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afewproblems · 8 months

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Eddie downs the last of his beer and tosses the empty red cup into the kitchen sink, right between a couple who were clearly gearing up to claim one of the spare rooms upstairs.

Eddie snickers and winks as the girl tells him to fuck off while her boyfriend flips him the bird, god he loves highschool parties, and this one is no exception.

It's Halloween and business is booming for Eddie Munson.

He imagines Dian Fossey felt similarly, wandering through the Congo studying the great apes' behavior patterns and social structure from within rather than observing from afar.

So far Eddie's observations have paid off in spades and he's managed to sell out most of his stash by targeting the basketball team and their girlfriends. No one wants to get high all by themselves after all, it's almost too easy the way these sheep all flock together.

Eddie leaves the kitchen behind him, but not before snagging a can of something cold from a nearby cooler of half melted ice. With a decent buzz going, what's one more? He's done working for the night after all.

Eddie climbs the stairs, dodging drunk teens left and right as they make their way past him, shirts ruffled and hair messy. Eddie snorts, ignoring the wistful pull in his chest as a tall boy on the swim team pulls his girlfriend closer to press a chaste kiss to the top of her head before smoothing her curls away from her forehead.

Unfortunately no one Eddie would be interested in would accept him brushing their hair like that without punching him in the face.

He shakes his head and continues forward, he's an observer, nothing more.

Eddie passes a closed door on the second floor and pauses as a raised voice splits through the wood.

"It's bullshit, you're bullshit," the voice slurs out and Eddie feels a wide grin pull at the corner of his mouth.

He takes a step closer, nearly pressing his ear to the flat of the door.

"Like we're in love?" Another voice says softly, a guy, "you don't love me?"

A small part of Eddie knows he shouldn't be listening to this, he can hear the waiver in this guy's voice like his heart is slowly cracking in his chest. Shit, he almost feels bad for this guy.

But the people that go to these stupid parties, the Hawkins elite, the gorillas in the mist, deserve their bullshit --to use this girls turn-of-phrase.

The only reason they didn't mess with Eddie was because he was these highschool shit-heads main source of weed.

Its karma, plain and simple, Eddie reasons as he presses even closer now.

"It's. Bullshit". The girl hisses emphatically and for a second Eddie hears nothing.

It happens so quickly after that.

The door swings inward, causing Eddie to stumble into a tall firm chest as the bathroom guy collides with him.

"What the fuck?" The guy says as he pushes Eddie away from himself and --no way.

"Harrington?"

Steve blinks once, his wide hazel eyes red rimmed and shiny in the dim light of the hallway, the tip of his nose is pink as he reaches up to pinch it roughly before swiping across his eyes as well.

Even though Eddie's fairly certain that he and Steve are the same height, he seems smaller like this, deflated, standing in the hallway while a party rages down below them both.

A cheer rings out, startling Steve into action.

He steps widely around Eddie, enough that his shoulder connects with the wall in his haste to take the stairs down, two at a time, as though Hell is hot on his heels.

And Eddie should leave it, go back to the party, see if there are any snacks left before calling it a night, but something pushes him to follow the path Steve took.

It's like he's possessed, the haunted look in those hazel eyes forcing him forward until he's outside on the lawn.

A few other teens are outside, including a couple making out on the porch, Eddie steps over them and jogs to the end of the driveway.

He spots Steve down the street sitting on a large rock at the end of another neighbor's lawn with his face in his hands.

He looks up as Eddie gets closer and curses softly.

"Seriously? It wasn't enough that you were listening, you're following me now?" His voice cracks on the last word as he wipes his eyes again, he can't quite hide the way the moonlight catches the tear tracks running down his cheek and neck though.

"Oh come on Harrington," Eddie says, walking up to Steve. He sits on one of the other rocks and takes a crumpled pack of smokes out of his vest pocket, "it's no fun if you're sad".

"What is?" Steve mumbles after a beat, wiping his eyes again as he stares at the ground.

"Making fun of you," Eddie shrugs as he takes a cigarette and puts it between his lips, he smiles at the startled bark of laughter from Steve.

"You're a prick," he huffs softly, the barest of smiles slowly blooming across his face.

Eddie can count the constellation of freckles and moles across his face, giving the blanket of stars above them a run for their money. His hand twitches at the thought of touching the ones on Steve's throat.

Eddie coughs once, mentally tallying the number of drinks he must have had for those kinds of thoughts and shifts on the rock to adjust his pants.

He holds out the pack to Steve who looks at the nearly empty sleeve before his eyes shift to the house behind Eddie.

"Nance hated cigarettes," Steve murmurs as the corner of his mouth twitches into a terrible frown. It's gone in an instant as Steve blinks once and reaches out for the pack.

"I got something stronger if you want?" Eddie offers, he shrugs when Steve looks up at him with suspicious eyes.

"Come on Harrington, I'm not gonna keep kicking you when you're down, you need a pick-me-up and then I can get back into it," Eddie stands up and without thinking, holds out a hand towards Steve, "what do you say?"

Steve stares up at him, his eyes flick once to the outstretched hand before he snorts dryly and slowly takes his hand.

It's warm in Eddie's own. The fingers squeeze gently as Steve uses it to hoist himself up until he's once again eye level with Eddie.

From this close Eddie can see the way his eyelashes have clumped together with leftover tears and the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes

Oh…this, this was a bad idea. Eddie swallows roughly as Steve finally nods.

