#tw: implied drinking

[hoperoiselover]

CHAPTER FOUR OF THE KIDDELA CATALOGUE WOOOOO THIS IS CURRENTLY MY LONGEST CHAPTER, I HOPE YOU ENJOY! <3 READ ON AO3 HERE CHAPTER FOUR THE LAMB TW: Implied drinking, implied smoking, malnourishment, implied ableism, implied child neglection and abuse, stay safe <3 Jonah awoke to screaming. He groaned and covered his face with his pillow. It was too early for this. His alarm clock read 7:17 A.M. What was going on this early in the morning? It was summer for god sakes! He had no school; which Jonah was grateful for. “Mmmhm… Five more minutes…” He muttered, half asleep. “JONAH WHY IS THERE A KID IN YOUR CLOSET?!” His mother, Eliana Marshall, stood in front of his closet that was now open. She stared straight at her son with disbelief and fear. Her messy bun left strands of dark brown hair in her face, her eye bags made her look stressed and exhausted, and she was. Adam was awake as well, he was much more aware of the situation at hand than Jonah was. He looked back at Jonah and his mother, too stunned to speak, afraid that if he said something it would bring him more trouble. He backed up against the wall of the closet and held his breath. “JONAH WHAT DID YOU DO?!” She was panicking. Whose kid is this? Why does her son have him in his closet? How long has he been here? She had so many questions but none were being answered at the time. Jonah finally opened his eyes realizing what had happened. He sat up quickly and looked back at his mother with fear. “Y-You won’t tell Pops about this will you?...” He asked his mother. If Pops found out about this he would be a dead man… Then again he was more afraid of what would become of Adam if Pops got to him. “...Depends...I’d like to know what is going on here.” Eliana responded, taking a deep breath. She wasn’t going to punish Jonah if it was all meant in good spirit. Her son was a very sweet and thoughtful boy, he wouldn’t do anything with malicious intent.. Besides, he was just a kid. Plus, Mervin wasn’t going to let this slide if he found out… She would keep this a secret to protect Jonah and the blonde boy… Anything to protect her son from her unhinged husband. “...Pinkie promise?...” Jonah looked at his mother, tears forming in his eyes. He was biting his nails out of anxiety, he knew he could trust his mom, but he was still unsure. “Oh Jo…okay,...I promise…” She grimminced at the sight of her anxious son. Eliana knew that Jonah got overwhelmed easily. She had always tried to find ways to help him ease his reactions, but she could never figure out the reason why he acted like this. She went over to her son and sat next to him. She held out her pinkie finger and smiled softly. She knew that Jonah was afraid of his father, and she hated that she was afraid of that man too. Someone who she had once loved and admired so much made her feel unsafe and dreadful. She has thought about divorcing the man, but she needed him to help give Jonah a good life… She didn’t want Jonah to have to suffer like she did when she was a kid. She cringed at the memories of her past and looked back at her son. Jonah clasped his small pinkie finger on hers and seemed to have calmed down a little, she could still see how he was suppressing wanting to bounce himself a little. He would move a lot or fidget when he got anxious or nervous. Eliana didn’t know why, but she didn’t care. This was her son, and she would love him no matter what he did. He could never stay still no matter how hard he had tried. During formal events where Mervin had brought in co-workers and clients over for dinner, Mervin would scowl poor Jonah for making the wrong gesture or moving too much in his seat. Eliana argued with her husband saying that he was just a kid, he was only five, and that Mervin shouldn’t expect Jonah to be perfect all the time. Mervin would only roll his eyes, pull out another one of those damn cigarettes and smoke, sometimes even leaving the house in the middle of the night and go.... Somewhere. Eliana never knew where her husband went during those nights. “Now can you tell me what's going on?” Eliana rubbed circles on Jonah’s back after completing the pinkie promise ritual. Adam seemed to still be tense about the situation, but the fear had left his eyes and was replaced with a sympathetic look. He left the closet and sat next to Jonah, holding his hand in the process. Maybe this kid wasn’t so bad, Eliana thought. He seemed kind and gentle towards Jonah which relieved some stress off of her shoulders a bit. “U-um… so,...,” Jonah looked at Adam and rubbed his thumb against the blondie’s pale hand. Adam nodded his head, giving Jonah permission to tell his mother what had happened last night. “I- was looking at the t.v.. a-and… Stanley t-told me he could make friends come from thin air…. A-and… I-I wanted a friend,...” Jonah sniffed and cried softly, shaking a little due to the pressure of telling his mother the truth. “Deep breaths hijo…No one is rushing you…” Eliana ran her fingers through Jonah’s dark brown hair as she smiled softly, waiting patiently for Jonah to recollect himself. She knew that Jonah struggled to make friends, the kids at his school were cruel and rough. Jonah wasn’t like that, he liked music and shiny stickers. Sure he’d sometimes rough house with his cousins, but other than that he was a pretty gentle kid. Adam looked at Eliana for a second and quickly looked away once he realized she had seen him staring at her. “I.. heard something from the kitchen when you and Pops were fighting and I found Adam,” Jonah explained to his mother who nodded her head at Jonah. “And you decided to make him a bed in your closet because?...” She looked at Adam and Jonah, continuing to talk softly. “Adam was tired, and….,” Jonah paused for a moment,” I didn’t want Pops to find him… y-you won’t take Adam away from me right Ma’?...” Jonah looked at his mother with teary eyes. Eliana could already see that Jonah had grown an attachment to Adam,... oh boy… She felt bad for her son. She would have to eventually take Adam to the police station so they could find and contact his parents, but then again,... he came from the t.v…. Well… sort of. She wanted to trust Adam but something was wrong… “No,.. i’m not taking Adam away from you Jonah,... but you need to understand that we can’t keep him here… He probably has a home and family that misses him…” She sighed and looked at the boys. “NO! I WANT ADAM!” Jonah pouted and held onto Adam’s arm. Adam looked shocked and a little bit sad. Eliana couldn’t tell if Adam was sad because of the fact that Jonah wanted him to stay, or because he missed his family…. If he had one that is… “Jo,...your mother is right… I can’t stay here forever…” Adam hugged the smaller boy as Jonah continued to cry into Adam’s dirty, white shirt. “No! I-I don’t want you to leave!” Jonah cried, Eliana could feel her heart crack slightly. This was Jonah’s first friend… taking him away now would be brutal. She contemplated what to do and sighed. “Okay,... we’ll let Adam stay a bit longer… but I will be trying to find his parents… I don’t want us to be charged with kidnapping… alright?” She patted Jonah’s head. “R-really?...” Jonah sniffed and looked at his mom with one of his eyes. He was still hugging Adam. “Yup,...now come on kids, I have work in less than an hour and I’m taking you to daycare,” She stood up and tried to fix her hair a bit. “WHAT! I THOUGHT I WAS THE SUMMER?!” Jonah protested, not wanting to go to daycare It was going to be just like school, and Jonah hated school. “Up and at them soldier, come on. Oh also, Adam