getting my day drunk on

For people saying Sanvers got engaged too quickly: my mum and dad got engages after 20 days of dating. DAYS. They’ve been happily married for 30 years now. If you ask them why it happened so fast, they’ll say they just knew. They knew from the first date that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. Sometimes you just know.

Over the last two years, I spent most of my days getting drunk and high. I was living like a lost soul. So out of character. This year I'm detoxing, eating clean, exercising, meditating and focusing more on my spirituality. Time flies so quickly when you're living like a zombie. I almost lost it all. Never again.
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i have 0 excuses okay i just saw @joliemariella‘s tags on my silly drunk Pap animation and 

look at all those friends

c’mon Sans, gotta carry ‘em for SCIENCE (and friendship)

i just wanna move away, into a tiny apartment decorated with little lights, where i cook breakfast in my underwear every day, sing in the shower, get wine drunk with my friends on a tuesday night, maybe have a dog or two so if ur down come join, ok? ok.

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inspiration for witches

  • witches of the forest and the night - they change into wolves during the day and roam the green forest of trees searching for fellow caged creatures. The set free winged and wise owls under the moon, that illuminates their pearl feathers.
  • witches of the winter and stars - foggy winter evenings become hues of blue filled with starry nights for the witches. they live in old victorian schools surrounded by trees made dead by the harsh cold season. they wear bewitched moonstones around their necks that turn them into deers enchanting the frozen forest…
  • witches of the sea and precious gems - these witches live and breathe the sacred salty air of the shore. they use precious gems to channel their inner soul to undulate crashing waves into the grey sea. they dance and drown beneath the crystal watery surface like silver sea-sirens.
  • witches of burning fire and flames - golden wreathed witches filled with the radiance of bright fire and flames. they use blazing candles to illuminate the darkness in their cathedral of trees. their familiars are foxes as red as the sun and as sly as smoke from their fires. 
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Let Riko be King. Most coveted, most protected. He’ll sacrifice every piece he has to protect his throne. Whatever. Me? I’m gonna be the deadliest piece on the board.

anonymous asked:

Drunk Baz makes me so sad, especially Bc he's 16 and drinking, and drinking Bc he's alone and depressed. Don't drink kids

exactly!! he was dealing with so much at way too young on top of regular teenage angst and and oh no i am sadder now q.q

anonymous asked:

Ryuji is scared to drink coffee and alcohol because his father drank both and ge doesn’t want to become his father.

**can’t not make this pegoryu i am sorry if u hate it send this to me again and i will redo**

The first time Ryuji refuses coffee, Akira thinks its the bitterness. And, to be fair, it is, but a different bitterness, a bitterness leftover from years of witnessing what a young boy should never have to see.

The second time Akira thinks he’s just being stubborn. He tries to insist, even dumps spoonfuls of sugar into it until Akira’s sure a single sip will cause a cavity. Ryuji pushes the cup away and doesn’t speak. After a moment, he mutters that coffee makes him puke. There’s something more there, Akira decides, something beyond the taste.

The third time Ryuji refuses coffee Akira is experimenting. He makes a latte this time, now mostly warm milk with a hint of espresso, and places it before Ryuji wordlessly. He doesn’t insist. He just waits. Ryuji looks at it like it’s poison, asks Akira to “just drink it already so I don’t have to look at that shit.” Akira mentions it’s a latte, that coffee without being coffee, all casually like the difference between the two is nothing more than factual. When Ryuji touches the cup gently, when he brings it towards him and, 20 minutes later, ventures a sip, Akira sees the way he winces. Ryuji’s thoughts turn over as the liquid burns his throat: no, it’s not coffee, it’s different, it’s warmer, it’s not trying to fix a hangover or drown the memory of fists landing on skin, of bruises that bloom like wretched flowers; it’s a boy in an apron with concerned eyes and dark hair and a face steady, not unpredictable, not wild in all the worst ways. Akira stops brewing coffee whenever Ryuji comes over.

The first time Ryuji rejects a beer, Akira’s expecting it. He knew Ryuji’s father was a drunk, had heard a couple stories over the years, but it’s not the refusal that gets Akira. It’s the way he does it. He shrugs it off, says he doesn’t like the taste, and Akira has a flashback to Lablanc years before. It comes together for him then. Ryuji is a master of nonchalance when he wants to be, and as the college kid shrugs and turns, Akira catches the sigh of relief that escapes Ryuji’s lips.

The second time it’s hard liquor and Ryuji looks disgusted with everyone around him. Akira doesn’t drink, not around Ryuji, but everyone else seems to. He watches his friend carefully, one eye on the scene and one on the blonde boy whose hands keep flexing at his sides. Ryuji starts mumbling, starts going on about how they don’t know what alcohol can do to a person, how it can make you a monster and–no, not make you one, but brings out the demon that’s been inside the whole time. When Ryuji’s body starts shaking–from anger or emotion, Akira isn’t sure–he puts a protective arm around him and steers Ryuji away from the party.

