#alcohol impact

[ujusttry]

5 Harmful Foods for Memory That You Should Avoid Today

Harmful foods for memory can silently sabotage your cognitive abilities, leading to forgetfulness and even long-term memory issues. In this article, we’ll uncover the five worst foods for your memory and provide healthier alternatives to help you maintain a sharp and healthy brain. Whether you’re looking to improve your diet or just curious about the connection between food and memory, this…

[yaoimanpussy]

[catscidr]

// the fatui's alcohol tolerance and drinking habits //  

i. note — after writing this post i started thinking about how the other harbingers would tolerate alcohol and then.... but this is also because of a lovely commenter on ao3, thank u pookie for enabling me ♡ ii. includes — all of the harbingers + pierro and the tsaritsa. gn!reader iii. cw — not proofread, alcohol, various fuckery and headcanons. crack. that's it iv. wc — 1,2k

丑角/Pierro, The director. 

-> tolerance: 8/10, high.   -> habits: has an entire wine cellar in the zapolyarny palace and owns a vineyard southern of snezhnaya. one of his hobbies consist of wine-testing; he’s the kind of person to cleanse his palate with a small sip that he swooshes in his mouth, then swirls his glass to observe the coat, sniffs the wine, takes another sip- you get it. if you asked, he would recommend you a wine based on your taste. you want something sweet but not dry? try dessert wines. want something a little more on the bitter side? get yourself a malbec from argentina. 

he hates anything that isn��t wine. don’t even try to give him a beer, he’ll look down at you with the most vicious glare you’ll feel sorry for being born. 

队长 /Il Capitano, The first. 

-> tolerance: 10/10, very high.  -> habits: doesn’t see the point of drinking so he never has a glass in his hands from his own volition. if he’s drinking it’s either because some coworkers managed to get him to come out for drinks, because he caught one of his agents drinking on the job and decided to have a drink as well, or because you convinced him to drink with you. 

his drink of choice is literally just any hard liquor, he doesn’t really care for taste. everyone is under the impression that he can’t get drunk, but some people just take it as an invitation to try to get him shitfaced (it never works out). 

博士/Il Dottore, The second. 

-> tolerance: 3/10, very low.  -> habits: never drinks and doesn’t see the point in it anyways, because it’ll only hinder his cognitive functions (you tried convincing him that he can get different perspectives that way. you were swiftly rewarded with a flick on the forehead). on top of that, he just can’t really handle alcohol so why purposely leave himself vulnerable like that. he didn’t care enough to give himself a higher tolerance for it when he modified his body, apparently. would probably be the designated driver if he went out to a bar (if he were invited in the first place. if he accepted the invitation, second.) 

the kind of person to get weirdly tipsy after two white claws. 

少女/Columbina, The third. 

-> tolerance: ?/10. What.  -> habits: o̴̻̒f̴̭͋f̵̣͝ė̵͎r̴̻̄ĭ̵̙ñ̶̥g̸͙͋ ̵̦͆ḫ̸̏e̷̺̊r̶̳̈́ ̴͖̓ä̷͖ ̷͓͆d̴̜̆r̴̡̄i̷̪͝n̵͕͂k̵̠̄ ̴͈̈́ŵ̵̭ȉ̶̺l̸̩̃l̵̲̈́ ̵͖͝ö̸̪n̸̘͝l̸̺̈ỹ̷̹ ̴͑͜ṡ̸̞p̵̪͆e̶͈̊l̵͈͌l̶̜͗ ̵̣̌y̵̢͒ŏ̴͔u̴̹͐ŗ̶̀ ̶͎̈d̶̥͑ö̷̧o̶͓̕m̵̘̃.̷̡̽ ̵͙̐ý̴̟o̸̻͝u̵̳͘ ̶̙́s̴̠̿h̶̡͋a̴̫͊l̶̮̾l̷̳̃ ̷͓͝n̶͕͝o̶̢̓ț̵̏ ̶̞͋w̷̹͝i̶̦̚ṫ̴̪n̸̖̉e̶̢͝s̸̝̕s̸͉͒ ̵̗̈́h̸͜͝ě̵̝r̷͙̉ ̶̭̃h̵͍͒o̶̠̅l̸̗͂i̴̞̕n̷͚̓ẽ̴͙s̵̙̀s̵̖̄ ̷̟͐ć̵͈ó̴̭n̴̙̾s̶̠͋ũ̷̙m̷̬̈́ì̷ͅn̶̯͛g̸̯̔ ̴̨͝t̶͙̕h̴̢͝e̵͔̋ ̵̖̀d̵̖͛ë̷͖́v̵̯͂ii̵͖̿q̵̯̽ŭ̴̺o̶͖̔r̵̠̒.̶̺͒ ̵̙͘l̵͑͜e̸̖͗a̷̞͝v̷̉ͅe̵̮̕ ̸̦̎h̸̩̎e̴̪̐r̸̰̀ ̷̩͠b̷̛̥ĕ̸ͅ ̸̪͒e̴̜͂l̸͖̄s̴͖̆ẽ̷̝ ̸̘͘y̸̹̋ô̴̺ṷ̷̓r̸̭̈́ ̸̜̅l̶͖̾i̵͇͘f̵͉̔e̵̜̚s̷̖̏p̴̫̈́ä̷̬́n̷͔͌ ̴̰̑w̵͝ͅȋ̶̫l̶̛̯ḷ̸͒ ̸̡̊s̷̹͠h̶̭͋o̶̹͆r̵̮͂t̵̥̽é̴̡ṉ̷͌ ̶͕̑ĉ̸̰ǫ̶̈́n̶̔͜s̸̺̃i̷͌͜d̸͚̂e̵̺͊r̸̺̄ą̸̆b̷̲͘ḻ̸̎y̶̠͂.̴̣̉ 

in her free time, she likes to practice her bartending skills, like making fresh piña coladas! 

仆人/Arlecchino, The fourth. 

-> tolerance: 8/10, high.  -> habits: likes to unwind with a glass of wine in her office while overlooking a multitude of paperwork. never drinks enough to get tipsy, but she could if she were surrounded by the right company...? if she wanted to, she could probably enter a drinking competition and win, though. whatever that means 

has let some children of the house of the hearth try wine. finds the grimaces they pull after a sip very amusing 

公鸡/Pulcinella, The fifth. 

-> tolerance: 6/10, moderate.  -> habits: the kind of man to drink wine with his meals, but he won’t have more than one and a half—two if he’s feeling particularly pent up. his tolerance isn’t that good because of his weight, unsurprisingly.  he doesn’t get invited to go out for drinks because he always ends up indulging just a bit too much. he then acts like a disappointed dad to everyone in the vicinity.

0/10 don’t bring him to a bar unless you want to be scolded for breathing.

国崩/Scaramouche, The sixth. 

-> tolerance: 4/10, low.  -> habits: hates alcohol but is weirdly competitive when it comes to it, if he’s with the right people. sort of. although alcohol doesn’t affect him in the same way it does regular people, it still makes him feel gross enough to not want to be near it. if he had to pick a drink it would be something like an aperol spritz. he’d wait like thirty minutes before drinking it, letting the bubbles fizz out a bit. hates the “taste” of carbonation with a passion.

don’t even try to get him to try give him a beer, he’ll turn it into a molotov cocktail 

木偶/Sandrone, The seventh. 

-> tolerance: 4/10, low.  -> habits: similar to il dottore, she hates drinking because it impairs her genius mind, but she’ll go out if only to make fun of drunk people (it rarely ever happens anyways). if she’s stuck with a drink in her hands for some reason, she’ll make the dapper ruin guard that’s at her side dispose of it for her. 

will it literally throw it away or will it dispose of it in a less destructive way? don’t stick around to find out. 

淑女/La Signora, The eighth. 