"Lead the way Munson," Steve says with the barest of smirks as he wipes his face one last time, "and if you tell anyone about this, I'll slash your tires".

Eddie cackles at that, "there he is!"

He claps Steve on the back as he leads them towards where he parked his van down the road, "our chariot awaits!"

Eddie ignores the small voice that whispers in his ear, the one that sounds remarkably like his uncle, as it asks him just what the hell he thinks he's doing with Harrington of all people?

It'll be fine, he tells himself.

Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

Part Two

#stranger things #stranger things season 2 au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve and nancy breakup #what would have happended if eddie had been there #let me know if yall want a part two #eddie took one look at this pathetic sad man and said #I will love him and squeeze him #steve cried when nancy called him bullshit you cant tell me otherwise #afewproblems writes #steve x eddie #steddie au #getting back into writing after not being able to for weeks #cw drinking #cw smoking #i will never get tired of the halloween party au

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loujestrous325 · 8 days

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experimented with a more feral dealer tonight; i'd be glad if you enjoyed these. content warning for lightly suggestive content, blood and drinking.

expect more of him calling you "little mouse", that pet name fucked me up so badly yesterday... i fumbled for my own idea 💀💀💀

#buckshot roulette #fanart #buckshot roulette fanart #the dealer #buckshot roulette dealer #cw suggestive #cw blood #cw drinking #artists on tumblr #artistsontumblr

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the-kr8tor · 3 months

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We’ve seen Hobie drunk but may I request drunk reader?

Yes you may!!! Thank you for requesting! 🫶

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW drinking, CW vomit. FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie enters the rowdy pub, weaving through the crowd and avoiding the eyes of his mates from across the pub or else he might get dragged into their drinking. It's not usually a bad thing to have a spontaneous drink with the mandem, but tonight he only has one mission: get you home.

Before he left for patrol, you've specifically given him explicit instructions to get you home before the sun starts to peek up from the horizon because you know if you don't manage to go home by then, oh your friends would most definitely get you blacked out drunk. You needed a scapegoat, and that's Hobie. You had it all planned, he would burst into your group, saying there's an emergency at home and you got to get out and help him quickly.

Well that was supposed to happen but seeing you down five shots in a row, feet wobbling from just standing, he knows he's in for a ride.

Hobie guesses that your friends managed to figure out your plan beforehand and got you to drink so much that your loud laughter triumphs over the already noisy pub.

He sidles up to you, a hand over the small of your back to help stabilize you on your feet. The group cheers when they spot him next to you, numerous shots and pints get shoved in his face to which he refuses immediately.

Meanwhile, you stare at him with wide eyes, mouth agape, hand tapping on his chest to get his attention.

“Yes, love? What's got you like that?”

“You.” Sighing, you say it breathlessly. “How are you so handsome?” The low light of the pub illuminates his face, casting shadow in all the right places.

He chuckles, hand squeezing your hip. You sharply turn to your friends, gesturing wildly at him. “It's Hobie Fucking Brown!” You yell at the top of your lungs. Said man blinks at you in surprise.

Your friends cheer drunkenly except for the designated driver who just shakes her head, the glass of orange juice swishing as another one of your friends suddenly loops their arms around her neck.

“Look at him!” You screech again, getting the entire pub's attention. Grabbing his face, you squish it in your hands. “So fucking handsome!”

Hobie chuckles as everyone's eyes look at the chaotic scene. A friend of his notices this, he whistles, hooting and hollering a ‘fuck yeah, he is!’ You seem to agree by yelling back a cheer towards their table.

He's never seen you this drunk, you're usually quiet when you get remotely tipsy, this is a new side of you that he's never seen. He loves it, if only you're not in public then he'll tease you back a hundred times more.

Holding your wrists, he takes your hands away from his face to your dismay. With a pout, you watch him gather your things, saying a quick goodbye to everybody before he gets roped into drinking too.

Knowing that you'll squirm and protest, he drapes your jacket over your face like he's done with a bat that accidentally entered the houseboat a few years ago. Sure enough, you try to wiggle out of the fabric, but you're too drunk to find the end of the jacket.

With his arms around you, he leads you outside of the pub, your muffled curses falling on deaf ears.

Hobie takes the jacket off you, your pout and glare greeting him. The fresh air flutters your lashes, waking you up a bit from your drunken stupor.

“You'd thank me once you're sober.” He's the one that takes your face this time, pressing a chaste kiss on your warm forehead.

“You took me outside like a wild animal” you pout as Hobie puts the motorcycle helmet on your head. Clipping it on securely.

“It was needed or I wouldn't have gotten you out in time before they started dousing me in beer. ‘m sorry,” He takes your pout in between his fingers, moving your head from side to side. “I'll make it up to you tomorrow, yeah? I'll take care of your hangover self.”

Your liquor addled brain makes you open your mouth wide, almost taking a bite of his fingers. Thanks to his quick reflexes, he dodges it.

“Awwe let me bite, Hobart”

“Later”

“Really?” you say, smiling.

“No”

You look at him with puppy dog eyes, Hobie doesn't falter, shaking his head with his hands on his hips. Inside, he's fighting the urge to scoop you up and let you bite wherever you want.

“Get on the bloody bike.” you do as you're told with minimal groaning.

The wind whips at your face, eyes closed, savouring the cool breeze.

Hobie's driving slower than usual, his hand flying back to you everytime you lean too far back in your seat.

While idling in a red light, his arm tucked behind him to grab your hands and enclose them around his waist.

