#and he’s such a lightweight and doesn’t know his limits

[swampthingking]

can’t study for my test because i’m having brain rot about neil accidentally getting super drunk and stumbling up to aaron like “andrew???” and aaron is like “wrong one” and neil is like “andrew.” and aaron is like “???? are you stupid” and neil goes to look for andrew but he stumbles into the table, and aaron has to catch him or he will get trampled for fucks sake, and neil just collapses into him in a drunk cuddly heap. and aaron is like “neil. you need to stand up” and neil is like “i am” and aaron is like “that’s because i’m holding you up” and they get neil to stand but neil kinda just flops into aaron’s arms again. and neil is like “i don’t hate you, i don’t, but it’s okay if you hate me” and aaron is like “ugh, ew are you really an emotional drunk???” and neil, to aaron’s horror, looks at him with tears in his eyes because you know when you’re too drunk and you kind of just get a little scared and you need help???? ya. and aaron is like … ok. and kinda holds neil until andrew comes back from the bar with more drinks. and he sees neil basically asleep on aaron’s shoulder, and aaron looking uncomfortable but accepting, so he kinda raises an eyebrow, an okay? and aaron nods and is just patting neil on his back

and tomorrow they’ll wake up and neil will toddle downstairs with his hand against his temple and aaron will have advil ready for him, and he’ll say “you’re annoying and you don’t know when to shut your mouth or mind your own business, but i don’t hate you” and the thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for staying goes unsaid but yeah

and that’s how aaron and neil became kind of friends

edit: vomited out a one shot for y’all (this will prob become a 5+1)

Aaron swirled his drink a few times, listening to the ice clacking against the glass.

Eden’s was packed tonight, courtesy of it being the end of the school year. College students and the regular patrons flocked to the bar, the dance floor, and all of the tables, leaving Aaron to reserve a high-top table, and his legs to dangle from the stool.

“Drew?”

Aaron ignored him in favor of the twinkling sound the ice makes in his glass. He’d already taken shots, danced, had another drink, danced again, and now Aaron’s body was heavy with alcohol and exhaustion.

“Drew,” Neil said again.

Aaron looked around their table and didn’t see Andrew. He remembered Andrew getting up and walking to the bar with their empty tray. Aaron found him a few seconds later, hands in his pockets at the bar. That and Neil, staring up at him, looking uneasy.

Before Aaron could tell Neil to get out of his face, Neil was speaking.

“Are you’nt having fun?” Neil frowned, blinking sleepy, hooded eyes at him. He leaned closer to study Aaron’s face.

“What are you doing?” Aaron grumbled, pushing Neil’s face away.

Aaron hadn’t even pushed him hard, he more removed Neil from his space rather than pushed him, but Neil wobbled like his world had tilted out of orbit. Aaron realized, quickly, that Neil was going to fall backwards. He grabbed two fistfuls of Neil’s shirt and pulled him forwards. Neil’s head lulled on his shoulders with the force, his chin hitting his chest then righting itself.

Aaron’s stomach lurched, sick with the thought that someone had put something in one of Neil’s drinks, as he would for anyone, but thankfully he’s never been put in that situation. Neil’s eyes were hooded, his face flushed. Aaron snapped once at Neil’s ear, and Neil recoiled immediately.

“Does your head hurt or anything?” Aaron asked. Neil shook his head, frowning.

“Are you dizzy? Follow my finger.” Aaron pushes Neil back so he can see his face, keeping one hand on Neil’s shoulder to hold him up. Neil follows Aaron’s finger as it moves back and forth, albeit a little labored, but not as if he’d been roofied. Aaron declares that Neil’s reaction times and responses are fine, but he still pulls the front of his shirt up and checks his belt, the button of his pants.

“What—?” Neil slapped a hand on his abdomen, stopping his shirt from being lifted any higher. Aaron didn’t need to see anything but his pants, but it was reassuring that Neil still had inhibitions.

His clothes were fine. His belt was still done, zipper up. No one had tried anything. Aaron relaxed.

“Sorry,” Aaron said. “Sorry, I just needed to…”

While racking his mind back to why Neil is this drunk, Aaron remembered Neil taking shots with Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin. Four shots. He’d seen Neil sip on another drink like the idiot had the tolerance for alcohol that the rest of them had.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Aaron said and released Neil. Neil attempted to step back, his hands raised in surrender.

“No?” Neil asked warily. Even drunk as fuck, he still respected boundaries. Andrew’s boundaries specifically, as it still hadn’t registered that he wasn’t talking to the right twin.

“I’m not Andrew,” Aaron said.

“Where’s Andrew?” Neil asked, turning his head pathetically in search. Aaron only had a good view of Andrew because they were seated at a high-top. Over the throng of taller people coupled with strobing lights, Neil’s view was obstructed.

“At the bar,” Aaron nodded in that direction.

Neil turned towards the bar. Well, he attempted to. He pivoted, lost his balance, and toppled into the table. He tried to right himself and started to fall to the other side. Aaron caught Neil before he could bust his shit and get trampled.

“Jesus Christ, Josten,” Aaron spat, righting Neil with hands on his biceps. Neil slapped a hand on the table and leaned his weight on it. The table quaked under such abuse, but held.

Neil turned slowly, grappling against the table as if he was standing in one of those spinning fair rides. In his excursion to simply spin 180°, his hand slipped off the edge of the table as he faced Aaron once again. He reached for the table, missed, reached for it again, missed, said, “Motherfucker,” under his breath, and finally gripped onto the edge. His eyes locked on Aaron’s again, and Neil’s useless hand landed on Aaron’s shoulder.

“Andrew,” Neil said. Aaron didn’t know if it was more a request or if it was just not registering.

“Wrong,” Aaron said, tense under Neil’s hand, but he didn’t push him off. He’d rather hold Neil up than peel him off the floor. “Aaron.”

“‘m very drunk,” Neil said, looking up pleadingly at Aaron as if he had a magical cure to shitfacedness, and all Neil had to do for it was look a little scared. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Aaron asked.

“I’m drunk.”

Aaron snorted. “That’s kind of the point when you’re at a bar.”

“But,” Neil said, taking a labored breath, “I’m…too drunk.”

This was beginning to feel exceedingly similar to speaking to a child. Aaron was annoyed, but not completely heartless, unlike the narrative of Aaron Neil had likely concocted. “It’s okay, Neil,” Aaron said. “You should sit down.”

Neil promptly sat as if there was a chair under him, but there was not. Aaron, still holding Neil vertical, got pulled out of his chair with the momentum. To avoid toppling to the ground—which did not get mopped as often as it should—Aaron planted his feet on the floor and hauled Neil up by his armpits.

“Help,” Neil murmured. His arms dropped to his sides as he yielded his dead weight to Aaron.

“Stand up,” Aaron grunted, readjusting to wrap an arm around Neil’s back. One of Neil’s arms flopped over Aaron’s shoulder.

“I am,” Neil complained.

“No, you are not.”

“I am.”

“Neil,” Aaron said through clenched teeth, “I am holding you up. You need to lock your knees.”

“Oh,” Neil said. He looked at his feet as if he needed to check they were on the ground.

To be fair, Neil did lock his knees, but he also leaned all of his upper body on Aaron, arms still hanging limply at his sides. He tucked his head into Aaron’s neck with, what seemed, every intention to make a home there for the night.

“Neil,” Aaron said, frozen against the hair tickling his cheek. “God dammit.”

“And…ron,” Neil spoke against his shoulder.

“Yes,” Aaron said sarcastically. “That’s me.”

“Can I j’stay here?” Neil slurred.

From what Aaron had seen of Neil’s dynamic with his brother, he knew Neil would get off if he said no. He could place Neil into a stool or pull up a chair with a back so he wouldn’t fall out and concuss himself. He could shove Neil off and make him fend for himself. He could pawn him off to Andrew.

At the moment, those other options seemed like far too much work.

That, or maybe it was the med student in him, the intrinsic urge to heal and help and nurture that smarted at the thought of pushing Neil off.

Aaron didn’t push him off when Neil readjusted and tucked an arm into his chest, the other gripping Aaron for stability. He didn’t when Neil asked again, a quiet, “Aaron.”

“Okay,” Aaron conceded. He rubbed a hand up and down Neil’s back placatingly, but also because Neil seemed like he needed it. And he came to Aaron for it. Well, he came to Andrew and got Aaron. But he didn’t push Aaron off, and Aaron hasn’t done the same.

And they just…stood like that. For what seemed like a long time, but it probably was only a few minutes before Neil spoke again.

“Aaron,” Neil said.

Aaron hummed in response.

“I don’ hate you.”

“What?” Aaron asked. “What the fuck are you talking about, Neil?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?” Aaron said again.

“I don’wanna fight.” Neil lets out a colossal breath.

“We haven’t fought in a long time,” Aaron says, his idea of agreement. Acceptance.

Neil was quiet, because it was true. Neil seemed content to lay in Aaron’s arms, and Aaron didn’t have another stool next to him. He sure as shit wasn’t giving his up for Neil, but Neil was genuinely so unsteady on his feet that Aaron couldn’t let him go.

He trembled a bit, and Aaron was almost amused that after everything Neil had been through, being a little too drunk is what finally did it for him.

But Aaron had felt that way before. Inebriated and scared in a crowded room of strangers. Neil, however, has people he knows. How can Aaron be upset at Neil for wanting the comfort that he also craved? How can he be upset that Neil feels safe enough with Andrew to ask for help? That his brother finally feels safe with someone too?

“Aaron,” Neil said.

“What,” Aaron said.

“It’s okay if you hate me.”

“Oh God,” Aaron groaned, “Ew. Are you really an emotional drunk?”

Neil pulled back and, to Aaron’s horror, there were actual tears in his eyes. His lip trembled as he bit it, holding the tears in. Aaron hated how much of himself he was seeing in Neil tonight. The harrowing fact that maybe they are quite similar.

“Oh God,” Aaron said again, mortified. He grabbed the back of Neil’s head and shoved it back into his shoulder, effectively hiding Neil’s teary face.

He cast a desperate look to Andrew, who was finally on his way back to the table. He patted Neil on the shoulder, like one would burp a baby when they have no idea how to do so.

“Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t need prompting to look. His eyes were trained on Neil and Aaron from the moment he turned around. By the nonchalance of his movements and his lack of alarm, Aaron guessed he had been watching their interaction.

Andrew set the tray down on the table and cast a significant look between them, settling on Neil’s intoxicated form keeled over on Aaron’s shoulder.

Andrew raises one eyebrow, a silent question, an okay?

Aaron finds himself nodding, and unsure why. All he knows right now, a few drinks in, is that he doesn’t hate this. And he doesn’t hate that Neil doesn’t hate him.

-

The smell of coffee set Neil’s feet moving like a Pavlovian response. He was half awake already with a pounding headache, like his eyeballs were beating his closed lids to death.

Neil toddles down the stairs with his eyes closed, a hand pressed hard to his temple, stabilizing his brain.

Aaron was standing at the counter already, facing the sputtering coffee pot. His arms were crossed, hair ruffled from sleep. At the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned.

The memories from last night played past Neil’s mind like a sped-up movie. He grimaced in embarrassment, and felt a little sick at how drunk he was. How stupid he was, to drink that much. He should have known his tolerance isn’t matched with the rest of them. He could have gotten hurt, could have said something—

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Neil said, covering his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Aaron said. He turned back to the coffee, though his posture was rigid.

Neil grabbed a glass of water. He noticed Aaron watching from the corner of his eye, but Neil chose to ignore him, figuring that’s best. He sat on the counter with his water, sipping it slowly while he and Aaron waited for the coffee to finish brewing.