-> tolerance: 8/10, high.  -> habits: similar to arlecchino, she enjoys a good red wine occasionally. the only difference is that she needs to have it while bathing in the most expensive bath salts accompanied by so many candles it would be a hazard for her lungs. the queen of being a diva, has perfected the art of swirling wine in a glass while listening to jazzy music. 

absolutely adores dandelion wine; she always buys crates upon crates despite the ridiculous import fees. has one from so long ago you’re surprised the bottle hasn’t disintegrated yet—the name Rostam is engraved into it. 

富人/Pantalone, The ninth. 

-> tolerance: 7/10, moderate.  -> habits: probably the only normal one out of the bunch (which says a lot). whenever he drinks he always ends up tipsy, and when he’s tipsy, that façade he wears crumbles at the speed of light. gone are the strained fake smiles for politeness’ sake, in are the loud, angry rants about annoying clients. he won’t stop until his voice starts straining from usage. 

his go-to drink is literally whatever expensive wine he can get his hands on; he’ll drink with pierro and analyze wines, on occasion. don’t join them, you’ll die of boredom. 

公子/Tartaglia, The eleventh. 

-> tolerance: 9/10, very high. Debatable.  -> habits: you wouldn’t believe that he can handle alcohol better than most people because every time he drinks, he always gets shitfaced. he’ll insist he’s just testing his limits and building a higher tolerance. don’t bring him out for drinks with il capitano, he’ll inhale 5 shots of fire water in a couple of minutes to “convince” the first that he’s strong. it never works. 

probably the best person to go to a bar with, if you manage to go on a day where he didn’t wake up with the urge to get so stupidly plastered that he’ll try to fight every single man in the building. don’t let him try to show off, there aren’t many bars left that haven’t banned him yet. 

Царица , The Tsaritsa. 

-> tolerance: ?/10. What²  -> habits: ṯ̵̿ḧ̸̤́i̷̹͊s̴̠͐ ̷̧̍i̵̦͝ṡ̴̼ ̵̪͛ä̶̙́n̵͙͆ ̴͆ͅȃ̶͓s̵̜̅s̴̫̀a̵͑ͅs̵̡̓s̷͇̈́í̷̹n̷͕͠a̷̛̱ṱ̴͘i̷̡̕ō̴̻ń̷ͅ ̶͍̃a̵̧͝ṭ̶͝t̶̮̏e̴͉͑m̵̮̈p̵̰̕t̶̼̔.̸̯͆ ̵̗̔y̵̖͝ó̶̡u̶͇͑ ̵̜͌ẁ̶̘ï̵̢l̶̥̈l̶̲͐ ̴̩̔b̴̪͋e̸͎͌ ̷̲̑p̷̲̋r̴̦͐o̷̙͐m̵̟͝p̴͔͛t̷͔̂l̶̪̏y̶̖͂ ̶͊ͅd̵͉̓ỉ̵͔s̵̩̕p̴͖͐o̶͈͘s̵͌ͅḛ̴͂d̶̺̊ ̴̯̓ơ̵̺f̶̠́ ̵̈́͜a̴͙̎t̵̠͋ ̵̲̈ō̵͉n̴̨̒c̸̭͛ê̵͎.̶͓͘ ̵͇̃y̷̡̆ő̵͍ű̸̮ ̸̙͌c̶͈̔ȧ̷̳n̴͍̎ṅ̵͖ŏ̷̪t̵͉͝ ̸̩̇r̷͈̈́u̷͍͝n̷͔̿.̵̮͘ ̷͕̈́w̸̼̄h̴̥̏ý̵̘ ̷͇̀d̶͉̋ii̷̭̎n̶͙̎k̷̢̀ ̵̢̐c̷̣̀o̴͖̍ḿ̵̹i̵̥͘n̵̲̈g̸̫̒ ̵̠̏iͅií̷͎ť̴̻t̷̛̠y̴̟͝ ̴͖̑c̶͔̎o̴̮̽r̷̬̐ñ̴͖e̶͙͒ŕ̵̥ ̴͈̾s̶̙͊t̶̛̫ò̸̲r̶̺͊e̶̮͆ ̶̣̃b̷̰͘ḙ̴͘e̸̖̕ṛ̸̏ ̵̖̓ẃ̷̞a̷͕͐s̶̳͆ ̵̘̾a̶͔̓ ̵̣͛g̴̰͐o̴͕̊o̵̲̾d̸̦̔ ̴͓͗i 

drinks wine with la signora and arlecchino sometimes! their girls' nights only happen once in a blue moon and she doesn’t drink much, but she enjoys the slight buzz from a good red wine nonetheless. 

[mlady-magnolia]

“Let’s just… watch how much we drink, alright?”

[pochiikou]

[aha-chuu]

Things Wriothesley has canonically done (according to his voiceline leaks)

"escaped" from his foster home as a child (Fontaine has a bad track record with orphans)

Been homeless

Killed his foster parents (??) (apparently for good reason)

Picked a new name from an obituary (bonus points for knowing it would be hard to pronounce and going for it exactly for that reason & more dramatic reasons)

Spent almost half his life in prison

Finessed the prison trading system so hard that he became richer than all the other inmates combined

Wrote a book in prison about working out (it's very popular?? Okay, babe)

Successfully turned all the other inmates against the adminstration after the warden took all of Wriothesley's money

Beat the warden in an honourable duel (allowed by even the other guards), until the warden fled the prison

Did that on his final day, meaning there was no head administrator to sign Wriothesley's release forms

Walked into the warden's office, signed off his own release and immediately took over the job

(everyone just accepted this???? What kind of job market?????)

Made the prison so profitable that he was awarded the title of "Duke" by Neuvillette for his contributions to the economy

Hid his vision for his entire prison sentence, all the way to until becoming a duke

Is now just insanely rich. Joining the Ayato & Diluc club??

Went swimming in diluted primordial water (hun????? Go to the doctor????)

[synqiri]

LOVE STORY.

or, the two times he saves you and the one time you return the favour.

PAIRING: diluc x gn!reader

WARNINGS: alcohol, blood

WORDCOUNT: 3.1K || CONTENT: idiots in love, friends to lovers, fluff, healer!reader, reader has a geo vision, confessions

NOTES: this is so cliché i adore him

“alright, that should do it,” you announce cheerily, patting lumine on the shoulder. the golden glow from the after-effects of your powers fade away, and all that’s left from her wound is a faint scar. “how do you feel?”

she smiles. “much better. thank you.”

“we got you a gift!” paimon exclaims, practically vibrating with excitement. “as a gift for always healing us! paimon picked it out herself.”

you watch curiously as lumine produces something from her bag — a cute, little wooden birdhouse to be precise. handmade, you note, with intricate carvings of flowers by its edges. it would look absolutely perfect hung on your balcony. dawn and eve would appreciate the new furniture as well.

“i love it,” you say, thanking them. they really didn’t have to, yet it was touching all the same. “though, as a doctor, the best way you can repay me is by being more careful. please, try not to get hurt so much?”

lumine laughs sheepishly, and you can’t help but sigh fondly. you’d see her in your clinic at least thrice a week whenever she was in mondstadt. thankfully, her injuries were usually rather minor, and you’d always send her off with something cool to drink and a ‘safe travels!’

“i’ll try,” she replies softly, standing as she does. “we’ll get out of your hair now.”

after seeing her off, you slip into the backroom of your clinic and up the stairwell leading to your home. lumine had been the last patient of the afternoon, and you’d hear the bell ring if there was anyone at the front door, so you’d have enough time to set up the new birdhouse.

your two songbirds chirp as you enter your balcony. you click your tongue at them. “i fed the both of you this morning already. no more for today.”

it wasn’t a very big balcony — just enough for a small table and two chairs on one side, a few potted plants and your pets’ furniture on the other. setting the birdhouse down, you head inside to grab a ladder and your toolbox. 