Surprisingly, you don't grumble. Instead, you lean closer to him, face nuzzling on his back leaving a goosebump inducing kiss on his nape.

Hobie could only tap your hands that's holding his waist tightly. Glad that the helmet obscures the giddy smile on his lips.

—

He kind of regrets living in a houseboat now that he has to guide you down home. With you still wobbly on your feet, you hold on to him for dear life as he tests his balance.

“Fuck it.” Hobie grabs the back of your legs, carrying you effortlessly.

You almost puke from the sudden movement. “I'm gonna be sick.”

“I’ll point you right on the water then”

“Noooo, I'll hold it in!” You mumble a ‘poor fishies’

Finally getting you to bed, all clean and in clean clothes that he has to wrangle you to get it on. You cuddle nicely in bed, arms reaching up to hold him.

“Hobieeee! Cuddle?”

“What in the bloody hell did they let you drink?”

You giggle, flexing your hands to beckon him closer.

With a roll of his eyes, he flops down on you, earning a happy screech from you. Long arms enveloping you, you bask in his warmth while he rubs affectionately at your back. You fall asleep not long after, with your hand balling his shirt, using his chest as your personal pillow.

Oh the hangover would be horrible for you but Hobie's more than ready to help you with so much care and love.

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #x reader #hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #hobie brown x gn! reader #spider punk x gn! reader #spider punk x you #hobie brown x you #cw drinking #cw vomit #hobie fluff #hobie x reader #fanfic

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pix3lplays · 2 months

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Ok I just thought how would Dr Ratio react when his partner is drunk? Maybe record them as revenge when he was drunk-

But of course, as a perfect scholar he would take care of them, give them water, let them cling onto him and put them to sleep :D

I am having thoughts about this, haha…

Cw! Drunk reader and mean Veritas

A part of me thinks that at first he sees it as a “you dug yourself into that hole, you can get yourself out” situation.

So at first he just leaves you alone, just silently observing you make a complete fool of yourself. He finds it a little bit amusing. And honestly? Yeah he might record you just a little bit.

But when you start getting emotional…teary eyed and confused as you gaze up at him with those big eyes…Veritas’s cold, dead heart warms up a bit.

He certainly can’t just leave you like this, now can he?

So yeah…he’ll take care of you. Take you home, make sure you’re comfy…he doesn’t want to necessarily coddle you and yet here he is giving in to every single one of your demands…

Something about you being helpless and drunk and pathetic just activates his inner sweetheart, apparently.

Of course he’s still a bit mean about it, calling you stupid for drinking yourself into a drunken state…being a bit harsh when he drags you to your feet when it’s time for you to go to bed. He still has work to do, so you’re going to go lie down and not bother him while he works in his office.

Of course, in a few minutes you’re walking through his office door. You miss him. You’re so lonely without him. He needs to come to bed with you so you don’t feel so lonely.

He wants to be annoyed, he really does but you’re just…hard to be frustrated at when you’re like this.

So he grabs his notebook and follows after you. Fine. He’ll sit up in bed, your head on his lap while he scribbles furiously in his little book.

Eventually you’ll fall asleep. Eventually he’ll pass out from exhaustion too. And thankfully this time in his own bed instead of in his office.

You both win!

#drinking #cw drinking #tw drinking #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Dr Ratio x reader #Dr Ratio #Hsr Dr Ratio x reader #honkai star rail Dr Ratio x reader

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kieiswrite · 6 months

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i've been writing a few short ficlets relating to the possession au - scar, cub and a bunch of other hermits hunting ghost and getting possessed. horror themes but lighthearted! this one is about Scar and Cub getting into ghost hunting business. the next parts centering on Cleo here and Ren here —

Introducing: Scar & Cub Apparition Removal Agency

“‘SCARA’?” Cub’s tone is completely neutral, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He’s not convinced.

“Yeah! Pretty clever, right?” Scar grins at him. “We could make a logo with a scary monster eating the ghosts.”

“I see your name is in there,” Cub says, “while mine is not.”

“It’s in there! You’re the C, Cub! It’s only a coincidence that it spells out my name.” Scar stretches his arms. The chair creaks. “A happy accident, though—a lucky one, even, some would say, since I will be the head of the operation!”

“I see.” Cub lets the bottle swing slowly back and forth, holding the neck between his thumb and middle finger. Then he takes a sip. He doesn’t particularly like beer, but it’s a rare occasion Scar buys him a drink—even if it’s in the shabbiest bar of the block—so he does his best to enjoy it. “Mmh. And what did you say my role in all of this was going to be?”

“Now, I’m glad you asked, Cub! I’m so very glad you asked me that question.” Scar is drinking water. He’s broke again. “I thought of this plan, and then I immediately thought of you! And do you know why, Cubby? Let me explain what we’re going to do, but first, you need to cast your mind back, all the way back to—high school. Do you remember that night we played with the ouija board in the cellar?”

Cub considers. “I think so.” He takes another, deeper sip. “Yeah, I remember.”

Somebody stumbles past their table, leans briefly on the back of Cub’s chair for balance. The place is filling up. The cover of chatter and loud music gives them some privacy, but Scar edges closer nonetheless. “You had me with that,” he whispers, theatrical, holding up a finger. “You had me for years. No, don’t give me that look, it was a good performance, Cub! I never knew you could act like that. I thought—I really thought you were possessed by the Janitor Jack. The thing you did with your eyes was so creepy, and then you changed your voice and made the—I still have nightmares about the growl. I have nightmares, Cub! Just thinking about it now gives me the heebie-jeebies.” He laughs. “It really was something.”

