#mild alcohol

[arcanarubinaito]

What are your thoughts on how an extroverted, confident, energetic MC would be with Muriel as an LI? (🪶)

Thank you for the ask, Feather Anon! I’ve been itching to do some creative writing outside of my story, so I hope you don’t mind that I’m writing this more like a short story/narrative style post.

Summary:

You command the room when you walk in, and everyone takes notice. He loves that about you; being riddled with constant social anxiety himself, it’s nothing short of a relief for Muriel to see that you don’t have to deal with it yourself. (Besides, it doesn’t hurt that it takes the attention off of him.)

He’s just worried that you’ll feel isolated and alone if you move in with him.

It’s exactly a month after the defeat of Lucio and The Devil, and everyone had gathered to celebrate together in the Rowdy Raven. He tries to stick to a corner in the back, but he is far too large and conspicuous to avoid the attention for long. Some people stare, others are braver and approach him to exchange a few words and express thanks. Muriel wants nothing more than to melt into a puddle. He appreciates not being looked at like he was still the Scourge, thankful that people weren’t afraid of him anymore. But the only reason he was here was to see you. You had been busy helping with repairs in the city while Muriel helped those still lingering in the camp outside his home, and hadn’t had much time to really talk or interact for the past week.

“You all didn’t start without me now, did you?” Your voice rings out as you stride in, and Muriel slumps back against the wall with relief. He watches some of the crowd clamor to get your attention as Julian passes you a beer stein, giving him room to breathe.

You look a little tired, he notices, but your face is practically glowing. Your eyes meet across the room and you light up even further, drawing a slight smile from Muriel’s otherwise stoic expression. He loves your smile. Immediately you chug your drink and begin pushing through the crowd, exchanging short words with a few other people before you finally reach him. He doesn’t even have the time to say ‘hello’ before you throw your arms around him in a tight hug that he quickly returns.

“God, I missed you so much.” You groan, tilting your head back to look up at him. Muriel lifts his hand, cradling your face gently in his large palm as he dips down to kiss your forehead—silently telling you he missed you just as much. “I didn’t have any time to visit this week and it was killing me, actually.” You stretch up on your toes and loop your arms around his neck, filling him in on all the little things he’d missed. Stuffy nobles complaining that they weren’t getting their homes repaired sooner, and Nadia putting them in their place. Helping Portia and the other kitchen staff with preparing food for all the displaced citizens. Julian and Asra, busy with healing and helping reunite separated families and friends.

He listens to you ramble on with a soft smile, and follows as you take his arm and lead him to the bar. “—but now I think I’ll have a lot of down time, which means I can spend more time with you.” Muriel’s smile widens a little more at that, and he can feel his face warm up when you shoot him a wink. Yeah, he knows what that means all too well. “Hey Lavinia, let’s get a round of black mead for everyone!” You call across the bar, knocking your hand against the wood loudly. “And put it on Jules’ tab!”

“Wait what—?”

A short laugh breaks past Muriel’s lips at Julian’s indignant squawk, and he catches a shit-eating grin plastered over your face as you settle onto one of the stools. Two mugs of the dark liquor slide across the bar towards you both, Muriel putting his hand out to gently stop them before they fall off and passing one to you. “What did he do to deserve that?” He asks, amused. You hide your smirk with your mug.

“Nothing.” You rest your chin in one hand. “I’ll pay it off myself, his reaction is just funny.”

“That’s a little mean.”

“It is a little mean, yeah.” You laugh, eyes glittering with mirth. The firelight reflects like spots of amber in your eyes, and he’s reminded of that first night. Your worried face and gentle hands cast in the soft glow of the fireplace, and the begrudging step he had taken to trust you just a little. The best decision he’s ever made, really. Muriel reaches forward to brush some stray hairs out of your eyes without thinking.

A few ‘awww’s scattered from the crowd made him flinch and quickly withdraw, his face hot with embarrassment. Muriel hides his burning face with a quick swig from the wooden mug in his hand and turns his back to the crowd quickly. He had been so swept up in the moment that he forgot you both weren’t alone, and many pairs of eyes were on you at any given moment.

Your hand touches the side of his face lightly, reassuring and gentle. Grounding him for a little longer and soothing that surge of anxiety and embarrassment. His eyes flicker in your direction again briefly before he roots his stare on the mug in his hands again. “You want to head back early?” You suggest softly. Muriel lowers his mug. He wants to say yes; he’s by far had his fill of socializing today and just wants to wind down somewhere quiet and familiar. But he hesitates. You only just got here, and he knows how much you enjoy these gatherings. You thrive off of social interactions, would it be selfish for him to ask you to leave so soon?

“We don’t have to.” Muriel finally says, begrudgingly, forcing himself to look back up at you. He can stick it out a little while longer for your sake, just as you’ve done for him before. It’s loud and crowded and his anxiety is already going haywire, and god his head is starting to hurt too. But he can suck it up.

“I really don’t mind going home if you need to.” You reply. He watches your eyes drift past him, your hand waving off someone behind him quickly before your gaze returns to meet his. “I know this isn’t exactly where you’re most comfortable.” That was an understatement if Muriel had ever heard one.

Wait. Go back. Did you say ‘home?’

Gently, you pull him away from the bar, guiding him through the swirling crowd towards the back door. He reaches out to push it open for you, his fingertips lingering on the wood for only a moment before you whisk him down the alleyway to a more secluded spot, away from prying eyes. His eyes widen a little, and he lifts his hand to curl it over the one you cup his cheek with. “You said ‘home.’” Muriel breathes out. Your face softens a little, a smile creeping up on your lips.

You’ve hidden yourselves among some crates stacked up between the buildings, a nearby street lamp casting your faces into wild shadows. “Yeah, I did.” You confirm, moving your hand so that your fingers are twined together now. You dip your head down, kissing the tops of his knuckles with a sweet brush of your lips that sends a jolt of electricity through Muriel’s body. “I’d like to move in with you—if you want, I mean.” You add on quickly.

Muriel’s heart hammers in his chest. “What about the shop?” He asks, his voice a little more breathless than he would’ve liked.

“The shop is a little bit crowded these days—” Right, Julian had moved in. Muriel tries (and fails) to resist the urge to make a face at the thought of the doctor living with Asra. “—and I’m not exactly selling anything right now either.” You continue, tilting your head to the side just a little. “And it’s so far from your place.”

“My place is also far from everything else.” He points out quietly. Muriel wants nothing more than for you to move in with him, to make that little hut feel more like a little home. But would it be too far from Vesuvia, and all your friends? Would you be happy, or would you start to feel isolated and alone?

“I know.” You guide him out of his thoughts with a soft voice and a gentle squeeze of his hand. “And I’m okay with that.” He searches your gaze, finding only love and warmth, and that gleam of pure conviction he knows so well. His shoulders relax just a little bit and his thumb rubs along the back of your hand idly while he listens. “It isn’t really all that long of a walk to get to the city. It just feels… It just feels too far from you.” You smile up at him and he practically melts, lips twitching up into a faint smile.

“I want you to be happy.” Muriel confesses softly. He brings his other hand up to envelope yours in his large and calloused palm.

“And I’m happy whenever I’m with you.” You stretch up on your toes, and he leans down just a little to meet you halfway, stealing a soft and sweet kiss—thankfully, without anyone around to see. Muriel sneaks a glance around just to double check before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in closer, one steady hand at your waist and the fingers of his other twined gently through your hair. He can feel your hands rest against his chest for a moment before you reach up to hold his face in your ever-gentle hands.

He pulls away just slightly, your warm breath mingling with his against the cool night air. “I love you.” Muriel murmurs, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. He moves his hand to brush an errant lock of hair out of your eyes, studying them. Muriel wasn’t one for eye contact, but it was so easy for him to get lost in your eyes. They always reflected the light so beautifully, and tonight was no exception; the light of the street lamp mingled with the moonlight, casting your eyes in a contrast of gold and silver.