“lumine and paimon got this for you,” you tell them, gesturing to the birdhouse, pushing the ladder against the wall. “remember to thank them the next time you see them.”

dawn tweets in reply. what a good boy. 

he’s coloured a deep and elegant red, whilst eve was the colour of sand and soft dusk. you named them both to match their feathers when you got them a few years back. as a treat to yourself, you remember, to celebrate when you received your vision.

you get right into it. up the ladder, nail and hammer in hand. though, of everything you’d expect to happen afterwards, you’d never expect it to be seeing diluc.

a grin lights up your face immediately, and when he spots you, you raise a hand to wave at him.

“you’re not working at the winery today?” you ask. you have to crane your neck sideways and your head downward to face him, but it works despite the odd angle. 

he shakes his head, arms crossed. “i’ve completed all there is to do. be careful. focus on the task at hand, lest you fall.”

“it’s fine, i’ve got it,” you reply, waving his warning away. you give the ladder a few firm slaps, standing on your toes to lean over the railing slightly. “the ladder’s sturdy enough! i won’t —”

you fall.

it happens faster than you can scream — you lose your footing, stomach colliding into the rails, and instead of toppling backwards, you fall out the balcony. you can hear your ladder crashing, and at least two of your pots shatter. you bring your arms to your head, bracing yourself —

but you don't hit the floor.

“are you alright?”

his gaze is pinned on you, brows slightly furrowed, and you can feel his hands around your body. they're warm. oh my god.

you blink, dumbstruck.

“you’re really strong.”

reality hits you like a freight train, and you practically leap out of his arms in sheer mortification. gods, you're a goner. why in the world —

“— fine! i'm fine! thanks for saving me,” you chirp, beaming, as if it would erase the last thirty seconds of the horrifying ordeal that is your life. you pat down your clothes, sparing a glance at your wrecked balcony. you wince. “probably should've listened to you, huh…?”

“it's nothing. what matters most is that you are uninjured,” he says. his eyes flick over your body, and swear you can almost feel the warmth of it. “what were you doing?”

“putting up a birdhouse — it was a gift from the traveller,” you explain. huffing, you shrug. “i wish she’d be more careful. i’m pretty sure she just throws herself at her enemies half the time.”

he chuckles, velvety and rich. “i’m sure it’s only due to her trust in your capabilities as a healer. the traveller has a keen eye for skill.”

it should be illegal for a man to be this charming. though, before you can reply, a frantic clattering resounds from your balcony, and two distinct bird calls can be heard. 

“dear gods, i forgot about dawn and eve. they must be worried sick,” you murmur, bringing a hand to your face.

flashing him an apologetic smile and a quick farewell, you dash back into your home without waiting for his response.

“thanks again!” you call out to him, waving. “i’ll catch up with you next time!”

(hours later, when you have finally cleared the shattered remains of pottery and soothed your rattled pets, you catch sight of diluc once more. he greets you with a faint smile as he enters the clinic, simply checking to see if everything has been settled and if all is well. 

you could swoon. isn’t he thoughtful?)

night has fallen. the air is crisp and the moon is bright whilst you trek through starfell valley, steps light and a song under your breath. you’re harvesting lamp grass that day, and its ethereal blue glow makes it much easier and much more satisfying to pick in the dead of twilight. they're dawn's favourite snack — he wouldn't last a day without them.

though, you didn’t expect that following the trails of lamp grass would lead you right into the midst of a monster camp.

gods, you curse. it seems as if recently, celestia really wanted you dead. or at least decently mangled. what the fuck.

two mitachurls, a few hilichurls, and at least one samachurl… a mitachurl spots you first. it stares, silent and still, and you stare right back. the thing would catch up to you even if you turned on your heel and fled. you weren’t any good at fighting either, especially not against one with a geo shield.

your body seizes. you suck in a sharp, jagged breath. 

you are so dead.

“stay…?” you say hesitantly, both a plead and a command.

it charges —

— and goes right up in flames.

you watch in terrified awe as the entire camp is set aflame, the raging fire scalding against your skin. stumbling backwards, you trip, and the embers lick at your feet. firm arms snake around your body then, one on your back and the other supporting your legs, scooping you off the floor and away from what was once a monster camp.

you’re heaving, breaths nothing but short, shaky gasps, grip tight on your saviour’s coat. oh gods. you nearly died.

your feet hit the ground gently, and you’re thankful that they do not give way. staggering toward the closest tree for support, you can hear the man follow suit. he’s masked, you realise, but his burning eyes reveal his identity immediately. even in the twilight, his hair is ruby as dawn.

“diluc,” you breathe out, surprised and utterly relieved. “oh my god, diluc.”

“all the monsters have been eradicated,” he tells you softly, and though it is nothing but a murmur, you hear it clear as day. “you’re safe now.”

you burst into laughter, and into tears. it’s absolutely mortifying, yet you can’t seem to stop. sniffling, you accept the handkerchief he produces from his coat, rubbing your eyes and blowing your nose. voice thick, you chuckle. “sorry, sorry… i just — give me a second.”

“take your time,” he says. “you have no reason to apologise.”

you know you’d be eternally grateful for how patient he’s being with you. he gives you all the time in the world to collect yourself, and offers you nothing but wordless comfort. you feel much better already. 

“y'know,” you start conversationally, “this is the second time i've ended up in your arms like that. it's like you're my knight in shining armour.”

grinning, you glance up at him only to note he's removed his mask. what was up with that mask, anyway? you’re curious, so you ask him as much.

he had been infiltrating and clearing out a fatui base in the area, he explains, and how he ran into you along the way. woah. how impressive.

“do you do this a lot?” you ask.

he nods. “i do. the safety and security of mondstadt is one of my utmost priorities.”

you nod along with him, until the pieces slide into place and create the perfect masterpiece of a puzzle. the mask, the vigilantism and the chivalry…

“wait. so, you're the darknight hero?!”

at that, he cringes minutely. a sigh leaves his lips then, and an exasperated acceptance graces his face. “i see you've heard of that moniker as well.”

“who hasn't? don't worry! i'll keep your superhero identity a secret,” you announce proudly, even placing a hand over where your heart would be as emphasis. “my lips are sealed.”

he sighs again, but this time, it’s softer, gentler. “let's go. i'll walk you back to your home.”

though, you don't end up going home. you find out he's headed to angel's share, and it's then and there you decide you deserve a drink too. you had survived enough scares for a lifetime, you think. you part ways at the entrance — for he slips into the tavern through the backdoor whilst you use the front.

kaeya greets you the moment you enter, gesturing for you to sit by him at the bar.

“i'd never expect to see you tonight,” he says smoothly, a charming smile on his face. when diluc enters the scene, his gaze only flickers for a brief moment. “it must be my lucky day.”

you beam. “nah, it must be mine. how have you been?”

the captain buys you your first drink, and you fall into conversation easily. it's been far too long since you've talked with kaeya, you muse, that you’ve forgotten how much you missed being his friend. 

you don't catch how diluc's gaze strays to you time and time again, but kaeya does.

“say, [name],” kaeya purrs, “have you heard of the darknight hero?”

diluc flinches almost unnoticeably. you chuckle. “i have. i've heard donna go on and on about the man for hours. why?”

“nothing much. i was simply wondering what you think of it all.”

the grin that stretches across your face is utterly radiant. your head is propped up by your arm now, your body half-draped along the bar. dreamily, you sigh, “i think he's dashing.”

kaeya throws his head back and laughs.

(later, when you have finally retired for the night, kaeya eyes his brother knowingly. there's a smile on his face, genuine and sly all at once. 

“why, you really ought to thank me, don't you think?”

diluc huffs, drying a wine glass as he does. “there is nothing to thank. [name]’s opinion of the darknight hero is not any of your doing.”

