johnvargas

[shirtlessjohnnysidols]

Takizawa Hideaki

Takizawa Kabuki 10th anniversary booklet

[katfixation]

Oh to draw people no one knows/cares about in 2024

[littleeyesofpallas]

Mother Parasite[マザーパラサイト]

[redactednzilch]

I finally completed Horrorpotamus and god was it horrible

all medals acquired finally and also here's the slot incase anyone wants to copy.

[shadyidolshitmoments]

Takki keeps "tweeting" by changing his bio. I'm obsessed with this old man.

[wideeyedloner]

「When did your heart stop loving me? 壊れそうだよ 息をしてる心に ふれてほしいのに Why did my heart cry loving me? 張り裂けそうに 愛がナイフのようなんだ SO 渇いたTrue Heart」

"When did your heart stop loving me? my breathing heart seems broken despite craving your touch Why did my heart cry loving me? a love ready to burst is like a knife so thirsty for a true heart"

[chisaiyume]

Tackey & Tsubasa [2002-2018]

[ilhoonftw]

king & prince members leaving ... it's so weird how it went down. like their sales were good and tours also 🤔 probably management decided to prioritize other group(s) and the dudes decided even knowing the risk of getting cockblocked 🥲

[imauthicktic]

Slashers incorrect quotes

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N: *hands Ghostface a heart shaped box* will you be mine?

Ghostface, takes box and opens it to find a knife inside: I aint complainin', sweet cheeks, but I thought this was a proposal

Y/N: actually, this is a blood oath

Ghostface: understood, go ahead

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Baby Firefly: *crying while Y/N comforts them*

Baby Firefly: *back to normal* sorry I was vulnerable with you. Do you still think I'm hot?

Y/N:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N, Chucky, and Tiffany Valentine playing two truths and one lie

Tiffany: *talking to Chucky* You're tackey and cheap. Plus, I hate you.

Chucky: Ha! nice try! all of those are a lie!

Chucky whispering to Y/N: she was lying, right?

Y/N:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N: why are you following me?

Billy: because we're dating now

Y/N: okay... what about Stu?

Billy: we're a package deal

Stu: buy one idiot, get one free

Y/N: *gasps* I love BOGOS!!!

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Lambert’s stuck in a rut. His life’s going nowhere and his dreams never seem to leave the A1 architectural drawings he carries around in his rucksack. He has Aiden’s bar, his respectably placed outer London apartment and his Japanese Peace Lily. That is… until he meets a tall, silent bar tender with shoulders like the Qinghai-Tibetan plateau and eyes like twin suns.

CW: mutism, war injuries, Lambert running his mouth. Set up of a longer work which has never seen the light of day, but I like the opening a lot.

Lambert had been visiting the same shitty, rundown bar since graduating. Three years bachelors, two years postgrad, twelve months running after a middle-aged racist with a caffeine addiction—internship—and then five years of… this. No one prepared you for the heady heights of listless adulthood; that odd grey area between being a cutting edge, aspiring young whippersnapper and a washed out, lonely old man with seven cats. Lambert was staring down the barrel of thirty simultaneously wondering where the fuck his life was sprinting off to and what the fuck he had even done with it to begin with.

Every night he pulled a late one at the office labouring over his distant dream of sustainable, affordable housing for the working class that wasn’t a lifeless block of concrete. You know, the kind that drew inspiration from the hallowed corridors of nineteenth century Newgate prison. The kind of place that leeched the life and happiness from every one of its occupants until they were as grey and empty as their home. Someone’s community was meant to be at their heart, something that defined them. Like the roots of a tree—you know, the person being the… tree. Look, he was never so good at conceptualising his vision in words. He’d sooner draw you a fucking picture. Which is where we were fucking at right now.

Lambert had become an architect on the back of a dream he’d had sitting on a swing set in the condemned children’s playground at the very centre of his council estate. Half the kids he’d known had given up because life was grey, drugs were easy, so what’s the fucking point, right? If only they were faced with more than the grey—

That dream had driven him through his studies like a man possessed—by a demon comprising of an unhealthy amount of Monster and a stubborn, spiteful drive to succeed—followed by that tedious twelve months as a gopher, but now he was here… or there, or whatever spatial demonstrative you wanted to fucking use, he didn’t know what to do. The dream had shuddered to a halt. Red tape, politics. The kind of thing that stood fast in the face of an outsider. Because he would always be an outsider. Something—something—attitude problem.

The same thoughts gathered like a storm cloud over his head as he trudged down the steps to Aiden’s. Both the name of the place and the owner, because Aiden straddled the line between new money glam and old east end rust in a way that was both tackey and unique. He managed to pull it off somehow. Lambert threw himself down in his usual stool, dumping his satchel full of drawings at unceremoniously at his feet, and thumped his forehead on the bar. “Usual, Sal.”

