#I am unspeakably drunk rn

[isdalinarhot]

You know what. I don’t think society at large thinks much of me. Of people like me. Of us alcoholics not actively in recovery. But I think. That even though 95% of the posts I post after 5 pm are absolutely fucking insane. That I can do it. I can break into mainstream. Unfortunately I have nothing to say to mainstream. Other than “war is bad!!!!‼︎ stop killing people immediately!!!!!!!‼︎” that’s my political stance. But I dunno things about anything so im just saying words with my wasted mouth recreationally so take all blog recommendations with a grain of salt ok????⁇ ok.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Zae IS back babies!!

Damn, I said it a hundred times before and I'll say it again, I missed you and your writing. The way you always set up things so beautifully; from the first paragraph, that's it, we're immersed; we're in the saloon with them, we're a part of the gang. As if they've really been family for years. As if we could turn our heads to the side and just talk to one of them. I loved the way you portrayed Karen and Sean, and how you included Jenny and Davey, god, everything just felt so right!

And grrr, you know I have such a soft spot for a drunk Arthur and the way you wrote him!! I can't! The perfect blend of his drunken funny and (flirty) playful attitude, and this unspoken vulnerability. Perfection.

Once again, I'm also in awe of your dialogues; you've told me you felt a bit rusty, but girl you haven't lost your touch, believe me! Oh my god, the part when he asks for the room, I thought I was going to pass out, the way you mixed some of his canon lines "you're beautiful" and "you smell so nice" with the “You’d be a fine Missus Morgan,” just after, God!! I felt my cheeks blushing instantly, I could hear his accent in this fine and it made me feel things 🤭

"Listening to him talk, even drunk off his ass, was like floating downstream on a lazy river, easy and impossible to resist."

-YES,YES,YES! This is exactly what it feels like! How do you always put such relevant words on extremely precise feelings or sensations?!

“Great lakes glimmered down at you, full of longing and quiet intensity.”

-This might be the most beautiful way somebody has ever described his gaze.

And I'm not even talking about him going all "no filter" mode and telling just how good he'd treat her, how he'd "bed her right". Oh my god, my body is feeling unspeakable things rn.

To sum up, I absolutely LOVED it, what a way to come back, and the cherry on the cake it's a multiple part!! What a day, Zae! I'm so hyped for the next morning, ooooh Lord knows I am. Is Arthur going to remember his words and be ultra awkward/ashamed of it? Is he going to remember anything at all? I can't wait to see the aftermaths of this wild night!

(Okay this was maybe a little bit too much, but you have to understand me guys, I'm making up for all the time I didn't get to give her work some appreciation <3)

Piquancy- I

Summary: You and Arthur spend time at the saloon. Pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader Word Count: 3,093 Tags: High honor Arthur, developing relationship, alcohol and intoxication, fluff, before the Blackwater Massacre

a/n: I took a break from writing, and when I started again, this came out lol. Got carried away, so I divided it into 3 parts. Part 1 is very tame; I can't say the same for the next 2. I'm feeling a little rusty, but I hope you still enjoy!

piquancy: a sharp or stimulating quality that provokes a strong, often intriguing reaction.

A thunderstorm reigned over West Elizabeth, and several associates of the Van Der Linde gang had holed up in the Blackwater saloon, seeking refuge from the downpour. A handful of them sat at the poker table: Sean, Karen, Davey, Javier, Jenny, Arthur, and you. The gang had taken advantage of an unlimited supply of beer––provided they had the cash–– and were a few drinks deep. You were the only one hanging onto your sobriety and the only one sober enough to keep your head in the game.

You felt particularly lucky tonight, partly because you’d played a few good hands and partly because Arthur, whom you’d long admired from afar, had taken to being stuck to you all night.You'd convinced him to dance with you earlier in the night when Uncle hounded the pianist to "play something good." Afterward, the broad-shouldered outlaw paid for your pot in the poker game “for the dance,” he'd said.

His generous donation turned into quite an investment for you as you dealt the last card of the round, a king of hearts, giving you a full house.

“Dammit!” Davey yelled, slamming his cards down and busting out of the game. He pointed an accusatory finger at you, “You’re a cheat; I know it!”

Karen glowered at him and rolled her eyes as she added her cards back into the deck.

“She ain’t cheating; maybe you just suck,” she mocked, smiling mischievously.