“I love you too.” You murmur. Your thumb lightly brushes along his cheek and traces along his scar tenderly, sending a soft shiver down his spine. Muriel shifts, his lips meeting the spot just between your eyebrows before he pulls away, his hands resting on your waist. You tilt your head back a little to look up at him, letting your hands settle back on his shoulders before sliding them down his arms and resting them against his biceps, just above his elbows.

“… yeah. I think I’d like to go home now.” He murmurs, finally answering your question from before. Your smile widens a little and you take hold of his hand as you both finally pull away from where you were hidden and start to walk down the street.

#arcanarubinaito #rubin’s writing #ask box #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fic #fanfic #the arcana muriel #muriel of the kokhuri #muriel the hermit #muriel x reader #muriel x mc #gn reader #the arcana apprentice #the arcana spoilers #the arcana muriel route #fluff #romance #anxiety/comfort #mild alcohol

[hobgobknowsbest]

Still waiting.

#day drinking #mild alcoholism

[jazeswhbhaven]

“Raises hand up “I have a request 🙋‍♀️

What would the kings do if MC was a touchy drunk person.They whisper naughty things into the ear about stuff they want to do to them.😏

This could get a little hot and steamy eh? And MC is being so forward I do wonder how our kings would act... (this was sitting the drafts omfg I'm so sorry anon ;.;)

Satan: It was a normal evening for him as per usual. Relaxing for once at the local bar when there's no angel attack, but there is another 'attack'...from MC. They'd been drinking a little too much, celebrating with the other nobles for their victory and day off. And Satan's right in the crossfire, MC leaning and nuzzling against his neck, the slight slur to their words. Satan pulls MC to the backroom to sober up, or that's the excuse he gave Sitri. "Tell me what you want to do to me again?" he says boldly, face flushed, listening to MC say such dirty declarations in confidence they normally wouldn't dare say sober. They both spend the rest of the night there, just flirting with each other until MC passes out drunk in his arms. Mammon: Tonight was a grand feast for particularly no reason, but top-shelf alcohol was being served, and well, MC had a little too many because Mammon encouraged it (lol) Now while he can handle his liquor, he still gets flushed when MC is sitting on his lap and whispering in his ear while purposely taking his hand and placing it on their butt. Mammon doesn't pay any mind to anyone else in the room and wants to hear more declarations from MC until they get sober and then he whisks them away to his room to do all of those things they said they would.

Beelzebub: Well, canon wise we know what he'd do in this situation. However, for the sake of this scenario, Beel loves it that MC is flirty when drunk, which is why before they started drinking, he had them agree that whatever happens while they're tipsy they consented to it beforehand. While MC is whispering in his ear, he touches them back, the two of them groping each other which leads to making out. However, Beel stops it there. He wants to make sure MC is well aware when he starts thrusting...(thrusting??? yes during the make out sesh, Beel slid inside of MC and was having them cockwarm him the entire time)

Leviathan: Somehow, MC got into the liquor cabinet. And somehow...they managed to slip Foras and the others to Levi's room who immediately seemed annoyed that MC was in his room, tipsy, near drunk, and draped all over him. He hates the smell of alcohol on their breath, but he can't help but feel special that they came to him immediately. While he listens to the unhinged things MC says while trying to grab his sensitive areas, he stops them and ties them up for a while. He's worked up, so he has MC watch as he pleasures himself and tells them to keep saying those things about him.

Lucifer: Oh, a drunk/tipsy MC? How amusing. He sits in his seat as MC starts feeling up on him, telling him the things they'd do to him, and all he does is just sit there with a smirk on his face and his arms folded. He waits until they're done, and he replies..."My turn." He pulls MC close, purring and whispering in their ear, describing just what he wants to do to them right at that moment. It seems MC is lost for words, but he locks them within his arms, letting them feel the bulge in his pants as he keeps going.

#whb #jwhbasks❓ #whb beelzebub #whb leviathan #whb satan #whb mammon #whb kings👑 #mild spice #sheesh this is so late i'm sorry T^T #cw alcohol mention #cw alcohol

[shoezuki]

I dunno why but I feel like Gepard can handle liquor. Like Sampo has the gift of bein smart knowin his limits and what to drink and when, so he gives off the vibe of being able to handle a lot but he's not that heavyweight. He's jus big brain conman XD. Get enough in him n he'll go down like the rest.

But Geppie. Man's sippin vodka from the bottle and not even slurrin his words. When he was a trainee the older guards decided to prank him with a glass of absinthe n called it a weak alcohol only for him to get halfway and not even bat an eye, only stopped cuz it tasted like ass. Dude takes the path of preservation seriously. Even his liver is beyond destruction XD.

Which is why I find two situations very freakin funny, which I'd love your opinion on:

1) Sampo starts up a drinking competition with him. It's on one of his guardian mandated holidays, so Gepard doesn't have to be responsible, and Dove 3 in 1 won't leave him alone anyway, so he agrees. Partway thru Sampo realises he's losin but Gep insists on gettin the drinks so he can't even cheat his way to victory. Cue Gep having to drag a very drunk, incredibly flirty Sampo back to Natasha but he keeps running off. Even being drunk doesn't stop him from havin smoke bombs up the wazoo.

2) Sampo manages to cheat, scheme, girlboss his way to victory. He comes out on top but now has the problem of an incredibly drunk, dangerously curious Silvermane Captain who won't stop flooding him with the oddest of questions. "Why are your eyes so green? Is your hair natural? What happened to the rest of your shirt? Do you really enjoy crime or is it jus something you fell into?" Whi- okay that one was oddly specific and he doesn't have the capacity, as tispy as he is, to answer.

He really needs to get him back home, before he asks the wrong person the wrong question, but isn't cognitive enough to face being questioned by Bronya and would sooner die than face Serval. So he opts into takin him to one of his more obvious hideouts which poses 10 million problems in and of itself when he keeps freakin touching everything!

ANON YOURE RIGHT YOURE A FUCKING. GENIUS. I been thinkin bout this A LOT ACTUALLY prob cuz for some reason fandom seems to lean towards gepard bein a horrific lightweight (i mean i know Why the lightweight trope is very much seen as 'cute' and childlike n whatever but i digress). But tbhtbhtbh i agree w u 100% like.

Gepard is a Tank of a Man. Homie can handle anything. Mfer the living embodiment of preservation like dude could be like 'serval this drink sucks' and hes gulping down perfume, unaffected. Dudes prob ate weird shit out on the front lines n questionable rations. The stuff in his fridge is expired n hes jus shrugging and eating it anyways.

I think w sampo its like. He SEEMS like he can handle his liquor. And hes not bad w it. But hes an Actor. Mfer could be plastered and you wouldnt know. Dude could convince a breathalyzer that hes only a Little Tipsy. But theres a threshold for him where he jus Caves at some points. Like u said tho man is Always competent w bombs. Like drunken boxing but w daggers dude could be blown over by a gentle breeze but still kicks ass.

I imagine that gepard doesnt Usually drink in that he jus. Doesnt care much. But absolutely his drink of choice is the hard shit. He jus has whiskey w ice or vodka w tonic water like a freak. Maybe a white russian if hes feelin zesty. When his guards convince him to go to the bar n challenge him to take shots he shrugs n jus packs them back no big deal.

