#tw: drinking

[lizleeships]

What do you do when your human charge keeps crashing on your lap and denying it the next morning?

(Yes, it's 2025 and I'm still destieling, you don't have to remind me)

(Don't repost, reblogs are great!)

My Kofi | My Patreon

[rottenrainbowbabe]

Just like old times!

[harperonni]

Loving @modmad 's lux comic, and was inspired to draw up his fun lill outfits (I made up the beach outfit, thought it would be cute to draw him in lol)

[ramblingwannabe]

2 Ounces Vodka, 5 Ounces Cranberry Juice, 1 Lime (Optional)

Based on: "you’re so pretty. it’s actually unfair. i’m mad at you now." from @bookished's fic prompts found here.

A/N: um, only drink if you're over 21 I guess? Or do as you please, I'm not the government ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Pairing: Ilia Malinin x drunk!reader

Word count: 1,864

*~*~*~*

Someone was pounding at the door, although how you could hear that was a mystery.

The loud choruses of “party in the USA!” rang across the room, almost drowning out the pulsing bass of the speakers by the fireplace. You recognized one of the shouting voices as your own, raising your arms as you danced, which you only regretted a second later when you felt a splash of vodka cran slip out of the red solo cup you were holding.

You brought your arm down to examine the red trail with a giggle, still bopping your head to the beat.

“You good?” someone—Kira from Business Finance class?—yelled next to you. You looked up at her, struggling to keep her dark hair and brown eyes in one as the edges of her figure oscillated into a body double.

“Yes! Just got a spill, give me a sec!” you grinned.

You separated yourself from the jumping crowd of girls, slipping past a couple making out on one side of the entrance to the living room, and headed towards the small kitchen. The walls held a spice cabinet and a printed-out picture of Gordon Ramsey pressing two pieces of bread on a man’s ears. The wooden cabinet rattled as the song changed into “Tití Me Preguntó.” But the deserted kitchen was considerably quieter, giving you a chance to finally catch your breath.

The pounding was still there, but it couldn’t possibly be the front door.

Within the silence of the kitchen, you realized that it was your own pulse, loud and steady as the blood rushed through your ears. You swayed and reached for the doorway with your free hand, closing your eyes tightly. Darkness flooded your vision, but even in the absence of the dim party lights, you could see traces of the light swirling in your eyelids.

How much had you had? you thought. It couldn’t have been that much…right? The pre-game shots (just two), and the first vodka cran, maybe a couple of jell-o shots, maybe another actual shot (strong maybe), and the second vodka cran. Nothing unbelievably wild.

But the second you opened your eyes and watched what was supposed to be one single round table turn into two, you had to admit it. You were definitely drunk.

You stumbled to the table and set the red solo cup aside, letting it join more discarded cups, the heavy glass bottles with a mix of dark and clear liquids that were to blame for your current state, and some empty soda cans. With your hands gripping the edge of the table, you shut your eyes again and took a deep breath, feeling the rhythm of “Gas Pedal” drift further and further away, as if your senses were slowly getting numb. When had the songs changed? The minutes were passing by so quickly and so slowly at the same time.

“You’ve looked better,” someone said behind you. “And I rarely get the chance to say that.”

You turned around too fast, and the room spun, causing you to stumble back a bit. You hit the table behind you, hearing the liquor bottles clink against each other.

Ilia rushed forward, chuckling as he grabbed onto your forearms and steadied you.

“Wow, I thought you said it was going to be a chill girls' night,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“This is a chill girls’ night,” you said, laughing, trying not to slur your words together.

You’d always found it easy to read his emotions. After all, his expressive, bright blue eyes were the first thing you noticed when you met him two semesters ago in ECON 2302, then obviously confused at the aggregate supply and demand models on the projector screen. And right now, in the multi-colored twinkle lights running along the top of the kitchen cabinets, you could tell that he was both disbelieving of your words but also, thankfully, amused.

“Chill, uh-huh,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You have a funny definition for that… What’s this?”

He looked down, and you copied him, remembering that he was still holding on to your forearms. One of his hands released your right arm. Ilia examined the sticky, red residue and shook his head.

“Oops,” you giggled, trying to convince yourself that your heart was still pounding from the alcohol rather than the proximity between you. “I spilled, lol.”

“Did you really just say ‘lol’?”

“Ilia! You don’t say that? You gotta live a little, old man, be like the rest of us cool kids,” you said, sluggishly allowing your head to drop to your shoulder before it rolled back, and you closed your eyes again.