you can borrow some of Jonah's clothes.. I don’t know if they’ll fit you but take what you like okay?” Eliana smiled softly at the boys. “BUT MOMMMM! I DON’T WANNA GOO!” Jonah complained, his fear forgotten and replaced with annoyance. “I mean, it shouldn’t be too bad Jo..” Adam said, trying to calm down Jonah, “Maybe I could go with you..If your mother is alright with that.” Jonah huffed, crossed his arms and looked at his mom. “Can Adam come with?” He sighed. Eliana wasn’t sure. The daycare’s cost for one week was $170 per kid and Mervin would notice the extra money taken from the bank account. This would make Mervin suspicious of Eliana, and it could lead to him finding out about Adam. Yet she had work and couldn’t take care of a kid while working, and she couldn’t leave him here… “Alright,.. Adam can go with you to daycare Jonah,” She sighed nervously. “YAY! THANK YOU MOM!” Jonah smiled wide and hugged his mom. How awesome is that! Jonah wouldn’t be alone! He smiled wide and Adam chuckled behind him. “You’re welcome, now go get ready you two, we are leaving soon,” Eliana smiled and got up, patting Jonah’s head and leaving the room. Adam went over to the closet and looked around at the clothes hanging on a metal bar above. Jonah smiled, finally, now he could add that pop of color that was missing from Adam’s current outfit. “Oh! Oh! I know what you should wear! Here!” Jonah grabbed a blue sweater and a white hoodie with lamb ears on them. The lamb ears had blue bows that matched the color of the sweater. He smiled at Adam and bounced up and down a bit. Adam went silent as he looked at the clothes, he grabbed the lamb hoodie and felt its soft texture. His pupils dilate, and he rubs the fabric against his hands. “S-soft…..,” Adam muttered to himself. He put on the hoodie and sat on the floor. Oh my god…how could something be so… perfect… Adam hugged himself, continuing to feel this angelic fabric rub against his skin. This was perfect. Jonah looked at Adam with interest and astonishment. He had never seen anyone react to clothes like this before, but Jonah didn’t judge, that would be mean. “You like?” Jonah asked Adam as he smiled. “I love,...” Adam smiled softly. Jonah giggled and handed Adam the blue sweater and some black jean pants. Adam took the sweater and put it over the lamb jacket. He then put the hoodie over his head, a massive tuff of blond hair stook out from the hoodie. “You can change in the closet,” Jonah said, already holding the clothes he wanted to wear. Adam nodded his head and went inside the closest and closed it. Not even a minute later, he had gotten the pants on and he left his dirty black shorts on the make-shift mattress. Jonah then entered the closest and closed it, changing into a colorful sweater, where the torso of it was red, and the sleeves were different colors. He put on some jean shorts and his converse and left the closet. Adam was sitting on his bed. His stomach grumbled. Adam brought his hands to his stomach and held it, his face scrunched up a bit in discomfort. Jonah took notice of this. Adam must be hungry! He looked back to his nightstand to find the salad bowl of doritos, but it was gone. Drat! His mom probably took it back to the kitchen. “Come on Adam! I’m sure my Mom is making something for breakfast!” Jonah grabbed Adam’s hand and led him out his room. Jonah's assumptions were correct. Eliana was cooking some pancakes and eggs for them. She hummed to herself a song that Jonah had heard a thousand of times now. She was humming the song ‘Just the Two of Us’ by….who was it again- George Washington-...? He never remembered names like that. Anyway, he pulled out a chair for Adam to sit on, and he sat right next to him, waiting for his mother to finish cooking. “Mmmm…It smells really good, Jonah’s Mom,” Adam said, he was no longer tense. He seemed very relaxed and happy. Jonah smiled at him. “Of course it smells good! Mom makes the best food ever!” Jonah boasted, proud of his mom. Eliana giggled, bringing two plates full of food for the hungry boys. “Thank you Adam, and please, call me Eliana,” She smiled. Adam nodded and started to eat the food, his pupils dilated once again. “Aw man… I haven’t tasted something this good in forever!” Adam savored the food, enjoying every bite of it. Eliana raised an eyebrow. “In forever? What do you mean by that buddy? She questioned. Adam tensed up again and let his fork hit the plate. He slowly stopped chewing the food in his mouth. “Um… nothing…” Adam lied. “Alright,.. Make sure you continue eating, you’re skin and bones kid…” Eliana sighed, concerned for the boy that her son had found. Jonah finished his food, not paying attention to the conversation happening in front of him. He brought his plate and fork to the sink and grabbed a capri sun from the fridge. He prodded a hole into the drink with the yellow straw and started to drink it. “Oh, Jonah, can you get the extra toothbrush under the bathroom sink for Adam, and make sure you do brush your teeth. No lying to me okay?” Eliana pointed her finger at Jonah and smiled playfully. “Okay Mom-!” Jonah sighed and trudged his way over to the bathroom, grabbing the extra toothbrush. The toothbrush was blue, perfect! It matched the sweater Adam was wearing. Jonah placed it down on the counter. He had to tippy toe in order to reach the counter top. He had a stool that he could use, but he was a ‘big boy’ so he never used it. Then grabbed his red toothbrush and applied some toothpaste. The tube was hardly used. Jonah brushed his teeth and quickly rinsed his mouth before heading back to the kitchen where he found his mother putting some bright yellow converse on Adam’s feet. “Adam, sweetheart, go brush your teeth, the bathroom is over on the right okay?” Eliana put her hand on Adam’s shoulder and smiled. Adam nodded and waved to Jonah as he made his way to the bathroom. “Alright, you ready Jonah?” Eliana said as she started to pack up Jonah’s lunch box and a ziplock bag with some food. “Ummmm I think so- OH WAIT!” Jonah realized that he was forgetting a few things. He ran to his room and grabbed his backpack. He opened it and grabbed Zoomie who was still in his closet. He placed the plush in his bag and looked around his room a bit more. His eyes landed on two squishy stress toys that were on his desk. The squishies were of a white and black cats. He grabbed the toys and squeezed them together before putting them in his bag. He then saw a toy car that we wanted to bring, along with a book and another stuffed animal of an elephant. He tossed them in his bag and closed it, putting it on and heading back to the kitchen where Adam and his mother were waiting for him. “What do you have in your bag, Jonah?” Eliana put her hand on her hip and smiled. “Toys!” Jonah giggled. “Toys huh? Well, let’s hope they can make room for your and Adam’s lunch,” She chuckled and opened the bag, putting in Jonah’s lunch box and Adam’s ziplock bag. It took a while to get the bag to close but eventually it did. “Okay! Now, let’s get going okay?” Eliana sighed and grabbed her purse and car keys. While Jonah was gone she had fixed her hair to look more professional and she wore her black and white vest uniform for her job. Jonah nodded and held Adam’s hand, he bounced up and down and followed his mother to the car, leading the way for Adam. Eliana unlocked the car and helped the boys in, making sure that they were okay. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to either of the boys. She got in the driver's seat and started to drive off to the daycare. END OF CHAPTER FOUR, THE LAMB

