#implied addiction

[simplepotatofarmer]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Alienation & Spite

tuesday morning, 8:47 a.m.

characters: technoblade, dream word count: 1,541

I've been in this room before.

The last time, ages ago, it was brief. Techno had practically rushed me out after ringing the bell a few times. That felt like something that had to be done, some stupid ritual that you signed up for the moment you stepped into the cabin. He had come back, a little later, and made sure I wasn't watching as he opened the secret chest in the back of the room.

I knew where it was. I could go over right now and open the chest and take whatever the hell I wanted and Techno wouldn't stop me. It wasn't a secret anymore and that felt...

It felt shitty for no reason. Of course he didn't bother hiding those things anymore. I've been living in his house for months, what was there to hide? But fuck man. He could at least pretend things were normal.

Ugh.

Rolling over, I shoved one of the pillows into my face and resisted the urge to scream. If I did, Techno would hear. He would climb up the ladder and ask if everything was alright and I would lie. I should feel bad for lying; I know he's trying to help but I don't want help, I want to be left alone.

It's easier. No one gets that. No one understands that everything still hurts or that I feel wrong without a potion or that food makes me want to vomit or that I don't want to leave the cabin. I don't even want to leave the room.

Techno calls it wallowing. Maybe he's right. Maybe I don't care.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the sunlight reflecting off the bell and block of emerald. Something about that makes me angry. I've been angry a lot, I guess. It knots in my chest and I want to tear it out. I want to punch something. I want to punch myself. I settle for dragging my nails against my skin until its red and stings. It doesn't calm the anger that's making my eyes water. Without thinking, I throw the pillow across the room, at the bell.

It makes a low chiming sound and I groan.

As expected, a few moments later, Techno pokes his head up, arms resting on the floor. He's worried. I tug my sleeves down over my arms, hiding the scratches. Not that Techno would be mad. That's the problem. He'd understand. He'd say it's okay and it's not.

"Hey, Dream. You rang?"

It was funny and I have to fight the smile.

"No. That—That was an accident."

His eyes slide towards the bell and sees the pillow on the ground.

"Ah."

I don't say anything.

"How about you come downstairs, man? I'll make you some breakfast."

I still don't say anything. I stare at the ceiling.

"C'mon on man."

He talks so softly, the same way he does to his animals and it's another thing I want to be pissed about except I've heard him use the same tone with Phil, with Ranboo or Niki.

So stupid.

I want things to be normal but it is and I'm still mad.

"I'm not hungry," I lie. I'm starving. I want a potion.

"Alright." Techno reaches out and tugs the blanket up over me. He's stretching precariously. "How about we make a deal? I'll leave you alone for a bit but you've gotta promise to come down for dinner."

His words hang in the air a bit and I roll my eyes.

"Or what?"

Techno laughs.

"Or I'll carry your scrawny behind downstairs my dang self," he says.

I believe him.

"God. Fine, Techno."

He laughs again.

“See ya later, Dream.”

His head disappears back downstairs. Already I regret agreeing to his stupid deal. He won’t actually drag me downstairs if I change my mind, I know that. I roll over the other way, facing the ladder. On the bedside table is a bottle of water and Techno’s communicator. Mine is gone and has been since Sam took it. I reach over and grab Techno’s. It’s only 8:47 a.m. Dinner is a long way off.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

I’m worried.

It’s kinda hard not to be worried when you have a man in your bedroom who’ll barely move and barely eat. I don’t mind. Well, I do, just not in the way Dream thinks I do. He thinks I want him out, gone out of my life. I had to fight against his idiotic plan to fake a parting of ways while we were in prison. The only thing I want is—

It’s lame, chat, I know.

I want him to be okay. The first few weeks, he hardly moved because he couldn’t. He wasn’t in any kind of shape. The thought of what happened to him in that cell after I left haunts me. How can you make up for that?

I pull the raw beef out of the ice chest. A good steak is a start. I wouldn’t have made something that required so much chewing a couple months ago but Dream’s jaw had healed. And I know he’s a steak man when he’s not relying on potions or golden apples. I’ve caught him sneaking both after days of refusing food.

Fighting the urge to keep walking over to stand at the bottom of the ladder is the hardest part. I want to go back up and check on him again. He had been quick at pulling his sleeves down but I saw the marks on his arms. If I had said something, it might have made him withdraw even more.

I’ll make him a cake.

I have no idea if he’ll eat it but he might. It’s something to occupy my time and something to do to show him I care. He knows, he’s gotta know by this point but sometimes he lays there like he doesn’t know anything anymore. I don’t blame him. He has that lost look in his eyes every so often and I know he’s pulling away because it’s easier.