“Alright, alright, don’t go all limp on me yet,” Ilia sighed, guiding you over to the sink. “I could carry you back if you want, but it’s gonna be a lot harder if you’re dead weight.”

“Party pooper,” you whined, leaning against him. He rotated one of the faucet handles and held your arm over the sink.

“You do realize you’re the one who called me and asked me to pick you up, don’t you?” Ilia asked as the cool water ran down your arm, washing away most of the red streaks.

“I did?”

“Like ten minutes ago,” he grinned.

“Oh.”

His hand reached for the hand soap, pumping a small dollop of white foam onto his palm. Ilia shut the faucet off for a moment and gently rubbed the soap against the stubborn stains that had dried on your hand and forearm.

Your clean hand rested on the kitchen counter, helping you keep still as you watched him. Messy blond locks fell on his forehead and over his eyes, which were focusing intently on your arm. His cheeks were rosy, like he had sprinted in the cold November air to get to you, a few drops of sweat shining down his neck.

That couldn’t be it, though. Sure, he was being a very good friend for coming over to get you, but worried enough that he literally ran to you? No, you shook your head, who are you kidding?

“What?” Ilia smiled, catching you shaking your head. He turned the water on again and started rinsing away the soap.

“Nothing,” you blushed. The alcohol was clouding your thoughts, and you suddenly pulled your arm back and out of Ilia’s grasp. Small drops of water pooled on the tile below you. You turned around, spotting a kitchen towel hanging from the oven, and stumbled that way, keeping your back to Ilia.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he questioned, following behind you.

“Nothing,” you repeated, handing him the towel, still avoiding his gaze. What if he were just as good at reading your emotions? You hadn’t really considered that before.

“Liar,” he called you out.

“Can we just leave?” you groaned.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing, just drop it.”

“You were perfectly happy and drunk one second, and then you just shook me off. Something’s obviously wrong,” he insisted.

“Ilia,” you started, “it’s n—”

“Don’t say it again. You’re not even looking at me,” he muttered quietly.

You did look up at this. The combination of the liquor hindering your logic and the confusion on Ilia’s face was too much for you. How dare he be so adorably sad, even if it was justified, when you were the one whose heart would inevitably get broken once he wasn’t the guy to come pick you up from parties, once he had someone else to actually care for and worry about, once his cute smile wasn’t directed at you anymore.

“It’s just—it’s…ugh!” you exclaimed, surprising Ilia as you crossed your arms angrily. The truth tumbled out before you could stop it, “You’re so pretty. It’s actually unfair. I’m mad at you now.”

Your eyes widened, and you clapped a hand over your mouth. Ilia looked at you with a mixture of shock and…and what? Still confused? Worse, pity maybe?

“All I Do Is Win” echoed from the living room. There was a brief moment of silence when DJ Khalid sang, “Everybody hands go up!” A moment that felt like a torturous lifetime of awkward silence before, “And they stay there” resumed the music in the background.

“You think I’m pretty?” Ilia said slowly.

You swallowed, acutely aware of the thirst forming in your dehydrated throat.

“I—well, yes,” you admitted. No use in denying it now. Who knows, maybe the quicker you got it out, the quicker he would let you down, and you could move on. Drop out of college, sell all your things, move to Ireland, and live in a tiny cottage. Maybe you’d find a nice, old lady to teach you how to make wool and run a small knitting shop. Nothing too drastic.

“And it’s unfair, why, exactly?”

“Because, you know,” you trailed off, gesturing to the empty air. “I mean, it’s unfair because I have to put up with looking at your cute face and knowing…”

“Knowing what?”

“Knowing you don’t like me.”

Ilia stared, frowning.

“So, you’re mad at me?”

“Yup,” you confirmed, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

“You’re mad at me because you mistakenly think that I don’t find you cute as hell, too,” he said, though it was no longer a question.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. At least the room had stopped spinning now, perhaps some pity from the universe.

“I sure am, so just got ahead, you can take me out back and shoot—wait, what did you say?” You stopped, bringing your hands down.

“I said, ‘I don’t know why I ever copied your accounting homework’ because I thought you were supposed to be the smart one out of both of us,” Ilia smirked, stepping closer.

The stuffy air of the house threatened to close around you like a boa constrictor as you began sobering up, but Ilia’s presence shifted the energy into something else, something dangerously dream-like. You really hoped you weren’t already blacked out and dreaming.

 “Did you know my roommates set a bet on when you would notice I like you?” Ilia asked, raising a hand to cup your cheek. You leaned into the touch hesitantly, smiling, and shook your head. “Alex lost last week, Max was aiming for Thanksgiving.”