[h-didanart]

Not only am I probably the worst person to post this, I have also chosen a terrible time given current canon regarding these th-two

However, these doodles were just too funny to not share, so!

Jigsaw and Bloodmoon being chaotic teammates while stuck in Minecraft, ft. drunk Bloodmoon (how that happened I have no idea)

(Also yes, this art is old, I don’t have any current art to show. I either draw or write, this is the everlasting fight (I rhymed accidentally and felt fancy :P))

[forestshadow-wolf]

Cw: implied homophobia, drinking and smoking as coping mechanisms, angst

Part 1 || Part 2

Soap was always so put together. Ghost always admired that, just a bit.

Which is why is was so shocking to see soap drunk off his ass, alone in the rec room, in the small hours of the night.

Ok, saying he was drunk off his ass was an overstatement, but he was clearly a bit further than buzzed. Didn't even acknowledge ghost when he walked, just continued idly running his finger around the rim of his glass, staring sightlessly into the amber liquid. Where he even got the bottle of scotch was a question ghost didn't bother to think on.

Ghost took it upon himself to situate himself next to soap, pressing his thigh into the scot's.

"How much have you had, Johnny?" He asked softly, something colored his voice that he didn't wish to look deeper into — that's why they worked. Soap toed the line between too much, and ghost let him, laughing it off when it circled too close, and soap always followed.

"Enough. I should pack it up." Soap said equally soft, solem, but he made no move to do so, simply continuing to cradle the glass between his hands. — so that's it, huh. That's how he stays so composed. He's self-aware. Maybe too much for his own good.

Soap pulled the cup up to his lips to take a sip of the warm liquid. Ghost's hands gently guided the glass out of his hands before it reached its destination. Soap let it happen. He still hadn't even glanced at ghost, and he was being unusually quiet. Ghost didn't like it.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Or ghost thought they did. Then a moment later he hears the flick of a lighter, and he turns his head to see soap lighting up a cigarette. Simon frowns behind his mask. Soap takes a delicate pull off the cigarette, and lets the smoke steam out of his mouth slowly. Still, it's like he's looking anywhere but ghost. It's like he's looking through ghost. Ghost sighs — he doesn't like this johnny. — his fingers automatically itch for a cigarette of his own, his body so used to sharing one with the man beside him. He doesn't. There's no real need for one at the moment, just a desire to share something.

"Tell me?" Ghost offers. It's gruff, and hardly sounds like a question at all, but an offer all the same.

Soap doesn't answer. He's eerily quiet. The only sound is their breathing, and the occasional pull of the one lone cigarette.