“funny, i don’t recall mentioning if i was talking about them?”

checkmate. diluc scowls, and he knows he's won. his brother glances away, but kaeya knows better than to read his feelings at mere surface level. diluc is smitten — there is no doubt about that.

there would be no explanation for the small, secretive smile on diluc's face in response to your earlier comment otherwise.)

it is nearly closing time when lumine seems to have found herself in your clinic once more. what’s more surprising is the man that shuffles in with her, but apart from being a little worse for the wear, he looked to be alright.

faintly relieved, you turn your attention on her instead, directing her onto a bed. “what’s happened this time?”

“she sprained an ankle,” paimon supplies helpfully. “we were battling the cryo regisvine when diluc came to help us!”

“i was in the area,” diluc adds in, by way of explanation. his arms are crossed, you note, which would have usually been perfectly normal if not for how stiffly he is carrying himself. hm.

“diluc,” you say. his gaze flicks towards you immediately. “i have to talk to you about something later.”

he dips his head in reply, and you make quick work of healing lumine’s ankle, bandaging it up just in case. “be careful with it — an ankle is always easiest to sprain the second time.”

she smiles, saying her thanks, and the pair bid you farewell as swiftly as they had come. you pin your gaze onto diluc then, before he can ask about what you wished to say.

“it’s your turn now, c’mon.” you pet the bed the bed the traveller had just used, tone firm. “on your back. take off your coat too.”

gods, you think, wincing when he does as you say obediently. he reeks of blood.

the wound bad, in all sense of the word. you don’t know how exactly it is that his coat had survived, but it’s apparent the rest of his undershirt and skin had not. a large gash runs from his shoulder to the tail of his back, bruised and bloody with frostbite. he had been caught off guard when the traveller injured herself, he explains.  

“how were you still standing?” you say, horrorstruck. 

your fingers brush against the bruising, and he lets out a shuttered breath. “it is nothing i haven’t endured.”

“but that doesn’t make it okay,” you murmur, and you don’t think he hears you, for he says nothing in reply.

crystals of geo form on his back, encasing the injury with a golden sheen. it would take a while to fully heal, you tell him, as it did for every other major wound. 

“first lumine, now you?” you laugh, though it is out of incredulity rather than genuine amusement. “my heart’s gonna give out at this rate.”

“my apologies,” he replies, pushing himself to sit upright. there’s a smile on his face, a small, rueful one. “i… never thought you’d notice. nor did i expect you to be this concerned.”

just what does he think of you? you instruct him to turn his back to you, giving you easier access to his wound. he doesn’t flinch and doesn’t make a sound when you bring a warm, damp cloth to his skin, but you can tell it’s a near thing. 

“why wouldn’t i be worried for you?” you ask. you try not to let the hurt and confusion bleed into your words, keeping your voice steady and calm. “i know we haven’t been as close since your father… well, i know we haven’t been as close in the recent years but — but i’ve never once stopped caring about you.”

honestly, you couldn’t blame him. ever since crepus’ passing and diluc’s three year disappearance, your relationship with him had never been the same. you had even loved him once when the both of you had been teens, you know, madly, irrevocably. maybe you still do, somewhere in the deepest corners of your heart.

“it wasn’t my intention to slight you. i merely…” he starts, trailing off. 

you prompt him to continue, and he sighs. the crystals have all dissolved now, his wound fully healed, but the tinge of redness on his skin has yet to fade, along with a fresh, blotchy scar. it almost blends in with the rest of the scars that decorate his back, you think.

you offer him a spare doctor’s coat to wear, seeing as how his own were ruined, and he accepts it with a murmured thanks. you can’t see the look on his face, but you don’t have to. you know him well enough to imagine.

“you’ve said it yourself that we’ve grown distant. i admit that — that much of it is my fault. i could never blame you if you no longer consider me your friend.”

so, that’s why?  

“you complete fool.”

he startles, gaze darting to face you, but you’ve already gone and thrown your arms around his neck. his arms come around your waist only after a moment’s hesitation, and you laugh. “all this while — you’ve been guilty? diluc, who do you think i am? i wouldn’t stop being your friend just ‘cuz you were going through some things.”

“if anything, i was pissed when you left mondstadt for years without a single letter.” you sigh, leaning backwards ever so slightly to get a good look at his face. gods, you’ve always loved his eyes. they pierce into yours, burning and bright. “and when you came back, i thought you didn’t like how much i changed, which is why… y’know, we stopped talking as much.”

really, a lot had changed ever since crepus died. you got your vision, quit studying theology (sister rosaria had been rather supportive of that), started studying medicine… your parents hadn’t been pleased, but who were they to object?

“on the contrary, i don’t think you changed at all,” he cuts in, almost immediately. “not in any way that mattered. you’re still…”

“still?”

he huffs, glancing away, as if he were bashful. his tone is impossibly soft. “wonderful.”

oh my god. since when did he learn to be this charming? you laugh, delighted and flustered all the same. 

“for the record, i think you’re wonderful too.”

“i’m glad to hear that,” he chuckles, and you can feel it. that could not be good for your heart. 

you release him from the hug, opting to sit by his side instead. it’s been so long since you’ve felt this light. and it is then your stomach chooses to grumble. embarrassingly loud, in fact. diluc doesn’t laugh, but you know damn well he wants to. he checks the time on his watch. 

“it’s already time for dinner,” he says. “would you like to have dinner at the dawn winery? i know adelinde will be delighted to see you.”

“are you asking me out on a date?” you tease. you wouldn’t mind at all if it was, actually.

and he flushes. you’ve never even known his face could be that red. it’s utterly adorable.

“would you — would you like me to?”

grinning, you leap to your feet, offering him a hand. he takes it without hesitation, and his palm is warm in yours.

“definitely! i accept, by the way. c’mon now, let’s go!”

[catcze]

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 ### : 」 Modern AU ish !! GN Reader gets drunk at the club !! But Navia and Clorinde stay with you through it tho, because they're your good friends !! This is literally just humor and reader not recognizing Wrio but gushing over your husband so so much !! Reader swears when drunk bc same lmao

Had a vision. No editing. Feast on this while I feast on my Nissin Bulalo cup noodles.

The moment Wriotheseley steps into the club, he immediately spots you. Even over the painful strobing lights, the sea of dancing bodies, he can single you out a mile away— regardless of the fact that you're slumped over the bar, drunk out of your mind.

"Navia, Clorinde," he greets with a wave, hurrying over. His voice has to be almost a yell to be heard over the loud music.

They sit on either barstool beside you, bracketing you between them. When he approaches, Clorinde hands him your phone, and he knows who he has to thank for the 'come pick your bae up' text. The moment he's close enough, he's already looking you over, making sure you're alright.

"Sweetheart," Wriothesley tries to rouse you, but you just mumble and splay out further on the bar. Your hand knocks into a mostly-emptied glass of what he can only assume was tonight's poison of choice.

"How many—"

"More than five," Navia tells him, grinning sheepishly, just as Clorinde says, "Nine."

Your husband shakes his head fondly, sighing, and turns back to you. "Sweetheart," he tries again, voice a bit louder. He places a heavy hand on your waist, coaxing you up. "Let's g—"

But at the touch, your eyes —still hazy and unfocused on account of the nine drinks you've had— shoot open, and you whirl on him in your seat. If not for the hold he still keeps on your hip, you may have just toppled over. There's a look of unbridled, drunken rage on your face, more comical than actually terrifying.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" you hiss, slurring, as you wrench his hand off of you and fling it away with such contempt that he has to stifle a laugh. "Keep your hands off of the masterpieces, bucko."