But oh my god like. The 2nd scenario. I imagine it in order like first sampo realizing gepard has an Inhuman tolerance n making it his missiom to get the good ol captain fucked up. N it takes a while but like. Gepard jus gets more... blunt. But in a strange soft questioning way where he asks the things he wonders bout but never says aloud. The kinda soul reads like 'sampo youre a criminal not because you need to be but because you enjoy the thrill and attention right?' N sampo is just like holy fuck. But its like his inhibitions are gone and hes so Curious about everything and everything. He hangs onto sampos every word n it drives sampo crazy

#alcohol mention #sampard #anon im holding you. we r holding hands. #i like gep being a sturdy lad. like. a tank. nothing shakes him. someone tries to poison him but he doesnt notice #getting stabbed is a mild inconvenience ok. all the silvermanes get food poisoning from the cafeteria food one day except him. #except wine fucks him up a lil quicker #who knows why bsbsvdjddh #anon #ANOTHER ALTERNATIVE: gepard is the 'can i have a sip of your water?' 'its not water' 'what' 'its vodka'

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Feathered Good (Crowley x GN!Reader)

Content Warning: Alcohol (no intoxication), implied depression, implied unhealthy coping mechanisms, mild angst

Note: Reader is an adult NRC staff member

A pleased hum vibrated along your lips and rumbled through your throat as a soft breeze kissed your skin. It smelt of sand and sea, beneath that the delectable scent of various dishes cooking in the restaurant kitchen. You took another sip of your drink, the taste of [favorite fruit] wonderfully flooding your taste buds once again. You savored the flavor as your gaze lingered on the view before you, out towards the vast body of saltwater beyond. It was an excellent idea, coming out here; you’d have to thank Divus for the recommendation later. This was exactly what you needed. 

You were tucked into a nice little corner as well. Your table was situated on the lower deck of the restaurant - you thought it too nice an evening to remain inside. The spot wasn’t too far from the kitchens, either, so your food and drink didn’t take long to reach you. There was only one thing missing: company. When you first planned to eat out here, you thought Divus and Trein would come with you. However, as usual, their duties as professors got them into a bit of trouble, and a little injury. Thank goodness it wasn’t too bad of a fall; even so, the men had been in no mood to walk two to three flights of stairs, whether short or long. 

So, here you were, split between happiness for the alone time and disappointed in the lack of friendly conversation. Your eyes made another once over of your surroundings, watching the other patrons chat and laugh amongst themselves. Just as you were about to focus back on the waning sunset, your gaze settled on a familiar figure on the floor above. You could scarcely make out his frame, but you knew that mask from anywhere. What was Crowley doing here? Well, that was a dumb question. When was the headmage not making the most of the trip - either on or off the clock, to you and your coworkers’ misfortune. 

You couldn’t try and scold him, since it was technically both your off times. There was no reason to go and talk to him. Still…you found yourself rising from your seat. You placed a few madol on the table for your waiter; as you passed by the person at the register, you mentioned you were moving up to the top floor. That way they wouldn’t try and chase you, thinking you were trying to skip paying your bill. When the cashier gave you a nod and a smile, you headed up the long flight of stairs. It was a bit of a struggle to not spill your drink in your ascension, but you managed. Within minutes you reached the top - the view was even better from this height. 

Crowley faced away from you, the rim of his glass pressed to his lips as he took a sip of the liquid within. You couldn’t tell if it was alcoholic or not - did he even drink? Guess it was time to find out. “I’m surprised to see you here,” were the words you greeted him with. He turned to you as you rested your glass on the wooden edge of the balcony, wide enough for patrons to settle small plates of food or beverages. 

The headmage greeted you with a smile as he straightened his posture. “I make a point to visit this restaurant whenever I get the chance to travel here.” Crowley leaned against the railing, arm rested atop it, clawed hands almost folded in front of him. He looked more casual than usual - relaxed, even. If he were not a man who constantly plucked at your nerves, you’d think him rather dashing, especially since, this evening, he was not clad in that gaudy tropical shirt and khakis. Aside from his cloak, top hat, and cane, he was dressed in his usual ensemble. “Is this your first time here?” he asked. 

“The restaurant or this beach in general?” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “Either.” 

“Yes, to both,” you answered. Your body relaxed as you rested your arms against the wooden railing, glass placed next to you. “This is my first vacation in forever, I think. Usually, when I’m not working, I just hang out at home.” You chuckled, “I wouldn’t exactly call this a vacation, anyway; it’s basically a work trip.” 

“True,” Crowley agreed, “but I have done my best to work some ample time for you and the other staff to enjoy yourselves as well.” You seriously questioned that, with the way the man would sometimes outright abandon you and the students in favor of some other unknown activity. He picked up his small glass with his fingertips, swirling the brown liquid within as his eyes cast back out at the waves beyond. “This is truly a charming place, despite the hustle and bustle of the tourists.” Crowley lifted the glass to take another sip of his beverage. Feeling a bit mischievous, you decided to ask him another question. 

“Is that why Royal Sword and Noble Bell also chose this place to hold their field trips?” You held back a laugh as the headmage nearly choked on the drink. Patiently, you waited for him to regain himself before he answered. 

“Well…I suppose that is the reason.” You could almost picture the sweat that surely beaded under his shirt collar. “As I said, this is a wondrous place! What better destination for students to learn and play?” 

“It is, indeed, a place to do both - for all ages.” A little smirk played on your lips as you pried more. “It’s just strange we arrived right as the other schools did.” You lifted your drink to your lips as you added, “Coincidence, perhaps?” 

The headmage now avoided your gaze - a clear sign he was nervous. “Ah…yes!” Crowley let out a nervous laugh. “Quite so! Us three headmasters must be in sync with one another. As they say, great minds think alike!” 

Or a certain one didn’t want to look bad in front of his peers, you thought to yourself. For now, you decided to keep that thought to yourself. After all, there was no proof to that…yet. Divus said he would keep you posted.

“While it does allow our students to mingle with ones from other schools, it is a little chaotic.” You sighed as you placed your drink back down on the space next to you, the taste of [drink of choice] fresh upon your tongue. “I’m surprised there haven't been that many fights. Aside from Spade’s confrontation with those Royal Sword boys, there hasn’t been much of an incident. It’s either we finally have peace in the valley,” another sigh left your lips, “or all will come crashing down in the final days of the trip.” 

“Come now,” Crowley chuckled. “Do you have such little faith in our flock?” You sent him a look - without words, he seemed to get the point. He nodded his head, “Yes, our students are a rowdy bunch, to be sure. But perhaps this change of scenery will calm those rebellious natures enough for them to put away their fists.” 

“Hopefully,” you wished, with all of your being. You really didn’t get paid enough for the hassle sometimes. 

A silence fell between you two for a few moments, nothing but the sound of distant chatter and ocean waves filling your ears. Crowley was the one to break that hush. “[Y/n]?” You perked up at the sound of your name - your first name. It was odd for him not to address you formerly, even when off duty. With your attention back on him, he continued. “What do you think makes a good person?” 

“I didn’t know you partook in philosophy,” you said, perplexed by the question. Where did this come from?

“I read up on the subject from time to time,” Crowley mentioned. “Will you humor me?” 

Well, you didn’t see why you couldn’t. You did yearn for conversation earlier - now you had it. For a few seconds, you thought his question over, tossed and turned it in your mind. What made a good person? “I guess it depends on the person,” you finally replied. “No one will answer the same; it all weighs on someone’s life experience, I think.” 

“That was not what I asked.” Crowley’s expression was different, you realized. He looked sincere - more serious than you’d ever seen him. Even when a certain group of students overblotted in the past year, he hadn’t appeared this way. “I am asking you what makes a good person. In your eyes, what makes a good person?” 

You rarely ever experienced this man look directly into your eyes. It was almost like he wanted to peer into your very soul to find the answer. The tone of his voice had shifted as well, you noticed. Has Crowley ever been so earnest? You couldn’t answer that. You said you would humor him, so humor him you would. After a bit more contemplation, you explained to him what, to you, made a good person. 

The man listened intently, hung on your every word. He gave a slight nod of his head from time to time, truly taking in your beliefs. You secretly wished he’d take his work as seriously as this opinion of yours. Once you said your piece, he nodded once more, and then another long moment of silence washed over you both. That yellow gaze, obscured behind Crowley’s dark mask, was cast down to the ground. The rest of his expression, along with his body language, was almost…solemn, you thought. Did he find your answer disappointing? 

Before you could ask, he raised his head and smiled at you. Though it looked a little strained, he sounded genuine. “Thank you, [Y/n]. I will keep your words in mind for the future.” You watched as he picked up his glass once more, clasped a little tightly in his palm as he held it up to his lips. He then tilted his head back and drank the entirety of his beverage in a few short gulps. 