Sal wasn’t his real name. His real name was Derek. But everyone called him Sal because of the time he’d stepped in for the chef, cooked the Friday night chicken curry and given everyone salmonella. Environmental health nearly had a fucking field day but, much like many of Aiden’s licensing and business woes, the matter had cleared up mysteriously overnight.

The glass tumbler settled gently on a place mat in front of Lambert’s head. He heard the pop of the cork and the slosh of expensive whiskey—he’d worked his nuts off for his salary, so he could drink it away if he wanted to, thank you very fucking much—and then nothing. No greeting. No, “‘ello mate, what’s the story?”

Lambert lifted his head to rip on Sal and ask if someone had half-inched his tongue out his ugly mug, only to almost fall from his stool in shock. The man standing before him wasn’t Sal. Nothing like him in fact. Easily clear of six feet with a few inches to spare, a scruffy mop of dark hair and a face like someone had tried to pry out his teeth with a claw hammer. There was a gap in his lip, twisted scars all the way up the side of his face to his eye and ear. Angry, red. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Lambert said, mouth running away with his thoughts before he could marshal them.

The barman didn’t even flinch. His fingers tapped on the side of the bottle, hazel eyes dropping to the fifth he’d just poured, and Lambert realised he was waiting for some kind of acknowledgement that the drink was satisfactory. Lambert tore his eyes away and tried to bury the squirming, uncomfortable feeling that came with making an absolute cunt of yourself in front of someone new. “Yeah, cheers. Uh… add it to my... tab, uh—” Lambert glanced up and caught sight of a name badge, “—Eskel.”

There was another badge next to it. Light blue, with dark letters printed in Arial font. ‘I can’t speak, but I’m a good listener’. Lambert stared at it for a moment, fingers tapping on cool glass. “Can’t speak, huh? That because of—” Lambert gestured at his own face and Eskel nodded, “—right, bummer.” Eskel nodded again, but Lambert could swear he was being laughed at. Those hazel eyes glittered with something, and it wasn’t unshed tears at being so cruelly gawped at. Well, that was a fucking relief. “Yeah, I guess bummer is the understatement of the century.”

Eskel tilted his head and ducked his chin, with a quirk of the eyebrow.

“So, if you know my drink order, you know I have mac and cheese, with crispy bacon bits, and a side of onion rings.”

Another nod. Lambert squinted.

“You know, I’ll… uh—is Aiden out back? Fucker owes me a pony from the last—”

Lambert didn’t get through his excuse before he was sliding from the stool and hot footing it around the rope barrier to the back room. The corridor leading to Aiden’s office always smelled of industrial strength disinfectant and drunken regrets, and Lambert rubbed at his nose as he pushed through the door.

“Please, come in, not like I’m up to my bollocks in paperwork,” Aiden murmured, ensconced behind a teetering pile of brown folders and a box-shaped computer monitor from the early noughties. He was in his late-thirties, with wisps of grey hinting in his neatly groomed beard. Sharp green eyes left the lines of neat print on off-white paper for barely a second to acknowledge Lambert’s presence. “Shit week?”

“About a six on the shit-o-meter,” Lambert replied, gaze sliding sideways as the pinball machine to his left squealed and trilled. Gaetan, short, with a clean-shaven head, docs and a cut-off denim jacket, grumbled irritably as he missed out on beating Lambert’s high score. “Alright?” he asked and received a grunt in return. Gaetan was just shy of twenty years Aiden’s junior and oozed ‘younger brother complex’ from his every pore.

“Six isn’t bad.” Aiden sighed and threw his pen onto the table. “So, what’s the rub? Bacon not crispy enough?”

“What happened to Sal?”

“He finally bought that ticket to Marbella. Him and the missus flew out last night on the red eye.”

“That selfish prick,” Lambert growled. “Not even a by your fucking leave.”

Aiden shrugged and tapped morosely at his keyboard. Most of Aiden’s employees were itinerant in some way; students looking for a quick buck at the weekend, job-hoppers still searching for their calling and lazy schmucks looking for an easy ride only to realise that bar work was hard going. But Sal had been a permanent fixture for the last ten years, always dreaming about a ticket to the sun, and then wasting his pay packet on the horses or weekend jollies to France for cheap box wine.

Lambert rubbed at his beard. “The new guy. He for real?”

“Eskel?”

“Yeah.” Lambert yanked a rickety old chair over from the wall and sat on it backwards, arms folded beneath his chin. “Looks like one of Emhyr’s goons used him as a scratching post. ‘I can’t speak but I’m a good listener’?”