“Yeah.” Cub’s expression doesn’t change at all, but he squeezes the bottle with both hands. “It was something.”

“So here’s what I thought: I’ll get the clients. I’ll speak to them, persuade them… We go to where they say the ghost is, and you get possessed by it. Just like you were possessed by Janitor Jack!” Scar’s grin widens. “And then we just figure out what we want the ghost to say. I can—I can film it, if the client is not with us, and—look here, Cub. Look what I’ve got!”

Scar lifts up the tattered gym bag he’s been dragging along. He opens the zipper and presents the items to Cub one after another: A couple of white candles, a box of chalk, a crucifix (“This one cost me nothing, got it from the lady across the street!” he says, beaming. “She likes me!”) and even a pack of salt with a discount sticker slapped on the top. He has also bought a new flashlight that against the odds looks relatively sturdy. He asks if Cub can lend him batteries.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Cub says, “but these look like the tools for the world’s cheapest and the most low effort exorcism. Think you have what it takes to kick out a ghost, Scar?”

“Of course! How hard could it be?” Scar makes a mock-ghostly sound and waves the crucifix in front of Cub’s face. “Begone, evil spirit! So—what do you say? Is app—apparel—ap-a-ah— help me out here, Cub!”

“Apparition.”

“Thank you! Is Apparition Removal Agency a go? Will you be my partner?” He drops the cross on the table and holds out a hand.

Cub thinks about it.

Him and Scar are old friends. Cub has been here before—being asked to take part in a questionable enterprise—and it has happened enough times that he can say with confidence: A good nine out of ten of Scar’s schemes are bound to fail.

Nine out of ten. As a business idea, this is ridiculous. Potentially dangerous too.

And it doesn’t matter. The grand success may ever be just around the next corner, but anything Scar has pulled him into he has never regretted, because the failures, as trivial or tragic as they may be, never fail to entertain.

“Sure thing,” he says. He shakes Scar’s hand. “You can count me in.”

—

The room has a musty smell. Time has given the once-white crocheted bedspread a dirty yellow tint. The curtains are drawn but thin enough to let through light. There’s still a glass on the nightstand, and a picture of some young people, likely relatives, maybe children. The atmosphere in the place is, granted, a little gloomy, considering somebody died here a few days prior, but all in all there’s nothing making the room seem particularly haunted.

Surely ghost hunters would be able to sense if there is a phantasmal presence nearby, even if it’s their first job.

Even if the pay is barely enough to cover their lunches and the gas for Cub’s car. They’ll get experience! And the word of the mouth will have the more lucrative work rolling in in no time!

“Let’s sit on the bed for this!” Scar is balancing his phone on the corner of the table, to capture the encounter with the ghost. “We will call for her, like, ‘Mary, Mary! Show yourself, Mary! Tell us what keeps you on this earthly plane!’ We’ll light the candles, and then—”

He turns around and cuts his sentence short. Cub has slumped on the bed, and his head hangs down. Dark hair over his eyes and he’s making a low, breathy noise—a snore?

“Cub!” Scar is at once amused and affronted. “You can’t sleep on a mission!”

Cub’s shoulders jerk. Slowly, he raises his head.

His mouth hangs slack. His eyes are cloudy, hazy, white.

Scar draws in a sharp breath. “Wh—Cub! I didn’t know you already started—I mean, is this—is this Mary? Is Mary here?”

Cub’s voice is a mumble. He sways from side to side. “Who are you?”

Okay. Okay! Cub is veering from the script, but that’s alright! Scar is a quick thinker. Good at improvisation. “We are from SCARA,” he says. Cub’s demeanor is unsettling, but Scar can’t get distracted by his acting chops. He sits down on the side of the bed. “I’m Scar, and we’re here to help you pass on, Mary. Just—talk to us. Tell us everything.”

“Everything?” Cub wheezes. His eyes search for Scar’s face, but don’t fully focus. “What is happening? Why am I so cold?”

It goes pretty much like they rehearsed from there. The ghost doesn’t know she’s dead. She takes it relatively well. She wants little things—she asks if she won the lottery (the ticket is in the drawer. Cub must have checked it while Scar wasn’t looking). She didn’t. She wants to send a letter to her granddaughter, and Scar writes down what Cub tells him to. It’s very sweet, some life advice, some family secrets.

Then, as Scar puts the paper down, he sees there’s blood trickling down from Cub’s nose.

“Cub—Mary,” he says, pointing. “You’ve got a nosebleed.”

The ghost does not react.

“Right there!” He leans closer. “There. Can you—right under your nose.”

Cub’s mouth is hanging open again. Blood drips down his lips, his chin. His throat moves, his head jerks—and Scar yelps, startling back.

His poor heart! Scar clutches his chest, but nothing more sinister is happening than just Cub tossing his head in jerky motions from one side to the other. It looks bad but it’s just an act! Cub is trying to freak him out, but he’s not falling for it. The air in the room is thick and the weather must have changed outside, because it’s getting darker.

“Okay, I think we’re done here!” He declares, voice only slightly high pitched. He takes out the crucifix and holds it directly in front of Cub’s restless head. “You got what you wanted, Mary! You can let go now. Go—begone! You’re dead and you should move on, so let go of Cub, and—”

Cub slumps again. He topples a bit to the side—and falls to the floor.