Your eyes must have widened at the display, for he let out a small laugh. “What’s that look for?” 

“What was that?” you asked, pointing at his now empty glass. 

“My drink?” Crowley shook the glass and the remaining ice clinked around within. “Scotch.” 

“You chugged it that quickly?!” The audacity of this man. “Will you even be able to walk back to the hotel?” It wasn’t too far away, the restaurant was located just outside the resort, but…

Crowley let out another laugh, much louder than the last. “Aww, you worry for me? I’m flattered!” Who wouldn’t worry? “But I assure you I’m quite alright. It takes a lot more than that to get me tipsy.” 

That was a pretty sizable amount of liquor though. Even Trein, someone who himself partook in scotch from time to time, would get a little blitzed after such a chug. How…how much did it take to get Crowley drunk? How much had he drunk in the past to build that high of a tolerance? Your expression must have revealed your inner thoughts, for Crowley let out another chuckle. 

“It has been my friend on many a late night,” he explained. Crowley eyed the glass in his hand almost as though it were an old friend. He appeared…almost sad, for the way he smiled. “This evening is one of few where it is not required.” 

Your heart sank. Not required? Sure, you knew Crowley was probably the type to drink a good bit, like Divus, but…that sounded rather ominous. Crowley appeared no different than the depressed protagonist in a movie. What exactly did he have to be depressed about? You thought back to the odd question he asked you minutes before. ‘What makes a good person?’ 

You thought about all the times Crowley praised himself. How kind he claimed to be with every little thing he did. Always out of arrogance, narcissism, maybe. Now, in light of the question he gave you, how he reacted and mulled over your answer. It now seemed those praises were affirmations to himself…assurances he was doing good. The confidence he showed when he made such claims always fueled the frustration within you. When put in this light though, it sounded like…like a man desperate to be a good person, when he didn’t know how to be. 

“Dire-” 

Your elbow hit something as you adjusted your position: Your glass. You gasped as it fell over the railing; you were just in time to watch it fall down to the sand three flights of stairs away. Thankfully it didn’t hit anyone on the way. A few guests and servers looked up in confusion - you suddenly felt embarrassed. You nearly jumped out of your skin when Crowley belted out in laughter. “It happens to the best of us!” he reassured. “I can’t count how many times I’ve made such a blunder.” 

With a wave of his hand, he called a waiter over. “Would you get my companion here another -” he glanced over at you “ - what were you having?” 

“[Drink of choice],” you mumbled, still flustered beyond belief. 

“[Drink of choice]!” Crowley repeated to the waiter. He handed them his empty glass as he added, “And another glass of scotch for me, if you wouldn’t mind.” Crowley slipped the waiter a several madol as a tip - or as a way to get your drinks quicker. Either way, the waiter uttered a ‘yes, sir’ before they headed down to the bar. As they went out of sight, Crowley turned back to you. “Where is that smile from before? You’re not the first to knock over a glass, you know.” 

“I know…” You shied away as you rubbed your arm. “I just hate someone has to pick it up.” 

“I’m sure that isn’t the worst thing they’ve ever done.” Crowley sat himself in a cushioned chair at the corner of the floor. You followed suit and took the one across from him. “If it broke, I will pay for that as well.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I have to pay for it?” 

“Usually,” he rested his chin against the back of his hand, “if I were not treating you.” 

Dire Crowley, the stingy headmage of Night Raven College, treating you? You couldn’t hold back the small laugh that escaped your throat. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor,” you quipped. 

He scoffed, taken aback by your statement. “Whatever do you mean? I have a great sense of humor! And that was not a joke: I intend to pay for the drinks you may have in my presence.” 

Who clocked him over the head? “You’re serious?” you questioned with a skeptical raise of your brow. “Not going to take this out of my paycheck or something?”

“You think me that cruel?” He seemed to flinch by the look that crossed your face. “No no, I’m not going to take it out of your check - or any thereafter.” Another smile twitched at his lips. “Consider this my thanks for your company - and for answering my question.”

You wanted to ask more - more than him treating you. Yet something told you to hold back for now. Apparently this man was more cryptic, held more mysteries than you ever thought him to. There likely wouldn’t be anything to garner from his question - tonight, at least. Might as well take your good luck and accept the offer, before he changed his mind. You put your skepticism aside and smiled. “Thank you - I really appreciate it.”

Those masked eyes seemed to brighten a little at your gratitude. His posture straightened a bit more, his characteristic confidence back in full force. “Of course! I cherish the opportunity to reward one of my fellow peers for their hard work. After all,” his smile wavered into what looked like a smirk, “I am ever so kind~” 

Another reassurance…to you, or to himself? You seriously would question that from now on. 

If only you knew just how much Dire Crowley valued your opinion.

#Twisted Wonderland: Beach Episode Mini Series #my work #twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #twst #twst x reader #dire crowley #twst crowley #dire crowley x reader #twst crowley x reader #divus crewel #twst crewel #mozus trein #twst trein #alcohol #mild angst #philosphy #beach resort #restaurant #implied depression #implied unhealthy coping mechanisms #nrc staff #romantic or platonic #twisted wonderland x reader

[marzipanandminutiae]

I just found out that some people make an amaretto sour (my favorite alcoholic drink) with Sprite

Cursed knowledge

#cocktails #no I don’t like drinking very much. Yes I prefer drinks that are mild and don’t taste much like alcohol #sue me #I am going to get a sweet and yummy beverage that won’t leave me embarrassing myself or feeling wretched #I go out with colleagues after work. I have one weak drink. I go home happy #but SPRITE?! #too. sweet.

[snows-2am-thoughts]

Me: *nervous to tell my parents about my autism and ADHD diagnoses*

Me: Mom, Dad, I have ADHD and I'm autistic

Dad: Oh I know, sorry you get that from me

Me: what

Dad: Yeah both me and my brother are, though i like even numbers and he liked odd numbers

Me: MY NUMBER OBSSESSION CAME FROM YOU?? I COULDNT TALK UNLESS THE LETTERS OF MY SENTENCES ADDED UP TO AN EVEN NUMBER FOR YEARS

Dad: Yeah that happened to me too

Me: I COULDNT BLINK OR TAKE STEPS UNLESS THEY WERE EVEN NUMBERS

Dad: Yeah my brother and I would piss each other off because I would turn the light on and off 2 times and he would be bothered by it and do it another time then we would go back and forth

Mom: *silently wanting to tell us we're crazy but also all her kids are ADHD but have different dads so she stays quiet*

Me: no but seriously why never tell me if you knew i was also struggling with the same stuff as you

Dad: you were struggling?

Me: -_-

#ahahahahaha #autism #mild autism #autism memes #neurodivergent #neurodivergency #neurodivergent memes #why is my dad like this #nvm im the exact same way #its very obvious why we both confused at times when the family talks #hes also an alcoholic because he didnt know how to cope when we was my age #we dont talk about that tho

[newtabfics]

Could I ask for a drabble with drunk Astarion? It was adorable how he got drunk from a bear. I wonder what would he do if he got even more drunk later in the story? What would do his female Tav, would she make fun of him or get drunk too? Thank you in advance!

In my personal headcanon: Absolutely would get teased for it. But I'm feeling a type of way today :3

Basically, they're all at an inn for this.

Below cut for scrolling

Triggers for I guess drinking, mild angst. basically going into astarion's thoughts and fears about not being a sexual being.

His stumbling into her arms made her sigh as she helped him to his room. "You're drunk again. What happened?"

"Some...guy...he was drunk first," Astarion slurred, leaning into her. He nuzzled against her hair and gently pressed a kiss behind her ear. "Gods, you're so sweet to me. Makes me love you so much."

Her cheeks warmed at his words as she helped him to his room. They were lucky they could afford separate rooms. After the camping, it felt needed for everyone.

Though, as she helped him into his room and gripped her hips, she felt that desire building again. "You're drunk, Star," she said gently, guiding him to his bed.