I know, I’ve been there. This cabin was built to get away from everything. It took some time to realize I was being a fool. Dream will get there, I’ve got faith in him. He’s been through a lot and he still smiles sometimes.

I’m on autopilot baking. Niki’s recipe is well-worn by this point and I don’t need to have it sitting out but that’s habit, too. It’s a nice reminder. By the time the cake is in the oven, the sun is midpoint in the sky. The beef’s been marinating for awhile. I glance towards the living room and sigh.

Just a quick check, I won’t even go up the ladder.

Standing at the base, I can’t hear anything. That’s probably a good sign. Hopefully, he’s sleeping. Sleep hasn’t been easy for him which means it’s not been great for me, either, and I can sleep through a lot. Except the person next to me lashing out or screaming. It hurts. Not the times he’s hit me on accident but hearing a friend say ‘no’ and ‘please’ and ‘stop’ over and over.

I’ve gotta stop thinking about it. I know Dream’s picked up on my worry and I know sometimes it makes him feel weird. I get it, I do.

By the time the cake is cooled and has a nice layer of green frosting on it, the steaks are also done and the sun is lower in the sky. I pat my pockets, looking for my communicator to check the time, but I must’ve misplaced it again. I make another mental reminder to put a clock somewhere and head over to the ladder.

Dream is pretending to sleep, I can tell.

“Dinner time.”

He opens one eye. I smile. He opens the other and sighs as he props himself up.

“I’m—I’m not hungry.”

It’s the same thing as earlier and it’s still a lie, I know it. I raise an eyebrow and look at him silently. After a moment, a slight tinge of pink is on his cheeks.

Got ‘em.

“Ugh, fine,” he says as he swings his legs out of bed. “You’re so annoying.”

“I know, Dream, I know.” I slide down the ladder and wait for him. When he climbs down, I put my hand out, hovering near his back, just in case. “I’ve made you a real special dinner.”

“What? Why?”

I stop in front of the kitchen table. Some of the icing on the cake has melted a bit but the steaks look good. Dream is next to me. He looks confused. He looks sad. I put my arm around his shoulders. They still feel awfully boney.

“Because it’s your four month anniversary of stayin’ here, man. We’ve gotta celebrate.”

Dream’s voice rises in pitch.

“What?”

I know that tone. He’s struggling not to smile and rolling his eyes. I nudge my nose against the side of his head and pull him a little closer. He doesn’t pull away.

“We’re celebratin’, Dream. I even made you a cake.”

“This is so stupid,” he says but he’s leaning against me and I wrap my arms around him and hug him.

“Let’s eat.”

@sixteenth-day-event

[meowthefluffy]

The night before the wedding doesn’t go well.. Virgil definitely wasn’t crying the whole time and totally wasn’t pushing him away as a way to keep Roman from seeing

[takeyourcyanide]

Сигареты

(Soul Eater fanfiction)

Summary: This is short fic in which Marie finds Stein smoking on a bench. He can’t help but continue smoking and smoking. I’m starting to experiment with themes of addiction, and I think I’ll write a fic concerning his attempt at temporarily quitting smoking in both the anime and manga.

Word count: 1 073

……

Ramblings from each corner of his very own mind pestered Stein relentlessly. They were ruthless in their efforts. He attempt to avert his focus away from the pounding of his thoughts against his skull, and onto the gracefully swaying smoke before his mouth, for he truly wondered if his brain was going to explode.

He had smoked his third cigarette of the day to the point it merely looked like a small, muted orange bud hanging from his mouth, just as he always did. He soaked up all that he could from it, putting it out with a disappointed and burning sigh.

As he chucked the cigarette into the trash can beside where he sat, his body ached with a yearning for another one. His body yearned desperately for the scratching and burning that it would undoubtedly commit against the back of his throat, for the bitter, yet sickeningly sweet taste, for the scent, of which many considered to be an unpleasant and unwelcome stench, but which he found comfort and took refuge in… Even as a young child, he had adored the odor, trailing closely behind any smoking adult. But most important of all, his body ached for the nicotine, which shushed his incoherent scramblings, which rocked him into a gradual calmness, which made him extremities feel particularly light. It made him feel almost sleepy, but in a wonderful way. Whilst the smoke blackened his pleading lungs, the nicotine floated up kindly to his brain, kissing it with a love Stein could never even begin to understand, causing him to feel as though his head was filled with soft cotton or clouds, and not the typical thick, dense, and protruding fog that always tormented him and left him unable to properly think.