It's quiet for a long time. Ghost doesn't force anything, just sits with him. Then–

"My da's dyin'." It's small, quiet, as if saying it too loud will shatter whatever's in the air between them. "I should take some leave, be there... but... I won't." The cigarette's almost burned down to the but now. He takes one last drag off it, then snubs it out.

Simon stays quiet, letting johnny think, it's not his place to speak. It's not what Johnny needs right now.

"He'd be furious, I think. He'd tell me to go to hell, maybe in a few more words." Johnny chuckled darkly. "Mum will be devastated if I don't go. And my sisters will never forgive me if I'm not there — mum will though, she's too kind — but... I can't go." He said wistfully, the words come out slow — it's probably the alcohol — he spoke like he didn't know how to stop the words from coming out, and wasn't sure if he even wanted to stop them.

"Why not?" Simon prompted gently, he could almost see the words burning a hole in Johnny's throat.

"We can forget about this come morning, act like this never happened." Soap answered instead, like the words were stuck, but still seared with a need to come out. Or maybe it was the alcohol making him hare-brained

"Johnny..." It was soft, too soft. Soap laid his head on his arms and began tracing formless shaped on the table with his finger.

"... haven't seen him in over a decade, and he was so... angry then. He caught me an- an a boy..." the words seemed to get caught in his throat. "Barely even let me pack my bags before shipping me off. He was so nice before... before he knew. He was so amazing. I always thought I'd be like him when I grew up." Johnny's eyes were wet now, instead of the eerie dryness from before, but that's all it was, no tears. "I should see him one more time for that at least... but I won't. I-..."

"Johnny." Ghost felt like he was intruding, he was seeing something he wasn't meant to see. But johnny plowed on.

"I-... but I don't think I can- that- that I'll-... I don't know h-how I'll survive if- if he tells me to- to go to hell or- or t-to get dead again. I can't- I can't do it again." Johnny's voice shook as he spoke, and the words seemed to trip and stumble uneloquently from his lips.

He seemed to burn out after that, and it was so quiet, like they'd gotten sucked into space. Or maybe it was just simon who was in space, and Johnny was cast adrift in the ocean. He didn't know.

"Lets get you to bed, Johnny." The words were gentle, pillowed in all the corners. Johnny let himself be guided easily, searching for any kind of life raft.

[weird-an]

Billy hides and waits.

His dad is angry and he's under the bed, waiting for Neil to fall asleep.

He's scared and he hates it.

His mom leaves and he's waiting, hidden behind his dad's anger and the poison he spits, for her to come back, to take him with her.

He's got a big wound inside him, always hurting.

His dad drags him to Hawkins, far away from all the place where he can be himself. He's always hiding. Behind a bright smile and the howl of the Camaro's engine.

He waits for school to finish, to get a chance, a new horizon. He's afraid Neil will make sure he never reaches it. Billy hides.

Steve Harrington is the first person to find him. When Billy is a mess, way too drunk, on a Wednesday night at the quarry. Billy wants to leave.

"I don't think you should drive, Hargrove."

He ends up on a couch that is only designed to look good in a catalogue and a torture to sit on, no sleep in sight. He promises himself to never go back to the Harrington's house full of awful wallpapers and the prettiest boy.

It doesn't work. Once Steve found him, they hide together. Under the bleachers smoking. At Steve's pool, with a laugh and Steve's mom's favourite champagne.

"Two months," Steve says, sipping from the champagne like he has always . "Two months and we can leave."

We. Billy stares at him, all warm. The pool feels like The Mariana Trench, filled with endless possibilities.

"Cheers to that, Harrington."

"It's Steve, Hargrove." Steve rolls his eyes. Billy's heart skips a beat.

Billy isn't scared. He leans over. Kisses Steve, because with Steve he doesn't need to hide. Steve kisses back, tasting like champagne bubbles and chlorine and himself.

Billy hides with Steve. In his bed, under the covers, clinging to each other at night.

"Two weeks," Steve says, digging through his dad's endless collection of ties and bowties, looking for a matching one for graduation day.

Billy finds that hiding with Steve isn't too bad. Not when they are waiting together. To pack their bags. To drive away.

"Two weeks," he agrees.

[like-real-people-blog]

i fucking hate this honestly. the amount of people trying to defend neil gaiman is disgusting, even if the SA allegations are false there is still a gross power imbalance between him and the women, and to have it happen twice it starts to look like a pattern. believe victims always.

[ibrithir-was-here]

Old sketch of Jonathan in "Blood of My Blood" putting up with having some unwanted attention after meals :s (which I had even before @see-arcane wrote "Domestic" but darn it it doesn't work well with it) Anyway realized I had never posted it, so here's the Horrible No Good Very Bad Time for ya'll to once more stake Dracula over

[nomsfaultau]

MFR Philza: the glass is half full! ^-^

MFR Wilbur: No the glass is half empty

MFR Techno: actually, the glass is fully of POISON because you guys are trying to DRUG ME AGAIN

MFR Tommy: oooo drugs! Gimmie!!!

Everyone else: NO-!

[veinsfullofstars]

🐭 The thief and the soldier. 🦇

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Daroach and Dark Meta Knight sitting at the edge of a pool in a confetti-strewn courtyard - presumably Dedede’s - beneath a starry night sky, each holding a glass of… fruit juice… orange and lime respectively, and lit a soft blue from the water beneath them. On our left, Daroach is lounging back on one hand, pointing and babbling incessantly, his face flushed, a foot dangling lazily in the water. On our right, DMK - also flushed - is hunched slightly forward, his head resting on his left fist, the tip of one sabaton dipped in the water, staring silently and inscrutably through his mask at the chatty rat. END ID.)

