#but I don't know what good tequila is and I have no other recipes that call for it or the cassis | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

messinwitheddie · 2 months

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Squee "Nny!! It's been, like, 45 minutes! It's a tiny-ass mobile home! What are you still DOING in there?!"

Nny "Right now, I'm sitting on the ugliest crushed velvet couch I've ever seen while eating a big bowl of the best slow cooker chili I've ever had. I can't wait to learn this recipe in the future. On that note, I should invest in a slow cooker."

Squee "Come on, man! You haven't found ANY physical proof he's not the future you yet??"

Nny "I mean... Other than the alarming number of empty tequila bottles left all over the place."

Squee "Ok, well, you never drink, so he's not you. Mystery solved. Let's ho home, please?"

Nny "Eh... I've started worse habits.

Future me is supposedly dying. Maybe I just stop caring."

Squee "Jesus, Nny, really?"

Nny "He lied about having wife. I haven't found any kind of medical bills or ID or photos or anything-"

Squee "Maybe he keeps his ID and important papers on him at all times, because, you know, cops are dicks."

Nny "Maybe, but-- The fuck--? Future me has a vintage dough boy salt shaker... And it's filled with baby teeth!"

Squee "What?"

Nny "Baby teeth, some shiny rocks and a Canadian dime?... I'm going to draw on it. See if I notice."

Squee "Don't draw on his shit, man."

Nny "Seriously, what's with the teeth?

I found a JAR completely filled with gold-capped teeth in his bathroom cupboard. I found a 25 lb bag of powdered lime in his pantry-"

Squee "Oh God..."

Nny "Yup. Just like the one in my pantry--

A chest filled with jewelry-- pirate booty shit."

Squee "That's kind of neat--"

Nny "And a BIRD WATCHING diary filled with nothing but terrible doodles of the local bird population. NO WORDS."

[Previous page

(Excuse any and all spelling mistakes. I always overlook one or two.

Oh, the invasion of privacy. Poor Mr. Casarez. Don't shit on his hobby, Nny lol.

To me, one of the funniest things Nny does, at least according to Twitter what I recall, is break into peoples' homes and helps himself to their stuff before killing them (because it's all fiction!! To be clear. I wouldn't think it was funny if it happened to a real life neighbor or real life person in general.)

Also, now I really want chili, but it's almost well past 3 AM and I have no ingredients for good chili. My fridge is all condiments at the moment. Been a rough year...

Finally, Noise is born!! Sorry, @psycho-doughart for the slow crawl to his debut. Poor little guy doesn't have a voice yet.

Again, I really appreciate any reblogs, comments or tag-comments I've received from previous strips. Tugs my heart strings.]

#jthm #nny #squee #nny's looper #au #oc #noise #dough boy

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animarret · 2 months

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Homemade Hazbin Hotel Inspired Cocktail: Rosie's Emporium

So I haven't talked about it on this blog, but despite not drinking alcohol myself, I really enjoy making cocktails and mocktails for my family. Lately I've been trying to come up with my own recipes, and my Hazbin hyperfixation has lended itself to some inspiration.

So, my first recipe is one I titled Rosie's Emporium, and is a mostly sweet drink with a hint of spice:

Rim the glass with: honey, pink salt (though I like the idea of black salt too), and cayenne powder

5 cloves to muddle

2 ounces black rum

1 ounce pomegranate liqueur

1 tablespoon silver tequila

1/2 ounce grenadine syrup (though I used simple syrup this time and it was approved)

3-4 dashes cherry bitters

I muddled the cloves with the tequila, then added in the rest of the liquids. I rimmed the glasses, and strained the mixed drink over ice.

As I said, I don't drink but those in my family who do approved it!

I tried to make a mocktail version, but with limited supplies, I couldn't make a great 1:1 mocktail and the result wasn't great. Here's my recipe for what I think would be a good mocktail version though:

Same rim and cloves, same syrup

Replace black rum and tequila with a tea- I think a black tea with spice and floral hints would be good, and when I make a better mocktail version I'll share what I use

Replace pomegranate liqueur with pomegranate juice.

I'll reblog this with pictures and an update to the mocktail version next time I make it! This one was a first attempt and so I hope to improve it soon. I'll also upload other recipes as I try them (I have others planned but don't have the supplies to make them right now).