The third time Ryuji doesn’t reject it. It’s been a long week for them–finals, always a hard time for his dearest friend–and Ryuji’s tired, his willpower shot. When the cup finds its way to his hands, Ryuji doesn’t bother asking what’s in it, doesn’t go to the kitchen in search of some “chaser.” He just lifts the cup and swallows. Akira winces at the same time Ryuji does, watching over his friend, wary of what he knows is hidden deep inside his heart. Akira waits while Ryuji puts the cup down and licks his lips, face thoughtful, memories playing over in head like a horror movie. This is what caused all of that. This is the monster Ryuji’s been running from, the one he’s feared he couldn’t beat. He looks to his friend, no longer in an apron but eyes still concerned, dark hair still all over the place, the one real and true constant Ryuji’s ever known. He is all the wild Ryuji needs. Akira’s surprised when Ryuji laughs. He turns to Akira, says he doesn’t get the hype and tosses the cup aside. When he asks Akira if he wants to get a latte, Akira’s never been prouder, and Ryuji’s never felt better.

anonymous asked:

I just wanted to say thank you for what you do :) Your gifs are really appreciated. There is so much negativity towards the show and actors and now many are boycotting them, so I hope you won't join and keep gifting us with your talent. Thank you :)

Hey Anon! YOU ARE WELCOME! Thank ye kindly and I’m so verra glad you enjoy <3 I’m sticking around and posting what I can and I still love the show. I can separate the actors from the characters. I can still watch a scene and forget about the bullshit on Social Media.

Now, I ken you didna ask for this, but here I go… *bats down the hatches*

I fully admit to being negative about the show. I’ve had friends stop talking to me, probably partly because of that. It’s sad but I am who I am.  I won’t rehash what’s happened this past week. I’m sure everyone knows what’s been going on. But I will say this—I won’t stop ranting about the following on Twitter:

  • how it’s bullshit that their September premiere will, on a number of occasions, force me to choose between Outlander and getting day drunk and cheering for my Minnesota Vikings
  • how terrible Starz is at promoting the show
  • how ridiculous it is that they—the cast, the crew, the producers—can’t even show the minimum amount of unforced enthusiasm for their upcoming season
  • how I think if Cait has the time to post a pic of her costar’s girlfriend, she damn well has the time to post a pic from set
  • how I’m so sick and tired of reading about someone who IS NOT A CAST MEMBER
  • how I don’t need to see another damn picture of ships, because I watch Black Sails and I’ve seen plenty, and that’s also not what Season 3 is about (and I hope to God they know what it *is* about)
  • how it’s ridiculous that Poldark will have aired TWO seasons before Outlander even airs ONE
  • how, while I don’t think any of the cast owes me anything, I do think they all need to stop fucking with their fans and show more appreciation
  • how I will not stand for any complaining from ANY member of production when they’re basically on a vacation with some night shoots and filming thrown in there
  • how it’s ill-advised to spurn a portion of your fanbase, but, hey, it’s their ratings funeral
  • how I give zero fucks about what kind of moon appears in South Africa and/or the weather they’re experiencing
  • how I think they’re all such amateurs and don’t have a clue how fandoms work and how to harness that passion toward something positive
  • how it’s ridiculous they have a gag order on sharing BTS pics
  • how I think everyone involved in that production needs to take a fucking Social Media course

But on my blog (with the exception of this post), I’m going to continue posting gifs/videos. It’s a reminder of why I love this show, why I even bother. Why I’ve invested time and money into things that allow me to create what I share. But those investments were my choice and I’ll own them. I once told someone that I’m a creative person and this is my creative outlet.

If there are lapses in posts, it’s not because I’ve given up. It’s because it’s getting nicer out, which means this Minnesota Bear has begun to emerge from her winter hibernation. I kick and scream and threaten to not watch the show, but I know I’ll be there. Hopefully with some retained enthusiasm. I’ve weathered many shitstorms in this fandom, so why not this one? Over time, I’ve developed a healthy detachment. I’m like Claire, I’m not the woman I once was. With each one I’ve taken a step back, reassessed, returned with a different/new perspective.

BUT I’m still here for this, first and foremost:

Are You Drunk? || Tyler Down x Reader

I’ve legit had this idea in my head for days. Tyler getting drunk for the first time is my religion.

Word Count: 790

Warnings: Drunkenness

~


    When your parents had said they were going on vacation the week before your birthday, meaning you would have free reign of the house, you knew exactly what you were going to do; throw the party to end all parties.

    After nearly a month of planning, and one long night of shopping, everything had been put into place. Everyone who was remotely decent would be coming, no jerk-offs invited. Especially not Bryce, even though he offered to bring beer. You had very un-gently let him know that you had Jeff Atkins for that.

    So the night arrived and now here you were, cheering alongside a few other people who you had yet to learn the names of as a pair of girls started doing body shots.