A thud, and then everything is quiet for a long moment. And then Cub sits up, rubbing his head, and his eyes are normal, and he says, pointedly, “Ouch.”

Scar dares breathe again. He’s still gripping the crucifix ever so tightly. “What in the world, Cub? You didn’t have to go that far! You’ll end up getting a tension neck and that’s not a fun time, I can tell you that right now. I’m—wait, I’ll cut the recording off—oh. Oh no, Cub, no, this is not good, I was sitting in the wrong spot! It’s just—oh no. You can see nothing but my back most of the time, look at this!”

He shoves the phone to Cub, who—still on the floor—scrubs quickly through the video. He shakes his head. “Can’t believe this, man.” His tone is appropriately emphatic, near wounded. “Can’t believe this. It really is just your back. Geeze." A pause. "I must have knocked myself out, did you encounter the ghost all by yourself, Scar? What happened?”

He passes the phone back to Scar, touches his own lips and then looks at the blood on his fingertip, quizzical.

Scar is not quite sure how to answer that. He had been about to suggest that they do the bit again, because the recording really is that terrible and all Cub’s effort wasted, but— “You know,” he says, “I’m not sure. Did you really get possessed?”

Cub turns to look at him. He’s paler than usual. After a short pause he says, “Nah, man. That sounds unlikely.”

“So you were acting?”

Cub shrugs. "I've never acted in my life, Scar." He finally takes a tissue from his pocket and wipes his face. "Never acted. But I doubt it was possession. I repel ghosts. Fun fact, ghosts don't attack people with glasses. They get spooked by their own reflection."

Scar cocks his head. "I've never heard that."

"It’s facts. Look it up." Cub stands up. “What’s this?”

“Why, it’s the letter that the ghost wanted me to write! Pack it up, Cub, pack it up! We can give it to the family as proof. I’ll tell them how we banished the ghost and they’ll have to pay us.”

"Oh baby. Easy money."

“Yeah.” Scar gives one more long, thoughtful look to Cub, but he seems to be pretty much his normal self so everything is probably fine. “Yeah! For a first gig, this went great.” He pockets the phone, picks up the bag and his crutches. “Not perfect, I’m not saying we did perfect, but we learned a lot! And the next time—”

They exit the room. The curtains move, like a hand was pushing them to the side. It has to be the draft.

“—next time, you won’t be able to scare me, mister. I’m wise to your tricks now! But we did good. And! I already have the next customer lined up. I told you, Cub, we’ll make profit. I’ve got a feeling. This is going to go so well.”

#the possession au #cubfan135 #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft fanfic #kiescribbles #cw possession #cw drinking #also questionable business morals #only a bit of blood and very light drinking and everything is lighthearted but nonetheless

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pmpknsoup · 1 year

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im a firm believer the bees were out getting absolutely trashed with team fnki in that one episode

#rwby #queer #rwby fanart #blake belladonna #im a lesbian first and a human being second #yang xiao long #bmblb #rwby blake #rwby yang #lgbt #is there a content warning i should put for drinking?#cw drinking #i suppose #family friendly beverages #huntresses used to go to WAR!!!!!

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bamsara · 8 months

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some doodles for some scene ideas for a future chapter in my fic, drunken gods and whatnot. they are so dumb

part 2 of drunken shenanigans

#cult of the lamb #cotl lamb #lambert #the one who waits #cotl narinder #doodles #cw drinking #narilamb #true devotion

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felsicveins · 3 months

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More than drinking buddies, less than husbands

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chipper-smol · 1 year

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I'll take bastards who constantly get on each others nerves for 1000 please

also I was listening to this on repeat which inspired the first pic

Macaque: "I dont think i'm qualified for this whole pretending to be a god thing" Wukong: "Seriously? This is by far the easiest thing we could ever do!"

#lmk #lego monkie kid #myart #fanart #shadowpeach #sun wukong #six eared macaque #cw drinking

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pigeonwit · 5 months

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Tipsy Davey is a lovely Davey, easy to blush and fluster – it doesn’t take much more than a smile to send him giggling into his glass, and it drives Jack’s own ego to dangerous heights. He could spend whole nights murmuring compliments in Davey’s ear, tracing his knuckle against Davey’s thigh, listening to him giggle against Jack’s own temple, feebly nudging him away (and letting him come right back) and mumbling "Jackie, stop…" without meaning a word of it.

And then there’s Drunk Davey, when his flush settles high on his cheeks and his bashfulness settles with it. He loses that nervousness he keeps underneath his skin that’s always pulling him back just a little, telling him not to come on too strong. He touches freely, whispers the pads of his fingertips over Jack’s wrists enough to drive him insane, sweeps over the bridge of Jack’s freckled nose and murmurs, “Glory be to God for dappled things…”. The bitter little middle-schooler that still lives in Jack’s mind has always thought that poetry was something just too dorky to be attractive, but that bitter little middle-schooler sure shuts the hell up when Davey whispers pretty things in Jack’s ear on a dark corner of the dance floor. Jack’s not complaining at all.

And then there’s Jack’s favourite – Truly Shitfaced Davey. He’s a rare gift, reserved only for New Years, birthdays and Halloween parties, if his costume is slutty enough. Jack can recount every single Truly Shitfaced Davey encounter he’s ever had, and while they’re nowhere near as suave as Drunk Davey, they are by all means his favourites.