Me, in the kitchen, making my own food. (Also, remind me to use the Shading Assist feature in Clip more, holy heck, what a useful tool.)

Started on 10/17/23, finished on 10/18/23. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 10/18/23.

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: "Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas. I love you."

Pairing: Vil Schoenheit x GN!Reader (with background RookVil x GN!Reader)

Genre: Heavy Angst, proceed with caution

TW: Major character death, suicide, heavy drinking.

AN: Its my birthday! I dont know why, but i usually feel terrible on my birthday, so I gave you guys the option of choosing between a happy fic for today, or an angst. You chose angst, so here we are. Please exercise caution before, during and after you read. If you or someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, please get in touch with professionals. You are loved, and will be missed, so please take care of yourself. If at any point you feel like stopping reading, please do. Your mental health comes before anything else. I hope you enjoy... Merry Christmas to everyone!

Vil sat down on his couch, sinking into its warmth with his fifth glass of wine in hand. Once upon a time, he would have frowned upon doing something like this. He was a notorious lightweight, and despised the headache that accompanied him on the day after.

But now, the pleasant buzz that the alcohol created in his mind was a welcome distraction.

Vil's gaze fell on the TV remote. He reached for it and switched it on, it's artificial light casting on his face and lighting up the otherwise dark room.

"And in other news, acclaimed actor and director Vil Schoenheit announces his retirement from the entertainment industry at the fairly young age of 34. A public statement was released earlier this month by his agency, right after the release of his latest film, 'Eternity'. This news has come as a shock to many of the star's fans, but-"

Vil tuned out the TV as the newscaster spoke of how well his last movie was doing in theatres and how everyone wished him well in the future. Words blurred into sounds and the TV screen into colours as he took another sip of his wine, closing his eyes as he tipped his head back on the couch.

His phone vibrated inside his pocket. Removing it, Vil saw a message from Epel.

Merry Christmas. Hope you're having a good time. Mawmaw asked me to send you this pic, and told me to invite you to Harveston sometime for some apple pie.

Underneath it was a picture of Epel and his grandmother in their kitchen, both holding a plate of said apple pie in their hands.

Vil smiled, then decided to check his other messages. A voice message from Jack wishing him Merry Christmas, a whole paragraph of text courtsey of Rook, and many more messages from his coworkers and acquaintances. He replied to every one of them, answering each with a thoughtful message that somehow his alcohol-addled brain could type coherently.

As lilac eyes wandered over his chat log, they caught one last message. It was from his manager. Or, well, ex-manager.

Vil.

In all the years I have spent managing young actors, I have not seen one as talented and dedicated as you. Not many spend their time honing and perfecting their craft as you do. It is a shame to see you leaving the spotlight so soon, but I know this is something you have needed for quite some time.

Take this time to take care of yourself, Vil. (Name) would have wanted you to. Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

Vil stilled as he read the last few sentences. "(Name)...".

The moonlight painted a solemn scene as it fell on the lone man, coloring his blonde locks an enchanting silver as he picked up his wine glass. He gulped the drink in one go, the slightly bitter liquid burning his throat in a familiar manner as he placed the glass on the coffee table.

Vil smiled, then tried to stand. The five glasses of wine had begun showing their effect, and he had to lean against the armrest of the couch to stop the world from spinning in front of his eyes.

Slowly, he made his way to the master bedroom. Upon reaching, he walked over to the bed, forgoing his usual skincare routine in favour of tucking himself in.

Vil sat upright in bed, eyes trained on the lone flowerpot kept at the windowsill. The lilies stirred ever so slightly under the light breeze coming in through the open window, as though shivering under the weight of his gaze. Gaze filled with profound love, and sorrow, and resolve.

"(Name)..."

Vil's voice was not more than a whisper, yet that one word uttered from his lips seemed to fill the silence that shrouded the room. He took a shaky breath, hand closing around the bottle of sleeping pills he had on his bedside table.

The clock struck twelve from somewhere within the house, it's soft sound echoing throughout. Outside, Vil heard cheers coming from people who were spending Christmas with their loved ones.

He looked back at the red lilies, and smiled. A genuine, unpracticed smile that had not seen the light of day ever since the love of his life died.

"Merry Christmas (Name). I love you."

Rook was a hunter, through and through. He prided himself on his observation skills, on his judgments. Usually, he could see things coming from a mile away.

He did not see Vil's suicide from a mile away.

The blonde haired man was one of the first to be informed of it, and also the one to whom most of his possessions were bequeathed to.

Rook did not care much for most of the things Vil had left him. He had also left him with a hole in his heart, and a permanent pain in his soul. Yet, as he gazed at the flowerpot with the red tulips in it, and the matching one with white magnolias beside it, he could not blame Vil.

Calloused hands trembled as they caressed the petals of the flowers. It felt almost sacrilegious to touch, as if the pure flowers were taunting him for the blood that stained his hands.

Tears dropped down onto the silky petals, clinging to them like drops of fresh dew. Rook's hands slid down to touch the flowerpots, where the letters engraved spelled out the names of two people he thought of as the very epitome of beauty.

The lilies grew on the essence and memory of (Name) Schoenheit, and the magnolias welcomed the ashes of Vil Schoenheit.

Red lilies: Eternal love and passion

White magnolias: Nobility and Purity

Masterlist...