Arthur leaned back in his seat next to you, keeping his temper even but putting a protective arm around the back of your chair. “Tonight just ain’t your night partner; go have another drink, walk it off, and shut up.” He and Davey held each other’s gaze, both impassive and unreadable. Finally, Davey averted his eyes and mumbled under his breath.

Arthur leaned over, and the heat of his breath tickled your ear. A rumble of laughter built up in him as he whispered to you,

“he ain’t used to dealing with beautiful women with brains— you're making him feel emasculated. “

You peeked over at Davey, who had safely directed his gaze to the deck of cards and stifled the giggle that bubbled inside you. Arthur had straightened back up but kept his arm resting on the back of your chair. Warmth radiated off of him like sunlight in the spring. You wanted nothing more than to be basked in it, but a move like that wasn’t in the cards, so you focused on your winnings, boasting as you scooped the chips to your pile.

Your gloating session only lasted for a short second before one of the saloon’s working girls added the poker table to her list of stops. As she spoke, one of her gloved hands perched a little too comfortably on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Any of you boys looking for a good time?”

Leaning forward slightly, the cowboy shifted his chair closer to yours—not enough to draw attention, but enough to angle the girl’s gaze toward Davey. You were sitting closer to him now than anybody else at the table, and neither of you minded.

“Maybe another time,” Arthur told her, his tone kind but dismissive. His eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly. Then, with a knowing glance toward Davey, he added, “But my friend over there is more charismatic than he looks."

Davey’s demeanor did a complete flip, the look of aggravation on his face now replaced by a closed-mouth grin. By the time the woman was at his side of the table, he’d already stood to whisk her away.

“Men.” You mocked, and Arthur chortled low to himself.

“Amen, sister,” Jenny said, shaking her head in more mirth than annoyance as she watched the pair climb the stairs. A thick Irish accent joined the conversation.

“Don’t ya' go lumpin’ me in with the likes o' Davey. It’s not just about me when I’m with my lady. I make sure she’s properly looked after, too.”

Sean threw a lax arm around Karen's shoulders as he finished his declaration. She shrugged him off, faking irritation, though a coy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Yes, the whole camp hears just how satisfied your woman is.” Javier chimed in, smirking at Karen over his glass of whiskey.

Karen shot him a sharp glare and stood abruptly. “You’re an asshole,” she snapped, pointing a finger at him. “And you—” she shoved Sean, “—“keep your hands to yourself.”

Karen stalked off away from the table, Sean close on her heels. “Ah, come now, darlin’! Don’t be like that!” he chased her clumsily, bumping into chairs, making Javier and Arthur laugh. You swatted Arthur’s arm and shot daggers at Javier.

“Men are like roosters,” you said, disapproving. “proud and obnoxious, but not a single egg to show for it.”

Jenny giggled to herself but looked dreamily across the bar to Lenny, who was engrossed in conversation with Hosea.

“I’d agree with you, but every time I’m with—” she cut herself off, averting her eyes and ignoring everybody else’s knowing gaze.

Javier whistled under his breath, and Arthur cackled, loud and toothy, as he waved an arm across the bar towards Lenny. "Atta boy, Lenny!" he yelled over the noise of the saloon. The young boy's furrowed brow made the whole table throw a fit, even Jenny, trying her best to look nonchalant.

Despite the merriment surrounding you, a twinge of something unpleasant scratched at your insides, something envious and wistful. You were happy for Jenny; she deserved someone like Lenny. He was a good kid, one of the finest you’d known, given his circumstances. And you wanted what they had, even if they were still figuring it out themselves. Though the laughter had died down, and the game continued, you couldn’t help but notice Lenny across the room, a smile on his lips as he kept his eyes trained on Jenny, studying her as if he’d never see her again. You were distracted by the thought. Arthur took notice and nudged you with his elbow.

“What’s that look?” he asked, and all eyes turned back to you. You were in the hot seat now, Javier having raised a brow and Jenny looking concerned. You turned your attention back to the previous conversation.

“I just never––” you trail on, trying to find the words, “well, no man I’ve ever been with made me––” you stopped, feeling like you were starting to make a fool of yourself. Arthur’s eyes turned timidly back to his cards, and Javier leaned back, smug.

“Ah, that’s why you always have a stick up your ass.”