“Face,” Davey mumbles, poking Jack’s cheek and marvelling at the squish of it. Jack has to bite his lip not to laugh.

“Yeah, babe?” He asks sweetly, because he is a wonderful boyfriend, thank you very much.

“Your face… It – you…” Davey’s face pinches as he tries to find his words underneath the drunk haze that’s blanketing his brain. He promptly gives up and groans, waving an arm dismissively as he burrows into Jack’s side. “S’good.”

Jack grins, pressing a kiss to the curls tickling his face. He gives up on trying to stifle his smile – Davey’s too drunk to care, and far too drunk to notice the way he’s staring inquisitvely at Jack’s lips the way he usually stares at a good book.

“Thanks, Davey-mine. Your face is good, too.”

Davey stares at him for a moment, mouth squared and silent for a little too long, until he makes a strangled little squeak and ducks his face into Jack’s neck.

“Shuddup!” He orders as Jack laughs, but he can’t help it. As much as he loves Davey when he’s reciting sonnets from memory, he especially loves him speechless, if only for the novelty of it.

#i stand by this. forever. davey can improvise full sonnets when he's drunk but get him shitfaced and he loses all capacity for speech #(also that line is from 'pied beauty' by gerard manley hopkins. because unlike davey i cannot improvise full sonnets)#(and since i'm essentially god here that means davey can't do that when i'm writing him. but in headcanon world he can)#newsies #uksies #MAL jack w freckles supremacy #javid #javey #davey jacobs #david jacobs #jack kelly #pigeon scribbles #cw substance use #tw alcohol mention #cw alcohol #cw drinking

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the-kr8tor · 4 months

Text

Seafoam on the shore

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Tags: Use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW drinking, CW food mentions, TW injury.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 1 >>> CHAPTER 2

You run as fast as you can, your feet flying off the muddy uneven streets. Huffing while a local copper yells at you to stop, his yells get more exhausted every second he chases after you. So far he isn't even near you, one of the few benefits of staying at a provincial fishing town is that the police are either too out of shape to catch you, their bellies round, definitely full of ale. Or they simply don't give a damn about a pickpocket, muttering to themselves how they're not paid enough to do a city cop's job.

Losing your balance, you silently curse at your worn down work boots. Sliding off the ground, skidding off down the streets, disturbing the hustle and bustle of the market. You hit a vegetable cart along the way, wood splintering, scratching your arms. Cabbages and carrots fly off, there's yelling and screaming around you and your legs are aching from the impact.

“Sorry!” You yell back to a disgruntled vendor.

He curses at you and your entire family for ruining his sale. You take a mental note to pay him back somehow when you're not currently occupied.

Digging your heels in, you come to a halt, you're lucky enough to get a hold on a lamp post. Glancing behind, you don't see the cop running after you but you're not taking any chances so you enter a tight alleyway. You know this village like the back of your hand, you have to or else seeing the inside of the jail would be waiting for you in the future.

Knowing there’s a pipe somewhere along the walls, you run your muddy hands along the bricks, the cramp walls touching your back and chest, you stop when your nail hits something metallic.

Your ears perk up at someone snitching, “fuck” without hesitation, you climb up the rusty pipe.

Hands digging into the metal. It creaks and groans, but it seems like lady luck is on your side when you reach the top with no problems.

Hearing hurried footsteps down below, you immediately lie low on the roof. Hiding yourself from his gaze. The cop glances around the alley, scratching his head, confused as to how you escaped without a trace.

“Damn” he mutters, completely winded.

You smile to yourself as he leaves. The sun bares at your back, cotton blouse sticking to your skin. Needing a bath is an understatement.

Standing up, you carefully tread the roof, avoiding floors that look damaged. You definitely don't want a repeat incident of what happened six villages ago. You can never get used to the view from up high, the sea blends in with the orange sky, melting together, blues, greens and reds mingle in harmony. The setting sun paints a picturesque scenery, draping everything it touches in its heavenly light.

Ships and fishing boats float above the waves as if they're dancing to the sound of the water splashing on its wooden sides.

Your hands instinctively reach for the necklace hidden under your blouse. Fingers tracing the etching of a flying bird that you know like the back of your hand.

Despite the open sea, you can't help but feel trapped. The docks beckon you over to somewhere you can't remember, somewhere where you can rest in peace, somewhere across the deep dark treacherous sea are people you can call your home. People who may have been looking for you all this time. Their faces are but a blur in your mind, voices a mere echo lingering in your heart. The pendant leaves a circular indent on your palms as you grip it tight.

Is it possible to miss someone you don't even remember?

Your train of thought gets interrupted by movement from a ship floating along the dock, a large sailboat whose wood differs from each one of its structures. You can tell from how some of it is painted gold and silver like the ones on royal ships, it looks like it was hastily hammered into regular oak with intricate carvings. Some wood blends better together, dark timber melding with ashen wood. Three cannons are lined on the sides, its metal having seen better days, no longer glimmering in the sunlight.

From where you're standing, the figurehead on the bow looks peculiar, like nothing you've ever seen traveling along coastal towns. A fierce creature with sharp teeth opening its jaws, eyes wide and alert. Its red scaly skin adds to its terrifying image. What's more peculiar is the lack of flag flying on its mast. An unknown ship from an unknown place tickles your curiosity.

You slink back down on the roof when a woman emerges from below deck, her blond hair shining under the sun. Another much taller one follows behind her. Raven colored hair flowing in the soft wind. They seem to be arguing, but you're completely bewildered as to how they're allowed to sail. All this time, you can't believe that you can actually step foot inside a boat, moreso sail on it.