Not even giving him a moment to breathe, you shove your left hand in his face, vehemently pointing at the ring that sits on your fourth finger. "I! Am! Married! If I tell my husband that you're out here getting handsy, he's gonna come and kick your ass sooo hard. He's gonna rock your shit, you trick ass bitch, if i don't do it myself!"

Wriothesley shouldn't find this funny— he shouldn't. But Navia and Clorinde and fighting smiles behind their palms themselves, and he can't help the grin that breaks across his face.

"Oh? Is your husband that strong?" He can't help but ask, and you scoff.

"Is he that strong— you wanna find out for yourself? Huh? Wriothesley could— could—" you hiccup, and he has to fight the urge to coo. "He could knock you out with just a flick of his fingers, you know!"

"And is your Wriothesley more handsome than me?"

You turn your nose up at him, scowling. Once, twice, you try to cross your arms in contempt as you drunkenly look him up and down.

"You're alright," you begrudge, "but my Wriothesley is the— the most handsomest man in the world! The fucking prettiest! No one holds a candle to my husband and his broad shoulders and his thick thighs and his... and his adorable smile."

Wriothesley has to bite his lip to control his grin. Navia is fighting for her life to stifle her giggles, and Clorinde hides her amused smile behind a cough.

It's like that loosened your tongue though, and you continue on, oblivious to the embarrassment you'd face the next morning.

"And he— he'll be very upset when he finds out that you're here, hitting on someone who is very happily married to one of the best men on this side of the fucking galaxy, so— so you can fuck off!"

He really, really tries his best to not laugh.

You huff, patting down your pockets and grumbling incoherently about your phone, not even questioning it when Wriothesley hands it back to you himself. It takes only a second of you furiously tapping your screen before his own phone buzzes in his pants.

[Sweetheart ♡]

babe pookie pick e ip plrase im drunk and i wanna go homd snd yhere's this assholr hitting o me love yoy [location attached]

As soon as the texts go out though, you yawn and the energy leaves you in one fell swoop. Wriothesley manages to catch you before you face plant back on the bar and break your nose, maneuvering you to lean into his chest. The fight escaping you, you nuzzle into his black button up, rubbing your face against him like a big cat.

"Mmm. I know that cologne." Blearily, you look up and make eye contact with those pretty, pretty blue eyes, and your face immediately lights up in the most delighted grin. "Wrio!" you gasp, arms coming to wrap around his waist and pull him towards you. You're still drunk, still pretty out of it, but it melts his heart how overjoyed you are to see him.

"Hi sweetheart," he says fondly, running a hand through your hair. Happily, you lean into his touch. "Have a fun time with Navia and Clorinde?"

"Mhm. Missed you though." Then, your eyes pop open and you sit up, looking around furiously as if you're looking for someone. When you don't find this person, you lean in to whisper conspiratorially in his ear— "There was this guy who tried to make the moves on me, you know! But I told him that I'm super duper married and with the bestest husband ever— if you wanna double team him, I'm sure the guy's around here somewhere."

But your husband just chuckles, pulling you back into his embrace. Smoothly, Wriothesley has you wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist so he can easily pick you up and into his arms.

"You two need a ride home?" He asks the two, but they shake their heads.

"Appreciated, but we only split a drink between us," Clorinde says, already standing up alongside Navia. "We'll be fine."

"Get home safe, you two!" The blonde says, waving you off, and that's that.

Wriothesley easily maneuvers the two of you out of the club, you having already fallen asleep on his shoulder. He can hear your soft breaths in his ear and feel the way you cling to him even in your sleep. No doubt you'd have a raging hangover tomorrow, but that's okay— because you'll have him to take care of you, too.

Bonus!!

You wake up to hands down the worst fucking headache in your whole life. Your temple hurts so hard that you swear your head's gonna crack open like an egg. Groaning, you pull the covers over your head and roll over, blotting out the mid-day sunlight as best as you can.

There's a chuckle from the other side of the bed, then weight moving across the sheets— then your husband's face appears in front of you, under the blankets too.

"So, darling sweetheart of mine" he starts, voice soft as to not aggravate your headache, and you're grateful. "What were you saying about my broad shoulders and my thick thighs?"

You're suddenly not as grateful.

Promptly, you kick him out of your blanket cave, and he goes with a laugh. He leaves you grumbling on the bed, cursing out all the drinks you had last night and swearing to never ever ever drink again.

Wriothesley grins, shutting the curtains of your bedroom as he ambles out the door, dead set on getting you water, advil, and something to eat.

Maybe by the end of the day, you'd add 'endlessly doting' to the list.

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

[kaeyacollection]

After much delay, I bring to you this fun lil game:

A silly game where you have five rounds to guess if Diluc SHOULD be there or if he's become a helicopter brother

Answers under the cut 🎉

Yes! Diluc keeps an eye out for abyss movements around Mondstadt, so it's completely reasonable for him to show up while following a lead! (Presumably why Kaeya mentions it being interesting now that Diluc showed up is because it confirms this is a bigger case than some hilichurls gathering)

Yes! He works there! Now if this was questioning ACTIONS, then the dialog it was posted with: "I’m busy today. This glass is my treat, so go home after you finish it." mayyyy have ended up with a different answer

No! If they're there gathering information, then they've gotten real off track 😮‍💨 While they could be genuine friends/informants of Diluc (since we know they've been inside the winery before), Diluc sits furthest away and keeps the conversation on Kaeya once the traveler enters the scene

No!! He's not even pretending here sjdjdjdjdj couldn't find a single beverage? No snack? Just saw Kaeya out day drinking and pulled up a seat?

Okay well now the customers are playing their own game of "where's the bartender?" Cause as you can see there's bottles faaaar in the background behind them, and where's Diluc? Following one patron around. 😤 Aka: No! Get back to the bar 😤😤 at least Rosaria knows where to find the hovering server 😮‍💨

Bonus Round:

You decide!

Points for Yay

He's been personally invited to come after he wrote a speech on their signboard

Diona is a bartender that hates alcohol (and him) while also mixing spectacular drinks, maybe he's there to chat with her

Could have been lured in by a cat

Points for Nay

He scoffed when asked if he had free time

He doesn't drink alcohol and this was (I believe) before the Cats Tail started introducing non-alcoholic beverages and tcg

We've seen this man spin on his heels and leave this exact bar to go chase Kaeya the second he found an excuse to

It always feels like it's Kaeya coming to pester Diluc, but perhaps seeing the ex-captain lingering around so often is the reason why the Knights push for Kaeya to go see him in the first place

(All these islands and dudes gotta stand that close behind his brother? 😮‍💨)

[bobaboob]

you ever wonder what the inciting incident was for diluc's distaste for alcohol?

what happened between the teenager who set kaeya as lookout while he stole them a bottle of wine from crepus and the adult man who never touches it despite being a winery owner and tycoon?

did it start after crepus died, when he presumably took over for him at angel's share? when he served patrons at night, did he see for the first time what it does to people who consume it without restraint? when he sees his father's wine used as a friend, lover, and executioner?

or did it start when he saw how kaeya uses it, burying his pain and grief, while his brother is forced to watch? is it just another obstacle between them as kaeya drinks to forget? as he sends his little brother home in a daze, so drunk he calls him D by mistake?

or did he once drink to forget himself, with a cold bottle on a lifeless, frozen mountain? did he crave the numbness of not feeling at all, the world reduced to white noise? did he wake up half-dead in the snow, not knowing whether he was alive or not and realizing he didn't care?

there's so much unanswered about the sudden switch from his attitude as a child about alcohol to as an adult and i have a feeling it's because diluc associates it with grief. the taste of it, to him, is a face he cannot remember anymore, the features blurry with age, and a time he wishes he could forget, etched in blood.

[zzz1gzag]

4ggravate game nights go well.

(click for better quality!!)