“He’s former forces. Not sure which. He’s… uh, part of that new government initiative. Veterans’ Strategy Action Plan.”

“Thought that was meant to put them in prisons and healthcare and shit?” It wasn’t unusual for Aiden to get involved in charity cases. Despite his feeble attempts at cultivating a fearsome reputation, he was a soft touch with a heart of gold. There wasn’t an AA programme, drug rehabilitation scheme, ex-con reform schtick or fresh start for young offenders’ initiative that he wasn’t involved in. Something about giving back to the community, or doing right by his dad, or something. Everyone had their dreams.

“Eskel’s… uh, he’s got some shit goin’ on in his head, you know. What he went through was hard. He’s happy to do some security on Saturday nights, knows how to pour a good Godfather, so he’s a decent gamble.”

“Shit going on in his head?”

Aiden narrowed his eyes and slumped back in his chair. “You know that’s confidential, and I’ve already told you too much. Fuck off and eat your dinner, I’ve got shit to do. I’ll join you for a quick one before you leave.”

Lambert rolled his eyes and left the office, pausing only long enough to bid farewell Gaetan and receive another grunt in reply. By the time he returned to the bar, Eskel was placing his mac and cheese on a neat place mat next to his whiskey. Lambert paused at the corner, taking a moment to admire the line of Eskel’s waistcoat around his muscular frame. Not too shabby. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad having some new eye candy around the place. Eye candy that didn’t talk back. Winner-winner-chicken-dinner.

“He was busy,” Lambert informed Eskel as he sat down at the bar. Eskel afforded him another nod, with a quirked brow, and then turned back to wiping down the pint glass in his hands. Lambert picked up his fork and focused on wolfing down his dinner as quickly as humanly possible. He watched Eskel work discreetly, looking up only when Eskel’s back was turned or his focus elsewhere. Lambert watched his forearms flex as he restocked the fridge with bottled cider, the fold of his shirt collar beneath the rugged line of his jaw with its light peppering of dark stubble. It was because Lambert hadn’t been laid in—

He began to run the numbers and it was just so fucking depressing he stopped—

—which was why he was hyper focused. New slab of man meat. Yeah. It had absolutely nothing to do with the meandering thoughts set a-wanderin’ by Aiden’s vague comments. What was the ‘something going on’ in Eskel’s head? What did his voice sound like? What had happened to his face? What did he like to do at the weekend, and did it involve lube—?

It was too awkward. Every time Lambert opened his mouth to talk, he knew he’d get that same calm look, perhaps the eyebrow, and in the end, he said nothing.

Aiden appeared an hour later—for Lambert, it had been an hour of pretending to play Candy Crush on his phone while watching Eskel go about his duties—and they shared a beer, a few giggles, and then Lambert headed home to his empty apartment to water his Japanese Peace Lily. No, it wasn’t a fucking euphemism. Vesemir said he couldn’t be trusted with another living thing. Not even a goldfish. He couldn’t even cook (although Lambert argued that those two things definitely didn’t fucking correlate, and boiling pasta definitely counted as cooking). He laid in bed that night and stared at the ceiling, thinking about Eskel and his quiet, calm eyes.

[shirtlessjohnnysidols]

Shibutani Subaru & Takizawa Hideaki

1999.07 Duet

[littleeyesofpallas]

Marusei!![マルセイ!! ]

[rubrumacai]

quick sanitised edit of Tackey for spooky season (following an art trend i saw popping up)

[toriaurorawriter15]

Kidnap, My Heart Chapter 3: The Crime

When Penelope Marie Featherington asked her journalist peers about knowing someone who could kidnap her as a joke, she did not realize that someone would actually take her question seriously.

It turns out that when you have spent all your life being a victim of verbal abuse, someone would find a way to save you from your predicament, and that stupid person did what she asked for. To be brought out of the hellhole of her mother's London home, kidnap her to somewhere unknown, and allow her to start all over from scratch.

'Gah, I should think before I ask anything." Penelope states out loud as she tries to make sense of yesterday's events.

Last night, she attended the university's end-of-semester on campus. She drank too much because today, Penelope woke up with a massive headache and decided to live rent-free in her brain.

"I got myself kidnap?'" She thinks to herself with amusement, 'Thank you, Universe! '

Rather than being thrilled to be in an unknown place, the ivory-skinned college student should be looking for a way out of this hotel bedroom, but at last, she cannot deny the exploration side of her mind.

'Where the heck am I?" Penelope wonders as she adjusts her tangled red curls and gets comfortable on the foam bed.

Penelope's pool-blue eyes adjust the black spots in her vision by blinking before analyzing the spinning room. She takes this time to search for clues about where she is staying until she spots a nice view.