Feel free to make it yourself and let me know how it goes! I would just prefer credit if you're posting it is all :)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin rosie #cocktail #mocktails #hazbin cocktail #recipe #beverage #alcohol #alcoholic drink #cw drinking #cw alcohol

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skirmishafray · 2 years

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For the Discerning Customer

It started while I was working at an orange orchard. I was, like, an adult by then, very much so, but I hadn't drunk before on account of I grew up in New Canaan. I really thought through the drinking when I started: I had a plan for how to drink, when to drink, where to drink, I had a book I read nightly in my bunk with drink recipes and facts about different spirits. So when I walked up to the bar for the first time, I was prepared.

"What?" The ghoul bartender grunted.

I cleared my throat "Do you think I could get a tequila sunrise, uh, please?"

He squinted at me.

"A what?"

"A tequila sunrise? It's tequila and… look it's- it's kinda simple. Here in this book? I'm not just making it up."

He stared at the page for a second.

"Terry? Can you read this?" He called out to the other bartender.

Terry meandered over, glass and rag in hand.

"Hmm, I don’t think we got that."

I furrowed my brow, "What, grenadine?"

"Mm-nm, sorry. How about a screwdriver? Or the drink without the… stuff?"

"Oh, sure. The second one I mean."

It kinda sucked a little.

So I may have become a little obsessed. I asked every bar I went to, even after I moved northwest. One afternoon, I walked into the bar across from the clerk's office where I was working and the bartender waved me over immediately.

"I may have found a guy!"

"No shit?"

He gave me directions to farm on the very edge of town.

I knock on the door to the small farmhouse. The door opened and a figure appeared, stretching to over nine feet tall. A super mutant, I realized.

"Hi, uh, sir? I'm Lacey, and I heard you might have grenadine?" I tried not to squeak.

He had some sort of harness holding open his lip, but I swear he grinned.

"Yes, grenade." He reached behind him and pulled out a tiny in his hands pirate-ass grenade.

"Oh, um. Wow, did you make that yourself?"

He nodded.

"Well, it's impressive, but I'm not really looking for explosives, sorry, and I don't know how to use them besides. Sorry."

His brow furrowed. Not dangerously, like I thought at first, just confused.

"Ten to try," He grunted.

"Sorry, I don’t kno-"

"Five to try."

I laughed a little.

"Sure, why not?"

After I paid the man, we spent the afternoon blowing up rocks and trash and getting wasted on moonshine. A good time, but not enough to cure my obsession.

"...And that's about as close as I got," I explained to Doc Olguin in front of me.

"Hm." She took a real long drag of her cigarette and stared at our poker match before, finally, folding.

"Why not just make it yourself?" she asked.

"Well I, I dunno, actually," I stammered. "Aside from the fact I've never personally seen a pomegranate, I suppose."

She shrugged. "Pretty sure we have them at the Followers seed bank. You said you grew oranges, pomegranates can't be that hard, grow in the same places I think."

"That could take years."

"As they say, the best time to plant a tree is years ago…"

"The second best time is today," I completed the cliché.

I thought it through a minute. The water, the money, the land it would take. With a bit of help, I was probably in a good enough position now to manage.

"Yeah, okay. You get me the seeds, and I'll do it."

"Atta girl," She raised her glass of whiskey and sarsaparilla. "Here's to your first tequila sunrise."

I toasted to that.

#yeehawgust #tequila sunrise #fallout #fallout new vegas #alcohol tw

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villagewarlock · 2 years

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I wish the lcbo sold small bottles of like every kind of spirit... then you could at least decide if you like a thing/recipe with a thing before committing to like half a litre of it that is probably upwards of $40...

there's so many cocktails I want to attempt to make but I literally cannot buy an entire bottle or two or three of something every time I come across a recipe I wanna try

#this is about a tequila and creme de cassis + ginger syrup cocktail I just saw a recipe for #I will literally drink anything with ginger in it #but I don't know what good tequila is and I have no other recipes that call for it or the cassis #rip #rae rambles

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clusterbuck · 3 years

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buddie + #11: things you said when you were drunk

this... got a tiny bit angstier than originally intended. but only a tiny tiny bit! only insofar as pining can be considered angsty! and i promise there's a happy ending! i am constitutionally incapable of unhappy endings!