The silence was thick, but they were both too stubborn to leave the kitchen. Usually, they preferred to wait and pretend the other wasn’t there.

That’s what Neil thought, at least. After a painful few minutes, Aaron huffed and grabbed the bottle of Advil from the drawer next to the sink. He shook two pills out and sat them next to Neil.

Neil stared at them until Aaron cast a pointed look at the pills, then physically gestured to them with raised brows. Neil took them while Aaron watched.

The coffee pot beeped. Aaron made a split second decision, grabbing two mugs and pouring coffee into them. He slid Neil’s across the counter. It sloshed over the side, but Aaron wasn’t capable of caring at the moment. His mind was busy, and he knew Neil had noticed his lack of eye contact; the analytical fuck.

“Look,” Aaron said. He did not look at Neil to say it. “You’re annoying, and you never know when to shut your mouth or mind your business. Most of the time, I’m convinced you have a death wish, and a lot of the time I find myself resenting you. You complicated our lives, put us all in danger, didn’t give a shit.”

Neil’s chest hurt. He didn’t know if it was anger or guilt. Aaron started talking again before he could figure it out.

“But I don’t hate you. I can’t, really. I can’t even fault you for the shitty things you did, because it all worked out.” Aaron glanced quickly at Neil, looked away. His cheeks were red.

The thank you for helping repair my relationship with my brother and thank you for testifying and thank you for being good to Andrew went unsaid, but Aaron hoped Neil wasn’t obtuse enough to force him to say it out loud.

Neil must have understood, because he nodded. Aaron figured that was as close to a reconciliation they were going to have, so he leaned against the counter and pretended everything was normal.

For the first time, they drank their coffee in silence without animosity orchestrating it.

Neil’s mug was half empty when Andrew joined them. He paused in the doorway, squinty eyed and mussed, looking between the two. Neil on the counter, Aaron leaning against it. Their silence, but lack of tension.

“This is weird,” Andrew finally said, his voice gravely from sleep.

“Yeah,” Neil and Aaron said simultaneously.

Neil glanced over his mug at Aaron, the corner of his mouth twitching. Aaron regarded it, but looked away, because something like contentment had made its way onto Andrew’s face.

Aaron smiled at that instead.

[laceyfaeryy]

i recently went to a bar crawl but around a neighborhood after finishing all of my finals in college for the semester and got absolutely wasted.

with that in mind can i request college! jason taking care of lightweight! reader who doesn’t know her limit and just making sure she doesn’t fall (i fell a lot), gets lots of water, and makes sure no one tries to take advantage of her? totally fine if you don’t feel comfortable writing this, just thought i’d ask anyways! thanks and can i be 🪸 or ⛸️ anon if they’re not taken?

caring boyfriend jason with his lightweight girlfriend

cw: pure fluff and yes you are added as 🪸 anon!!

jason felt like a guard dog on duty with the way he was watching you right now. it was clear that you didn’t understand just how much alcohol you could really drink, cheeks flushed as you moved around sloppily to get another shot.

for the past half an hour he followed you around the crowded bar, his large imposing figure parted the crowd of drunken people with little to no effort. his strong hand in you possessively to both show that you were off limits and to keep you up right, because clearly you were so far gone that you couldn’t even walk in a straight line.

“jay! can you pass me that one pretty please?” a cheesy grin your face as you reached for the small shot glass on the wooden table. “i think you should take a break,” jason spoke softly as he gently sat you down on the booth before taking a seat on the edge himself, to block you from running away.

“just one more! i’m not even that drunk,” you whined as you tried to look serious and less intoxicated, placing your hand on your cheeks. “i’m just a little flushed that’s all i swear!”

an exasperated sigh left jason’s lips as he gently rubbed your back, “what you need is some water, you’re goin’ to end up with the worst hang over tomorrow.” he insisted as he poured a glass of water, removing the shot glass away from you. “come on swee’heart, jus’ a little more.”

but you were never the type to listen.

when jason turned away for a few seconds you were stumbling across the bar, barely able to balance on your heels.

within seconds he was by your side, a strong arm wrapped around your waist as he pulled you to his side. “let’s get you home luvie, you’ve partied to hard.” he cooed softly as he gently brushed the messed up pieces of your hair away from your face, staring at your dazed eyes and plush lips jutted out in a small pout.

jason narrowed his eyes, “no buts.”

the whole way back he carried you in his arms, holding your pair of heels as you rambled drunkenly.

[ferrarifudds]

Die For You. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Friend!reader

Summary: When he’s the only one that’s allowed to pick on you. (And unfortunately someone else picks on you, and it backfires.)

Word Count: 1.1k

Disclaimer/s: fluff… kinda… defensive!Lando 👅. A tad bit of body shaming i fear …

Vera’s Voice! hi Enya. For U. i hope i did this justice.

The bar was alive with laughter and music, and you were perched at the counter, sipping on your favorite fruity cocktail. As usual, Lando couldn’t resist making a comment the moment he saw you.

“Another one?” He said, sauntering up next to you with a smug grin. “What is that now? Your third? Fourth?“ He grinned with a small pause.

“Be careful. We can’t afford to have you tumbling like a drunk mess in the streets later.”

You glared at him, already irritated. “I can handle myself, and this is my second drink. Thank you very much.” A scoff and eye roll emitted from your body.

“Yeah, right,” He replied, his grin widening. “Say that again when you inevitably start slurring your words and crying about how much you hate tequila.”

“Ha. Funny.” You deadpanned.

“I’m serious,” He pressed, leaning on the counter with a quirked brow and stupid smile. “You’re a lightweight. One more of those, and you’re topless on a counter.”

You scoffed, taking another sip of your drink just to spite him. “And I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”

“Maybe so,” He fired back with a sheepish shrug. “But I’m just looking out for you,” Another wink.

Before you could respond, one of Lando’s mates—you couldn’t remember his name, they weren’t that close honestly—wandered over, clearly overhearing the exchange.

“Seriously,” He said, his eyes scanning the glass in your hand. “Another sugary monstrosity? You know that stuff makes you bloat, right?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You froze, the insult hanging in the air as your self-consciousness surged.

“And for the record,” He continued, smirking like he’d just delivered the joke of the century, “It’s not exactly flattering. Just saying.”

Lando’s head snapped toward him so fast it was almost comical. But there was nothing funny about the deadly look on his face.

“What’d you say?” Lando’s voice was low and ice-cold, a tone you’d never heard from him before as her quirked a brow with a repulsed look.

His friend blinked, caught off guard. “Just telling your friend here that she’s gonna get fat if she continues drinking all that—“

Lando cut him off with a light shove, almost like it was a warning for him to shut up

“Relax, mate. I was just jok—”

“Yeah? Well, it wasn’t funny,” He cut him off sharply, now stepping forward to put himself in front of you. “Who even says that? You think that’s funny?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” The guy stammered, clearly starting to regret opening his mouth.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lando snapped. “You don’t talk to her like that. Ever. Got it?”

“Alright, chill, mate. I didn’t know she was off-limits or whatever.”

“Off-limits?” Lando repeated, his voice rising. “She’s not off-limits, she’s just better than your pathetic attempts at humor. So why don’t you piss off.”

The guy muttered something under his breath before walking away, leaving the two of you standing in tense silence.

“Lando…” You started, but he turned to face you before you could say more.

His expression softened as he ran a hand through his hair. “I hope you don’t believe a word he said.“

You swallowed hard, still feeling the sting of the comment but touched by Lando’s protectiveness. “Thanks for…that,” You said quietly.

“I mean it,” Lando said, stepping closer. “I know I’m a prick but it’s all in good fun.” A pause. “I also never make comments about your appearance.. considering you’re gorgeous…” He trailed off, his sly way of sneaking in a compliment making you slightly blush.

You huffed out a small laugh, your lips twitching into a faint smile. “I don’t know what’s more shocking: that you just defended me or that you actually said something nice for once.”

“Don’t get used to it,” He said, his usual smirk creeping back.

“Of course,” You muttered, rolling your eyes. “Who else will tell me I’m stupid every second they can?”

“Only me,” He added, his tone more serious. “No one else gets to. Not like that.”

You looked up at him, his sincerity catching you off guard. “Deal.”

And just like that, the teasing and bickering was back—but this time, you couldn’t help but feel a little safer, knowing Lando had your back.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ and pls Lmk if you wanna be apart of my permanent tag list

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress @iovepoem @piastri-fvx

[dadsbongos]

studying birds and bees

3.5 k words / warnings - penetrative sex (i imagined a vag but there's no anatomy listed), riding

summary - viktor, alone and glum, is not comforted by the company of a fellow scientist at a hextech exhibition party. not until you mention taking him home, at least.

Gold drenches each wall in streamers and plates. Curtains shimmer overhead. Silver platters dazzle each passing caterer’s hand -- specialties half the size of his palm gleam fresh and dewy. Clear coupes and flutes pass, full of wheat sparkles. Sour, no doubt, but sure enough to waste a man as thin as he.

So surely, in fact, that Viktor actively avoids drinking anything besides water. He’s a common lightweight, never finding time to flex tolerance between working hours, and he distrusts anything he can’t see through. Anything that has a smell, whether it’s sour or sweet, he staunchly avoids.

Similarly, he refuses to follow conversation: people unreasonable or unfortunate in nature that approach are limited to singular, curt responses. Thankfully he’s smart enough, well-regarded enough, famed enough that it has no bearing on his life outside these miserable hours. Hours he’s sure are better spent down in the lab. Nose buried into his work: he’s most comfortable that way, living as he always has.

Viktor believes his hate is layered beneath several swathes of cool. An expression he believes to be neutral -passive, if anything- is actually a scathing scowl that has many guests rushing off to inform Jayce of his unapproachable partner.

He hears that a lot.

He’s impersonal, strange, distant.

He likes living that way. It makes working easier.

Jayce is everything he is not: warm, talkative, generous. His face is on porcelain mugs.

Viktor would know that, he got one for a generous discount of Free. It’s sitting in his sink at this very moment, coffee dribbling the rim and baked into the bottom. It could risk a stain if he doesn’t wash it before bed tonight.

But then, who knows? Perhaps he’ll be too exhausted from standing all night and straining a smile whenever he makes eye contact with Jayce. At some point, the muscles in his cheeks become too sore, so he begins ignoring the man wrapped around Mel Medarda.

If he’s lucky, Jayce will not try waltzing over to ask for the third time if Viktor is enjoying the night.

And if he’s unlucky, as he suspects he is, then someone else is rapidly crossing the shiny tiles toward him. Two glasses, one in either hand, glinting beneath ball lights. Shoe heels clicking closer and closer until it’s pounding right beside his ear.

“Never saw anything like this back home, did we?”

You say it so familiarly, as if you know anything about Viktor’s home. Maybe you do. But not like that.

“No,” he answers politely enough despite pointedly ignoring the glass you offer him, “we didn’t.”

“I got a real drink for you,” you’re not content to be ignored though, “I noticed you’ve been nursing an empty cup.”

“We didn’t have anything like that in the undercity, I don’t know if I trust it.”

“Then trust me,” you sip from your glass, leaving a dewy smear around the lip, “It’s not bad. Sharp, but not bad.”

Viktor leans more weight onto his cane as he leans, grabbing the glass from you before slanting back, “Sharp, but not bad.”

You swing another sip, watching from the corner of your eye as his arm remains stationary -though you don’t comment, “You seemed incredibly lonely.”

“So you thought it’d be generous to bother me.”

“Practically,” you clink glasses, “You strike me as a man who doesn’t get bothered often. Someone should keep you upright.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” not even he can tell whether he means that genuinely or not. Maybe he does, but only as long as it isn’t you providing the company. His eyes flutter and he imagines: if it were Sky, would he be satisfied?