[seakicker]

Could I ask your thoughts on Milf!Reader with either Kaveh and/or Alhaitham?

i decided to go with the or aspect this time but the idea of the and... much to think about. teaching these stupid idiots to share 101. i didn't mean to make alhaitham's milf so loserpilled but now im super into it lol she needs help asap amen. NSFT but just slightly since i didn’t delve too deep into smut with either… this time :p maybe i’ll write some continuations later!

alcohol in both sections, somewhat unrequited (depends on how optimistic you are, I suppose) feelings on reader's part in alhaitham's section, and public sex + drunk sex in kaveh's section below!

You seek Alhaitham out after tiring of the proverbial game of chicken he’s been playing with you these past couple of months. Frankly, you’re not convinced he’s half as into you as you’re into him, if his nonexistent track record of interactions with you is anything to go off of. He’s just the tenant renting out the spare bedroom in your apartment following your two daughters’ departure for college, and you’re just somebody he occasionally pays his rent to and assist with groceries— nothing less, nothing more.

Nothing less, nothing more… but being a single woman in her mid-forties and an empty-nester both already bring about a great deal of loneliness and longing by themselves, but together? One would—and should— call it miserable. Alhaitham largely keeps to himself when he’s home and your schedules don’t line up very well to begin with, so instances where you two cross paths are far and few between, but when the younger man is around, he’s courteous and cordial enough to make a good tenant… albeit a little cluttered.

You harbor a sense of guilt over finding a man just a little older than your collegebound children handsome, but living about a decade alone after divorce leaves you with needs and wants as human as food and water and shelter. Alhaitham is attractive, Alhaitham is polite and curt in a way that suggests a handsome sort of indifference, and you really, really don’t think he cares for you in any regard beyond the professional, but you can’t say your feelings are limited to the same boring boundaries. You want him in ways that are surely inappropriate between a forty-something-year-old woman and a twenty-something-year-old man, but what Alhaitham doesn't know can't hurt him because you are in absolutely no position to tell your tenant how you really feel about him anytime soon.

Except Alhaitham already knows how you feel without you needing to tell him how you really feel about him because you make it so incredibly obvious in ways beyond the verbal. You can't meet his eyes when you greet him, you stumble over at least half of your words every time you attempt to talk to him, and you absolutely refuse to step foot in his room even though you literally own it and, at least in his mind, have every right to access what's yours— though he certainly doesn't mind the privacy. Frankly, he almost considers your behavior entirely unbefitting of a woman your age—what are you, eighteen?— but something about your hesitant demeanor and reluctant way of speaking almost... charms him? No, that's certainly not the right word, he thinks— that would imply he's smitten with you, and he wouldn't go that far... but he does find you and your behavior somewhat interesting. You're certainly quieter and easier to be around than half of the people his age, and he doesn't take offense to having such a quiet roommate... you have his college roommate beaten on that front if absolutely nothing else.

Alhaitham doesn't drink much, but he's noticed you're somewhat of a habitual wine-drinker, particularly on the weekends and on the occasional weeknight once you're home from your desk job. You get a good deal more talkative whenever you drink, but his inclination to listen certainly doesn't increase alongside your temporary conversation buff. He'll nod absentmindedly and offer interjections where needed, but unless you manage to pique his interest, he doesn't have much to say... after all, he doesn't know you that well nor do you know him all that well.

You sigh, a sound as pitiful as it is longing. "Do you keep secrets well?"

Oh, that's something that manages to pique Alhaitham's interest.

He thinks for a moment before speaking. "I suppose. I don't gain anything from sharing secrets with other people." Not that he has anyone to share secrets with, of course... he's no more gifted in the friendship department than you are.

"I think I... have feelings for you. Is that inappropriate? It's not like you... not feeling the same way would jeopardize your living situation here," you mumble no louder than a whisper.

He almost wants to scoff with a smug I'm well aware of that, but he says nothing. He glances over at you, but his eyes only meet the top of your head, your own gaze reflected back at you in the swirls of your wine. Alhaitham wants to ask if you really, actually, truly like him or if your feelings arose from the hallmark middle-aged loneliness stage, but even he knows that your feelings are probably a fairly even mix of both aspects.

"Please say something," you almost beg, looking up at him. Oh, has he accidentally allowed the silence between you two to extend past the socially-acceptable "I'm thinking about it" phase and into the uncomfortable phase?

"I'm well aware of that." Alhaitham decides it's an appropriate and neutral enough reply because it's the truth, after all. He's known for months now, and what good does lying to you do? He's not a liar.

You can only describe the feeling in your chest as humiliation— of course he already knew because he's leagues smarter than you are and he still has his entire life ahead of him and you're just a desperate, lonely, needy housewife. The ball's in his court and you never learned how to play tennis.

Looking up to finally face him, you set your wine down on the coffee table before you. "Do you... hate it?" What kind of question is that? Of course he does.

Alhaitham sighs with something just north of resignation but without the regret attached to such a word, and you almost wish you had said nothing.

"Come sit," he offers, sliding over to allow you a spot next to him on the couch. It takes you a moment or two before you stand up from the loveseat and join him, leaving about an arm's length distance between the two of your bodies. Does he need to lay out everything for you?

In a rare display of initiative from a man who prefers to leave the bothersome work to everyone else, Alhaitham pulls himself closer to you. You worry he can hear your heartbeat right through your flushed skin and your thick sweater just as you hear it in your ears, but he doesn't comment further on any of your very, very apparent anxious expressions.

"Show me, then," Alhaitham offers, uncrossing his arms.

"I'm... sorry? Show you... what?" You ask, somewhat stupefied. Who needs alcohol when you have fear and tension to make you feel like garbage?

He leans in and offers you a gaze that almost feels challenging, like he doesn't believe you'll do a single thing he asks you to. "Show me how you really feel if you can't find it in yourself to say it."

Ah.

You don't want to even consider if he's just doing this to make fun of you or if he really, actually shares your feelings on some microscopic level, so you act before you have to think. Kissing him in a way you haven't kissed anyone in the ballpark of ten to twelve years ago, you let out a downright pitiful moan against his lips because the most basic display of affection feels so, so good after so, so long without it.

Alhaitham moves quicker than you do, and he has you down flat on your back against the couch before you can ask him if he really, really likes you or if he's just really, really bored tonight.

"If you'll have an old woman like me," you breathe quiet and pleading and ashamed against his mouth.

"Age has nothing to do with it," he replies simply, and such a matter-of-fact expression about how little your age matters almost comforts you in a sad way. "You're no less significant than anybody else. Having lived for longer and having learned and experienced what some never will already puts you a step above most."

"And, frankly," Alhaitham continues, lips brushing down the soft, soft edge of your jaw and across the warm plane of your neck. "I find that sort of conversation much more stimulating than whatever my own peers occupy themselves with these days."

You don't even attempt to bite back the whimper that escapes your mouth when Alhaitham firmly bites into the curve between your neck and shoulder, your eyes screwed shut and hands weaved tightly through his ashen hair.

"If I'll have you?" He repeats, hands searching south of the hemline of your sweater. "I suppose I will."

Kaveh seeks you out… in his dreams, at least. He can more easily picture himself peeling some paint off the wall, eating it, and asking for seconds than he can picture himself finally asking you out on a dinner date. He's sure there's some stipulation in the employee's handbook prohibiting relationships between employees and other employees and especially between employees and their immediate managers— which just so happens to be him and you, respectively. A salaryman dating his beautiful, forward, confident, and double-his-age manager? Yeah, right— that sort of thing happens in films and novels, not in the playing field of reality.

He's had it in for you since he started two years ago, for better and for worse— having a crush on one's supervisor makes them eager to please and, subsequently, makes them a harder worker, but said crush also begets daydreaming and accidental slacking while still on company time. Kaveh can't even feel too embarrassed when you stop by his desk and scold him for simple mistakes in his filed paperwork because he'll take any single opportunity he can get to see you—whether you're happy or just slightly angry with him, it makes zero difference to recently-graduated man in love.