“At least Alex had faith in me,” you said, holding your breath as Ilia’s nose pressed against yours.

“Well, he also bet that you’d turn me down,” he confessed. “An extra five dollars if you said that I was nice but just not your type. I thought he’d be right.”

“And what do you think now?”

He didn’t reply, not really, but there was no doubt in your mind about his answer as he pressed his lips against yours, holding a slow kiss before he parted for a second, laughing.

“What?” you smiled, unable to tell what song was playing now over the sound of your heartbeat.

“You taste like vodka cranberry.”

“So?”

 “That was Max’s other bet.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, “you’ll probably need to confirm that, just to be sure.”

Ilia nodded, grinning.

“It’s only fair,” he agreed before he kissed you again, planning to do whatever it took to verify the results of the bet.

[hangmeandbangme]

Price aims for an even dozen kids. They don’t have to be all his. In fact, he doesn’t want them to be. He wants a baby from each of his boys growing inside of you at one point in your marriage. Letting them crawl into bed with you when you’re on the wrong side of drunk or after you’ve taken your sleep meds for the night, a Ghost baby then a Gaz baby then a Soap baby. He might even feel particularly inclined to let Nik have a chance or two when you’re tied up and blindfolded on your anniversary, unsure of why your husband feels heavier on top of you, or why his cock seems to be thicker and rubbing at you in all new places.

[recyclingtrees]

GHOST AVENUE

[nico-posting]

Hot take: Nico would hate smoking actually. I feel that the smoke would remind him of the noxious tartarus air.

My personal pick for "Nico with terrible coping mechanisms" is portraying him with a gambling addiction and alcohol abuse. More about it later.

[guttedtangerines]

And all my friends, they just stay the same I'm growing up but nothing's changing

I have a lot of thoughts about how the Ed boys would turn out when they're older

•They all saved up to move in together by the time they all turned 18 and Double D and Eddy graduated high school. Eddy almost dropped out, but Ed actually did. All of them kind of idealized what it would be like to live together, but it didn't turn out the way they wanted it to.

•Their plan to move out worked out at the start and they got an apartment, but couldn't keep it. They've been constantly moving to different apartments or staying at motels since they can't always afford to stay in one place. They still haven't left Peach Creek though, and if they do they don't go very far.

•They'd still prefer it over living with their parents. Ed isn't on good terms with his parents after realizing how badly he was neglected, but is on better terms with Sarah who's nicer to him now. Double D didn't wanna have to practically live alone again. Eddy's relationship with his parents' is pretty strained and he wants to prove he won't end up like his brother.

•Eddy struggles to keep jobs, and it's usually Double D paying for the spots they stay in since he manages to actually maintain a job. Ed doesn't work and doesn't plan to, but stays with them anyway despite not paying rent. Double D and Eddy just hide him from their landlord. They usually just settle for one bedroom apartments to save money, and if Ed's too big to fit on the bed he sleeps on the couch if there is one.

•Eddy tries his best not to scam anymore since he promised himself that he'd change, but sometimes he falls back into scamming when they're in a tight spot regarding money. Double D's never happy about this, but Ed usually helps out with scams like he did before. Eddy's scams tend to work out better since he's not a kid anymore too, and he's kinda proud of it despite not wanting to be.

• I drew them to be around 22-23 in these. Ed's 6'3 and has been since high school. He got his growth spurt when he was 15. Double D's 5'10. Eddy's 5'1 and still a pipsqueak.

•Double D's been straight edge all throughout high school since he's extremely health conscious, and it persists into adulthood. Because of that, he's always their designated sitter. He heavily disagrees with how often Ed and Eddy do shit, but knows he can't always stop them. He's yanking a ciggie away from Eddy in the picture though just to try and save his lungs.

•Ed's usually the one who crosses the line a lot when it comes to any substance since he doesn't really know how much is too much. He also doesn't bother to do research or figure out what he takes. Luckily Double D's usually there to look out for him and stop him from going too far. Eddy's nowhere near as bad as Ed when it comes to substances, but there's times where he gets really drunk and ends up being a sobbing mess. Ed and Double D always stick by him while he cries it out.

•Double D got rejected from his first choice out of the list of Universities he wanted to go to and it broke him. He got accepted to the rest, but decided not to enroll just to stick around with Ed and Eddy. Double D loves them too much to actually let them go. Double D settled for going to a community college, and plans to transfer later. He regularly hangs with Kevin and Nazz while he's there, and also tutors them both when they need it.

I have more ideas of how things would turn out while they're adults, but I'll post those with other drawings to come with it 🍬