Jayce?

Mel?

Heimerdinger?

His long disgraced mentor?

“You finally get to leave the lab and you insist on spending the time alone, I wonder why…” you say with enough wisp in your tone to excuse it as a non-question.

Viktor puffs a laugh, weighed down by annoyance -- do you have no eyes? Are you ignorant to your surroundings? Scratch that, his laugh was a total scoff by the time it breached his throat.

“I’m not interested in people,” Viktor briefs, then sighs, “Especially the types that feel the need to keep me company- like I’m some sad thing on the side of the road.”

“You don’t want to feel pitied?”

“Who would?”

“People who’ve never experienced harshities.”

Viktor shakes his head, swirling the glass flute and watching the bubbles twirl, “I don’t care for any of this conversation.”

“Then what conversation would you care for?”

“Why are you here?” he forces himself to remain quiet, afraid that raising his voice could attract attention.

“Like I said, you looked lonely,” you turn onto your shoulder, budding it against the wall to solely stare at Viktor, “I wanted to find solidarity between two Zaunites.”

He shoots you a wary look at that; nobody in Piltover refers to the undercity by that name -it would sling a series of implications the council hasn’t even begun to tackle. Hearing it here, no less, strikes him unpleasantly -- are you being bold or defiant? Is this earnest support of underground independence or are you mocking the Piltover riches that fund his life’s work?

Either way, you’re foolish to declare yourselves Zaunites in the back of this room.

“Sky is also from the undercity,” Viktor jerks his chin toward her, as if you can’t spot her defined curls and moonglasses from where you are.

“I’m not interested in Sky, lovely as she is,” you shrug, “I’m interested in you. I was hoping to see the brain let loose.”

“I don’t get loose.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

“So, you’ll die having never gotten ‘loose’.”

“I’ll die having not done lots of things, but I will have been part of Hextech’s creation.”

“That’s all you want to do before you die?”

“I want to give Hextech to the people, anything other than that…” he shakes his head and taps a blunt nail against the glass stem, “I will die in any case.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Dying?”

“Yourself dying.”

“It will happen eventually,” Viktor shrugs, “Probably sooner than others. Heimerdinger says the brighter sparks, they go the fastest,” he lets the sentiment sit a moment before awkwardly flipping it back unto you, “How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t think you should ever die.”

“Flattering, but unlikely.”

“Then why do you work like you’ll live forever?” when the only response you get is a single thick eyebrow raise you continue, “Really, you work like a man without time, as if you could just come back into the world after locking yourself away for years. You worry only about the science behind Hextech rather than the humanity in you that wanted you to create it.”

Softly, you cup his shoulder. Regardless of how bold the gesture is he doesn’t find himself wanting you gone.

Perhaps because of the gentle furrow in your brows, your pout accentuated with reddish stains.

“Why don’t you enjoy yourself, Viktor?”

Viktor has so much he needs to do, but nothing as pressing as easing you. He holds his hand over yours, kindly massaging the flat plain across the back of your hand, “I enjoy myself plenty.”

“Alone?” your gaze flicks toward his hand with no subtly, “With only your own hands?”

“Where did that come from?” he gasps, squeezing your hand tighter in shock, eyes widening with stained cheeks.

“Nowhere, I suppose. Just curiosity,” you shrug coyly, about as innocent as your prior question wasn’t, “You have no date, after all. And I never see your arm occupied with anything besides your cane.”

“I’m content with my work.”

Unabashedly, almost sneered, you speak without grace for the first time all night, “What a sad way to live.”

“Excuse you?” Viktor scoffs, “Do you not work for the same goal?”

“I’m a person, too.”

“I’m not?”

“Not as you are,” you shake your head, eyes now downtrodden as you finish off the glass in your hand, swallowing without cringe before saying, “If you’re so dedicated to living for Hextech instead of yourself, then I’ll take your drink for you. My only plan tomorrow was to nurse a hangover anyway.”

Viktor instinctually swivels so his drink is out of reach, which is something he cannot explain. Why does he suddenly want it? Why does he suddenly care?

But, more importantly, when did he decide he should never want it- decide that he should never care?

Was it before or after clawing his way into Piltover under Heimerdinger’s wing? Was it before or after Jayce blew up an apartment? Was it before or after Jayce began leaving his side to become a political head?

Or was it everything -- slowly one thing upon the other before he realized he had a carefully alphabetized and numerically categorized library of all the reasons he shouldn’t and couldn’t abandon Hextech. Maybe it’s not advancement now, but the security of a purpose. A goal he’ll die to achieve, and at the rate he’s burning: die before achieving.

Perhaps, one night as a man rather than a scientist wouldn’t hurt?

Viktor gags the champagne in a single swing, startling you to pat his back as he hisses and coughs.

“Viktor! What’re you doing?!” you whisper with all the venom of an outraged mother.

“I’m living,” he shoulders you off and straightens out. Chin jutting with all the dignity of a man who didn’t choke down alcohol at an expensive gala.

“Is that so?” you giggle, silently expecting him to back away, “And does life have you for the whole night? Or just until the party’s over?”

Viktor looks down at his empty glass, then toward yours. Then to the lipstick marring the rim -- it’s smudged at the corner of your lip. It’s darker than the more neutral shade you swipe on before venturing into the lab. Suddenly, his belly is warming and his head is fuzzy -for once nothing but pleasant thoughts consume him. He smiles to one side and clicks your empty flutes,

“I have no plans tomorrow, either, wouldn’t you know?”

“For once.”

Waving away the bitter thought, Viktor leans just that touch closer that sends your sweet perfume up his nose. He feels like maybe he should get another drink and step a little more into your space, if you’ll let him.

“Let’s make the night of it, then?” he’s the one bravely going forward, certain you’ll trail after as he paves toward the bar, “You sounded eager to get me into the world, now what?”

“Oh, Viktor,” you coo, “Don’t ask things like that.”

“Why not?” he’s a little cocky now with some booze in his empty belly, he forgets how unashamed the new assistant is, “Second thoughts?”

“No, I’ll just tell you that I really wanted you in my bed tonight.”

You’re grinning- he’s blushing now, a little surprised and a little delighted. But you just smile that devilish way that always has him distracted.

A new assistant hadn’t been Victor’s idea, and if Jayce had bothered conferring with Viktor at all then you especially wouldn’t have been the hired candidate.

“Or did you intend to die a virgin, as well?” you lull into the shell of his ear, soft and warm lips just grazing clammy flesh.

“You’re forward.”

“Am I? Is it too much?” if not for the slightest concerned twitch in your brow, he could’ve thought maybe you were just laying another harsh tease.

“I find it incredibly attractive,” finally, finally Viktor says the terrible thing out loud. Vivid and bright and all things he is not -temptress! he declared when you two first met.

***

Viktor paused, eyes widening from the doorway and fingers tightening around his cane, “Who are you?”

“The assistant,” you smiled in a way he was sure you meant as warm and welcoming, “Viktor, right?”

How he stared at you, however, told you that maybe you’d bared teeth too sharp. So your lips shut, hands clasping and shoulders straightening. Your name but a whisper into the lab, bouncing off each wall before awkwardly cluttering to the ground. Melting in chunks into the grouts.

“I have an assistant,” he murmured, sights scattered across the area, “Where is Sky?”

“Her day off,” then you groaned, baffled by how confused such a famed brain could get over a truly simple concept, “I can show you my qualifications, if you need to be convinced?”

Your frustration seemed to snap him straight, his jaw unhinged and he flubbed for a nice way to retract himself, “No. No. I’m…” he cleared his throat and glanced away pointedly, “You’re my assistant for today, then?”

“Of course.”

“Ah, perfect,” it was not, in fact, perfect. Viktor dreaded your stay; lingering over his shoulder and invading between his eyes with your perfume. You’re cursed with curves and full lips and fluttery eyelashes.

A temptress!

***

A temptress without trying- or you are trying and you play dirty. Either way…

“I want to see more of your shamelessness, show me how much I’ve missed not living,” he means the last part as a jest, but it seems to make you happy.

…he wants you so bad it makes his gut ache.

You gnaw your bottom lip and nod, “Shall we leave now then? I can certainly make you a drink at home you’d like more anyway.”

Propriety flies out the window.

If Jayce wanted Viktor to enjoy himself, then he damn well would! And he wouldn’t bother with acknowledgments or goodbyes or gratitude, not when your hand tangles with his. Fingers locking with all the familiarity of seasoned lovers, you even add the tiniest swing though sure to not jostle his balance. Peachy streetlights cast the most flattering flushed glow upon you, stray hairs catching gold beneath the beaming bulb. Shining in stressed loops around your head, not like a halo but just… you. Graceful in all the misaligned strands and smudged makeup.

Whether you’re tethered off in a clinical coat with a clipboard perched on one hip or strapped to the finest in this little black number -something you could never pray to pull out of a dump in Zaun.

“I think…” you muse while sliding the front door open, your home smells like vanilla and the space is so precisely spotless he’s not sure you even live here, “I’ll need some help out of this dress.”

Your bedroom is worse off -or would it be better?- not a single article of clothing on the floor, no crumpled notes or mugs of shame decorating the nightstand. Eerily empty until, then, he notices the faint orange flame twinkling over his shoulder.

“Did you leave that burning while you were gone?” he’s too focused on the fire risk of it all that he doesn’t notice you’re stretching out over the bed.

“I figured I wouldn’t be out long,” you prop your head on a fist, the other hand perking onto your cocked hip, “Whether or not I’d be alone when I returned was the only mystery.”

He swivels in place, a humored so that’s why it’s so clean! dying on his lips as soon as he sees you splayed out. Stuttering back and clutching his chest as if scandalized -- as if he didn’t come here for the exact kind of modeling you’re doing. Viktor clears his throat, heat swelling up from the comfortable bubbly in his gut and all up toward his reddening forehead. Brows shooting upward.

Silken sheets caressing your bare skin. Moonlight carding through the askew curtains and layering you in a thin pale gleam. Your hair cascaded down your forearm. And that rouge smudge at the bottom corner of your lip. Tempting.

Viktor lets his cane drift back until it’s slanted against the wall, kneeling onto your bed. Hands trembling as if he’ll sink through and wake in his own sheets. But the feeling of his cold dress buttons beneath his fingertips is real enough; peeling layers from sinewy limbs feels real enough. Nails scrape wrists and hips as he removes his vest, and shirt, and long pants.

“Can I… “ he pauses, swallows, and assesses the curiosity in your eyes. Then, before finishing the question, surges forward -one hand gluing to either of your cheeks, tenderly tilting your face to press his lips to yours. Brows knotting toward the center of his face and cheeks flaming with embarrassment. His lips are incredibly soft, though, and they slot smoothly against yours like gears rolling into one fluid motion. You wonder how familiar that is to him.

Sliding up onto your knees, you tangle your fingers between his and pry his hands from your face. Squeezing him affectionately before using the leverage to lay him onto his back slowly so as to not break the kiss.

Straddling Viktor with both hands still wrapped together, at least until you slip one of his hands onto your chest and the other your thigh. He squeezes, not not affectionately just with something a little… murkier. Hips jump up toward yours -- he sighs, frustrated, and takes it out on your nipple -rolling the bud around his thumb before sucking it into his mouth. Cheeks hollowing around, tongue searing up, bright gold eyes peek over wetly.

You arch your back into his face, lifting off his lap with the encouragement of his spare hand shifting toward your ass. Something soft and thick twitches between your thighs, ripping an earnest gasp from you. Viktor snorts, you feel him smiling into your chest.

not expecting that?

You yank his hair at the base, curling a whine through his throat.

shut up!