Jenny and Arthur jumped in with a course of objections to Javier’s crassness, but you didn’t miss a beat. “You would be the authority on all things asses,” you hit back, “matter of fact, how’d that late-night job with Bill go the other day?”

You were rewarded with ripples of laughter from your allies at the table, Javier, clearly trying to hold in his own, frowned and clutched his chest in dramatic fashion.

“Ouch,” he voiced, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Alright, sorry. Take whatever I have left, but leave my pride, please,” he scooted his chips to the middle of the table and tipped his hat in departure.

The poker game died down with the last bits of laughter. Jenny had turned, placing her hand atop yours, her expression pensive.

“So you’ve never...” she trailed off, lowering her voice, “a man’s never made you...” she didn’t say the words as if realizing how taboo the conversation was, especially in front of a man. You cringed, the awkwardness crashing over you like a tidal wave.

“Forget I said anything,” you said, rising hastily. Before he could even think, Arthur’s hand shot out to grab your wrist. He let go just as fast as he’d caught it, but the rough touch of his fingers lingered on your skin like embers in a smoldering fire.

“Hey now, where you running off to?”

You smoothed your skirts and gazed down at him, “far away to not make a further fool of myself.”

Arthur chuckled, organized his chips with one hand, and stroked his beard with the other.

“Sounds like the fellers you’ve been friendly with ain’t worth their salt. They should be the ones embarrassed."

Neither of you tore your eyes from the other for a long while. Finally, you let out a breath and a doubtful sigh. “Maybe,” you murmured, then pointed over your shoulder at the bar. “How about another drink?”

Arthur joined you for your first and only drink of the night, then had himself another and another. Over time, you’d learned that Arthur was day or night when he was drunk. Tonight, he was all sunshine, laughing louder than usual and leaning too close when he spoke. In all his attention, you’d let yourself forget about your previous self-reproach.

Completely inebriated now, he tugged on your hand, pulling you away from the bar and back towards the piano, his chipped-toothed smile lighting up his whole face. You let him haul you towards the lively music, shocked by his sudden excitement to dance with you. This dance was different from the first; you were acutely aware of how his heavy hand settled firmly on your hip and the way he looked through you with yearning eyes.

“What happened to ‘I’m not much of a dancer’?” you asked as he twirled you to the music.

He didn’t respond, only dipped you and laughed when you yelped at the sudden pull of gravity. You clutched his forearms, trying to keep yourself from toppling over; you both fumbled a bit, him in his drunkness, trying to keep you both steady. With a quick yank, he pulled you back up against him, your bosom flush against his chest. You joined his laughter and decided chairs were much safer than the makeshift dance floor.

Jenny’s voice broke through your laughter as she and Lenny passed by on their way out. “Never seen you dance like that, Arthur,” she teased.

As the night grew older, the energy in the saloon dwindled, as did the number of people inside. The remaining caravan of outlaws rode back to camp, leaving just you and Arthur behind. Your conversations with the cowboy had moved past reminiscing about the good ole days and lighthearted banter to something more quiet and intimate. Listening to him talk, even drunk off his ass, was like floating downstream on a lazy river, easy and impossible to resist.  

Sleepiness crept up on you, a yawn escaping mid-conversation; Arthur caught the contagious inhale like a passing train, his own yawn following close behind. Heading back to camp was the smart idea, but it was clear that Arthur was too drunk to even consider mounting a horse. He didn’t argue when you convinced him to get a room for the night.

“You’re lucky. Last key left,” the barkeep informed him, sliding the key across the counter. You started to step away, but Arthur’s hand found your wrist again, just like it had earlier in the night. He didn’t move this time, though, his grip steadfast and purposeful. Then he brought you in close, close enough to smell the leather of his hat, the cigarette smoke in his coat, and the whiskey on his breath. Great lakes glimmered down at you, full of longing and quiet intensity.

“Come with me.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder as he slid his hands into yours. Though his forwardness and touch weakened your legs, you tangled your arm in his to ensure he was steady. Chuckling to himself at the sudden role reversal, he dipped his head, his face close to yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, close to your ear. Goosebumps formed on your arms, like raindrops rippling across a stream. Then, you shivered when his head fell into the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, breathing you in with closed eyes. “And you smell so nice.”

Every fiber of your being fought to keep your composure; you didn't want him to move. You wanted to feel his lips on your skin and his hands in your hair. But you couldn’t be sure of his feelings—not with the whiskey clouding his thoughts and his words slurred from the bottle.