Maybe it's the way you command a room and your little team of desk jockeys, maybe it's the way you dress in form-fitting skirts and blouses that hug your soft body, maybe it's the appeal of someone with both professional and life experience guiding him, or maybe it's your sultry and maternal manner of speaking that drives Kaveh through the roof. Maybe it's the way you stand behind him and lean forward over his shoulder to check the work on his computer screen, maybe it's the way you sweetly call his name during team-wide presentations and meetings, maybe it's the way you and him are consistently the very final two people to leave the office at the end of the day, maybe it's the occasional invitations to go out drinking together Friday evenings immediately after work, maybe it's the...

God. Kaveh almost feels guilty staying in a job he doesn't particularly care about just so he can see his lovely forty-one year old boss every single day. Desk jockeying leaves little room for creativity which absolutely hurts somebody as imaginative and innovative as Kaveh, but he's sworn to himself that he will not seek out a new job until he takes you out on a proper date at least once.

And, no, Friday night beers at a local bar don't constitute a "proper date."

Friday night rolls around just as it does at the end of every monotonous workweek, and Kaveh doesn't miss a beat in accepting your invitation to go out drinking. The recent end of the third financial quarter has kept both you and Kaveh up to your hairlines in paperwork, so the two of you haven't been drinking since sometime in early July— and to say he's missed your little rendezvous would be an understatement. Whenever work really picks up and the rivers of printer ink, white-out, and ballpoint pen ink all flow aplenty, you barely have the time to check in with him and his coworkers between all the hours you have to spend away in your office locked to your own desk. He starts to miss you like he's a lost puppy; isn't that just embarrassing?

You're on your third or fourth beer and Kaveh's only halfway through his first because he knows he's a lightweight— he couldn't match your pace if he tried. He listens dutifully as you complain about your higher-ups and how that ginger asshole in finance always has something smug to say and how that stoic gray-haired dude who works just a few rows down from Kaveh has awful handwriting, and he finds it endearing that you're just as... human as everyone else is when you're like this. He loves seeing you in Office Demon Work Mode and he loves seeing you with your hair down, your neck ribbon untied, and your blouse unbuttoned... for more reasons than just getting to see you relax for once.

God, you're beautiful.

By the time you've cleared your last beer (Kaveh stopped counting after five) and Kaveh has finally, finally finished his first and only, you're sufficiently and thoroughly plastered. Without any rational judgement to remind you that this is your employee and not your boyfriend, you're clinging to his arm and whining about how stupid life is when you're forty-one and unmarried since you hardly have time to go out and meet men with how busy work keeps you. Even if he had the courage to, Kaveh would never offer himself as a potential dating candidate for you since you're his boss and he knows you're far, far out of his league anyways.

"Hey, Kaveh," you breathe in a way that's just barely toeing the line between innocent and sultry, and he has to really, really force himself to take it as the former. "Walk me back to my car? I'd fall asleep on the side of the road otherwise."

"You're not driving anywhere," Kaveh answers without missing a beat, helping you to your feet and thanking the bartender as the two of you leave. "You know you can't, ma'am."

"'Ma'am," you parrot, snorting. "That makes me sound so old. Young ladies get miss and us hags get ma'am, right?"

Kaveh reminds himself to pay no mind to the feeling of your breasts pressed against his arm as you walk side-by-side, but the more he has to force himself to think or look or focus on anything else, the more he notices you and only you. How could he even try to divide his attention between you and anything else?

"Aging isn't a bad thing," Kaveh musters up, holding on tight to your hand so you don't stumble off the curb. "You get to experience more the longer you live, right?"

"I've experienced enough!" You laugh. "I want to be twenty again so I can drink six beers and wake up without even a hint of a hangover the next morning. That doesn't happen at forty-one, you know; I won't be normal until next Friday now."

Kaveh chuckles. "Ma'am, you don't have to invite me to drinks every week if it makes you sick."

Glancing up at him as he clumsily fishes in the pockets of his trousers for his keys, you send him a pout so cute it nearly makes Kaveh drops his keys. "And miss out on my guaranteed dates with my star employee? Yeah, right."

Guaranteed dates.

Star employee.

"I just mean, like," Kaveh stutters, unlocking his car and guiding you towards the passenger seat. "We could get dinner instead of going to a bar, you know?"

"Are you asking me out? I accept," you purr, clumsily flopping into your employee's car and wrestling with your purse. "But, in return, I want to ask you to do something, too."

Sliding behind the wheel and turning to face you once more, Kaveh takes a split second to pray and pray and pray to every single god he's aware of that you'll invite him on a date so he doesn't have to experience the potential humiliation of a sober you declining his offer.

"My house," you whisper, leaning in so close he can smell the residual beer on your breath.

Kaveh knows he should decline, he knows he should just drop you off and help you inside then leave, he knows that if he accepts your offer he’ll regret it Monday or lose his job or hate himself or ruin your opinion of him or—

“I’m already dropping you off, right? I’ll already be at your house for a second then I’ll head back to mine and—“ He’s tripping over his works so clumsily one would figure that he’s the drunk one, not you. You only press a finger to his lips and shh him teasingly before leaning in slowly, your eyelids heavy and your lips parted invitingly.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Kaveh,” you whisper, your other hand sliding across the center console to rest on his right thigh. “I’d have to be stupid to not pick up on it. You freeze up and turn bright red when I walk by your desk and stop to see what you’re doing. You accept little tasks I give out to the whole team before anybody else has a chance to step in. I know it, dearest.” You slide your finger across his lip and cup his cheek in your palm, your thumb resting lightly on his bottom lip.

Kaveh prays you can’t hear his heartbeat drumming in his ears, but he subconsciously leans closer to you anyways and taking your thumb in between his lips.

“Just like this,” you continue. “Such a sweet boy… such an eager boy. Younger men are the best, hm? I want to give you everything you’ve thought about… I’ll show you all the love I’ve been saving for forty-one years.”

He knows he shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, and yet… he wants it. He’s earned it. He works so hard for himself and for you and he wants you so, so much more than you know.

“Spend the night with me, Kaveh,” you ask again, reaching to cup the painfully obvious bulge tenting his nice, neat worn slacks. “Consider it a demand from your boss or a request from a cute girlfriend, whichever makes you hornier.”

Releasing your thumb from his lips with a moan, Kaveh nods and reaches for your breasts. He doesn’t care if you’re only saying this because you’re drunk— what does he have to lose? He’s won a night with you and that’s all he’s ever wanted.

“I’ll take care of you, ma’am.”

[uwo-kun]

bad news and bad decisions

[fanvoidkeith]

you know what, i DO want to rant about this actually.

because the more i watch 3Below, the more i'm like, you're dealing with fucking ALIENS. extraterrestrial beings. people who DID NOT COME FROM THIS PLANET. and yet everyone somehow STILL has time to make low-brow fat jokes pointed at one single funny, delightful, passionate, sometimes silly teenage character. just because being fat was a negative character trait back in the 2000's and 2010's. what the hell???

what has Toby done to deserve this?? he's literally just A Guy. a teen boy who's excited that trolls and aliens and weird stuff exists. he literally has a personality beyond being fat, but literally everyone makes jokes about it the second they get a chance. it's unfair.

he's friends with the guy who used to be the only Human Trollhunter and is now the Half-human Trollhunter. he's a redhead. he's friends with a gal who defeated a thousand-something-year-old god. he loves his nana. he likes sci-fi movies. he's an orphan. he's friends with possibly one of the Coolest Trolls Ever (in my opinion), who lives in his room together as a roommate, and they play non-violent video games together. he has braces. he's confident in himself, for the most part, besides the usual teenage insecurities. he wields an awesome cursed warhammer. he trained himself to climb through windows and it's treated casually. he has a girlfriend who's the daughter of a cop, and he fell for her when she was wearing his school's purple mole mascot costume. he has a pet gnome who has a plastic doll for a girlfriend-turned-wife. he loves the spiciest kinds of burritos he can get his hands on. he's literally befriended aliens/extraterrestrial beings/celestials.