Leaky and hot red at the tip, Viktor only thickens toward the base. Maybe just longer than your palm, but certainly fatter than you can hold in one palm. Reaching down just to rut his tip along your slit, both of you huffy messes as you drool down his cock.

Viktor sags back, glaring at you with his ruddy lips -- juicy with raw saliva.

“Enough teasing,” he grunts, trying to force you down with his grip on your hip, “You bring me here just to watch me squirm?”

“I do enjoy the sight,” you mewl softly, swirling his tip around your hole, “Don’t you?”

His head swivels in a very lumpy circle, caught between nodding and shaking before he attempts pushing you down again, “Not as much as I want to be inside you.”

You’re prepared to tease more when he abruptly snaps up while shoving your hips low. His whole face twinges at the sudden movement in his thighs but it’s soon overshadowed by the complete, all-melting mellow of having his cock sucked into velveteen walls. Head thrown back and chestnut hair splintering across the dark headboard -- he grins as you loudly gasp and scramble to grasp his shoulders for purchase.

“Ah- Vik- !” you hiccup, scratching into his shoulder blades.

He hisses, lips curled with utter bliss and eyes fluttering shut, “Feels much better.”

Now both of his hands circle your waist, coaxing your movement with firmly pressed fingers. You pray he leaves bruises.

Viktor chases your warmth every time you squelch off, the most he can manage without an uncomfortable cringe is teeny jumps focused in the pelvis but it’s more than desperate enough. Any concern he could have of you finding his display anything except arousing is tossed out the window as your pace hastens. Leisurely drags rapidly devolving to full bounces, little splatters of your wetness painting up his abdomen. And he fucking thrives on it: sticky and lewd and thick, hearing each thrust hammers him closer to the purest release he’s had in years.

He can’t even pluck grains of thought to discern when the last time he felt so good was- not when you’re canting and wailing.

On a particular grind, you could feel his dick slam into some open-wire spot inside you. White neon sparks crackling so bright your whole body snaps above Viktor while he watches starry-eyed. Bopping that spot impetuously, clinging to frayed energy if it means watching you split apart again. You moan -broken vowels and breathy vik- vi- uh, viktor! vik- vik- vvvv- and shudder, clutching him like you’ll fly off without such an iron hold. Openly tearing up inside you before his eyes are wetting too, and webs of spend sprawl into you.

Viktor greedily snatches you by the neck and wrings you forward, lips spreading until he can lick inside your mouth. Moaning shamelessly into you as he fucks the last of his orgasm out on you.

Left humming, content and pliant, you and Viktor break the sloppy kiss to play more politely. You peck the corner of his mouth, wiping the dazzling threads of spit tying you two by the mouths. Viktor blinks up at you in a haze, smiling aimlessly.

“Happy?” you unceremoniously roll off the man, grimacing as he and everything he buried slide out onto your thigh.

“Very,” he remains slick back on the headboard, moist skin skidding against wood as he slides onto the mattress.

You twist an arm over his waist, chin piking his ribs as you give the most outrageously sweet, “I’m sure you can stay the night, then?”

And as Viktor’s discovered, trying to deny your power over him is useless. Why not indulge just a little more?

“Maybe even for breakfast,” he muses.

tagging those who asked/seemed interested :3

@lpvmal + @im-just-a-simp-le-whore + @littleenglishfangirl + @fortheharbingers + @duffycrow + @zemosbunny + @urmommt + @crocwork-clockodile + @petti-fry + @sparklygreentrash + @marshy-moo

[miraclemuncher]

How hard is it to move on from a crush on Fred Weasley?

tags/warnings. hogwarts setting, sixth year/gof, (probably inaccurate portrayal of) underage drinking and drug use (don’t let the girl who writes fics write abt partying)

notes. accidentally made it like +1.8k words long so i’m splitting it into more parts. oops. bright side is that most of the other part is written already!

wordcount. 841

part 1 | part 3

Fred Weasley makes it so difficult to move on.

You’ve had six pathetic years to either make a move or move on and so far you’ve done neither. Except you have tried making a move, way too many moves.

There’s an unspoken limit to how many first moves a lady should make.

Fred just doesn’t get flirting. How can he when a standard conversation with him is flirting to everyone else but normal to him?

This is the last year you have to relax, to catch a pre-summer fling and then launch into studying the following school term. Your seventh year will be hell on earth.

So this party must be the one. You are going to meet a new guy to fall head over heels for. Or maybe just one to rebound off of. Either way, you needed a distraction from Fred Weasley. You are done chasing.

There’s plenty of Scandinavians from Durmstrang and French boys from Beauxbatons to go around. They’ll be gone by the end of the year, it’s the perfect opportunity for a mutual fling.

Your friends psych you up while pregaming. You’ll meet a new guy! He’ll be way better than Weasley! they tell you. They’re just as sick of your crush as you are.

It’s too bad you’re a lazy drunk.

You end up getting wasted at the party, half listening to Lee’s drunk rambles while your other half is struggling to stay awake.

There’s a bunch of other people listening too, or they’re at least pretending to listen. Lee doesn’t need an active audience to yap anyways.

You’re briefly jolted awake by the couch sinking deeper as someone fills the empty seat next to you. You ignore it and close your eyes again.

But you can’t ignore it because a wet and cold glass of ice water is lightly pressed against your cheek.

Dazed and confused, you shake your head away from it and hold up your half drunken bottle of butterbeer to deny the drink.

When it’s snatched from your hands, you frustratingly turn to the perpetrator. It’s Fred. You’re face to face with Fred Weasley.

Way, way too close, you lean backwards against the couch arms to create distance.

Fred takes a swig from your bottle and his face scrunches up at the taste. “This is just butterbeer? Wow, you’re an authentic lightweight.”

“No I’m not,” you slur your words. You try to reach for your bottle back but end up slumping against Fred over your own weight.

He helped you sit upright with a laugh. You’re melting in his hands, sober or intoxicated that tends to happen.

“Stop laughing. ‘M not a lightweight. I just took some… some… Huh. I don’t know what I took…”

Fred forces you to cup the glass of water as you ramble on about wondering what you took. You take a sip of the glass by reflex, thinking he’s returned your butterbeer. The water actually tastes pretty refreshing. It helps you sort out your memories from the past few hours. “It’s something George gave to me… I think. Or was that you?” You squint at Fred accusingly.

The last thing you remember is Fred jumping to his feet. Then you wake up hungover as hell in your dormitory the next morning.

Everyone who went to that party was hungover more than usual. The Weasley twins apparently laced everyone there trying to test a new product.

Yup. Classic Weasley twins.

Friendliness at best, a practical joke at worst, you remind yourself.

Over breakfast, a bundle of wrapped chocolates almost land in your hangover soup during the mail delivery. There’s a note attached.

George didn’t mean to lace you. Feel better. X. FW

In genuine dis - fucking - belief, you show it to your friends, they had all gotten laced last night too. The Weasley twins are stupid if they think they can pull off a mass spiking the following day.

“What d’you think will happen to me if I eat them? Swollen tongue? Maybe I’ll grow a tail,” you tell them in amusement.

Your friends were not as amused as you.

After one moment of analyzing the note, they conclude, “Oh girl, he wants you.” It was the fastest a group of hungover teens ever agreed on something.

You try to laugh it off. “What are you talking about? Didn’t you guys get a weakass apology too?”

“Have you ever heard ‘Fred Weasley’ and ‘apology’ in the same context?” They reason. They seriously have a point there.

You threw the chocolates to the bottom of your book bag and cut your breakfast short.

So how hard is it to move on from Fred Weasley?

Fucking impossible.

You had one goal, find literally any other warm body for a single night.

Instead, you drunkenly slumped against him, used his water to sober up, and then wake up to possibly cursed chocolates and a handwritten note.

Now he’s in your head again, except he never left.

Moving on? Fred is not letting that happen any time soon.

part 3

[ditzydoe444]

hehe . . . yr ak!jay spanking story makes me wonder if he's the type of dom to hve rules n consequences n such? (⁠〃ﾟ⁠3ﾟ⁠〃⁠) i lav yr content btw, keep the great work up ! ! !

MDNI 18+

100% he would have rules

goes without saying but you obviously can’t flirt with other men, but being the ditzy dumb girl you are you don’t even realise it :(( you think you are being nice and friendly and completely unaware of their intentions whilst ak! jason is in the corner glaring at them with his arms crossed.

you also have to tell him where you are going out, not because he’s a controlling type (maybe just a little) but also for safety purposes. you were a lightweight and never knew your limits on drinking and he would not be able to sleep knowing you are somewhere that he doesn’t know about.

he also has a thing for you to not wear panties at home, being free use where he can take you anytime and of course you are always obedient to comply because who doesn’t want to get fucked by him??

whenever you break them well… you will end up limp on the bed whilst the fucks you like an animal. depending on the rule you broke and how he is feeling he might be meaner, purposely edging you and making rude derogatory comments whilst you begged for a release.

sometimes he would just make you suck him off, on your knees with tears streaming down your face whilst saliva dribbled down your chin. depending on the rule he may be more gentle, giving you soft praises and caressing your cheek wiping away your tears, or he would be more rough, shoving your face and fucking your mouth like it was your cunt.

or just a good old spanking on his lap would do.

[sludge-saturday]

hi!! any chance I could requests some Connor x reader headcanons in which the reader has misophonia and/or autism?? thank you in advance!!

connor rk800 ☆ autistic!reader headcanons

pairing: connor rk800 x gn!autistic!reader

summary: headcanons of connor with an autistic partner!

tags: fluff, connor cares about you a lot

word count: 942

a/n: first of all, thank you SO much for requesting! this is my first time answering a request and i was so excited to see this in my inbox!! i had a lot of fun writing this :] i also would like to say that i tried to be as respectful and sensitive to the autistic community as i could while writing this, PLEASE let me know if i need to correct anything! i am only one person with a limited set of perspectives. that being said though i hope i did your ask justice, enjoy!! mwah mwah

☆ Whether you’re diagnosed or not, Connor would be able to tell fairly quickly. He is an advanced prototype, after all, designed to read people with ease. Even if he’s never interacted too closely with autistic people before, he has all of the information about the spectrum he needs to be well-equipped for those encounters. And if you choose to disclose this information to him, he embraces it with open arms. “Thank you for sharing this with me,” he’ll say with a warm smile. “I will make sure to accommodate your needs as best I can when necessary.”

☆ When it comes to sensitivities to certain stimuli/sensations, Connor is very conscientious of what bothers you and, conversely, what you crave. If there are certain textures that make your skin crawl, he’ll make sure that there’s none of it in the house. If you need deep pressure to ground yourself in the present moment, Connor will be more than happy to purchase weighted blankets/plushies for you to use or, if you need more, just ask him to lay on you! He’ll worry at first about hurting you even though his frame is lightweight, but with some convincing he will allow himself to push past the fear and let himself relax on top of you. 

☆ Connor is also very aware of your misophonia and how it can be a slight hindrance in your everyday life. Whatever the sounds may be that cause you great discomfort, Connor will commit these specific noises to his memory bank and refer to them any time you are away from the home. He knows that he will have near 100% control over the potential sources of your triggers in the safety of your shared space, but also that this probability decreases significantly once the two of you are out in public. And he’s not a fan of this. So, he discretely plans an idea to not only remediate this but to make you feel seen.

☆ One Sunday morning before the two of you are about to leave for the grocery store, he hands you a small box with a bow on it (he loves to give gifts!). “I got you something... I hope you like it.” His eyes look hopeful and sincere. Gingerly unwrapping the gift and clearing away the tissue paper, you find a pair of headphones. “They’re noise-cancelling. Not completely, but just enough to drown out anything that might adversely affect you. I figured you could wear these any time you need a break from all the racket. Would you like to try them out today?” And you’re at a loss for words. The way he cares, the way he pays attention so effortlessly... all you can do is throw your arms around him and sigh, squeezing tightly. “Thank you.”