This changes everything, you suppose.

You leave the roof, letting the women argue amongst themselves. Expertly hopping from awning to canopy, you land at your final destination, the White Salmon pub.

Jumping down, you land on a cart full of broken fishing nets, it's a miracle that you weren't tangled under all the mess.

Entering the rowdy pub, the smell of ale and pickled fish enters your nostrils. A bunch of sailors sing off key in the middle, too drunk to care about the ruckus they're making. You try to blend in with the drunk crowd, hiding behind people, weaving around them to sneak past the bar and upto the stairs leading up to your room.

“Oi! did ya think I wouldn't notice ya?”

You stop just about the foot of the stairs. Groaning in exasperation, quickly taking off the bandana tied around your face to conceal half of your face. You try your best to put your best smile, turning your charm up to a hundred.

“Hi, aunty Janet” you walk towards her like a child caught with their hands inside the cookie jar. “I got the butter you asked”

Janet huffs, eyes narrowed, her brows furrowed. You place the stick of butter in front of her like an offering to appease an angry God.

“Please don't tell me the coppers will be knocking on my doors again”

“That was one time! Besides I actually paid for this one” you push the butter towards her with your finger. She stares at it like you're giving her contraband.

You give her one charming smile, she sighs, taking the butter from the counter. “You're on thin ice, Y/N. Don't make me regret taking you in.”

“That was a year ago and look, I'm still here!”

“A year and a half, I counted because with every shit ya manage to pull, a strand of my hair turns white.” she points at her hair that's almost completely white. “This used to be black”

“I know, I'm sorry. I just need to–”

“To what? It always seems like you're hiding shit from me and Thena” She tries to hold your hand on the counter but you flinch away.

“Won't happen again, I promise.” A clear lie on your part, you'll just have to be better at sneaking. You vault over the counter to roll up your sleeves, clean yourself up and put on your apron.

“When will you learn, girl?”

“When the king sentences me to death himself!” grabbing an empty tray, you start clearing a nearby table. Janet pinches the bridge of her nose.

After dodging rowdy customers and a flying pint, Thena takes a break with you in the tiny corner of the tavern. She unabashedly sighs loudly, smelling of ale and lavender she hastily rubbed on to mask the scent of alcohol.

You side eye her with a tired smile, Thena sighs again, louder this time, a few patrons gaze your way.

“Alright, what's wrong?”

“Oh nothin' it's just Arthur's back again and he hasn't even glanced my way”

You flick your eyes towards the blonde patron nursing a pint, his green eyes meet yours, he smiles with his yellow teeth and you look away immediately, not from embarrassment, no, but from how you don't want his eyes on you.

Why in the world is Thena so smitten by someone like Arthur who comes and goes into the pub more than he goes inside a bathroom?

“You could do better, Thena. One that actually brings in coins instead of using them all in the pub or a brothel.”

“I know,” she sighs once again. Leaning closer to your side so you slide further away. “But he's the fittest bloke here though” whining, she puffs out her cheeks.

As if some divine comedy, Arthur beckons you over with a twist of his hand. You internally cringe.

Thena gasps, “I think he's finally taking notice of me!” She stands up, sauntering over to his table with the confidence of a newborn deer.

Before you could rescue her though, Janet yells at you from the other side of the room. “Get back to work, Y/N!” She signals with head, pointing towards a table by the corner.

You groan, lumbering your way towards the customers. His large back is turned away from you, brown hair neatly slicked back, clothes looking too neat and expensive for a dingy pub like the white salmon. His companion thumps her head on the wall lightly like she's trying to get water out of her ears. Her hair is cut short, glasses over her almond shaped eyes, clothes equally looking expensive but less neat than her large companion.

Her lips turn upwards once she sees you. “Finally some service” she stretches her legs out, noting how she's wearing trousers instead of the usual frilly skirts rich women wear.

“Sorry, what can I do for you?” You put on your customer service voice that's laced with mild annoyance. The man sits still like a rock, his back still turned away from you.

“Fish and chips, some pickled eggs and a pint.” She glances at her friend before groaning with a sly smirk. “And he'll have plain porridge, no seasoning, just porridge. It's better if it's days old. Right, Miguel?”

The man huffs, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. The single candle light on the table illuminates his chiseled face, turning his eyes crimson.

“A pint will do” his voice is gruff yet calm.

There's alarm bells ringing in your head, the tray falls from your shaking hands. Your heart thumps louder than the clanking metal.

“Careful there, it's bad to drink on the job” His friend’s comment falls on deaf ears as you stare at the man before you. His expression doesn't change except for how his eyebrows lift slightly.

It's been years, surely he doesn't recognize me as an adult, right?

You clear your throat, mustering the best smile you can do. “Sorry about that, I'll get your orders right away” leaning down to take the tray from the sticky floors, your necklace slips out of your blouse, the gold shimmering in the candle light.

He could burn you with just his stare.

Walking briskly, clutching the tray, its metal is uncomfortably cold on your skin. The pub seems to get louder and louder with every footstep, the laughter and rowdy singing makes you dizzy. Janet calls after you as you run up the stairs to your room.

Thinking fast, you lock the door, pushing your dresser to further lock it. Your mind races to the floorboards beneath your threadbare bed. With your bare hands you hastily take the wood out revealing a hollow hole containing your possessions.