He grabbed yet another cigarette from out of the pack in his left pocket, placing it gently between his upper and lower lips, retrieving his black lighter from the same pocket. A flame appeared, bright and mesmerizing, as Stein held it against the end of the cigarette.

“Stein…”

He heard repeated whispers of his name in the dusty sunset of Death City. The smoke floated upwards, chasing after the fatigued and drooling sun, spreading across the desert like sand in an aggressive sandstorm.

“Stein?” A voice much more obviously feminine, and much less hushed alerted the meister. He turned his head, being met with the site of golden blonde hair flowing in the light breeze.

“What are you doing here? And you’re still smoking? You know you shouldn’t start so young, you’re only sixteen, and I’d like to see you live past thirty,” Marie lectured in a concerned, gentle, yet stern tone. She spoke to him like a small child at times, which Stein found awfully fitting considering how he felt like a toddler observing everyone else mature around him, ultimately leaving him behind - which was quite funny, considering the fact that he had always been labeled as mature by everyone around him. Even despite the fact that all he really cared about in the end was doing whatever he pleased.

“Well, I’m perfectly fine with not living past thirty,” Stein blew another string of smoke from out of his mouth, closing his eyes relaxedly for a brief moment.

“You also shouldn’t say stuff like that, Stein. It worries me,” she took a seat beside him on the quaint, wooden bench of the city’s park. “It figured that I’d find you here.”

“Why’s that?” He curiously prodded, sparing a glance at Marie. Her hair shined luminously under the setting sun.

“No one else is here right now, and you’re a bit of a loner,” she responded with a mild shrug of her shoulders, staring intently at the dark circles painting Stein’s under-eyes.

“Have you been getting any sleep lately?” Marie crinkled her nose at the smell of smoke filling her nostrils, waving a hand in front of her face. She was staring to think she’d have to get used to the odor if she wanted to continue hanging around Stein.

“Why?” The male took another drag of his cigarette, a pleased expression present on his visage.

“Because your dark circles have gotten worse. And why do you always have to answer a question with another question,” she chuckled a little, narrowing her eyes at the green-eyed meister.

Stein shrugged his shoulders, remaining just as quiet as a scurrying mouse. He bumped the end of his cigarette against the bench, knocking the burnt portions off of his stick of relaxation. He brought it back to his mouth, not missing the way Marie’s eyebrows furrowed.

“How many have you smoked?” She fiddled with her fingers for a moment, then proceeding to brush any sort of debris or dust off her skirt.

“This is my fourth one,” he mumbled, holding his cigarette higher in the air.

“Stein..” she whined in complaint.

“Why do you care?” Stein questioned with a confused face, exasperatedly sighing once more whilst putting out and tossing yet another cigarette into the trashcan.

Marie carefully considered the question, eyes scanning for a way to put her answer.

Before she could decided on what to reply with, Stein said with a chuckle, “They should really put an ashtray out here.”

Marie rolled her eyes before speaking up, “You don’t get why I care?”

“Yeah,” he huffed. He reeked of cigarette smoke.

“Well… I guess it’s because you’re my friend and I like you,” a considerate and sincere smile painted over her lips, a small blush spreading across her cheeks.

Stein rose a pondering eyebrow, admitting, “I still don’t understand.”

Marie lifted a hand, patting him on his slumped shoulder.

“I’m not sure you ever will,” she laughed with that same smile, a glint of adoration in her brown eyes.

“I’m not sure I will either,” he begun with a shake of his tired head. “It doesn’t seem to matter how it’s explained to me.”

“I’m not sure that most normal people even understand, Stein,” she continued to laugh. “I don’t understand it fully myself.”

“I understand the science of it.. But nothing else,” Stein stared blankly at the basketball court a couple meters or less in front of him.

“That’s just fine,” she reassured quietly, standing from her seat and holding out an inviting hand.

“You wanna come with me?” She offered.

“Where to?” He asked.

“Just to go for a walk.”

“You’ll let me smoke, won’t you?”

Marie snickered.

“Sure.”

[heyitslapis]

The Oldest, Deadliest Sin

Why do we pursue love? What do we gain? Always pouring our love and adoration into the universe, yet only receiving it back for fleeting moments....

Why bother, if love doesn't last? Love leaves. Love changes. Love dies, or fades, hurts us, binds us, drives us mad.

Maybe it was never meant to be a constant. Perhaps its an anomaly of the universe. Something we weren't supposed to entangle with. A dangerous, erratic substance that overtakes us because we're too naive and weak to fully control or comprehend it.