“Thank you, Mister Morgan.” You laughed to ease your nerves as you pulled him along to the stairs.

“No—” he said, shaking his head defiantly, “not Mister. Morgan, just Arthur,” he insisted, “unless you want to be Missus Morgan.”

A self-assured smile unfolded on his face as his boot made contact with the first step. “You’d be a fine Missus Morgan,” he slurred, one hand still in yours, the other clutching the railing for support.

You tried to trudge on, but Arthur wouldn’t, standing stiff as if the wood had turned to concrete. When you turned to face him, you expected that same smile you’d heard in his voice a second ago, but this time, his mouth was set in a deep line, and his eyes were not on yours but fixated on your mouth. He folded his lips inward, afraid he’d lose the ounce of control he had left if he stared at yours too long.  

His chest rose in a deep sigh, and his voice came out quiet, a passing shadow in the night, “I mean it.”

Your pounding heart tried desperately to burst out of your chest. It pounded against your rib cage hard, as if escaping would relieve the unbearable pressure his words built within you. Tentatively, you tore your gaze away, patting his hand with your free one.

“C’mon, Arthur,” you said gently. Ignoring him felt safest, so you did, focusing on getting him to the room despite your heart hammering at his words.

When you finally reached the door, he reluctantly ripped his hand away from yours like a magnet being pulled from metal. The gunslinger drunkenly fumbled with the key for a moment and paused before twisting the knob.

“I’d treat you right,” he said, his back turned to you. “Treat you better than any of those fools–– Treat you how you deserve.” He looked back at you as the last of his words fell from his lips.

“Arthur, you’re drunk,” you said with a half-smile, pushing you both through the door. He disassembled himself like a tornado blowing through the room. His gun belt went first, hitting the floor with a clank, then it was his bandoleer, satchel, coat, boots, and socks right after that. When he was free of all his equipment, he flopped down on the bed with shut eyes.

“Might be drunk, but I ain’t a liar,” he mumbled, then chuckled, “not to you, anyway.”

Reaching for his hat, you took it off for him and set it aside on the nightstand.

“If you still feel that way when you’re not swimming in whisky, let me know, Mister. Morgan."

He grunted assuredly, then turned to face you, opening his heavy lids.

“I said just call me Arthur,” he insisted. You didn’t say anything–– just stared back at him. He spoke after another second, “always felt that way 'bout you,” he admitted, a look of quiet vulnerability washing over his features. Your legs wobbled like a newborn foal, but you stood firm.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” you said, shifting to leave.

“Wait." His voice came out fast and unsure. You froze and turned back to him, “would you stay with me if I asked?” And those sad, sad eyes made your chest ache. If he wasn't drunk off his ass, your silence would've unnerved him, but he was too far gone to notice.

He'd lost the fight against his eyes, and they were closed again. His hand fell limply over the edge of the bed, calloused fingers opening up to you.

“Shouldn't be on the trail by yerself in the middle of the night.”

And he was right; it was dangerous and stupid for anybody to be on the road so late at night, especially a lone woman.

“Can get my own room,” you stammered.  

Arthur sighed deeply and desperate, running out of ways to convince you.

"No," he swallowed, "no, you can't."

And you’d remember the barkeep telling Arthur he was lucky to have secured the last room key as everybody sought shelter from the storm. “Just stay 'til I'm asleep,” he cut into your thoughts, "to make sure I don’t do anything stupid. Can’t have the camp golden boy out of commission now, can we? Who’s do all the heavy liftin', robbin', and killin' if I'm laid up with a broken arm?”

You didn’t argue anymore. The truth was you’d wanted to spend every moment with him. You wanted his arm back around you, and you wanted to relish in his laughter. He had that effect on you, both drunk and sober.

“Fine," you tried to hide your smile, "but only til you fall asleep.”

Bliss transformed his face from shadow to light as you strolled to the bed. Arthur shimmied over, giving you space. He laid flat on his back, and you followed suit, hands folded on your stomach, your body mirroring his. Silence fell over the room like fog, and you thought he’d finally gone to sleep. Then he let out another breath of amusement but didn’t open his eyes.

“Yep,” he bellowed, “I tried, you know. Tried to keep away from you. Not because I don't like you, but because I like you too much,” he continued, not giving you a chance to respond. “And I’d–” he paused, what little filter he had left trying to stop him, but it wasn't enough. “I’d bed you right too. Damn those bastards that had you and didn’t do it right. I’d do it right."