buck and eddie don't usually make a habit of getting drunk like this, not really. they're both on the wrong side of thirty for it, for one thing, and most of the time they have a kid to think about.

but it's been a long day and a longer shift and christopher is spending the weekend at abuela's, and it's easy for one post-shift beer to turn into two, then three, and eventually into buck pulling out the bartending skills he claims are basically muscle memory.

just like riding a bike, he tells eddie, and then goes into the kitchen to make the drinks so eddie doesn't see him looking up recipes to double-check exactly what the ratio for a proper margarita is. just because he's tipsy and a little forgetful doesn't mean he's going to half-ass this.

it's a little fiddly, but it's worth it for the pleased gleam in eddie's eyes when he walks back into the living room with two frosty glasses with perfectly salted rims.

"god, i've missed your margaritas," eddie says, reaching for the glass buck holds out for him. "why don't we do this more often?"

"because we're getting too old for tequila," buck says, and takes a sip of his drink.

"right, that's it," eddie agrees, and follows suit.

buck watches the way eddie's throat works as he swallows. not for the first time—not this week, not today, probably not even this hour—he thinks about giving in to the urge that is always there at the back of his mind. the urge to tackle him into the couch cushions and kiss him until there's no more air left in either of their lungs and the urge to curl himself around eddie and whisper adoration into his skin, all wrapped up together in a tangle of want that threatens to crowd his heart out of his ribcage sometimes.

but he doesn't. of course he doesn't. he never does. because he can live with this—with eddie within reach but always an arm's length away—but he couldn't live with what would happen if he put it all out there and eddie turned away.

buck's alcohol tolerance isn't what it used to be in his firehose days, but eddie's is apparently non-existent. buck switches them to tequila sunrises after the second margarita because he's not sure he trusts himself with the cocktail shaker, but at least he's mostly in control of his actions.

eddie, on the other hand, has been voicing his every passing thought with no apparent filter for a good half an hour now. it's amusing and more than a little endearing, a reminder of how ridiculous eddie can get when he lets his guard down.

then eddie says the last four words buck ever expected to hear from him. "we should get married."

buck drops the glass he's holding, and it hits the carpet with a muffled thud. dimly, he thinks it's lucky the glass was empty, because grenadine stains are a bitch to get out.

never mind the grenadine, some part of his brain screams. slowly, buck turns to look at eddie, and he has no idea what he's expecting to find.

but eddie doesn't seem to realise the magnitude of what he's just said. he's sprawled in an armchair, legs thrown over one of the armrests, scrolling through his phone as casual as anything. like he didn't just propose literal marriage.

"i—what?" buck manages to stutter. it's two syllables more than he thought he'd be capable of.

"yeah," eddie says, turning to look at buck, letting his head loll against the armrest. "for, i don't know, tax benefits and shit. that's a thing people do, isn't it?"

oh. he doesn't mean it.

not in the way buck wants him to mean it, anyway.

"besides," eddie continues through a yawn, seemingly unaware of what he's currently doing to buck. "then you could officially be christopher's parent without one of us having to fucking die. and you could move in here. save the rent money."

and it's—it's everything buck has ever wanted. a home filled with light and laughter and love, and a family to come home to.

and it's so goddamn hollow. it's everything he's ever wanted with one crucial piece held just out of reach, tantalus surrounded by food and water unable to touch any of it.

he's been able to live with it, so far, the knowledge that eddie will never feel about him the way he feels about eddie. but this... this might just be the thing that breaks him.

how is he supposed to break it to eddie? how is he supposed to tell his best friend they can't get married for tax benefits, because he doesn't think he would survive it?

how is he supposed to make it out of this situation without losing eddie, one way or another?

buck still doesn't know what he's going to say when he turns to face eddie, but then he sees the way eddie's eyes are drifting shut and decides to grant them both a temporary reprieve.

"why don't we come back to this in the morning?" he says, hoping his voice doesn't shake and betray him. "seems more like a sober decision, and you look like you needed to be asleep five minutes ago."

maybe if he puts it off, he won't have to make this decision. maybe when they wake up tomorrow eddie won't remember any of this, and buck can keep living the almost-but-not-quite version of life he's accustomed to. the one he knows how to live.

eddie blinks, slow, eyes a little unfocused. buck isn't entirely convinced he didn't just fall asleep for a moment or two. "sleep sounds good," eddie mumbles.