    You felt a tap on your shoulder, and when you looked to see who it was you were greeted by the nervous face of Clay Jensen. He said something, but with the music blasting so loudly you couldn’t quite make it out. You gave him a confused look. He grabbed your shoulders, pointing you in the direction of the kitchen.

    Your eyes widened when you caught site of Tyler, who was half falling out of a bar stool, his face squished uncomfortably against the countertop. He had at least five bottles sprawled around his feet, and that was just what you could see.

    You gave Clay a pat on the shoulder and nodded, slipping through the crowd. Once you had made it to the kitchen you approached Tyler slowly, placing a hand on his lower back.

    “Ty,” you said softly. “You okay?”

    He groaned loudly, flexing his fingers. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, wobbling unsteadily, despite the fact that he was sitting down. He looked around, squinting at the party going on just in the other room. “Wha- I donnn’-” he slurred. “Heyy, babyy.”

    You resisted the urge to laugh. “Oh, okay. You’re one of those types of drunks.” You picked up one of the empty bottles, tossing it in the trash. “How many did you have?”

    He shrugged his shoulders sloppily, nearly toppling out of his chair. You caught him by the waist, comparing the way his long legs stumbled to a newborn deer trying to walk. “Prolly’ like, uhhh, ssseven,” he replied.

    “Seven?” you asked. “Come on. Let’s get you some water.”

    “No!” he snapped. His voice came out louder than even he was expecting, apparently, because he took a moment to recompose himself. “I havta tell you ssomethin’.”

    “You can tell me later,” you replied.

    He grunted, forcing himself out of the chair and onto his feet. You kept an arm around his waist, supporting him as he nearly tripped over his own two feet. When he tried to grab another beer from the fridge, you steered him away and towards the stairs.

    “Okay, sweetheart,” you said, guiding him carefully up each step. “I think you need to go lay down in my room.”

    “I havta tell youu,” he said again.

    You ignored him, pulling him down the hall and into your bedroom. You brought him towards your bed, chuckling as he fell backwards onto it. You untied his shoes and pulled them off, chucking them somewhere to the side.

    “Beer is grrreat,” he slurred as you pulled the blankets out from under him.

    “Mmhm,” you hummed.

    As you were fixing the pillows behind his head, he grabbed your wrist, pulling hard. You lost your balance, toppling over onto his chest. He rolled over, trapping you beneath himself. His lips found the crook of your neck easily, leaving a trail of careless, wet kisses.

    “Okay, time to move,” you gasped, squirming beneath him. “Tyler, come on.”

    His curly, disheveled hair tickled your cheek as he moved to your collarbone, his hands beginning to wander down. You pressed your palms flat against his chest, trying to push him off. The harder you tried, the heavier he seemed to become.

    “Ty,” you whispered.

    His hands found the hem of your shirt, not wasting a moment before pushing up underneath it, smoothing against the skin of your stomach. You bit back a pleased sigh, trying to find some other way to take control.

    You hated to admit that you were enjoying yourself. You couldn’t. Not like this, while he was drunk off of his ass.

    He stopped suddenly, collapsing onto his side. His breathing slowed from a pant to a steady rise and fall. Just when you thought he had fallen asleep, he motioned for you to come closer. You moved onto your knees, leaning in to listen.

    “I hadta tell youu that I, um, neverr had alcohaall beforre,” he murmured.

    You sighed, a smile itching at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, I figured.”

The House of Beasts, Part 2

Part 2! Like I said, updates may be a little slow, but at least I have all my main ideas and plot points in mind, so it should move along pretty easily. Thanks for all the love!

Summary: Prythian University, the grounds where frat houses wage wars and throw the best parties yet. Feyre, an art student and girlfriend to the Head of House of the Spring House, discovers secrets everyone’s been keeping from her for the last year and a half. An ACOTAR/ACOMAF AU, which begins as Feylin then evolves into Feysand. Begins as ACOTAR, includes AU of Under the Mountain, but will focus more on Acomaf.

Word Count: 2393 words

Once again, thank you all for withholding any hate and supplying only constructive criticism (I really need it!) and sending any requests, suggestions, etc.  

Disclaimer: All characters and some direct and or modified quotes belong to Sarah J Maas, as well as some of the plot points. I take no credit for them whatsoever

Part 2: Coffees

“I think this is the part where you thank me for saving your ass,” the man said, leaning against the white brick wall. “I’ll wait for you to take your time drooling, though. I know I’m dreamy.”

Blood flushed my cheeks. “Prick. I was going to thank you but I guess not.” I pivoted on my heel to walk away, but he simply kept following.

“Don’t walk away, darling. I was just being funny,” he continued, but my footsteps didn’t relent. The pool was trashed, as it always was around this time of the night for a party, beer cans mixing in with all the dead leaves and brush that had been swept into it. His footsteps rang out against the cement as he relentlessly trailed me to the patio, blabbering on the whole time how he just wanted to talk to me, when I plunked myself on a chair.

“Sit. Talk. Then leave. I’m really not in the mood right now.”

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