"You're drunk, Darling," He giggled out as she helped him sit. "Ooh. Gonna take advantage of me?" He joked. His eyes flickered a slight as a panic rose in his chest.

Tav smiled gently and knelt down, carefully removing his boots. "Let's get these off," She said softly.

He watched her through rosy vision. It was startling. She was so careful with him, not letting her touch linger too long. He could see it in her eyes, how much she wanted to be intimate with him again...

"Do you hate me?" He mumbled out.

"No, Astarion," She said firmly as she set his boots aside before reaching up and helping him out of the padded overcoat. "Let's get this off. You can't sleep in armor. You'll be fussy in the morning."

Astarion felt his throat tighten as he reached up and touched her hand. He couldn't grasp it still. She was so careful. Her hands stopped, letting him do what he needed. It was like she refused. to move now without his permission.

"Why...not?" he asked softly. "You could...whatever you wanted."

Tav looked up at him from her kneeling position as she gently took his hands into hers as she rested them on his thighs. "Because you keep asking that," She said. "Astarion..." She blushed a slight. "You mean so much to me. You're the first to...to really look at me. And you didn't have to. You said you wanted us to be real. I want us to be real too."

His heart fluttered when she gave a gentle kiss to his knuckles before resting her forehead against them. "I'm not going to do anything, because that's not what you need. and I think you know that too, My Shining Star."

Astarion's face went red at the nickname. "W-Why do you keep calling me that?"

Tav smiled and shook her head. "No particular reason," She giggled.

"What? But I wanna know," he whined.

Tav's soft laugh made his heart melt as she carefully got off the overcoat, leaving him in his loose shirt and pants. He gulped and looked at her, eyes flickering with anxiety as he studied her. His eyes glanced to her neck, seeing the familiar fang bruising on her flesh.

"I feel like I owe you," He sighed, gently tracing the marks. He watched her shiver and still. It was like she was reigning herself in for him. His heart dropped as he thought about how he was neglecting her. How he could do better or--

"Astarion," She said firmly, reaching up and cupping his face as she adjusted. She stood and his hands tenderly found her hips as her lips pressed against his forehead.

He shivered and hugged her close, burying his face against her stomach as he sighed heavily. "I'm sorry I'm a mess," He muttered.

"Don't be sorry," She sighed, running her fingers through his hair as she held him. "I just want you to be comfortable again. I'm never going to make you do anything you don't want."

Her words stopped. She almost wanted to think of something else to add to the statement, but even unsaid, she had spoken volumes more.

Tav smiled as she watched him starting to fall asleep against her. "I'm going to tuck you in now, alright?"

"Don't go..." He muttered into her stomach. His hands clutched the back of her shirt, almost cradling her close to him. "Just...stay?"

She smiled and kissed her head. "I can do that." She hummed as she lay with him in the bed, watching him cling to her. "next time, you're not going out for blood alone though," She told him with a gentle look. "Or at least, maybe don't grab a drunkard."

Astarion smiled softly as he felt the alcohol already clearing out of his mind. He couldn't tell her that his vampirism made him process alcohol so much faster and that it was a buzz. Not after it meant he could be wrapped in her arms and feeling her hands through his hair.

maybe he'd tell her in the morning once his mind stopped reeling.

#ask me stuff #ask request #astarion bg3 #tavstarion #alcohol #tw alcohol #mild angst #trauma response

[suitetarts]

reasons to be honest

Astarion x Original Female Character, Dark Urge Tav (Good) Angst, Comfort, Kissing, Fluff (Link to AO3) After Astarion’s confession, Delilah is conflicted but still very in love–which she hasn’t quite admitted to yet. Unfortunately for sober her, she is a sad drunk on a mission after the celebrations in Moonrise Tower. Angst-fueled barbs and comforting words ensue.

Another one shot with my Tav, Delilah. This one happens to make no reference to her features or gender, just that she's a drow with mommy issues. You can go to the AO3 series for the other fic I have for her, or click here.

“Another… please.”

The red tiefling boy hesitates as Delilah’s head rolls awkwardly to the side, the previous shots of liquor clearly hitting her hard. Her piercing red eyes dart to his unmoving hands and then meet his own in a cold glare. With a squeal, he grabs a new liquor bottle from Ketheric’s stores and begins to pour once more.

Another child, a bluish tiefling with tight curls, collecting bottles from the small goblin hovels hidden throughout the first floor of Moonrise, comes marching over to chastise. “Drow Lady, oi! That’s enough!”

“Mmm? I saved your sorry little hides ‘nd you’re cutting me off?” Delilah exhales out of her nose indignantly, easily swiping the nearly full bottle from the boy’s hands.

“Oi oi oi! But that’s s’posed to be mine to sell on the road,” the blue tiefling cries.

The darkness within her, the other parasite on her psyche that pulls her to violence, begs her to reverse her grip on the bottle and crack it open, spilling red across the floor in a viscous new style of carpet. Delilah lets out a puff of air and pushes the thought away with a spot of effort. As she walks away with a stagger, she raises her free hand to wave the children good night.

The various hallways and great meeting spaces that were host to a battle between her companions and the Absolute cultists only a few hours ago is now just a bloody path of stones, one that she hopes will lead her to her bedroll. These cursed lands had truly been a nightmare in every sense of the word. Delilah is hopeful that being one step closer to their goals will allow her some peace and rest. However, she knows that defeating Myrkul’s Chosen can’t possibly help the matters of the heart that tear her from a good night’s sleep.

As the liquid inside the bottle hits her lips, she winces. Blood red and horrendously strong like it was distilled from pure malice. Whoever had decided to keep this in their stores either had something powerfully flavorful to mix it with or hated themselves. Delilah ponders if there is anything in this tower that would be sweet enough to cover the taste, blushes, and takes a decidedly large and bitter sip.

She curses under her breath as she finds herself walking the ramparts of Moonrise, her mind wandering back to Astarion despite the severity of all their other issues surrounding the tadpoles. Delilah continued to mull over their talk the other night and had been unintentionally distant, even though she knew that there was still so much more to say. The discussion replays in her mind once more. Astarion had, at least initially, lied about it all. He had manipulated her so comprehensively, body and soul. He told her such sweet things, some that she recognized as flirtatious tricks, but others that she had come to actually believe. He laid with her nearly every night not because he wanted to, but to control her. The bastard had admitted to her face that the only part of his plan that failed is, essentially, he harbored guilt about doing it after catching feelings.

And even after hurting her so profoundly, Delilah had reassured him. The typical shrill tone with which he joked or complained or flirted during their adventures was absent, replaced with a lower, more melancholy genuineness that she couldn’t help but comfort. She said that she deeply cared for him, that she would stay by his side as he created boundaries for himself. The two had a productive yet brief discussion and she never lied, not a single sweet word or supportive touch. 

All despite her heart cracking down the middle, threatening to shatter. 

Delilah staggers, reaching to the cold stony walls of the tower for support. Her fingers grip the edge of one of the stones and she could imagine it was Astarion’s collarbones. Her nails dig into the sandy mortar for a moment as her temper flares, before guilt and sympathy eases the tension in her joints. She feels justified in her frustration, but he doesn’t deserve her anger. His situation is beyond complicated and she truly is trying to understand it from his perspective. She goes through the situation again, as accurately as she can manage:

After being kidnapped and implanted with ticking time bomb mind flayer parasites, a hot and powerful drow sorceress (with a tendency to murder without warning or reason!) prances around in the wilds of the Storm Coast with a group of equally powerful strangers, including a famous monster hunter and a fierce alien warrior. The sorceress comes across a vampire spawn that has done little else besides use his body to ensnare meals for his master and suffer indescribable abuse for multiple mortal lifetimes. It makes perfect sense that he would use the tools at his disposal to secure his safety with a band of questionable characters. It makes sense to deceive one of these powerful fools into a relationship. It makes sense to target her as the leader of the group. It makes sense to manipulate her until she is no longer useful. It makes sense to try his damnedest to not actually feel anything for her, because gods forbid she’s worthy of real love. It makes sense. It makes sense.