You froze for a long while, trying to build the courage to face him. Words were lost to you, but you rolled over to face him anyway. Mouth agape, his chest rose and fell with the cadence of sleep. Disappointment fell heavy on your chest as you adjusted your eyes to look at him, to really look at him like you'd never been able to. He was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen; the sentiment would've made him laugh if he could've heard it. You returned to your back, willing your feet to move, but they didn't. Before you knew it, you were fast asleep beside him, lulled by the crackle of the fireplace and his deep breaths. It was the first time years that you'd slept through the night.

Part II, III

[kittenwritesstuff]

Drunk in love

Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Rumplestiltskin/ Mr. Gold x reader Genres: mention of alcohol, awkwardness, mild fluff Words: 1.505 Summary: Reader has a one too many drinks which gives her courage to confess her feelings for Gold. Next morning, she has to face the shame - requested by Anonymous

“Don’t do iiit, honey,” Ruby warns, her voice a bit slurred. You’ve been having a girls’ night, you and Emma deciding that after a week of various unexpected events you should finally relax and you definitely earned a drink. Or two.

So, you invited Mary Margaret and Ruby to a club and the four of you are now more or less drunk. And, given that alcohol usually makes it easier to open up, Ruby asked a question about your current love interests.

Mary Margaret only blushed and said she wasn’t interested in anyone in particular. She wasn’t a very good liar but neither of you wanted to embarrass her so you kept your mouths shut.

Ruby confessed that men were more and more boring to her, although she wouldn’t mind hooking up with that cutie sitting by the bar. He was, indeed, good-looking.

Emma mumbled that she had enough of men for the rest of her life and that Henry was her priority at the moment. You’ve never been prouder.

And you… well, tequila definitely went to your head and so, without thinking twice, you told the girl the name of your crush, instantly silencing them all.

After all, nobody would guess that you were head over heels in love with none other than Mister Gold. You can’t tell what precisely made him so irresistible and wanted by you. Maybe it’s his confidence, so close to arrogance? Maybe the way he speaks, that accent of his and smirk, ever present on his face?  

Age difference? Please, those trivial things never bothered you. The cane? You don’t give a damn about it. He makes your knees weak, a shiver to run down your spine and a tiny jolt of nervousness to course through you. Never before has a man succeeded in making you both intimidated and drawn to him.

Yet your shyness prevented you from showing your affection in any way. You couldn’t build up courage to even suggest that you liked him, not to mention straight up asking him out.

But now? you felt bolder than ever! Damn, you swear you can move mountains, what’s scary in texting your crush? What can possibly go wrong?

“Bullshit, Imma do it. Just one text, let me see if he’ll text me back, right?”

“Alright, but only one text,” Emma points a finger at you in what’s supposed to be threatening manner but it ends up utterly funny when she accidently bumps your nose. You giggle, taking your phone out of your jacket’s pocket.

“Here comes big nothin’”

You unlock your cell, ignoring missed calls. They’re not important now – you’re a girl on a mission, one that demands your full focus and all the creativity you can muster after having one too many drinks tonight.

You open a new message thread, choose Gold’s number and bite down at your bottom lip, trying to come up with something, anything.

“Text him something along ‘hey, I’m having a drink, wanna join?’” Ruby suggests but Mary Margaret shakes her head.

“No, that’s too straightforward. Just start with ‘hi, how are you?’”

You roll your eyes at her and start typing.

Gold, are you busy? Have a minute to spare to talk to me?

Emma hums in approval, glancing at your phone from over your shoulder.

“That’s a good one. And no typos, very good.”

“Let’s drink to that!” you call, raising your glass and girls cheer loudly, all of you downing another shot of tequila. You grimace slightly, reaching for your phone, a bit disappointed that there’s no reply yet.

“Chill, girl. C’mon, drink up,” Ruby urges with a wide grin and you smile back as she fills your glass. Gosh, you really needed it.

Ten minutes later, as Emma’s venting about Regina and her bossing around, refusing to see Henry and overall, how hard it is to be a sheriff, you check your phone. There’s still no text from Gold, so you decide to send another one.

Blinking to focus your gaze on the screen and the keyboard, you let your thumbs click on the letters.