"come on, then," buck says, and gets up off the sofa to go tug at eddie's hand. but eddie doesn't budge, and buck is too tired and too drunk and his nerves are too frayed to even think about manhandling eddie out of the chair.

"fine, sleep in that chair," he says, releasing eddie's hand. "i bet your neck is gonna love that tomorrow."

he's halfway down the hallway to eddie's bedroom when he hears stirring behind him, like he'd known he would. by the time he's made it to the bed and under the covers, eddie has appeared in the doorway, dragging his feet like a portent of the zombie apocalypse.

eddie struggles as little as he strips down to his briefs, and then he's collapsing into bed next to buck. he rolls over immediately, zeroing in on buck like a heat-seeking missile, and buck swallows.

it's been months since he slept on the sofa while staying at the diaz house—months since eddie finally convinced him that the sofa wasn't worth it, and if he's going to stay he might as well get a good night's sleep—but it isn't usually like this. usually they at least pretend to maintain a respectable distance when they're going to sleep, because waking up tangled together is easier to explain away if it wasn't intentional. but now eddie has an arm thrown across his waist and his head is resting on buck's shoulder, and it's really not helping the feeling that everything he wants will always be just out of reach.

it seems to be the theme of the night.

eddie's breathing quickly evens out into sleep, but buck lies awake for what feels like hours, thinking about every place eddie's body is pressed against his. he thinks about a lifetime of nights like this, stretching out into the future, and he knows.

there is no universe in which he marries eddie like this and it ends up working out.

buck wakes up with eddie's face pressed into his shoulder, and for a moment he doesn't remember. doesn't remember the half-life eddie had offered him, or how much he'd considered taking him up on it.

but it all comes rushing back, because morning never comes without consequence.

and he'd planned on keeping silent and hoping eddie would forget, he really had.

he makes it seven whole minutes. they're up and mostly dressed, and eddie bends over to pick up a pair of sweatpants and stops halfway, touching his forehead with a groan. "god, what did we do last night?"

buck opens his mouth to say tequila, but what comes out is "well, you proposed to me, for one thing."

"i—what?" eddie asks, all the colour draining out of his face. "god, buck—what did i—"

he looks stricken, and buck doesn't understand. eddie isn't supposed to be the devastated one in this situation.

"yeah," he says slowly. "you said we should get married for—"

"—tax benefits," eddie interrupts in a horrified whisper. "right." he's still pale, still looking anywhere but at buck.

"eddie?" he asks carefully. "are you okay? what's—is the idea of marrying me that terrible?" the thought stings, and he can't keep all of the hurt out of his voice.

eddie's gaze flies to meet his. "buck, no."

"then why are you so freaked out?" he demands, knowing as he says it that the emphasis he can't help but put on the word you probably reveals far too much.

if eddie notices, he doesn't comment on it. "because i don't want to marry you for tax benefits!" he says instead.

"oh," buck says, feeling hollowness start spreading through him. "i guess i'll just..." then he frowns. "but you just said—the idea—"

"buck," eddie says, and takes a deep breath like he's steeling himself for something. "i don't want to marry you for tax benefits. i want to marry you for real."

"oh," buck says again, but it's worlds away from the first one. there's a rushing in his ears, and his field of vision has narrowed to just one point, to just eddie.

eddie, who is smiling at him, that steady smile buck could trace blindfolded. "i mean, the tax benefits are good," eddie says. "but mostly it's because i'm in love with you."

"yes," buck says immediately, so fast it's probably embarrassing. "god, yes, eddie, do you know how much it killed me yesterday when you said tax benefits?"

"i'm sorry," eddie says, but he's grinning, so wide it looks like it might split his face in half. "i guess—can i blame tequila?"

"you can blame whatever you want," buck says, and suspects his grin is probably just as ridiculously big. "as long as it gets us here in the end."

then eddie laughs. "we're technically engaged, and you haven't even kissed me yet."

buck laughs, too, and takes a step towards eddie. "well, what are you waiting for?"

send me a 'things you said' prompt!

#911fic #buddie #ask emma #emma writes #useraustin #not me sitting here at 3:30am typing 'morning never comes without consequence'#yeah you dumb bitch the consequence is that you're gonna have a Bad Time at work tomorrow #not proofread so if you see me come back and fix a typo or something later no you don't <3

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