Delilah sighs into the darkness. Perhaps this was not the most favorable interpretation to Astarion’s reasons for pursuing her the way he did. He had admitted that he’d fallen for her, that he wanted them to be real. It was her who felt an implication in his words that he wanted them to be real moving forward and that everything before was never real.

A chill runs through her as she takes another sip of liquor and she decides to focus on finding her way to camp. She rounds the same door twice before going the correct path and finding a host of friendly faces. Lae’zel, Aylin, and Isobel are near the door, with the former two animatedly discussing fighting techniques while the cleric takes the opportunity to rest and enjoy the peaceful evening with her lover. Delilah stops for a moment to listen in before moving further into camp, where Wyll and Karlach speak in a more somber tone around the fire. She almost goes to join them, but Karlach’s heat and ire at the Chosen of Bane the group had seen right before the battle with Ketheric is palpable in the air. Perhaps it's selfish, but she doesn’t want to be angry for Karlach's sake. Not when she’s already feeling so anxious and irritated about her own stupid problems.

Owlbert barrels past Delilah with Scratch hot on his feathered tail, passing close enough to her that she dodges clumsily and begins to trip. Her hands are sent to break her fall but instead catch on the bleached white linen of Astarion’s shirt.

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth before speaking with a coy grin. “Darling, I knew you’d fallen for me but I didn’t realize you were going to take it literally.”

A fierce blush overtakes her, bringing a pink tint to her gray complexion. Her tongue rolls awkwardly in her mouth as she tries to cover herself, “I– I didn’t mean to fall. But thank you.”

“You’re completely trashed,” Astarion observes with amused surprise as he attempts to help restore Delilah’s balance. He steadies her forearms before tentatively letting go. Her red eyes, so similar to his own, beam up at him as she only slightly wobbles. His lips pull into one of those sweet half smiles that he only gives to her. “Adorable.”

“Y’think I’m adorable?”

“We’ve been over this. You’re very attractive.”

Delilah narrows her eyes and snickers, doing her best to rub her hands together like a villain in a street play while still holding onto the bottle of liquor. “Again.” He rolls his eyes and begins to lead her towards her tent.

“This–” Astarion emphasizes as he easily snatches the liquor from her loose grip. “–is for not returning the compliment.”

While Astarion has it hoisted in the air, he inches his nose closer before reeling at the strong vapors of the alcohol. She does not opt to carry herself with the typical pride of a female drow, instead choosing to whine and reach for the bottle. The two are evenly matched on height, but he's a master at using his tricks to keep any item just barely too far away.

“Tut tut tut. You know how this works dear.”

She stamps her foot down playfully. “I’ve told you a million times, ‘Starion. You’re–” 

He cuts her off with a press of his index finger to her lips. “Ah-starion. If you please,” he asks with a shiteating grin. “Do continue.”

Delilah pulls her mouth to a straight line as she groans in her throat, but her eyes betray the annoyed facade she’s trying to convince him of. They’re smiling. She starts again, “I’ve told you a million times, Ahhh-starion. You’re perfectly gorgeous.”

He preens with satisfaction, tossing his hand through his hair for dramatic flair. “Thank you love, you’re quite perfect yourself.”

Delilah hums and turns away, in part to watch her feet as they approach her tent and also to avoid him seeing her as she repeats his words in her head. Her? Perfect? After all the nasty and selfish thoughts she’s had tonight, and every other night since he finally opened up to her? Hardly. Not to mention that falling for some charlatan with a pretty face and a sad life who tells her what she wants to hear is all far too unbecoming for a drow of her nobility and breeding. Her mother would literally kill her three times over for even an ounce of this behavior. It's frankly a miracle that a mistake like her made it to adulthood. And then there’s the whole thing with nearly uncontrollable murderous urges that, only a few weeks prior, had almost cost him his life?! Perfect.

Astarion notices Delilah’s withdrawal and leans forward to see her chin quivering and her eyes brimming with tears.

“Hey, hey, wait.” His voice drops its usual mirthful cadence. She stops, still facing away from him. “What’s wrong? Did I say something to upset you?”

“I’m not perfect,” she whispers just loud enough for him to hear. Delilah kneels at the rugs outside her tent, clumsily reaching behind her ass to take off her shoes. “Also, I think I’m mad… but I dunno.” 

“Mad at what?”

“At you.”

Astarion freezes for a split second before nodding his head in begrudged acceptance. He sets the bottle down and kneels next to her, leaning forward to make eye contact. “Better to be mad than leaving me, which frankly, is what I expected when I confessed what I had done to you. I deserve your anger.”

“No, you don’t,” she says, doing her best to maintain eye contact as the liquor and tears threaten to make her crumble. “Everything you did makes sense.”

He clears his throat, giving himself a moment to gather his response. “I had my reasons, but that doesn’t mean the things I did were right .”

Delilah’s throat contorts as she tries to suppress a sob. All at once, the proximity of the others makes her panic and she quickly retreats into the darkness of her tent. When Astarion doesn’t immediately follow her, she kicks the flap. He peeks in to find her sitting cross legged at the far end, her eyes darting between him and a pillow just out of arm's reach of her.

Nervously drumming against the stiff canvas tent flap as he holds it open, Astarion sighs. “Darling, I’m not sure you’ll be pleased that we’ve had this conversation when you’re so drunk. Maybe this should wait.”

She wipes her eyes with the collar of her shirt. “I don’ care, sit.”

As he crawls in on his hands and knees, his fingers splaying out as his palm leans into the plush of her bedding, she closes her eyes to steel herself. Of their many encounters prior to Astarion’s confession, most of those had been spent here. She was no stranger to the ways of pleasure, but he had brought her to rapture in ways she had never imagined were possible. She had thought of those nightly trysts as an escape from reality, an easy and fun passion to help them both get away from the looming despair of the tadpoles. Just the thought of how Astarion must recollect those evenings makes her own memories turn sour and rotten.

He mirrors her cross legged sit from across the tent, laying the pillow in his lap so that he can fidget with the tassels and flange. He is uncharacteristically quiet.

Was he expecting a scolding, for her to hit him, or some other form of anger, even cruelty? Delilah looks down at her feet. “D’you think I’m gonna yell at you?”

“No,” Astarion says quickly. He plucks at the silver threads of her pillow. “Maybe.”

“I’d never–” she starts, before seeing a fang poke out of his smile and one of his eyebrows shoot up questioningly. “Well, not never, but not about this. ‘Nd I’m not really mad at you. I dunno. You just hurt me–a lot–when y’said you lied to me.” The words seem innocent and childish as she speaks them to her toes. After a pause, she adds, “For months.”

Astarion draws his shoulders forward until his nose almost touches his knees, almost as if he’s trying to make his body as uncomfortable as he feels. “I know, I’m sorry my love.” He looks up at her through his white lashes, a move that could fit right into his flirtatious fop routine if not for the sincerity dripping from his words. “You have every right to be mad.”

“Stop that,” Delilah begs, a smile breaking across her face as she lets out a short sad whimper.

He pulls his back straight once more, looking down before looking back up at her. “Stop what?”

“Stop apologizing and being so nice to me,” she sighs around a smile. But the smile quickly fades. She continues, “And complicated. I dunno.”

“I’m supposed to cut back on the complaints about the niceties you give to me, but you tell me to stop? I thought you wanted me to be all empathetic and sweet to every body,” he says with an air of their usual banter. The pair sit in silence for a moment as the tension once again rises, like a taut bow string waiting for the call to loose. 

“What do you mean… ‘complicated’?” Astarion asks, without hardly using any air to carry his words, staring at the pillow flange’s thread between his fingertips as he unweaves it. She knows that he knows what she’s talking about, in general terms. Delilah huffs as she lays down on her side facing away from him, unable to explain this with even the possibility of eye contact.

“I had a lot of fun when we did, y’know, horizontal stuff. I thought you did too,” she starts nervously, holding onto her shoulders as she curls in on herself. “But now… Gods, I’m so gross. I took advantage of you. And you–”

“Stop. You didn’t take advantage of me.” His voice sounds strangled behind her. She can hear him padding closer to her, slowly. “Please, look at me.”