AND HE'S TREATED, FOR THE MOST PART, LIKE A JOKE.

Everyone Shut Up About My Darling Son Toby, Who Definitely Has Done Some Things Wrong, But Has Also Made Up For Them By Literally Helping To Save The World Multiple Times (And Is Overall A Delightful Person)

[catcze]

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

Wriothesley always makes it a point to stay sober if you drink. Whether it's in one of those upscale clubs on the surface or in the safety of his office in the fortress, he absolutely refuses to touch even a single drop of alcohol when you're even the slightest bit inebriated.

Once, a few shots of tequila in, you asked him why he doesn't ever get drunk with you.

"Taking care of you all tipsy and slurring will always beat out getting drunk, sweetheart," he had told you.

And Wriothesley wasn't lying, either. To him, seeing you slurring and clingy and stumbling over your own two feet as you reach towards him is one of the cutest things ever. He enjoys being able to cradle your warm body close, being able to stroke your hair and take care of you when you let your guard down around him.

Like now, for instance. You're both in his office, a half-full bottle of Snezhenayan Firewater left on his desk, with you sitting horizontally on his lap, curling into his chest. One of Wriothesley's hands curls around your waist, keeping you safe and secure in case you drunkenly lean too far back, while the other holds you close and strokes your hair. You're nuzzled under his neck, breath tickling his collarbone with each exhale and making goosebumps rise on his skin.

Earlier he'd kissed your forehead whenever you began rambling about this and that, and had offered up his hands or his necktie for you to play with whenever you got restless. But it's been a while since then, and Wriothesley can tell when you're slowly drifting off to sleep. With each passing second your eyes grow more and more droopy, and you lean more and more of your weight into the muscled planes of his body. It doesn't help when he begins murmuring into your ear, the rumbling of his chest under you making you so damn sleepy.

And when you yawn, oh, Wriothesley can feel his heart kick in his chest because you're so cute and he's so endeared by you that he genuinely thinks you've broken him for anybody else.

He wants to let you sleep immediately, he really does, but he knows you'll kill him come morning for not forcing you to brush your teeth or wash your face. So he stands, one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, cradling you close as he tries his best to meander out of the office without jostling you too badly.

"Sweetheart," He whispers into your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I know you're sleepy, but you have to brush your teeth and wash your face first, okay? I'll help though, don't worry."

And you sigh a little, melting into his hold and nuzzling close. A kiss is pressed to his shoulder, the only place you can reach without straining too badly. Sleepily, you mumble. "Mmkay, Wrio. Thanks. Love you."

And this —his heart leaps in his chest, his face heats with a blush and he can wholly feel the way his gaze softens— this is the reason why he stays sober whenever you drink. Because nothing in the world can ever be better than being able to take care of you when you need him.

[aurossaga]

To hold your hands

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff!

Word count: ~1k

Warnings: Alcohol mention

Summary:  His fingers twitch only for a quick moment, which would likely not have been very noticeable had you not been so familiar with the way Venti plays. Still, you notice.

As you finish brushing the dirt off your foraged mushrooms and carrots, your eyes drift over to your companion, sitting on a tree stump in the forest clearing. The sunlight catches his relaxed features perfectly as he carefully examines the string of his bow, making sure it wasn’t getting too loose. You pack up your bag, get up from the forest floor and make your way back over to him. He gives you a quick glance, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile at the sight of you without him really thinking too hard about it.

“Done already?” Venti asks, getting up from his spot as well. The bow in his hands dissipates as he stores it away. It still puzzles you how vision holders can do that…

“Yep. I just have to wash all these when we get home.” You gesture to your bag, as you show him today’s findings. “Not many people come all the way out here. It didn’t take long to fill my bag.”

Venti laughs, putting a hand on your shoulder as he follows you back toward the path leading back to the city.

“Well, lucky us! Between everything we’ve gathered and the fine wines I brought along, I dare claim tonight’s dinner will be absolutely delectable!”

You nod absentmindedly, thinking of how to best prepare the vegetables once you get home. The soft crunch of your shoes on the gravelly path forms a sort of rhythm that you try to keep up as you walk, the chattering of birds and rustle of leaves becoming a nice backdrop as you listen to Venti going on about all sorts of things, occasionally offering your input. Before long, the two of you have made it back to your home.

While you prepare the ingredients for cooking, Venti sits in the living room, playing a few calming melodies on his lyre. As he plucks away at the strings, forming the most beautiful of tunes, you can’t help but listen, nearly losing all focus on your current task as you momentarily lose yourself in his enchanting compositions. The seamless flow of notes stalls for naught but a quick second, before picking up right where it left off. As you continue cutting up the ingredients and adding them to the pan, you wonder what could have caused him to stutter like that… Venti practically never hesitates when playing the lyre, even when he’s just practicing. Suddenly, you hear a quiet groan from the other room, as the music once again stalls for a moment. You add a splash of wine to the pan before reducing the heat and placing a lid on top, allowing it to simmer for a while as you step out of the kitchen.

When you enter the living room and find the source of the inconsistent song, you decide to observe him for a moment before interjecting. His brows are tightly knit together as if in deep concentration as he’s practically bent over the lyre in his hands, meticulously strumming out an old melody. His fingers twitch only for a quick moment, which would likely not have been very noticeable had you not been so familiar with the way Venti plays. Still, you notice. And it seems he is agonizing over it as well. He lets out an irritated sigh as he places the lyre down in defeat for now. Only then does he seem to notice you leaning against the doorframe, observing him.

“Oh, sorry. Were you listening? I can keep playing for you if you wish.” Venti reaches over towards the lyre again. His smile holds a grain of hesitation, one that you have gotten really good at noticing over the years. You often have to pry information like this out of him, things he neglected or ignored for himself. Without replying, you just walk over to him, and sit down next to him on the sofa. His somewhat confused expression quickly turns to a downcast one as you gently take his hands into your own.

“Ah…”

He sighs quietly. You study his expression. His deep blue and green eyes are avoiding your own gaze, his lips slightly parted as he struggles to come up with anything else to say. He knows he can't hide anything from you.

“Venti… you’ve been practicing an awful lot lately.” You softly tilt his chin up to make him look at you, as you offer him a calming smile. With your free hand, you gently rub calming circles into the palm of his hand.

“I… Yeah, maybe. Hehe…” Venti’s sheepish smile and nervous giggle makes you want to laugh a bit as well. He’s normally rather hard to read for most people, so he doesn’t really know how to handle how effortlessly you see through his facade. He doesn’t really notice how much he lets his guard down when you two are alone together either.

“Here, let me help.”

You grab onto his dominant hand with both of yours, gently applying pressure to the base of his fingers. You delicately rub his joints in circular motions, before continuing the gesture toward the palm of his hand. You remember to make sure to give the same attention to  both sides as you go. Venti is uncharacteristically quiet as you work, his eyes fixating on your delicate expression.

He is often told he can be a bit more trouble than most people are willing to put up with, but somehow, he never feels that way around you. You’ve always taken time out of your day to talk to him, inviting him along to menial tasks, listening to his ramblings, his poems, his songs…

And right now, as you so tenderly massage his aching muscles that he strained trying to write you a song as a thank you gift, he can no longer excuse the way heat rises to his cheeks or the way his heart beats ever so slightly faster around you. 

Right now, sitting opposite of you as your gentle hands massage his own, he realizes he’s fallen for you.