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WHY IS HE SO HARD TO DRAW AAAAA Anyway here's a lil Mr.Terrific!!!

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This has to got be someone’s rare pair, there must be one person one earth absolutely popping bottles right now

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best part of the movie was this dude

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It feels like Akane being a professional gymnast gets ignored a lot of the time, especially in canon

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I know what i wanna eat

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god this tickles me

(OP's tiktok here)

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Proud Fool

read on Ao3

words: 1155

[trigger warning; alcoholism]

--

It wasn’t often that Washford was distracted by something other than his own mind.

Truthfully, his thoughts were always running rampant with the words he loved so much, even to the point that he’d keep himself awake into the wee hours of the morning. Tonight, however, that had not been the case - he’d been asleep when hushed whispers and a voice growing increasingly louder and incessant jolted him awake. It wasn’t uncommon for the objects in the kitchen to play cards or gorge on food when the human was sleeping, but what truly shook him out of his grogginess was the voice itself.

He recognized that voice. It was Drysdale.

His body chilled, suddenly wracking him with shivers. He was almost worried he’d freeze the water Winnifred was supplying him. Whatever Drysdale was doing was not his business. They hadn’t spoken in years for a reason.

That didn’t stop him from moving without thinking. He pressed his body to the wall, peeking his head just slightly into the doorway. How uncouth, he thought, to be eavesdropping like this, but he was still shivering. He needed this.

Silver moonlight streamed through Wyndolyn’s panes, highlighting the view of a concerned Beverly standing across from a clearly intoxicated Drysdale. His top half was draped across her bar, his face in his arms. His voice was muffled when he spoke. “Please, just one more, Beverly, darling.”

“No way, mister. You’ve had quite enough already.” The bartender’s voice was firm but gentle, her brow furrowed in deep worry as she dried a glass with a cloth napkin. While the drunk man moaned, she continued with a quiet sigh, “I hate to see you like this.”

Drysdale picked up his head to look at her, his cheeks rather flushed in the moonlight. “See me…?” He scoffed, spreading his hands, wobbling a bit on his stool. “I’m perfectly fine! I’ve never been better!”

Beverly stared at him incredulously, but realized there was probably no use in talking sense right now. She placed down the glass she’d been drying and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Drysdale, you really should just apologize to him.”

Suddenly, Washford’s heart skipped a beat. Drysdale swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked at her. “I…but…”

“You love Washford,” she continued, squeezing his shoulder, “and that’s why you’re here, with me, right now. Alcohol isn’t going to fix that hole in your heart, my friend.”

Drysdale looked more at a loss of words than Washford could ever remember seeing him. His breath caught in his throat. “I do,” he whispered. “I do love him. More than anything in this world. And I…miss him so.”

“Good start.” Beverly, seemingly somewhat pleased she’d gotten him to admit that, let go of his shoulder, and bent down to put the glass away.

It happened in slow motion. Washford watched Drysdale’s eyes flutter as he swayed, and knew Beverly wouldn’t make it in time. He ran, catching Drysdale before he could hit the floor, unconscious. 

Startled, Beverly popped up, looking between the two with wide eyes before groaning. “I knew I shouldn’t have given him that last one…”

But Washford wasn’t paying attention to Beverly. He was holding Drysdale in his arms, and he damn near looked like an angel in the moonlight. His hair streaked with silver, his face slack, Washford wondered if he was imagining the shine to his cheeks. While he subconsciously swept a lock of hair from Drysdale’s eyes, emotions threatened to spill over in his own body - anger, desire, betrayal, and overwhelming sadness all at once. The exact reason he hadn't spoken to Drysdale in so long.

Drysdale still loved him.

“Washford?”

He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to look away from his former lover’s face, finding Beverly’s concerned expression now directed at him. She crouched down beside him with a quiet sigh.

“I’m…sorry. I’ll take better care of him next time.”

“Whatever he wants to do with his time is not up to me, nor you,” he mumbled, perhaps somewhat bitterly.

Lightly, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “That’s true. But he does care, in his, um…weird, roundabout, cocky way, y’know?”

“You do not understand.” Washford shrugged her hand off of him frustratedly, but paused once he saw the surprise and slight hurt in her eyes. He sighed, wondering how long Drysdale must have been coming to her. “All I want,” he continued, softer, “is an apology. He still does not see the error of what he did! He still does not know how he hurt me!”

Beverly nodded sadly. “He is stubborn, that one. But, honestly? I think he does know these things. Getting him to admit it is the harder part.”

An uncomfortable silence followed, with Drysdale blissfully unaware of the conversation in Washford’s arms. When Washford spoke, it was nearly inaudible. “Do you truly think he might one day admit it?”

She smiled at him, perhaps a little sadly. “Someday, when he is ready. He will not be able to be apart from you forever.”

Feeling somewhat dizzy, Washford gathered Drysdale in his arms, moving to stand up slowly. “I thank you for looking after him, Beverly.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Please keep this to yourself for now, if you will. I am not ready to…look him in the eye just yet.” Moving her hand to her lips, Beverly mimed zipping them closed and throwing away the key. 

With that, Washford took slow steps back toward the laundry room, finding himself wanting to savor this moment as long as he could. Drysdale was so warm, thawing the ice he’d been feeling earlier, his breath coming in small puffs of air against Washford’s bicep. He was reminded of the countless nights they’d spent together, how Drysdale would insist he was not tired but fall asleep within the minute, and Washford would just be able to admire his beauty until sleep came for him, too.

Things were different now. He didn’t have that luxury anymore.

He cast a sideways glance toward the pile of clothes surrounding the hamper and sighed softly, feeling his heart heave with jealousy and anger again - but he quelled it as quick as it came. His problem was not with Dirk.

He knew he ought to have complimented Drysdale more when they were together. He should have been more upfront with his feelings, but the Pale Betrayal loomed over every single thought he had and made it difficult to combat the what-ifs.

Gently, he placed Drysdale’s sleeping form to bed where he belonged, right above Washford. He watched him for another few, selfish moments, wondering if Beverly was right.

“You proud fool,” Washford murmured, brushing a soft kiss on Drysdale’s forehead. “Come to me soon, my love. Please.”

And with that, he settled in his place below him.

Sleep did not come easy, but when it did, he dreamed of Drysdale’s smile.

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These two are bugged in my game but I still love em. Speedpaint below the cut! 🧡💙

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( ˘ ³˘)♥ 🍽️

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enforcing my "celia is like everyone's mom" hc

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oh no jerry noo dont fall face down ass up onto the ground noooo

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Who throwing shade?

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Wet hot love

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wheres all the Bodhi content :(

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Mirror, Mirror, on the wall– truly the FINEST of them all