She curls further into herself. “But you didn’t want to fuck me.”

“Stop it, Del. Stop,” Astarion says sternly, pulling her back flush to the ground. He reaches over to hold both of her shoulders in place as he steadies himself on his knees to her side. His eyes unintentionally drift towards her neck, and she recalls this position, with him leaning his chest over hers, is much like that first night when he fed from her neck. His throat bobs, swallowing his sanguine hunger, and returns his eyes to watch hers. “I tried to explain the other night, but– Please understand me when I tell you that everything I did was what I wanted. My intentions weren’t, uh, always the most proper. But! I did want to fuck you. I want to fuck you now. It's just… not that simple.”

Delilah’s skin is hot underneath Astarion’s intense gaze and salacious words, especially the way his hands grip tighter at the idea of taking her at this very moment. She could almost be satisfied with this explanation if sex was truly all that mattered to her. Luckily for them both, it was not.

“Did you ever want to kiss me?” She breathes the question, her eyes softening under the heat of his presence. 

He scoffs, releasing her shoulders to kneel beside her. He snakes a hand along both sides of her jaw and tenderly pulls her head up as he leans down to kiss her. Her hands fly up to his ears, her fingertips dragging through his curls. He brings her in closer, their teeth just barely feeling the pressure of the kiss, before he pulls away to hover over her face. He lets out a breath as he answers simply, “Yes. Any time you ask.”

“Even at first?”

“Even the most cold-hearted bastard wouldn’t look at a pretty thing like you and not want to kiss her,” Astarion says honestly, although a hint of his flirtatious tone seeps through. 

Delilah tucks her chin into her shoulder, the blush creeping down from her cheeks to her neck and threatening to envelop her whole. She deflects to save herself from burning up. “That better not be a canned line.”

“Well…” His voice cracks and the smile on his lips falters, before he searches her face for some evidence of forgiveness. She still looks like putty in his hands, flushed and pliable. His eyebrows pull together, from pity or guilt or a combination of, as he answers her. “It doesn’t matter, da– Del. It’s true.” He leans back down for a chaste kiss before pulling his hands away from her and returning to a comfortable sitting position.

As he pulled away from the kisses, she did her best to give him a sweet smile but it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. He sighs, laying within reach of her onto his side with his head propped up by his arm. “I’m sure you’re not having an easy time trusting me lately, but… Honestly, it's true.”

She sympathized with his mild frustration. He was saying and doing all of the right things, and they were true, so why was she still upset?

Rhetorical question: she knew.

“Astarion?” She turned to face him with her elbows together and hands gripped at her chest.

“Yeah?”

“I… I think I love you,” she whispers. By the tension between them and the blank look on his face, she feels that the air has been sucked out of the tent. She feels light and breathless, floaty even, at finally putting words to her inner turmoil, and so she continues. “Even though you’re a liar. And I think I’ve loved you for a while now.”

Astarion lets out a large breath, rolling onto his back. As he fearfully studies the roof of the tent, Delilah wonders if he’s reliving some terribly sad memories of others who told him the same thing, others that were doomed to fall prey to Cazador. She wonders if it's the opposite, that he’s never been allowed to keep anyone long enough for them to love him. Or simply that he doesn’t feel the same and doesn’t want to hurt her even more. No matter what his reason is, she reaches a hand out to lay in the empty space between their bodies. An offering that she allows him to take or refuse, regardless of how much she wants to pull him closer.

“Del, I– I’m not sure what to say, but I–”

“If you don’t love me back, or you don’t know how, or whatever…” As she continues, the words trip and catch on the emotion pouring through and threatens to burst from her very soul. “Don’t tell me the truth. I can’t, I’ll… But please, don’t lie either. No more lies.”

Astarion rolls back onto his side to look at her, to look at what he’s done to her. One of his hands finds hers in the no-man’s land between them, as the other snakes through to hold the other against her sternum. “No more lies,” he repeats, earning a nod from his crying lover. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to work on, well, me, and as I do, I will become better. Stronger. For the both of us.”

Delilah curls inwards around their conjoined hands, breathing warm but fading sobs onto the cool skin of his arm. “Are we… Are we going to be okay?”

“Unless you or the tadpoles have other plans.”

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

He pauses, uncomfortable still with the concept of optimism. Promises of good tidings she made to him were generally met with a bitter snap from a man who over centuries had the ability to feel hope beaten out of him. But, in this moment, he softens at her, as he always has, and says, “Yes.”

They lay in silence for a few too many moments, just holding each other's hands and sharing a peaceful moment of mutual understanding. Delilah begins to lose the fight against her heavy eyelids. The anger, embarrassment, and heartache all seemed so trivial as she laid there with him on the brink of consciousness. He was right; they would be okay. 

The last thing Delilah remembers is her grip loosening on his hand at her chest, but the lingering sensation of his cool skin on hers. When her trance breaks, she finds herself parched under a haphazard pile of blankets with a certain elf still resting at her side. She gently lays some of the warmest ones on top of Astarion before she leaves to nurse her hangover, just barely missing the way his eyes peek open mischievously. She misses the way he hesitates to follow her, instead choosing to snuggle into her warmth like a reptile to a sunny rock, trying to keep her heat to himself as the stones beneath the bedding already begin to sap it cold and dry.

#another self indulgent ficlet i made on a whim #honestly after his doozy of a confession i just know theres a second debrief where tav is like #“hey i know we ended things so nicely last night with the hug and all but lets circle back to the bit where YOU LIED TO ME ABOUT EVERYTHING #so this is me writing that scene and mild heartbreak for my homegirl delilah #astarion x tav #astarion x the dark urge #astarion x durge #astarion x female oc #drow tav #astarion #astarion acunin #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 romance #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #angst #fluff and angst #alcohol mention #love confessions #drunken confessions

[grokebaby]

Gradients and vibrant colors as a bd present for myself. May post full version if people seem interested enough

#traditional art #my ocs #Dr Hilla Holger #Robot oc #Robogore #(just in case it's kinda mild on this) #alcohol markers #Marker art #Marker illustration

[hobgobknowsbest]

I am 100% trustworthy

#goblincore #goblin culture #goblin vibes #goblin things #goblin community #cryptidcore #eldritchcore #monstercore #creaturecore #mari lwyd #local cryptid #day drinking #mild alcoholism

[morningmask27]

i am not sorry for the Carmine reblogs, she has fully taken over my brain at this point.

A mixture of her being so unhinged and neurodivergent that it feels like she was made for me to like her and her very unfortunate dynamic with her little brother make her a character that I was just made to get attached to.

I want to study her under a microscope and get her help with the Kieran stuff, I want to make things worse between the two siblings, I want them to blow up at each other in a way that will make them unable to reconcile, because she failed to do everything right for her brother, because he took everything so personally and lashed out, because the two just can't fit together nicely, they're just not made for that. no matter how hard she tries to be a perfect sister, no matter how much she cares about him, I want things to go so wrong between the two. I want the pain to be so gut-wrenching it tears them appart.

but I also want them to reconcile; in another world things could be saved. carmine could recognize the way she acts hurts her little brother that she loves so dearly, she could try to reach out to him and be better, and he could accept it and they'd be able to rebuild things together.

it's a tale of two siblings that struggle to coexist. Carmine's technically the one in the wrong because she hurts Kieran, but she doesn't intend to. she struggles to realise how he feels an just tries to do it her way because she's the older sibling and knows best. she loves him and wants only the best for him, that's why she made the player lie to him, but it backfired alomst immediately.

she failed and that's the real problem. now let's hope that the Indigo Disk lets them reconcile (in a satisfying way)

#morningtalks #pokemon #carmine #rival carmine #trainer carmine #pokemon carmine #yeah I am a younger sibling #with a very weird relationship to my older sister #she's 9 years older than me and went through So Much terrible stuff in our family #constant fights between our mother and father plus also our grandparents and our grandparents with our mother #same father who was an alcoholic and really not the best person even though he cared in his way #abuse in even more sordid ways from our uncle aunt and cousin #and she took it out on the one person she could: me #I got to deal with quite a lot of stuff she went through. kinda like a continuation of the cycle of abuse that chokes our family #so Carmine's treatment of Kieran feels so mild compared to my stuff but it rings bells

[spicynectarines]

everyone shits on beer but no one talks about how vile wine is. why do you want your alcoholic beverage to be pungent???

