to be played on the jukebox in the spread eagle while the whole town takes time off to feel alive for just one more night.

taglist: @imogenkol @statichvm @tommyarashikage @risingsh0t @strangefable

@ravensgard @firstaidspray @pitchmoss @pavus @florbelles

@carrionsflower @josephzeppeli @thedeadthree @leviiackrman @roberthouse69

@confidentandgood @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @rolangf @bigbywlf

[taglist opt in]

[ratatatastic]

everytime i think "oh its a quiet night for the cats-" like an er nurse they come rolling in dancing on bartops and other tomfoolery also why is it when theres bar antics ITS ALWAYS THESE 3

WHO GAVE MIKKSY A COWBOY HAT. AND WHO GAVE LUNDY THE POWER TO LORD OVER FOG IN THE BAR.

6.29.24

[charmac]

[tfw-no-tennis]

please listen to my vision okay. I need a sitcom of kishibe, quanxi, and yoshida all living together and fighting devils and sometimes each other. think abt how fucking funny those dynamics would be GOD just imagine

kishibe jaded old man and the love of his life, a lesbian who has 3000000x more game than him. and yoshida who in my head is kishibes weird son or nephew or something is also there

this is genius please fujimoto spinoff when