[alfhildr-the-word-weaver]

Today on "tumblr ads that I wish were rebloggable":

I'm not wildly fond of tumblr ads promoting weight loss all willy-nilly, but the theming of this one combined with the fact that I saw it on a blog that I first followed for Dracula Daily posting has me losing it. Lose weight how, pray tell, dear tumblr ad? Lose blood weight? Because someone's drinking it? Am I going to be running through Transylvania because there's a vampire chasing me?

[strawberryspence]

disclaimer: this is the most personal work i have yet. please be kind. trigger warnings: alcoholism, attempted suicide, and implied child abuse. please heed the warnings.

-

Eddie flips the coin in his hand.

As a child, Eddie used to drink orange juice from the carton. He likes the pulp, the tanginess, the comfort.

When he gets sick, his mother buys it for him, and like magic, it heals him. It could be the flu or the cold, but with orange juice, it heals everything.

(It's not. It's his mother and her healing magic. Her soft hands holding him through the night, her gentle humming as he sleep in discomfort, her love in the chicken soup.)

Eddie hates alcohol. He hates the burn on his lungs. The way it slides down, all grimy and hot. He hates the bitter taste in his mouth, something you can't wash even with brandname mouthwash.

Eddie hates the smell. The strong smell that stays on you for days, it sticks on your clothes, on your beddings, on your couch.

Eddie hates it. Hates it when he hears the click of a can opening, reminds him of his father coming home. Hates it when he smells it, reminds him of his father's harsh words and harsher actions.

Eddie hates the comfort he finds in it.

(He doesn't, really. Because deep down, he thinks it's the only escape. It's what he was born into. It's what he deserves.)

(It's not.)

There's broken bottles littering his room. He hides it good enough, he thinks. He thinks he does, until Wayne comes crashing into his room, the third bottle of whisky in his hand. Wayne breaks it against his wall and Eddie cries. It was so expensive.

He promises he'll get better.

He does. He does for a while.

Steve helps. Robin helps. The kids help.

And then—

Well.

It breaks.

It breaks the same way Dick Harrington's wine closet breaks, and Eddie feels dirty and useless as he uses his boyfriend's baseball bat— the same one that has saved their lives time and time again— to get him alcohol.

He doesn't really care. One sip and it'll all be gone.

(He cares.)

Eddie's not sure what pushes him back, if it's the writings on the walls, littered all over town or the heaviness of the truth. The truth that he was nothing but a burden. That he should've died that night in Dustin's arms and into nothingness.

Steve finds him like that, and Eddie hates himself for doing it to him twice. Hates that he made Steve go through it twice. Hates that Steve used the same rhythm twice to give him chest compressions. Hates that Steve has cried over almost losing him twice.

Eddie wakes up in the hospital and he's nothing but bones and meat.

Steve forgives him. But his eyes are sunken and his lips are bleeding.

Dustin doesn't visit him. At least he doesn't get to see Eddie like this.

(It doesn't give him any comfort.)

Steve and Wayne talk to him.

Eddie goes to some kind of facility.

It's not working. It's some kind of fucking bullshit.

(It doesn't work that way. Healing is like building blocks. One block at a time.)

Eddie gets out six months later.

He doesn't go back to Hawkins.

The whole Party picks him up.

(It's okay. It's not home. It was never home. It has always been the people.)

"Hey, you going to bed?" Eddie looks up at the voice. Some sitcom is playing in the background. The only light in the room is the light the TV emits.

Eddie yawns, "Yeah, I'll be right behind you, sweetheart."

Steve smiles at him, and it's like being showered with sunlight in the dark. He moves forward to kiss the crown of Eddie's head and it makes him feel like royalty, "Alright. I'll see you there, love."

Without Steve in the room, it's dark. It's only him and himself. Eddie shuts the TV off, walking slowly to the kitchen.

The coin digs into his palm, the familiar inscription sharp and throbbing. A constant daily reminder.

Eddie opens the fridge.

There's orange juice.

There's always orange juice on the fridge.

He takes the orange juice, drinking it out of the carton. Letting the magical juice heal him once again.

(It doesn't work that way.)

He closes the fridge, and a polaroid taped on the fridge catches his eyes.

It was taken on Eddie's 23rd birthday. Everybody was smiling around him, all toothy smiles and laughs as he blows the cake.

(There's orange juice. There's always orange juice in the other room and in Hawkins and in Boston and in Chicago and in California and in Indianapolis.)

(Maybe it doesn't work that way, but having orange juice does help.)

Eddie flips the coin and slaps it on the back of his hand.

(1 year.)

(One day at a time. Like building blocks.)

[queenjunothegreat]

Been considering writing angst recently, and I've fixated on this AU where the Physicians Cure doesn't work so Leo never comes back and Jason and Piper wind up in this incredibly toxic marriage where they're in this awful cycle of "You make me miserable beyond words and I can't help hurting you with everything I do and we hate each other but we also love each other more than anything and we're both terrified of losing the other half of our heart so we're both desperately clinging to each other spitting venom and seeing who can dig our claws in deeper." And Jason absolutely hates himself now that he's become the worst parts of both of his parents because he's constantly drinking and cheating on his wife with every Latino twink he claps eyes on (which is getting more pathetic every year he gets older). Meanwhile Piper has completely dedicated herself to work to an unhealthy level and she's used her Charmspeak to up her meds way too much and she knows she's breaking a poor woman's heart because they've been having an emotional affair for nearly a year now and she keeps promising that she's finally going to leave Jason but she knows she never will. None of their friends talk to them much any more because it seems like the two of them are deliberately making each other and themselves worse and nobody can stomach what they've become. But they still love each other. God, they love each other so fucking much, and every few months they'll break down in sobs, holding each other close and promising that they'll get better. And maybe for a little while they do, but when they look at each other and say, "This time we'll make it," they both know they're lying.