Maybe love was always meant to be our downfall... Maybe love was the real first sin.

Maybe the snake loved a god. Maybe it wasn't reciprocated. Maybe his love made him prideful and bold, and cause he so loved the Deity, he wanted to show off and share the beautiful things that the god had created. Thinking it would be ok to share without asking, because it was all so loving.

Maybe he gave Eve the apple because he loved the god's creations and wanted their eyes to open, so that they may revel with him. Maybe the snake gave Eve the apple so she could admire what his Love had made.

Maybe Eve gave Adam the apple because she wanted to share it with the one she loved. Maybe Adam took the apple because he loved Eve, and in turn believed that she wouldn't do anything that could hurt him.

Maybe that's why the god became angry with the three of them. The love wasn't the snake's to give. The love was too much for the humans to handle, and would surely lead to their demise.

Maybe the god knew what the love-blind snake and the love-hungry humans didn't. He knew that as much as love could give, it was also greedy and would take ten-fold when the time came, leaving nothing behind. He knew love would bring you together, only to revel when it watched you break apart. That love would linger over you like a ghost, even when you swore it was gone for good. Leaving you aching and groaning through the pain of it being torn away. And it never truly leaves you. it lingers, calling you back for another taste, whispering "Wasn't that such a delectable treat last time? Didn't you feel the warmth? It made you feel safe. Complete. I can make you whole again." And no matter how much it hurts, you keep going back, because the relief is sweeter than the last time. Or, perhaps, is it all worth it in the end?

[brucewaynehater101]

Alright. Willis Todd being an abusive father to Jason is a trope often utilized. Comparing this version of him to Bruce's reactions to Red Hood is fantastic. Lots to analyze there.

However, I raise you. There needs to be more fanwork addressing the classism behind Willis Todd being characterized as an abusive alcoholic. In some version of canon, Willis Todd was a good dad in a shitty situation. He was poor, his wife (Catherine) was sick, and he had a newborn baby he needed to provide for. In this horrid situation, where he has no family to fall back on and no higher education to obtain a decent well-paying job, he tries to get quick money. He's desperate to keep both his wife and son alive.

Catherine turns to drugs because it's easier and cheaper to buy drugs than healthcare. The pain she experiences is debilitating, and she'd do anything to not feel pain for one godsdamned second. Unfortunately, this turns into an addiction.

This ultimately shapes the way that Jason views crime. Bruce, while he may be sympathetic to individuals who resort to crime to pay their bills, will not understand huddling in Crime Alley in the dead of winter as he debates whether to buy food or pay for heating. He won't understand the bitterness, hatred, pain, and resignation of never having enough money to survive as you get chewed up again and again.

If Jason's dad is just an abusive criminal, that not only perpetuates the notion that all criminals are evil, but it will shape how Jason views those who commit crime. Breaking the law doesn't make someone bad. There's plenty of reasons people commit crime, whether to survive, protect someone, or something else. The issue, especially in Gotham, is the system that perpetuates wealth inequality through bribes and unethical governmental practices.

Anyway, I think Jason's Red Hood is more fleshed out if it accounts for him acknowledging the desperation behind goons and small-time criminals because he grew up without other options.

[chiyeko-kurea]

-kurea:)

[f41l1ng-0c34n-cr34tvr3]

bl0od dripping down my arm has got to be one of my top ten feelings

[ohpsshaw]

I've been veeerrrry slowly carving my way through BG3. But I think I keep getting captivated by the wrong scenes? Like when you had to dig up a dog's grave for a free steak.

My durge is a civilized nutbar tief-rogue named Typhus (because I forgot that’s just a disease and not something you name an English bulldog), and he’s only holding himself back from slaughtering innocents because of the Dark Urge to resolve friendly NPC storylines. He’s also a desperate slut who wants to get you out of those clothes so he can see your sexy, sexy character development. Whatever you’re into, c’mon. Yes, he’ll even let you put that in there.

[punksalmon]

GIVE BLOOD

[jayjay-thejet-plane]

Guys guys guys

what if demon dean put a muzzle on sam😳

ps check my reblog for more context😈😈😈

[mrtequilasunset]

Highkey so sad to see Kim's character get butchered by people who see Harry as whichever addict wronged them in their life.

[birdsribcage]

Just a silly little girl with silly little thoughts of suicide

[f41l1ng-0c34n-cr34tvr3]

the moment I press a bl@de into my skin I calm down

[luvrbones]

love the wesper/kanej/helnik dynamic of “i can fix him”/“he can fix himself”/“i can make him worse”

[zarasaurus-studios]

addict