☆ Another facet that Connor pays close attention to is your need to self-regulate. He is aware of what stimming is, understands how it can manifest, and realizes its importance, so he doesn’t bat an eye when he notices you calming down out of the corner of his eye. Whether it's hand flapping/shaking, humming, rocking, tapping, spinning, etc., he will never, ever judge you for it or view you any differently for it. To him, it’s  just another bodily function that humans need for survival. He feels that it is just as natural as the way we eat, sleep, and use the bathroom. And if he notices you’re particularly distressed and stimming as a result, he will always ask if you need him or if you need space and will always respect your wishes.

☆ Connor loves hearing you talk about your special interests! He will listen with dreamy, lovestruck eyes as you tell him everything there is to know about whatever currently captivates you. And he won’t just sit and absorb, he’ll ask questions and comment on whatever interests him too! He’ll never get tired of it. Whenever you’re ready to talk about your favorite things, he is there with a metaphorical pen and notepad, taking stock of every twinkle in your eye and every tug at the corners of your lips. Whatever you were talking about in that specific moment, he places it in his system memory, savoring how sweetly perfect you look when you’re so passionate. He’ll also keep himself up to date on the latest news regarding your interest, too, with his morning routine including him scouring the internet in search for anything new to talk about today. And wherever you are when the opportunity strikes to talk about your SI, he is still just as receptive as if you two were by yourselves at home. It doesn’t matter if you two are making your way down the aisle at the grocery store or if you two are grabbing lunch at your favorite restaurant. He is intensely receptive to your information dumps and never forgets a single thing you say! 

☆ Please tell him how to best accommodate you! Sure, he’s filled with facts and knowledge about what it means to be on the spectrum but he has never had the chance to truly apply it before. He loves you and he means well, he just doesn’t want to do the wrong thing! Efficiency and accuracy is very important to him, so let him know if he does something that isn’t quite working and when he’s doing something right! He loves the praise but also deeply appreciates the constructive feedback. All he wants is for you to feel safe, comfortable, and heard. And he will go to great, great lengths to make this a reality. He won’t let anything get in the way of that.

[cricky-butspicy]

Hi, just a silly question here. What would the slasher boys be like if they were to drink? Or if the reader was to drink around them? Thank you :3

Hello!! I answered this kind of on my Bluesky account rambling one day a bit ago that can be found here! But I can post what it says and expand on here too!

"Fun fact! Soleil and Atlas don’t really drink, really only with each other once in a blue moon. Why?

Soleil is a horribly whiny and stupid drunk, and he’s an extreme lightweight. One drink can knock him out of the park.

He’s giggly and tries to get into everything and will do dumb things that Atlas has to pick up after. It becomes a game of either holding Soleil in place or putting him to bed.

Atlas is fine drinking, but he’s not a fan of the taste. He’ll only really do it if Sol asks him to have a drink with him. He doesn’t ever ask the same of Soleil to respect his boundaries.

He doesn’t want Soleil drunk when they do stuff either, because 8 times out of 10 Soleil ends up getting in the mood and Atlas doesn’t want to have sex when Soleil doesn’t know what’s going on. Sometimes Atlas can get just the right amount of wine to make Sol a bit flirty and make things a little fun, but any further and Atlas taps out of it.

No drunk sex, even if Soleil is whining nonstop about it. Atlas has hard boundaries with that kind of stuff. They also both get terrible hangovers if they drink too much, even if Atlas never gets drunk. So, now only the once a year small glass of wine for them is it"

-

That mostly explains it! Soleil and Atlas have never really gone out drinking with people besides drinking with their families (which is horribly embarrassing for Atlas when Soleil is flirting up a storm with him in attempts to get laid in front of his own mother and father. The blond has no shame when alcohol is involved.) They've never had friends and have only had each other. Atlas is opposite of Soleil in the way that he can really hold his alcohol in the moment. He doesn't get too affected by it besides getting hangovers most of the time from drinking the next day (the alcohol and his migraines don't mix well. He needs to pregame drinking with a whole lot of preventatives and do the same after if he wants his head to stay on straight.)

Even if they did have friends to go out and drink with, they aren't really social drinkers, and they learned that with their families. Truly they only drink with each other when they want that one fun night with an extra flirty Soleil.

If reader is a drinker, they don't mind, they just probably won't drink with you. One thing that's nice about that is you have two sober guys to keep you in check and make sure you don't get white girl wasted and to make sure you don't do anything you'll regret. They'll let you have your fun, but within your limits as they see fit. They get awfully protective of you and watch you like hawks. They don't want anything happening to you because you were under the influence. Make stupid choices when you are sober and can admit fault to your actions properly.

Maybe once, ONCE, Atlas will let you see the mess that Soleil becomes while drunk after you are dating them. The true white girl wasted. But Atlas warns you beforehand that you have like a 20% chance of not getting hit by an extremely horny Soleil. Take your chances. Also, Atlas won't let you have sex with Soleil like that. Soleil's drunk. You don't get to touch that. Sorry, his rule. He promises Soleil won't remember it in the morning anyhow, so it will feel shitty.

But! They are super good about taking care of you after and making sure you are prepared for the next day. Atlas will try to help you prevent any major hangovers or just general shitty feelings, but he'll also make sure you remember everything and gives you a play by play so you are all caught you. Soleil will do fine with taking care of you as long as you don't get sick. If you throw up, that man is out of the game until the next day. He can't handle people getting sick, especially when he is around.

[fountainpenguin]

"Welcome to the show, let everybody know- I'm done playin' the game; I'll break out of the chains..." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 48 - “O Dragon, My Dragon (Cleo, Mumbo, Bdubs)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

💜 My MCYT AUs

---

Bdubs never lost his grip on Mom’s feathers, no matter how roughly she shook or how strong she beat her wings. Hear that? He’s been captain material since he was just a little guy. So if anyone says he screamed when the Fox Dragon spiraled upward through a snowstorm, his whole body wrapped around her tail, they don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s a captain hug. It keeps a man alive. Aw, screw it. “Where’s the seatbelt on this thing!?” he hollers, digging his claws in white and ginger fur. He feels like a ribbon. Maybe a flag, snapping in the wind like he’s as lightweight as the fur on her neck.

In which Cleo reads her mail, Bdubs takes on a patrol captain, Mumbo aids a kidnapping, and Scott lets the Allay Dragon take control.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

ZombieCleo

Location: Cleo’s unit, Core District, 2nd Floor, 872

💙  🧡  💚

It’s not often that Cleo feels the need to peek from their portal like some kind of mole or meerkat. Maybe an ostrich. Most days, she’s quite happy to sweep out, sometimes midway through typing a message on their comm or pulling up their hair. It’s one of the nice things about living in a non-anarchy hub; New Star doesn’t allow portal camping or trapping, and although she has flatmates, the bedroom’s off-limits to everyone but her. Thank Scott and his keycards for that. Or maybe not Scott, but… Tango? Probably Tango; Scott can’t touch nametags in Between. It’s an allay thing.

… It’s not, actually, Cleo’s exclusive room any longer. As of this week, that’s wrong. Scott’s not a big fan of beds while in Between, and that’s partly why he never saw the point in “renting” his own space. It’s not, like… easy? to set spawn on accident, prompting the bed to explode? But the fear of maybe doing so haunts his mind every day. He much prefers a couch. Toss him a nice blanket and he’ll even sleep on the floor. He prefers cute pajamas, but he’ll sleep in dirty clothes. Cleo did some rearranging after he moved in. Her bed, which once lay flush against the window, now lies opposite the door, and the desk Scott brought from his old housing unit stands by her closet. It works. It’s still a work in process, but they got the fairy lights up and fixed some of the stickers that popped from tiny item frames. It’s cute!

No Scott sitting in the chair, though. No Sminor5991 either… He has his own desk for clip edits, but y’know. Minor’s sort of in with Hums and Moo, so if he’d wandered in to bring a message from Scott, Cleo wouldn’t have minded. He’s got Scott’s emergency key.

Nothing… looks wrong in her room. It’s not on fire. It’s not flooded. It didn’t collapse. Still… she checks each carpet square when moving past her bed and the edge of Scott’s desk to the window. No mural yet, she thinks ruefully, and almost laughs. Well. At least the paperwork’s approved. Now they just need to find an artist. Even as a zombie, there are only so many years of staring at a dark gray wall that she can take. She invited Etho over a while ago and even he got distracted from their cuddling to ask why, if she’s so close with Scott, she still has such a terrible view. And he’s Etho! Maybe she’ll go bug Grian sometime (Hang out eating sandwiches while watching signs of movement in the tree farm) or visit Mumbo’s llamas in his custom pen just to mix up her environment.

New Star seems like it’s still standing. Cleo settles in their reading nook and presses their head to the fencepost barring off the window. She squints. Not a lot’s visible from here (See also, express priority mural demands) and the thin stripe of street she can see outside the alley is deserted. Not unusual, I guess? It’s just… quiet.

What’s with the outage, then? Weird. The energy for an optional leap crackled through her skin a little earlier, but that didn’t do her much good without an admin panel. It went down, total disconnect. Until it came back, she couldn’t relight the dead portal from the inside.

Might as well check announcements. When they pull up their messages, it looks like a station-wide ping. Oh?

Smajor1995: NEWS - All portals down in unexpected system crash (Headquarters damage). Core is back online; no repeat events expected. Report any missing persons directly to me and I’ll accelerate retrieval priority. Mail route starts Friday; drop all outgoing mail in labeled barrel at park ASAP. Contact HALO with further questions and concerns.

Well, that answers that. Scott’s on top of everything, as usual. Cleo flicks open their private messages. Not having a working admin panel most of the time on-server meant no digital drafting, and no copy-paste to speed things along now (A shame), but they’ve traced the mental words enough times in the last few weeks to know exactly what to say.

ZombieCleo: Hey Scott! Back in Between; swing by and we can talk- Relationship stuff, election stuff, whatever. Send an ETA and I can make us food <3

Simple enough. She’s itching to talk; it was a lonely 10 weeks without him. She made progress on their base. Cleo spends the next few minutes checking and responding to other messages. No Hermitcraft meeting requests today. Nothing from Joe, but that’s no surprise- He saw her on the way to her room in the last minutes before she logged off. They know she made it to her portal all right, and they know they couldn’t reach her.

One check-in message from Gem. Looks like the other Hermits are quiet. Witchcraft chat is silent. One message from Sausage. Nothing from the Herons on Pirates SMP. Two messages from HumanCleo. 11 from Grian being an absolute pain in the butt, which go ignored. Cleo skims those, but only reads the first four before clicking out. Yeah, I picked Martyn- Not you. Get over it. It’s fiiiine. She did send the info for her hair stylist after she went offline, by the way, like she promised. That’s the only thing she agreed to do.

Nothing from Martyn. Cleo tongues the inside of her cheek, debating how she feels about that. Really? Not even one, the whole 10 weeks she spent offline? He’s an admin, right? So he’s got a panel? Martyn hops around a lot of servers and doesn’t always clarify which one he’s referring to when he infodumps, so she’s genuinely not sure which one’s his AFK. She knows he’s working on a small town build somewhere. He’s also got a tropical island going on… He’s collecting dog Pokémon on BCG. Maybe he AFKs in the phantom flock server? Bdubs is admin over there, so Martyn wouldn’t have a panel he could use. No admin panel, no cross-server communication.