[elialys]

"There were a couple of scenes we tweaked quite a bit, particularly one where Lindsay, her boss, takes her home. And it's one of my favourite scenes in the show, actually.

And I think because it is so ambiguous, because it is never commented on after, you couldn't put a scene like that into a modern day show without having some repercussion for it, or having her have a conversation about the specifics of that. But we very, very specifically did not want to do that, we wanted to simply present it. And then the audience has to live with it. And that's the uncomfortable part that they're living with." Anna Torv [x]

THE NEWSREADER | 1.02 "Once in a Lifetime"

[forestshadow-wolf]

Part 1 || Part 2

Cw: (slight) drinkin/ smoking/avoidance as coping mechanisms, slight angst

it was odd to see soap walking to the table 30 minutes before breakfast ended.

usually he was first in-first out, his 'hawk perfectly gelled to stay right where he put it. not today.

not today when soap slumped down in his seat, almost too late to grab up a tray of cold eggs and sausage. not today when soap's hair flopped into a dishevled strip of hair on the top of his head, and it looked like he wanted to throw up the moment the tiniest morsel of food touched his tongue.

Almost everyone had already fucked off to start on their daily obligations by now. Ghost should have been gone by now as well, but he'd gotten worried when soap hadn't shown up. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, to quote a certain scot.

To be fair Ghost couldn't say he'd be in the best of spirits if he drank half the night away with a bottle of scotch that he smuggled onto base. And he didn't even know what to think about why he'd felt the need to.

Soap wouldn't even look up at him, even when he nudged his foot with the toe of his boot. Ghost couldn't tell whether it was the hangover, or if he was embarrassed about the night before, or from the news that lead him to drinking last night. He barely even poked at his food, didn't touch his full cup of rapidly cooling coffee, either.

"Sergent."

All he got in return was a disgruntled sound, and a vauge wince from the man. He stabbed a piece of egg and pushed it into the corner of his tray.

"Soap"

Soap huffed an almost pained breath.

"What?" He rasped.

Ghost held the silence, letting it speak for itself. Soap huffed another irritated breath.

"I don't want ta talk about it."

Ghost frowned. "Johnny."

"Fine! what?! what do you want me to say, Ghost?" Soap, snapped at him with a wince. that surprised Ghost, he doesn't think he's ever had soap snap at him like that in all the years he's known him. "I said we can forget last night never happened, why can't you just accept that?"

"you remember that?" it was honestly impressive, drinking most of a bottle of scotch alone and still remembering the night? that's not something Ghost can do.

"'course I remember." he grumbled bitterly, "and I said to forget it."

"right, because that's so healthy, is it?" ghost rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, and you're the epitome of health." Soap snapped harshly.

Ghost chose to let that be the end of it. For now. Soap was in a shit mood, and he was more than likely hungover, and it sounded like he was having some issues.

The remaining time of breakfast rolled past quickly, and it was like a switch had flipped, how fast Soap became that image of perfection. next thing Ghost knew, the scot was striding away to take care of morning recruits.

he didn't see soap for the rest of the day. or that evening. in fact, he really only saw soap again when he was heading out for a late night smoke while he was taking a break from his giant load of paperwork. he was sitting on the ground outside, leaning against the wall next to the door.

"I'm not gonna have to drag you back to your bed again, am I?" he said, rolling up his mask, and sticking a cigarette between his lips.

"nah. not this this time." Soap, huffed a humorless laugh, taking a sip of amber liquid. but there was no bottle in sight, that was a good sign. but he did have a lit cigarette of his own between his fingers.

"you know, you really shouldn't smoke."

that elicited a scoff from the man beside him.

"it's bad for your lungs."

that made a deep chuckle escape the man, and Simon had to tamp down the shiver that went down his spine. they lapsed into silence lone enough for them to both finish their lights.

"you really should talk about it, you know. doesn't have to be with me, but..." he lit up another cigarette, offering the pack to Johnny as well.

"I'm fine." he said, the words short and clipped, as he took his own cigarette.

"you just seemed really torn up about it, that's all." he said.

Johnny let out a long breath of smoke, "It's all just... fucked." he sighed. "And I don't know what to do."

Simon stays quiet, letting Johnny think through his words.

"I want to go see him before he... ya'know, I think I have to, really. I don't know- it's just... I don't know." his words seemed to die on him, and Simon watched him lose steam.

"Last time you saw him, wasn't on the best terms." he finished for him.

"yeah." he whispered, polishing off the last of his drink and setting the glass to the side.

"I think you should go. if that's anything to you." Simon offered, blowing out a puff of smoke.

Johnny was quiet for a moment, "I know. I just... I'm scared, truthfully." he said quietly. "what if it goes wrong, and he doesn't want to see me, or- or he tells me he still hates me, and that it should be me that's dying and not him." he looked down at his hands.

"what if he doesn't though? what if he tells you he loves you. that he made a mistake. what if you get closure?"

"isn't that worse, though? to finally be accepted by him, only to lose him again?"

Simon shrugged, "you tell me."

they were quiet for a long time then, letting soap think about it. "what if I don't want to go alone?"

"all you gotta do is ask." he said, snubbing out his cigarette butt and walking back inside, he still had paperwork to finish.

[judacris]

Chilli Heeler and her "fun" husband in: Drinking Buddy // dm29.deviantart.com

A 2019 Chardoonie? Why, thank you. Mighty kind!