"This room is massive," Penelope states in awe as the luxurious hotel room presents itself through the light shining through several twenty-by-eight open windows.

Besides the big windows, the three white walls of the room have two abstract art pieces on each side.

Meanwhile, the comfy bed she is sitting on has several piles of pillows leaning on some tackey bed header, and there is one small cabinet with a drawer and two lamps.

Penelope's blue eyes go back outside, and she realizes that the person who kidnapped her must be rich, for there was no way they could have taken her out of London through public transportation, and she definitely can not afford this view.

'I wonder who this person is that kidnap me.' Penelope whispers out loud while her mind recalls more of last night's events.

Penelope ran into her sister's ex, Levi Thomas. She was wearing a revealing pastel pink dress that her college roommate Emma Swan recommended her to wear. He mentioned something about a friend coming out to celebrate graduating with honors in engineering.

The rest of the night was a blur as she started to receive serval cups of drinks for a 'Never have I ever.' chugging game from various people at the party.

Therefore, anyone from that party could be a suspect.

Penelope begins to fear about not knowing the person behind her kidnapping.

Yet another part of her, a dark side of her mind, can't help but feel excitement at the thought of being kidnapped.

Some dimwit therapists told her last year that the reason why she is attracted to dark shit is the cause of her childhood trauma.

Still, the creative part of her mind could not wait to see what happens next.

Perhaps she can write out her experience as her next published story.

There are a bunch of people like her who love mystery stories such as crime and kidnapping. But then again, Penelope could feel goosebumps glowing on her ivory skin at the thought of a dangerous man being behind her kidnap.

Having the idea of a stranger on the run from committing a previous murder, picking her up at the school campus, and being his next victim should frighten her.

Nevertheless, the curly redhead knows no one from home would come looking for her.

It is a bit depressing, and yet another part of her mind believes she may know the person who kidnaps her.

The first clue she gains today is the outfit that her kidnap had her change into before leaving campus.

She changed into a size double-large T-shirt, a pair of jean shorts in her size ( which she will not reveal the number to you), and a pair of sandals which look familiar to the ones in her campa door room.

Pen then remembers someone saying, "The dress you are wearing tonight is gorgeous on you, Penelope! Though, I bet it is uncomfortable. Here, change into this and go back to sleep."

"Where are we going?" She remembers asking the person in a drowy voice.

The person never gave her an answer as she peacefully fell asleep in a pair of muscular arms.

Knowing her kidnapper could be someone close to her brought warmth to the Romanic side of Pen's heart.

'Perhaps they are her knight in shiny armor. Recusing her from her tasteless tactics of her mama.' She thinks out loud before brushing that ridiculous idea from her mind.

The twenty-eight-year-old should not be thinking like this.

Faries tale lives in Once Upon A Time in Storybrook, not real life.

Still, Penelope Featherington is hoping her final theory is correct.

Previous Chapter

[artzychic27]

(Just based off something from a Discord discussion a while ago. Here’s the Couffaine kids plus Vivica!)

Luka/Juleka: Here he comes, the Reptile Man, he's always ready with a trick or a scam!

Vivica: *angrily plays the ukulele*

Luka/Juleka: With his purple hair, tackey goatee, and outfit from glam rock 80s! He's a liar and a rogue who will take your songs and leave! He'll take away your happiness and fill the hole with grief! Here he comes, the Reptile Man, he's always ready with a trick or a scam!

Vivica: *angrily plays the mouth harp*

Luka/Juleka: He's a no-good husband and a deadbeat dad! If he disappeared for good, then we'd all be glad! His makeup's shit and his manner is brash! If you split him down the middle, all you'll find is trash! Here he comes, the Reptile Man, he's always ready with a trick or a scam!

Jagged: Where's the candy?

Anarka: There isn't any, just garbage to symbolize how rotten the Reptile Man is on the inside.

Vivica: *Angrily plays the violin*

Luka/Juleka: Got a hole for a soul and a heart like a knife! He let down his kids and wife! Never, ever marry him, he'll ruin your life! The Reptile Man! He's always ready with a trick! Or a lie! Or a con! Or a hustle! Or a hoax! Or a fraud! *Vivica angrily plays the drums* Or a racket! Or a sham! Or a diddle! Or a fiddle! Or a scam!

Akuma Class/Science Kids/Jagged Stone: 😨

Ivan: ... Well, it wasn't about me.

Jagged: Yeah, I know. I got the hint.

Luka: Don’t worry dad, the Reptile Man isn’t about you. It’s a tradition as old as time. Mom said it started when the lousy mooching Pilgrims first came to the Natives homeland and they were all abandoned by their deadbeat father. You know, the British.

(Will this be a thing in SB&IB?... Don't know)