Could’ve left me something to wake up to. 10 weeks is a long, long time to go without hearing a peep from your partner…

❤️ Read on AO3

[livealittleoc-cb]

“Trip to the club tonight?~ How sweet of you to invite me.~”

Basic Information

☽｡⋆ Name: Dionysus | Human Name: Theodore Angelos

☽｡⋆ Species: Greek God; God of Wine, Pleasure, Festivity, Madness, Wild Frenzy, Theatre, Fertility && Vegetation

☽｡⋆ From Thebes, Greece [The Human Equivalent to Grail Fra in Astria] [His Human Form was raised in Queens, New York] [Human Form]; Ancient Greek Realm [Originally]

☽｡⋆ He/They | Pansexual, Polyamorous | 28 [Human Age; 12/21, Sagittarius], As Old as Wine, Desires && Madness | 6’2”

☽｡⋆ Occupation: Cafe Owner

☽｡⋆ “Human” Appearance: tan/bronze skin, short length wavy/curly brown hair, heterochromatic eyes [one wine red && one grape purple], has scattered unimportant tattoos on his chest && back, a tattoo sleeve of the Virgo constellation on his left arm && a leopard pattern sleeve on his right leg, has an eyebrow piercing on his left eyebrow && a dermal piercing on his right hand below his thumb above his wrist, wears very masculine presenting clothes, button ups normally unbuttoned at the top, slacks, jeans, t-shirts, gym attire, sneakers, boots, shirtless a lot of the time, wears a lot of rings [doesn’t like too many accessories], paints his nails black or red sometimes [at the club might wear some eye makeup but only limited to the club], wears a lot of reds

☽｡⋆ God Appearance && Information: God of Wine, Pleasure, Festivity, Madness, Wild Frenzy, Theatre, Fertility && Vegetation, feeds off the energy of wine making/drinking, sex && parties, his eyes turn blood red when feeding, normally can be seen in clubs && wineries, normally can be seen carrying a thyrsos [a pine cone tipped staff] or harp && a drinking cup; 7’2”, bronzed skin, short wavy light brown hair, white or purple eyes, has one tattoo on his wrist that says ‘Bravery & Sacrifice’, no piercings, wears masculine presenting clothes [in Astria wears what she wears in her human form], normally completely naked or wears a toga, wears a crown of ivy, nails are permanently painted red && purple, is followed by Satyrs, Mainades [Wild female devotees] or Wild Big Cats, wears a lot of purples, reds && whites

☽｡⋆ Personality: calm, chill, level headed, kinda emotionally constipated, a tease, party animal, lazy, horny™️, blunt, carefree, dramatic

☽｡⋆ Likes: wine, crackers, cheese, coffee, sleeping, naps, cats, the gym, parties, night clubs, cigarettes, salmon, corner stores, yayas [they’re sweeties], shades of red, umami && salty food

☽｡⋆ Dislikes: being sick, flus, colds, small cuts, annoying people, emotional vulnerability, lightweights [depends how annoying/lovingly]

Fun Facts

✮ Pet[s]: Ragdoll Cat [Snowcone🐈] ✮ Languages: Greek, English [Greek Accent, Switches to a New Yorkian Accent When Angry or Annoyed]; As a god he knows all languages but sticks to where his human form is from ✮ Abilities: Can Turn Liquids to Wine/Alcohol, Grow Grape Vegetation/Help With Grape Plants, Create Sexual/Frivolous/Etc Thoughts && Dreams, Dream && Thought Invasion, Sets Up the Best Parties/Celebrations, Create Madness in Others ✮ Love Language[s]: Gift Giving && Acts of Service [Giving], Quality Time && Physical Touch [Receiving] ✮ He normally feeds and gains power from drinking wine/alcohol but is most powerful at Clubs, Parties && Sleeping Around [His eyes turn a Blood Red when feeding] ✮ He can sense && smell certain emotions; Specifically lust ✮ His eyes can change color depending on mood; royal purple [happy], glow red [anger], one pink the other lavender [sadness] ✮ When angered enough he can go into a stage of madness, this madness can spread to others around him [He can also spread madness without being angry or annoyed] ✮ Has an average amount of strength compared to other gods && greater than humans ✮ Like other gods he has lived multiple human lives ✮ Has massive hands ✮ Even though you normally see him with just rings you can see a gold necklace with the Virgo constellation on it ✮ Is not on good terms with Zeus, his dad; he was much closer to his mum ✮ He was engaged to the Satyr Ampellos in Ancient Greece before he passed away ✮ In the 20-30s was a Medic for the Italian Mafia, in the 80s for the Valentzas Organization [Greek Mafia] ✮ Him and Hermes are best friends in Ancient Greece and reunited in the orphanage ✮ Around 2014 he took on the role of a ring fighter after coming out of the orphanage ✮ Snow has been different big cats in the past, in Ancient Greece was a Leopard, later on a Lioness && Panther now a House Cat ✮ Tends to be compared to a Great Dane ✮ Smells like fine wine && grapes or coffee, roses, && cologne [light hints of cigarette smoke] ✮ Is the protective embrace of strong arms wrapped around you

NSFW

☽｡⋆ Hard/Lazy Dom && Power Bottom [Doesn’t Sub Easily or Give Control Up Easily, Can with Trust, Tends to do Stuff from the Bottom by can Top]; Oral [Giving && Receiving], Pet Play [Giving, Be His Bunny or Kitten], Marking [Giving && Receiving], Breeding [Giving], Size Kink, Squirting [Receiving], Public, Impact Play [Giving], Praise [Giving && Receiving], Degradation [Giving], Hair Pulling [Giving && Receiving], Body Worshipping [Receiving && Giving], Toys [Giving], Shibari [Giving && Receiving], Choking [Giving], Forced Submission [Only When Close!], Spit Play, Wax Play [Giving && Receiving], Overstimulation [Giving && Receiving], Edging [Giving && Receiving], Mirror Sex, Somnophilia [Giving && Receiving], Corruption [Giving], Dacryphilia, Gagging [Giving], Exhibitionism [Including Being Recorded], Voyeurism, Cum Play, Fingering [Giving], Blindfolding [Giving && Receiving], Dirty Talk [Giving && Receiving] [He's open to all and any kink, hard or soft.]

☽｡⋆ Hard Nos: feet, watersports, wasteplay

☽｡⋆ Both eyes turn a ruby red when arroused

☽｡⋆ Safe Word: Grapes

☽｡⋆ Uses 🍷 on Dash

Relationships && Statuses

☽｡⋆ Planning a New Menu, Calm

☽｡⋆ Happily Dating Ace [Heart Baby💖] with @monsterhigh-cb Hongjoong [Puppy🐶] [They’ll take ONE [1] more partner together [1/1]] [02/22/23]

☽｡⋆ Happily Dating [2/4]: @welcome-to-maniac Hyunjin [Crescent Moon Eyes🌙][04/30/23]; Amused by @kardpackcb Jiwoo [Princess👑]

☽｡⋆ Friends: Hermes [Best Friend, Dumbass Bird🩵], Cupid [Baby Arrow🏹], Aphrodite [Miss Lioness🦁], Eros [Kind of Friend🤨], Venus [Sweetheart💕], Ampelos [Ex-Fiancé, Complicated, Honey Pie🍯]

☽｡⋆ Tags: #🍷dionysus.txt [General Interaction Tag], #🎶dionysus music [Music Inspiration], #🍷dionysus wants [Outside Reblogs], #🐈snowcone.txt [Snowcone’s Tag], #🍾happy birthday idiot [27th Birthday Tag, 12/21/23], #🍇happy birthday desires holder [28th Birthday Tag, 12/21/24], #💙❤️joongdi [Puppy’s Ship Tag], #⚡️🐶lightning puppy [Puppy’s Ship Tag], #💙❤️🩷joongdice [Puppy Throuple Tag], #🤍❤️hyundi [Pretty Ferret Ship Tag], #🌕🎨my moon [Pretty Ferret Ship Tag]

☽｡⋆ Dionysus is open for One Night Stands && Friends with Benefits!

☽｡⋆ Faceclaim: @/whoiskir on Instagram, Other[s]: @/leoskepi on TikTok [his literal vibe twin]

[curtsycream]

Frat! Headcanons

Frat!Ghost, Soap, and Gaz x Soro!Reader

This is so short and I just I don’t know, as someone who was really into greek life I felt a need to. Not proofread, talks about their sex life briefly, and mostly includes partying. Not the complete soro/frat life but I thought this would be more interesting.

Being in a relationship with Frat! Simon, Kyle, and Johnny. You belong to the sister sorority on campus. Your sorority and their fraternity have lots of events together from toga nights to casino nights.

No matter what the party is Simon always sticks close to you. Call it your scary dog privileges as no one dares to approach you either him one step behind you.

At parties you can be a bit of a lightweight and tend to put your drink down a lot. Well you used to but whenever you feel the need to put your drink down you hand it to Simon, “hold please.” Simon will literally guard it with his life even if you only handed it to him to hold hands with Johnny.

Johnny normally doesn’t hold your drinks as he has a tendency to drink it. He gets curious about the mix you have in your cup and drinks it or assumes you made it for him. “How was I supposed to know you just handed me a cup, baby.”

Kyle was also a good option to hold your cup as he would hold it close. If anyone walked up to him he would assume it was for the drink. “No you can’t hold this, so you can spike it? I’ve seen movies I know how this goes down.” Truthfully he means well, when you walk back over to him it would be like a puppy seeing its owner. He would hand you back your cup smiling when you say thank you.

I’d like to think that Johnny and Kyle would rope you into beer pong games as much as they can. They like to watch you play even if you’re not the best at it. But anytime someone gets a pong ball into a cup during your turn one of them would drink it. Their only excuse is, “I was thirsty.” But deep down the reason was because they didn’t want you to get completely wasted.

The aftermath of parties would always be the best. Since the parties usually took place in the fraternity you would sleep there. It was convenient that Kyle and Johnny share a room.

If you were drunk they would take care of you. Well take care of you and Kyle, he’s not the greatest at pacing himself and tends to go beyond his limits. You all would push Johnny and Kyle’s beds together and cuddle.

But on the nights you didn’t drink or barely drank let’s say things would go differently. It would usually start the second Johnny’s lips were on yours. Pretty soon you’d have Simon’s hands on your hand as he thrusts into your mouth. With Kyle and Johnny sharing your cunt as they kiss. Even when you weren’t drunk it was always an intoxicating experience.

I’m an avid believer that these guys are the kind to be into public sex, face fucking, double penetration, degradation, and boob jobs. They’re always willing to try something new which is usually brought up by Soap, “so I saw this thing on like tv or something and wanted to try it.” “You mean pornhub?”

Prepare for jealous girls to show up to the frat parties hoping they have a chance with them. You never have to worry they’re too loyal to do that to you. Kyle is usually says something loudly to deter them from him, “I have a wife, she knows how to fight!” Whether you know how to fight or not that’s always his go to statement.

Johnny chooses a different approach he tends to call over one of his frat brothers and introduces him to her. “Hey Gary, this is…what’s your name again? Oh, yeah Olivia, yeah this is Olivia. Enjoy.”

Simon wouldn’t even let a girl speak a word before he was walking away like he didn’t hear a thing. Actions speak louder than words sometimes.

Your sorority sisters rarely see you during weekends as you’re always with your boyfriends. It becomes a tradition for the four of you to lock yourselves away in Johnny and Kyle’s room for the weekend and hangout. Most times it involves old horror movies and your own versions of drinking games. It can’t be helped you’re all hormonal university students.

[cheemscakecat]

Stupid headcanon about Star Wars characters and alcohol.

Firstly, Han Solo is a lightweight. He would never admit it, though. He’s had to be rescued by Chewbacca multiple times; because he wanted to keep up appearances or accidentally drank something stronger than he can handle.