[howlingtides]

A concerned Chuuya finds a drunk Dazai in the bath (Chuuya's POV) - Part 1/2

tw: scars, suicidal ideation, implied self-harm, drinking

tags: hurt/comfort, soukoku's version of fluff, drunk Dazai

Part 1 / Part 2

"Oi, Dazai." Chuuya pounded on the door.

It was nearly 3 am and Chuuya should be in bed sleeping - it was his day off - but instead he was here, standing outside of shitty Dazai's apartment, waiting for that histrionic mummy to open the goddamn door.

Dazai had called him.

Dazai never calls him.

And at this hour?

Chuuya had woken up to the sound of his phone ringing, had just missed the call. He'd be lying if he said his stomach hadn't dropped when he checked the caller ID. He'd also be lying if he said his heart hadn't begun to race when he'd tried calling back multiple times to no avail.

If it had been anyone else, he would've gone back to bed and tried again in the morning. Whatever it was, they could figure it out.

But this was Dazai.

And that's what scared him.

"Dazai," he called again, jiggling the door handle, "if this is some sort of elaborate prank, I'm gonna throw your phone into the river and strangle you with your own-"

The door opened as Chuuya pushed. Oh. It was unlocked. "-bandages," he finished to himself.

It was dark as he stepped inside, all the lights were off save for a light that was coming from around the corner.

Coming from the bathroom.

"Dazai?" Chuuya's voice softened as he walked towards the light, stopping in the bathroom doorway.

Dazai was in the tub. It was filled to the brim with water, and he was naked, arm draped over the side, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand. A bottle of whiskey sat on the tile floor next to him, about half empty.

And he wasn't wearing his bandages.

Chuuya's breath caught.

Scars littered his arms, his neck, his chest, some deeper than others, some larger, some smaller. Chuuya knew they were there, had seen one or two of them before at the slip of a bandage from time to time, but seeing them all at once like this?

His chest tightened.

Dazai lifted his head from where it was propped against the tile wall. His hair was wet, pushed off of his face, showing off yet another scar on his forehead, just beneath his hairline, that was typically hidden beneath dark bangs.

He brought the glass to his lips and spoke as if he was speaking to no one in particular, though Chuuya was pretty sure he knew he was there, had to have heard him, had to have known by now that he wasn't alone.

"Do you think this is what Oda meant?" he asked before taking a sip. He swallowed, licking his lips. "To be on the side that saves people."

It ended as more of a statement than a question, and Chuuya wasn't sure what to say.

Dazai continued, keeping his eyes forward. "I might have fucked up, Chuuya."

The use of his name caught Chuuya off guard. So Dazai was talking to him.

He stepped into the bathroom, pulling off his hat and setting it on the counter. "You only just realizing that now?"

The sound of Chuuya's voice made Dazai jump a little as he turned, looking at Chuuya for the first time since he'd been there.

His eyes were red.

"I've been fucking up my whole life," he said with so much sincerity that Chuuya couldn't help but believe him. "It's no secret. A scar for every fuck-up. For every time I couldn't..." His words trailed off as he took another sip of whiskey.

Chuuya slipped out of his jacket, hanging it on the corner of the door. "If you're looking for pity, you're gonna have to try a lot harder than that."

The corner of Dazai's lip curled upward ever so slightly as he turned to face forward again.

Chuuya considered it a win.

"Why did you call me out here?" Chuuya said, crossing his arms.

"I didn't call you out here," Dazai said, because he had to correct Chuuya, because he always had to be right no matter what kind of self-destructive mindset he was in.

Chuuya sighed. "Why did you call me?"

Dazai thought about it for a moment, staring down into his glass. "You're the only one who understands," he said so matter-of-factly that it hurt before he downed the rest of his whiskey.

Shit.

What the fuck was Chuuya supposed to say to that?

He stood there for a moment, trying to decide how he was supposed to feel or what he was supposed to think or what he was supposed to do. His brain was fried and his soul was tired and he didn't have the energy to feel right now.

He'd been asleep a half an hour ago.

Fuck it.

He moved forward, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig, the whiskey burning his throat as he sat on the floor next to Dazai. He was suddenly bothered by the fact that he hadn't taken his boots off, and he handed the bottle to Dazai as he unzipped them, kicking them off.

Dazai refilled his glass. "So disrespectful," he said.

"Sorry I didn't think to take off my shoes when I came over to make sure you weren't dead," Chuuya spat, immediately regretting it.

He grabbed the bottle from Dazai and took another drink.

Dazai's eyes widened. "You thought I was gonna kill myself?"

"I didn't know what to think," he said, raising his voice. "What kind of asshole calls someone at 3 am and doesn't leave a message or text and doesn't answer when they try to call him back or-" He caught his breath, running his fingers through his hair. "That was such a shitty fucking thing to do, you suicidal prick."

The room went quiet for a moment as Dazai thought again, and Chuuya took another drink.

"You're right," Dazai said eventually. "That was a shitty thing to do." His eyes met Chuuya's. "I'm sorry."

They stayed like that for a minute, eyes locked onto each other until Dazai moved, turned his body in the tub, water sloshing as he raised his other hand and brought it to the side of Chuuya's face, holding his cheek.

Chuuya froze as Dazai leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "You don't deserve that, Chuuya," he whispered into his hair. "I don't deserve you."

Anger boiled in the bottom of Chuuya's stomach as he covered Dazai's hand on his cheek with his own, squeezing it tight. He pulled back, just enough to look Dazai in the eyes.

"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "Don't you say shit like that to me."

To be continued...