in my head argenti can drink red wine like water, without as much as even getting tipsy, but the second he downs a shot, be it tequila, vodka or something else, he's in a COMA. down on the floor, hitting the Peter Griffin pose. heck, if he so much as drinks white wine he'll become an incoherent mess
only explanation for this is... something something... 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓘𝓭𝓻𝓲𝓵𝓪

as for boothill, the alcohol is much harder (impossible unless otherwise desired) to get to him since his blood system is not connected to his stomach in the necessary way, but regardless, i do think his drink of choice would be Whiskey or Jaeger (ew)... maybe some types of liquor as well – beer is always a great choice too
as for his tolerance, he would need to actively introduce alcohol into his bloodstream for it to take effect, where it would likely be efficiently cleared out, so the extent of its effect would depend directly on the quantity and concentration of how much he uses, but its duration would be relatively short. this can be both a blessing and a curse... still deciding between the two

PS: Boothill is a sentimental drunk, while Argenti is a sleepy drunk

when you asked me for my @ back then i didn't actually think it was genuine, but more like, a rethorical... figure of speech... point of emphasis type thing (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠ ;⁠)

i never really went out of my way to keep it a secret – i just think it’s more fun this way! letting you shape your own idea of Star Anon; someone who shares their thoughts and views with you while selfishly waiting for your responses, all while hidden behind the thin curtain of anonymity.

there's nothing to say that the reveal wouldn't be a letdown as well; after all, who am i to predict if you’d have preferred the mystery in the long run? haha it's not that deep but i do enjoy the immersion sometimes (⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)

but i guess my artstyle not being consistent did help a bit, for we are mutuals haha >﹏<

I'm definitely making this far more dramatic than it needs to be, but honest to god, it's so much fun this way. everything I've done up to this point has been purely for my own amusement – there's no deeper motive behind it. staying anon keeps the mystery and maintains the fun all the same, but revealing myself would bring its own excitement, by which I mean, seeing your reaction. Did you see it coming? We haven’t talked much, so does it surprise you? Are you disappointed? Would our interactions change now, or would it stay the same?

haha maybe i sounded like a weirdo, but i assure you it's all harmless fun (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)
(i did see and greatly enjoy the Very unexpected reaction to my last submission btw it was very funny to see!)

that's many words just to say that if you want my @ just say the word! your wish is my command (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)☆

//nsfw(+fluff?)
Thinking about that specific way when people write boothill as only seeing sex as a way relieve some mental stress or satisfy an annoying need since he cant be "satisfied" in the same way so he defaults to one night stands and the like.
Abd then when he spands the night with Argenti for the first time, he somewhat expects the same thing. Not that he believes that Argenti is the type of person to only focus on themself but based on who whos hes pulled aside for a quick fuck, or even how hes rushed to satisfy his own desires, he's conditioned himself to expect a very low baseline. So then, when hes faced with someone who is not only explicitly trying to cater to his likes, listening to his responses, and LOOKS AT HIM like that, its all overwhelming. Because then, its very obviously that hes being not only cared for but cared about. How is he not supposed to return softness when its presented to him so sweetly.

(Anyways, been thinking about boothill trying and failing to not become emotional and emotionally invested during their first time)

The cold season carries with it the weight of memories, each gust of icy wind whispering tales of the past. Now, imagine if Argenti’s planet had a seasonal cycle like Earth’s—but instead of holidays and warmth, it harboured only sorrow and despair.

Each year, the relentless frost would descend, not as a catalyst to joy but as a beacon of struggles. Argenti would face the biting chill with no certainty of shelter, no assurance of survival. Every night became a gamble against the unforgiving cold, a silent plea to make it til dawn, and even then, he wasn't promised the next day.

Perhaps, on occasion, the door of a kind stranger would creak open, offering fleeting warmth and a place to rest. But kindness, in times of crisis, bears a price and the weight of gratitude weighs as heavily as the freezing air outside.