There's loud booming footsteps climbing up the stairs. Followed by his voice calling your name.

“Fuck” without thinking, you take the bag from its hiding place, slinging it over your shoulder before you cross the small space to the window.

“Y/N, Please!” He keeps calling after you. “Let me just,” thump, “fuck!”

That's your signal to jump down.

Landing on your heels, you feel your knees aching from the fall. You hear your bedroom door slam open with a force that surely broke its hinges.

You run like you've ran from him like last time.

Suddenly, you're thirteen years old, weaving through the forest, vines prickling your legs as you wade through the thicket. White lilies are but a blur as tears flow freely from your eyes as you keep running without a destination.

Why? Aren't you enough? Did she not love you like you thought she did? What did you do to deserve being abandoned twice?

You're back to the present when he yells your name again. Your heart pounds loudly on your ribcage, lungs burning, you feel like you're about to collapse.

His companion also runs after you, screaming your name desperately.

But you have the upperhand. Using the moon as your guide, you climb up a house, its bricks protruding out of the walls, the place you used to climb to practice, but now you climb it to save your own skin.

Running from roof to roof, you feel a presence behind you. His thunderous footsteps echo into the cold night. You don't dare look behind.

The woman follows you from the ground, her heels clicking on the uneven sidewalk. “Y/N! Wait up–shit!” Without looking down, you hear her fall.

He screams your name again, the same one she called you back then.

You run furiously, jumping off the side only to keep running towards the docks. Panicking, you see a ship leaving the docks, its fishing net left hanging on the side. Without thinking, you make a break for it.

Sprinting on the old docks, you leap the huge gap. Miraculously, you take hold of the net, clinging to it with all your might. Entering the net, you ignore the smell of fish, watching as the place you once called home gets smaller and smaller.

You say goodbye to Janet, who kindly took you in without asking for anything in return. Who gave you a job and a room so you don't freeze and starve outside. Who took care of you when you fell ill to the cold.

You say goodbye to Thena, the only friend you've ever had, the longest friend you've ever had. The same Thena who taught you how to sew and mend your own clothes. Thena who taught you how to throw a punch when a handsy sailor tries to touch you.

Thena whom you've grown accustomed to calling you her sister.

You say goodbye to the fishing town you've only recently called your home.

You say goodbye to the man at the docks who's staring at your fleeing form, whose eyes are narrowed, almost pleading for you to come back.

A/N: There's no Hobie appearance in this chapter yet :( (next chapter though 👀)

Hope you like it, thank you for reading!

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pix3lplays · 2 months

Note

I've seen Drunk Ratio being portrayed as a goofball but what about a weepy and sad drunk Ratio?

After having one to many drinks, the man starts talking about how much he hates himself and how, no matter how intelligent he is, he'll never be good enough for the Genius Society. After letting out a humourless laugh, he starts silently weeping. But he immediately wipes his tears away when you walk in, concerned.

After cleaning up the kitchen, you drag Veritas to the bathroom and, after making sure he's no longer feeling sick, bathe him and dress him in comfortable clothes.

As you get ready for bed, he asks you if his existence matters. If all his hard work matters. Suddenly, he felt like throwing up again, not because of the alcohol but because of the amount of coffee he drank while working tirelessly for hours and hours on end.

Gently, you caress his face and tell him "Even if an Aeon or the Genius Society won't gaze upon you with favor, I'll always know that you work harder than anyone else, Veritas. You're someone who refuses to let anyone deter you from your goals. You want to see people become the best versions of themselves without relying on geniuses. Everything that makes you you are why I chose you, my love. You're handsome, intelligent, and hard-working, no doubt you'll achieve your goals, no matter how impossible they may seem. You're more precious to me than any crystal and gemstone in the universe. "

Though your little speech was short, it, along with your smile, made Veritas' eyes fill with tears of joy and his heart swell with love. You were really too good for him. Of course, just to save face, he decides to tease you a bit.

"For your information, crystals and gemstones are completely different things. Gemstones are crude and rare pieces of minerals, organic matter, and rock stones that are excavated, cut, and polished to perfection for use in jewelry production. In contrast, crystals are pure substances composed of atoms, molecules, or ions arranged in three-dimensional lattices." He says without fail and a barely concealed smirk.

"Hey! I was comforting you, Mister!" You say, playfully smacking him while pouting.

It then turns into you two playfully insulting each other before your insults turn to joyous laughter. As you lay in the comfort of each other's arms, Veritas felt like he had the best sleep in his entire life.

INSECURE DR. RATIO IS SOOOO IMPORTANT TO ME ANON, but the man HIDES it, he HIDES it so well. Because let’s be real. Everyone wonders why a man like him isn’t in the Genius Society. HE wonders why he isn’t in the Genius Society. After all his work, all his achievements…he’s just…not good enough??

But he’d never OPENLY admit he considers himself a failure of sorts. But a few too many drinks and suddenly the true feelings come out.

You know he doesn’t want your pity. But you just speak your mind.

Maybe it makes him feel a little bit better, but, he can’t let you know you have such a strong effect on him so…teasing it is.

Bratty man, I love him.

You know him well enough though. He’s just protecting himself. Be easy on him and…maybe eventually he’ll be able to open up to you completely, no alcohol required.

#drinking #tw drinking #cw drinking #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Dr Ratio #Dr Ratio x reader #Hsr Dr Ratio x reader #honkai star rail Dr Ratio x reader

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