Han gets chatty and chummy when drunk, but it doesn’t take much liquor to have him falling asleep in random places and positions. He also remembers who his enemies are, so the Empire wouldn’t just be able to use alcohol to get secrets out of him.

9 times out of 10 Chewie is carrying an unconscious Solo, not one who blew their cover because the enemy pretended to be friendly.

Leia can handle far more alcohol in her system, but she has a limit. When she’s drunk she starts rambling. She’ll be like halfway through a historical fact, then switch to a crass rebellion saying against the Empire, then start reciting part of a poem or song. And she’ll do that for hours.

If she’s really out of it she’ll slump over somewhere and ramble more quietly and muffled. If she falls asleep it’s not from the liquor, it’s from tuckering herself out blabbering for 5 hours straight.

Lando has a high alcohol tolerance and finds it hilarious that Han doesn’t. But he keeps that fact to himself and knows what’s actually mild enough not to have that man asleep in a plant in the casino.

Chewbacca has always been known as the friend with the highest tolerance for liquor. Wookies are very tall with strong metabolisms, so they naturally handle alcohol better than humans. That being said, there’s a wide variety of beverages out there, designed for Wookies and for aliens who have a higher tolerance than them.

Chewie doesn’t like to overdo it, especially since he ends up being the sober ride home when Han drinks the wrong thing.

The team got captured by pirates who wanted them to have a drinking match. Nobody had a choice, they all had to participate. The pirates went out of their way to give Chewbacca that strong Wookie liquor.

He glanced over at Luke and he was literally just sitting like they were at the dinner table. Before he blacked out, Chewie assumed that Luke was just using the force to cancel the effects or something.

When the group came to the next day, Skywalker wasn’t in the room and all the pirates were very hung over. Looked like their captain was counting that as a win in the pirates’ favor. They went to pull out their blasters only to find them missing.

Han, Leia, Lando, and Chewbacca took the opportunity to muscle their way out into the rest of the ship. It looked like Jawas had scalped the place. Bulkheads and control panels and lights were just.. not in their places in the hallways. Doors were open all over the place and wires and scrap littered the floor.

They rounded a corner, not knowing if the pirates had a cache of blasters somewhere close, and found Luke.

He was on top of this… hulking mechanical mess. It wasn’t an invention, or a weapon, or art, but you couldn’t quite call it junk.

Looking closer, you could see that the missing parts in the ship were in that thing, and so were pieces of weapons. The hyperdrive and cockpit controls were taken apart and interweaved with the rest of the bulk.

There was no rhyme or reason to how the metal was connected, it wasn’t something you could turn on, something to be used. But it was as tall as a tie fighter. And seemingly fragile corners and gaps in this jumble were sturdy enough to hold a grown man’s weight.

It took a moment, after catching sight of that incomprehensible metal heap, for Leia to snap out of it enough to look at her brother.

Luke’s clothes were stained with oil and fuel and chemicals. He looked sweaty and had cobwebs and dust in his hair. Leia squinted and noticed scratches on his face and hands, like he’d crawled inside a snug maintenance shaft and nicked himself on the sharp components.

“Hey guys.” He said, sounding embarrassed. Behind them, the angry, cursing pirates caught up. But they were so flabbergasted by the scrap amalgamation that they fell silent and forgot all about catching the prisoners.

Han had to admit, he was relieved to see the Falcon still in one piece, docked inside the pirate ship. As they all ran inside they saw R2 and C3P0 were safe and fully functioning.

After checking the systems to make sure nothing was broken, they were able to fly out without anyone interfering. The enemy was too busy trying to figure out how to fix the deconstructed hyperdrive and engine.

”Did you build that thing?” Leia asked. “Yeah…” The kid said, like he got caught trying to shoplift candy. Somehow that was enough to help Han articulate his questions.

“Why did you build that?… What was that?” Luke sighed and shuffled. “I never have figured that out, myself. All I know is, when I get drunk I just have to take things apart. -Not Droids, thankfully.” 3P0 loudly made his relief known. “And then I just.. stick it all together. There’s no plan, no idea for what to build, but it makes all the sense in the world when I’m like that.”

Chewie mentioned the fact that the kid was still going strong when he felt himself blacking out. “How did you outlast the two of us, anyway?” Lando asked, gesturing.

“Well, I thought you would outlast me, but the drink wasn’t as strong as I expected.” They all looked at Luke incredulously. “Kid, I ran a casino for years, and I can tell you that was hard, hard liquor.”

“Really? I drink stronger stuff than that sometimes.” The kid went over to his belongings and pulled out a bottle. Calrissian got a shot glass and let Luke pour him some.

He took a small sip and immediately spat it out, coughing and trying not to fall over. Han and Chewie helped him regain his balance. “There’s no way that’s alcohol, it’s not fit for human consumption!” He said hoarsely.

“Are you sure that was the right bottle?” Leia asked. It didn’t have a label, after all. “It’s Tatooine moonshine, I got it from a good farm family there.” Lando drank some water to try and get the residue out. “It burnt on the way down… like I was drinking dissolving solution. Are you sure they gave you the right thing?”

Luke looked at the bottle for a split second and then started chugging. Everyone freaked out expecting it to dissolve a hole in is throat. But he didn’t react like it hurt, he just continued on his merry way until he emptied the whole thing.

Nobody could say anything, they were in shock. He drank it. He drank it and lived! “Yeah, it was the moonshine.” Kid looked around the room at everybody.

“Do people on Tatooine really drink that?” Han asked, wondering what he could clean the spit with before it ate through the floor. “Well, yeah. We don’t collect much water as moisture farmers. You have to sell every drop of water you get. That’s why we keep Bantha and brew moonshine with the local fruit.”

Luke paused. “Brewed… Sorry, I’m talking like I still live there.” Leia got the distinct feeling that she knew why he’d been looking so embarrassed.

“You’ve gotten that drunk before?” He was quiet but nodded. “Back home?”

“The first time I didn’t think about what I was taking apart. I deserved to have to take the jumble apart and fix it by myself. And that’s what would have happened, except we had to get the farm equipment in the house back up and running.”

[littleredofgotham]

🔴 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭 || 𝐀𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 / 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 🔴

"Gotham’s got enough Bat-themed vigilantes. Time for something a little different."

💀 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨

🔹 Name: Ace Wayne 🔹 Alias: Little Red 🔹 Gender: Nonbinary 🔹sexuality: Bisexual 🔹 Pronouns: He/they 🔹 Age: 20 🔹 Affiliation: Batfamily (Unofficially), Gotham Vigilantes 🔹 Powers: Universal Manipulation – The ability to manipulate fundamental forces of reality, time, space, and matter on a cosmic scale. 🔹 Personality: Stubborn, loyal, reckless but strategic, resourceful, protective over those he cares about.

━━ ✦ 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ✦ ━━

🔹 Former Robin—same instincts, sharper edges.

🔹 Mobility’s fluid—legs, wheels, whatever gets the job done.

🔹 Tactician, hacker, strategist—if there’s a fight, he already knows how to win it.

🔹 Still throws a mean punch—you won’t see it coming. 🔹 Unpredictable—never know which side he'll land on, but you can bet it'll be one hell of a ride. 🔹 Master of illusions—whether it's visual or mental, he can mess with your head without breaking a sweat. 🔹 Infiltration expert—blending in or creating distractions, he can get in or out unnoticed. 🔹 Dual-wielding expert—one weapon in each hand, both deadly and precise. 🔹 Always thinking two steps ahead—it's not just about reacting, it's about knowing where the game is going. 🔹 Highly adaptable—throw any challenge at him, and he’ll find a way to turn it into an advantage. 🔹 Non-linear thinking—time doesn’t bind him, and neither do rules; he sees all possibilities. 🔹 Emotional manipulator—can make you feel exactly what he wants you to, or make you doubt what you feel. 🔹 Fearless—he's seen the worst timelines, faced unimaginable odds, and still keeps going. 🔹 Loyal... when he chooses to be—cross him, and he’ll become your worst nightmare.

━━ ✦ 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝’𝐬 𝐕𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭 ✦ ━━

🔹 Base Suit: A sleek, reinforced bodysuit in deep midnight blue with black paneling, designed for flexibility and protection. The fabric is lightweight yet durable, with hidden armor plating in key areas (like the chest, shoulders, and shins) to absorb impact without limiting movement. 🔹 Jacket: A short, asymmetrical tactical coat with a high collar, dark with subtle wing-like patterns stitched into the fabric. It’s lined with lightweight Kevlar weave, offering extra defense. The sleeves are detachable for when he needs more mobility. 🔹 Gloves: Fingerless tactical gloves with reinforced knuckles, offering a better grip for climbing and close-quarters combat. The palms have shock-absorbing gel to reduce strain on his hands. 🔹 Utility Belt: A matte black utility belt loaded with hacking tools, smoke pellets, throwing knives, and emergency medical supplies. There’s a grappling hook device secured on the side for quick escapes. 🔹 Mask: A sleek domino mask with a built-in HUD display, night vision, and encrypted comms. The eyes glow a soft blue when scanning surroundings. 🔹 Boots: Flexible, lightweight combat boots with reinforced soles for shock absorption—perfect for both rooftop chases and silent movement. The bottom has magnetic grips for scaling metal surfaces. 🔹 Cape/No Cape: Instead of a full cape, two streamlined, retractable "wing" panels are built into the back of the jacket. When activated, they function as a glider system for controlled aerial movement. 🔹 Wheelchair Integration: On nights where Ace needs his wheelchair, it’s a custom-built, high-tech model designed for speed, agility, and combat. It has hidden compartments for gadgets, reinforced plating for defense, and an adaptive control system for smooth movement. 🔹 Symbol: A small, silver wing emblem on the left side of the chest—subtle, but unmistakable.

📜 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

🔹 No NSFW. This is a minor-run blog. Don’t be weird. 🔹 Be respectful. Hate, bigotry, or drama aren’t welcome here. 🔹 Ask before major plots. If you want to do something big (major injury, betrayal, etc.), let's discuss it first. 🔹 Triggers will be tagged. If you need something specific tagged, let me know. 🔹 Patience is key. Replies might be slow because of school, life, etc. Please don’t spam. 🔹 Crossovers welcome! DC-focused, but I’m open to AUs and multiverse interactions. 🔹 OOC drama stays out. If there’s an issue, let’s handle it respectfully. 🔹 No god-modding or force-playing. My character is mine, your character is yours—let’s keep it fair.

💬 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐝

✦ Name: Astro ✦ Pronouns: He/They/+Neopronouns ✦ Timezone: EST ✦ DMs: Open (ask first, please!) ✦ Btw, this mod is a minor—no NSFW or anything like that.

Feel free to reach out if you'd like to plot or chat! This blog is a safe space for creativity and connection. Also, just a heads-up: I’m in school Monday-Friday, so I might not always be on to answer messages right away. Thanks for understanding! 💜

📌 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 🔹 I love in-depth character interactions and long-term story arcs—if you’re interested in building something with our muses, hit me up! 🔹 Open to both serious and lighthearted threads—one moment we’re strategizing a mission, the next we’re arguing over pizza toppings. 🔹 If I ever take a while to reply, it’s nothing personal! Feel free to nudge me if I’ve missed something. 🔹 AUs, crossovers, and multi-thread storytelling are totally welcome—let’s get creative!

[teecupangel]

Catboy nonny with an idea you might like. Little more weird than normal.

AltDes catboy setup, when both of them, mid ‘situation’ get dropped right in front of Ezio. Cue something. I don’t know what, but something.

Bonus points if Des is high on catnip tea and doesn’t fully understand what’s happening but he recognizes Ezio.

Desmond had tried any kind of drug.

He was afraid.