#i like beer and i will die on that hill #it’s mild and tastes good #wine is NOT mild and does NOT taste good #and it’s stinky #also beer drinking settings are better #think about it #where do you drink beer? #parties and the beach and at lunch with friends #all fun places to be! #wine is drunk during fancy dinners #not fun places to be #beer is more fun and youthful #wine makes u look like a douche #i HATE hard liquor cuz i have a terrible gag reflex #but i hate wine more #at least you can mix liqueur into drinks #wine you just have to drink straight #beer reminds me of hoco after parties and being with friends #wine reminds me of NOTHING because it’s for old people #also this is all theoretical because of course i have never had an alcoholic beverage in my life #i obey the law

[fauvester]

Garak would definitely make those clay vases,so it would be cool if you drew him

truly wish I know which vases you were referring to. but this did coincide neatly with my newly retired mom's pottery obsession. we cannot even begin to fathom how many weird hobbies garak's going to try once he's softly forced to retire. he's going to make so many god damn pots

#dee s 9 #every week i talk to my dad and hes like.... she brought home 5 more bowls. and a mug #i think he'd enjoy doing a bit of pottery. doing hand work. repetitive and tactile. #weirdly intimate. fleshlike? wet. but messy. #thinking about it i feel like pottery would be a good Cardassian Art. hot. metallic. earthy. lots of alcoholic beverages needing containers #bashir in a LEGALIZE POT shirt and no visitors think anything of it other than mild confusion #why would anyone illegalize pots. decorative amphora are one of cardassia's ubiquitous functional decoration pieces

[painsandconfusion]

MORE SHRINK PLEASE

Ask and you shall receive, lovelies!

This scene didn't end up including a failed escape since Whumpee was insisting they'd never try that (evidently they made this deal very knowingly and are accepting the sacrifice), but I still really like ittttttttt.

Lmk if you want a part three!

.

You're Going to Regret That~

Part One Here

[Drabble Masterpost]

(tw: forced marriage, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, noncon touch, noncon kiss, alcohol consumption, mild mouth gore, blood, arranged marriage, threats, implied future noncon (not gonna happen, but it can easily be read as such))

“You’re going to regret that~”

The phrase hummed in Whumpee’s ears through the entirety of the reception.

Through the smiles. Through the hugs. Through the congratulations. 

They’d hidden the trembling of their hand under Whumper’s as the two of them guided the serrated blade down through the soft, sweet flesh of the decadent cake. 

Whumper’s mouth nuzzling a kiss under their ear before pulling back.

“What a beautiful couple!”

“You’re going to regret that~”

“I’m so glad this worked out.”

“You’re going to regret that~”

“Congratulations!!”

“You’re going to regret that~”

“Excited for the after-after party, eh~?”

“You’re going to regret that~”

“You’re gorgeous- Whumper’s a lucky guy.”

“You’re going to regret that~”

Echoing and pounding in their ears. Each round a cacophony of regret and trepidation and swallowed-back tears hidden behind a sparkling smile. 

Whumper seemed relaxed through the night, dancing and chatting and toasting. Dragging Whumpee into greedy but playful kisses when the crowd’s silverware began clinking against their cups in half-drunken cheers and whoops and hollers, cheering at them for another kiss. 

Another. And another. 

And another.

On and on for hours. Dancing and spinning and never getting far before Whumper’s hand snuggled around their waist or the small of their back or their elbow or wound into their hair. Possessive in a gentle, socially-appropriate way that not one single person thought strange.

Drowning in a sea of blind spectators who cheered and clapped and threw birdseed as Whumpee’s life was stolen away and locked into Whumper’s possession. 

They shouldn’t have done it.

Not the wedding - they’d had no way to avoid that.

The kiss.

The bite.

“You’re going to regret that~”

Whumpee’s eyes squeezed shut, forehead pressed into Whumper’s shoulder during a slow, lovely dance. Trying not to think about what would happen that night. Trying not to worry. Trying not to cry. Not to let anyone see.

Whumper covered for them smoothly, arms tucking them into place there through the slow sway of the dance, murmuring kisses against their hair as if this were just the heartmelting joy and exhaustion of true love come to fruition.

But with every kiss the crowd or Whumper demanded, Whumpee could still taste the blood on their tongue.

They shouldn’t have done it. 

Their night was already going to be bad enough, they didn’t need to spend the entirety of their wedding reception staring at Whumper’s teeth - wondering when or how they’d make Whumpee pay for that moment. 

They’d almost ruined it. 

Almost ruined everything.

But the fear and the anxiety and the defiance had bubbled up at exactly the wrong time. Moments too late. 

When those warm, bold words rang rich through the hall - “I now pronounce you legally wed-!” - Whumpee’s stomach had twisted and churned far too much. Ice had dripped through their veins.

They’d kissed back. They’d been good for a for brief moments as Whumper reeled them in and moulded their mouth to Whumpee’s.

But when Whumper’s tongue slipped past their lips, their body snapped into action.

Their jaw clamped down, teeth dragging into the soft muscle until blood smeared between their lips.

It had taken a moment for Whumpee to realize what they’d done. Whumper’s fingers curled tighter against the back of their neck, nails biting in and burning through the skin until they, too, were dappled in red.

Still, Whumper pulled back with a soft, fond smile, arms wrapping around Whumpee instead in a gentle but desperate lover’s embrace.

The blood on their lips had brushed against Whumpee’s ear as the crowd cheered and the bells rang in triumphant celebration. As Whumpee’s blood turned to ice and they locked into place in Whumper’s arms. 

“You’re going to regret that~”

[Drabble Masterpost]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @a-galactic-fox @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun @suffering-and-misery @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @yetanotheraltwhumpblog @whump-queen @a-whumped-tea @whumpsday @sonder35 @scribbelle)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

#forced marriage #noncon touch #noncon kiss #alcohol consumption #mild mouth gore #blood #arranged marriage #threats #implied future noncon #whump #whump scene #whump drabble #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #yandere #yandere whumper #sand asks #requests

[noblesvacation]

Tidbits about Food

What we've learned about everyone's food preferences!

Lizel

likes: tea and fruit water

dislikes: cheese, but he can eat it

cannot drink alcohol at all

Gil

likes: meat, alcohol

dislikes: chocolate and sweets. can't stand even the smell. mushrooms

Eleven

likes: sweets, alcohol, pretty much everything. stomach is a bottomless pit

dislikes: ?

he has a habit of biting the rim of his glass

#a gentle noble's vacation recommendation #a mild noble's vacation suggestion #穏やか貴族の休暇のすすめ。 #休暇 #manga #japanese webnovel #i'll think of this as a vacation and enjoy it #my personal headcanon is that gil specifically likes strong and bitter flavored alcohol like whiskey and red wine #doesn't that just fit his vibe #he's definitely a red over white guy #rum might be good too. one again dark over light #dark liquors over the clear stuff like vodka #except maybe gin #i've only had gin like once but #idk i don't drink much but it's fun to think about #i imagine lizel mostly drinks black tea #because of the pseudo european setting #he takes it with milk or lemon #(OR don't do those at the same time folks) #and sugar just when he feels like something sweet #like an afternoon pick me up #i imagine he's also a fan of fruity teas #and white teas #also juice! or rather fruit water #lizel is ALWAYS drinking fruit water in canon #eleven literally eats everything idk what else to say #the biting is a leftover habit from teething as a child #lizel also drinks coffee but he prefers tea #jazz hands tell me your headcanons!