Ive something 2 tell yuo. Gold, mssg m bakc.

After another shot of tequila you’re not 100% certain whether you sent him more texts or was it just your imagination.

_____

“Oh, poor thing,” Granny says with a hint of amusement in her voice as you step into the diner, your pale face and pained expression telling enough about how much fun you had the previous night.

“Can I get a coffee, please? Like, a lot of it?”  you ask meekly as you slide into a booth, resting your head in your hands. Thank heavens that Emma called a day off today and that Sundays are usually very lazy. You don’t even want to imagine what a efficient cop you’d make today.

“Coffee, scrambled eggs and bacon.”

A plate is put in front of you, after it a large cup with steaming black liquid joins the party and a feeling of gratefulness rushes through you.

“Granny, you’re an angel,” you say fondly and she flashes you a soft smile before returning after the counter.

You take the cup in your hands and blow off the steam few times before taking a careful sip. You sigh with content, feeling much better and frown when your phone vibrates, notifying you about new message. You take it out of your pocket and, much to your horror, there’s a message from Gold.

“Shit,” you murmur, your eyes growing wide and your skin becoming almost white as you look through the text you sent him the previous night. And there was definitely more that those two you remember.

10:39pm - Why r u not massagin me backc, Gold? Am waitin.

10:53pm - Emma says im a fool but im only a fool for u.

10:53pm - Shit

10:55pm - I didnt mean t tell it. listen can we meeeet? I can explain/

11:12pm - Okaay, u dont wanna talk, I get it. but I need u to kno that ive a crush on u.

11:37pm - Gold, pls, say somethn.

11:41pm – dammit. key, forget it.

1:58am – goodnight, Gold.

9:14am – Did you get home safe, Y/N?

You stare at the screen as if the evidence of your shameful behavior can magically wipe itself from your phone, Gold’s phone, yours and his memory and, overly, the history of the world, but it remains there, unchanged.

You heave out a sigh, take another sip of the coffee and with pounding heart you type a response.

Yes.

Are you still in a mood to talk?

Honestly, I want the Earth to swallow me rn.

That would be an unspeakable loss, dearie :)

“The hell?” you murmur, not really understanding what he meant. Is he mocking you? Having fun with you? You can easily visualize him with a smirk on his face as he toys with you, putting you in more and more misery.

But then again… he doesn’t seem to be a man who’d play with other’s feelings.

Y/N, would you mind if I joined you for a breakfast?

Your heart skyrockets as a cold shiver runs down your spine. You’re both excited and terrified but the mixture somehow makes you bolder and so you reply.

Sure, but I look like crap. Feel warned.

I’ll be there in a moment.

You barely put your phone away when the door opens, the bell rings and you will yourself from running in that instant. You lower your head and squeeze your eyes shut, when a figure takes a seat opposite you.

“You lied,” he remarks, his tone hinted with humor and you jerk your head up to look at him.

“What?”

“You don’t look like crap. Quite the opposite, to be honest.”

“Damn, you’re blind? I have the worst hangover ever and I feel like dying, but that’s really nice of you, mister Gold.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Also, about those messages-“

You groan silently, hiding your face in your hands, too ashamed to even glimpse at him. You hear him sigh but he continues.

“- I’m not going to forget it, as you suggested. I’m fluttered that a girl like you harbored a crush on somebody like me but-“

“No, don’t finish it,” you whine and Gold chuckles, noting that you look absolutely adorable when embarrassed. He gently reaches for one of your hands and reveals half of your face.

“Y/N, I just want to ask if you stand by what you texted last night? You’re sober and we can act as if nothing happened, if what you said was untrue.”

“It was, errr…. It was true,” you say quietly, feeling your cheeks warm up with a blush and, much to your relief, Gold smiles brightly, his eyes wrinkling a little.

“Well then… would you do me an honor and go for a dinner with me tomorrow?”

A grin makes its way onto your lips as you fold your hands on your lap, fixating your eyes on Gold.

“Gladly.”

[isdalinarhot]

So so so so so sad when you realize hey hey hey rn I am soooooo unspeakably drunk like it’s ridiculous. But you can’t use that to get stat bonuses or whatever. You just use those to be face down on the table while some really sexy cocktail takes center stage. Or something. As you may understand I am standing on the precipice between”wasted” and “blackout drunk” and as such may not be coherent. You know how it is with spaghetti