Not of the drug or of it’s effects.

But the possibility that his father would find him while he was high, unable to escape until it was too late.

He had been tempted, of course.

But the fear of being too ‘weak’ at such a critical time still stopped him each time.

Even when he drank with others, he always pretended to be a lightweight. The worst had been when he first drank and didn’t know his limit yet.

That had been a nightmare.

His mind blaring alarms over and over about how ‘weak’ he felt.

Whispers followed his every move, shadows appearing as William Miles at the corner of his eyes everywhere he went.

So yeah…

Desmond didn’t partake in such relaxing activities out of fear.

But there was no William Miles here.

Altaïr was here.

He trusted Altaïr.

Altaïr has pretty eyes.

Pretty gold eyes.

Not Apple-gold though.

That’s bad gold.

But good gold.

So good.

Altaïr is so good to him.

Altaïr knows what he needs.

Altaïr gives him everything he needs.

He calms the heat that Desmond feels.

Oh.

He feels it again.

A pleasant heat that coils all around him.

Leaving him boneless and purring as he rubbed against everything that smells like Altaïr.

Altaïr…

Where was Altaïr?

Desmond needs Altaïr.

“Meeoowww”

He needs…

The heat…

He needs-

“Desmond?”

The heat embraced him.

Pleasant but insistent.

He needs Altaïr.

Altaïr.

He grabbed something.

“Desmond? You are Desmond, aren’t you?”

It was a different scent.

It wasn’t Altaïr.

But he knows this scent.

“Meow…”

Ezio.

It was Ezio.

Why was Ezio here?

It’s warm.

It’s hot.

He needs…

He needs-

“Let go of him now, intruder, and I may be persuaded to spare your life.”

[cryinthevortex]

Quick writing prompt (if you are up to it): Rook and Lucanis had their first child a while ago. They come to visit Villa Dellamorte for the first time. The little one runs up to Caterina as fast as a toddler is able to, wraps their little chubby arms around her legs and yells "Nonna!" with all their heart and soul. Give me your best (or your worst) ;)

Caterina Dellamorte- Never the Nonna (Part 1: Lucanis)

“Papá!” She toddles up the grand staircase of the Dellamorte Villa, way too fast for her age.

Lucanis is terrified. Their daughter is like Rook, a living chaos, and Caterina will notice it. She barely runs yet but still moves like a ball of lightning around the place. Lucanis cringes as a vase falls from the sideboard.

Did she get any of my grace? Well, she climbs fast, there is hope. But she really shouldn’t. Mierda!

He dashes after her with his catlike agility, which seems to have skipped over his daughter entirely, and quickly scales the stairs two steps at a time. Her dark and always messy hair sticks out from the balustrade, and her familiar brown eyes stare at him, smiting him from above in glee.

She doesn’t have many words. Unfortunately ‘mierda’ is one of them, of which Lucanis is not too proud. ‘Mommy’ is another, because she spends lots of time protesting to him in otherwise gibberish about Rook limiting her creativity by telling her ‘no’. It is a word she most definitely does not want to know. Little did Lucanis know he would turn out to be the soft touch, but here they are.

Lucanis expected himself to be a taskmaster, demanding things done to perfection, but as soon as she was born, those notions evaporated, and his mind went in the opposite direction. Rook tells him regularly to stop spoiling their daughter, but he cannot help himself. What is he supposed to do? Get a cane and start whacking? A little black-and-white thinking. Somewhere within him, he knows he should support Rook and restrict their child’s worst, destructive tendencies. Instead, it turns out this heartless assassin cannot muster a single ounce of the discipline that he grew up surrounded by, to rein in his own daughter. Consequences lie in front of him plain as day.

Caterina’s flower vase full of roses lies well dead on the ground, underneath it a wet stain, slowly seeping into her precious floorboards. Maker, she is going to be mad. She will undoubtedly blame Rook.

“What was that?” He hears Caterina’s voice yelling from the direction of her office.

“It’s… us.” Lucanis calls, still trying to get used to 'us' meaning even more than himself and Rook. At this point, it is an untruthful expression as his daughter has disappeared entirely. Lucanis is delighted that a bit of him lives on in her.

Where is she? Is she with Spite?

As a quirk of nature and a consequence of Lucanis and Spite sharing a body, she can see and hear Spite. Considering some aspects of their relationship and harmony, there are thoughts best left untrodden. But at the end of the day, Spite is capable of anchoring himself to her too. While he is with her, the demon's gravelly voice is less loud in Lucanis’ head.

Her ability to see Spite was apparent from the start; her eyes have always followed him everywhere. The only person who was not surprised about this turn of events was Emmrich, who possesses a similar gift without a demonic heritage. He will be busy prodding her beautiful head as soon as she finds words. Of course, considering the number of words her mother has, Lucanis lives in mortal fear of impending constant chatter in the house.

“Is she here?” Caterina calls from the ground floor. Her cane taps on the stairs, so she is coming up. The sound no longer scares Lucanis; the sensation of dread has faded as more positive thoughts have taken hold.

Being a father is worse than all-day drills in the Dellamorte Mansion’s courtyard. As a training instructor, Caterina is lightweight compared to his daughter, always demanding, asking, and never seeming to rest. I really need to learn to say ‘no’.

He hears a quiet giggle ahead, and Caterina is getting closer. She was away on Crow business and missed much of her great-granddaughter’s life. However, it could be argued that she had no interest in it in the first place. They’d only met once before when she was just born.

Whoever Lucanis’ and Rook’s daughter looked like that day was somewhat debatable– as Rook had had a rough ride with the delivery and their daughter was badly bruised. However, her familiar-looking, brown eyes stared from underneath the blanket wide open immediately after birth. Caterina had come and gone. She waved her hand at their child and walked off. Lucanis had heard afterward that she was found in the corridor, leaning on her cane, looking thoughtful, until she composed herself, straightened her back as if pulled by an invisible string, and walked off.

“Rook isn’t if that is what you’re asking,” Lucanis replies. Caterina loves to hate Rook after all these years.

“Wonderful.”

They hear a sound of feet thumping on the floor from the corridor, and a crashing sound as another vase tumbles down as a small child bumps herself while cutting a corner. Caterina turns around towards the sound and stares eyes wide as the child's arms wrap around her legs.

Lucanis grins as he watches his daughter scream, “Nonna!” with all her heart and soul. His smile turns into worry fast, as she peeps at Caterina from the level of her knees, and he sees her cane shift.

“Mmm. Lucanis. She looks like you. Unfortunately, she possesses her mother’s facial expressions. How regrettable. And manners of course. ‘Nonna’. Let me guess, Rook taught her that?”

Plausible. Even likely. Or Spite, at Rook’s request.

“Why would she do that, Caterina?”

To mess with her head, of course.

Caterina’s eyes narrowed. She did not believe for a second Lucanis’ deflection. Instead, she turns her gaze towards the small human at her feet and says to Lucanis, “You do realize I will never become the baking grandmother?”

“Yes. It is for the best, as I love my wife, and I do not wish her to die from poisoned baked goods,” Lucanis says.

Caterina smirks, “Very well.” She uses her cane to nudge the little girl trying to pry open the clasp of her shoe. “What is your name?”

“Lucía Illaria Dellamorte,” Lucanis says and smiles at his daughter who recognizes her name. If she is denied mischief she tragically does not react to it.

Lucía continues her endeavors, squealing triumphantly when she succeeds in snapping the clasp open. She carries the names of Lucanis’ mother and Illario.

“So that is why they never told me when I ordered them not to,” Caterina muses.

“You did not know?”

“I did. But I wanted to hear her name from you, Lucanis,” Caterina says and tries to close the clasp with her cane. The child guards her victory and does not allow it. “The name seems fitting.”

She bends down to meet her and picks her up. Spite snarls at Caterina, but Lucía smiles at the demon, and he relaxes.

“My great-granddaughter, would you like to see your family house?" She looks at the two broken vases on her precious floor. "Although you have been acquainted with it enough to start breaking things already, I see.”

She does not seem angry, but Lucía on the other hand looks triumphant. Lucanis stops Caterina by briefly touching her arm.

“Caterina, we have a request. It's Rook's idea,” Lucanis says, realizing he made a mistake. He should have never brought her into this. Rook may have suggested it, but he wholeheartedly endorsed it. He continues regardless, “Could we refer to you as a grandmother instead?”

“Fine. Now, Lucía, let Nonna show you where your father’s room is. You can destroy everything within it at your leisure.”Mierda! I need to save my wyvern statue. Lucanis runs upstairs. Lucía and her mother can play with his heart all day long, and force him to store his knives in a safer place, but his dear daughter will not touch his statue- he is not that much of a changed man.

[weerentheworld]

One of the planned highlights I have for this trip is high tea!

I was hoping for a somewhat social experience so this is one of the few tours I book on this trip.

Annoyingly it doesn’t go great.

The time I booked didn’t have anyone else signed up, so the company offered to move me to an earlier or later time (my choice). While I appreciate the accommodation, what they failed to mention (or maybe didn’t know), is that the only folks on the new time are two very elderly ladies, who can’t really do much walking.

And it’s intended to be a 1hr walk of the gardens, followed by high tea. This is deeply sad since the attached walk was a major reason why I chose this tour. :(

So instead we get a sort of glance at the gardens, with the poor tour guide doing his best to compensate, while we have a very slow walk.

The tea itself was at least very good!

I’m not sure if it was the best tea in town, (there are more than a few options, some of them very unique) but it seemed like a nicely typical one, and was one I could find attached to a tour and that didn’t look to garlic heavy.

We have tea in the Orangery at Kensington Palace, a type of building which normally houses orange trees. But in this case was called such just because its bricks are orange.

High tea comes with multiple tiers (on one of the tea tiers).

The top tier is sweets: “Chocolate orange croustillant Strawberry and rose mini cheesecake Raspberry Victoria sponge Orange choux”

I didn’t have much of the chocolate ones, but the little nibbles I had were very good

The middle is scones with cream and jam: “Traditional scones Cornish clotted cream, blackcurrant preserves (alternative fruit preserves available)”

This tier ended up being my favorite, which I would not have guessed!.

and the bottom is the savory sandwiches. “English cucumber, dill finger sandwich Free range egg mayonnaise, salad cress finger sandwich Cured chalk stream trout, cream cheese, chives bagel Coronation chicken bridge roll Gammon ham, vine tomato, wholegrain mustard finger sandwich”

You also get a tea of your choice: “ORGANIC CHAQUOING GREEN A mellow, classic green tea from Sri Lanka which is known for some of the best green teas in the world.”

I noticed while researching that many places had gluten free, vegan, and/or vegetarian options as well.

According to the guide, tea started as more of a working class thing and got more posh over time. Nowadays high tea like this is a special occasion. But many folks have a smaller afternoon tea version, as their schedule allows.

And tea bags? an accident! Apparently a tea merchant would store his orders out in small lightweight bags with a string and label attached, mainly for ease of storage/labeling. When he found out folks were submerging the bags in water to make tea he was shocked!

Did I get dressed up and wear my bee dress (from Salem) for this? 100% yes

Will I ever forgive my hair for being just awful on the occasion? No.

If I go for high tea again as a solo traveler, I think I’d either a) just go solo (you get your own set of tiers anyway- just go hungry!) and thus have a wider range of menus to choose from. Or b) maybe try and find another traveler to share the experience with (preferably one with some photography skills.)

Do check if you can make a solo booking before you go. Some places seem to be limited to parties of 2 or more.

I think the Orangery allowed solo bookings, and seems to be a fairly quintessential example of a traditional English high tea.

If you’re looking for something smaller, cream tea (tea with scones that comes with clotted cream and jam) is likely a great option!