#what does it all mean. i used to crutch on alcohol as a way to experience joy and now i'm finding that it............. isn't even fun.

[mercuryislove]

so i've been Not Drinking since december 12th (i will admit i've had a shower beer here and there) but tonight i had a hashtag Real Drink for the first time in four months and let me tell you. it's not even fun to drink anymore. am i maturing? maybe i just like to be sober and miserable instead of drunk and miserable

[tobiasdrake]

What's the best depiction of/metaphor for addiction you've seen in fiction?

I don't know if I'd call it the best; I have a hard time remembering all of the media I've consumed when given general questions like that. But the one that stands out most in my mind, at least, is Willow Rosenberg's four-season decline into overdependence and eventual substance abuse of magic in Buffy: The Vampire Slayer.

A point I really like about the way BTVS handles addiction is that it doesn't blame the substance. The message isn't, "Magic is bad for you; It makes you an addict." The problem is never magic, and we see other characters both using magic responsibly and confronting Willow for the way she uses it throughout the series.

The problem, the message that BTVS conveys through Willow's addiction plotline, is addiction. The problem with addiction is addiction. You can be addicted to all kinds of things, not just controlled substances like drugs and alcohol. Caffeine can be addictive. Sugar. Video games. Fast food. Gambling. Sex. The internet. Money. Whatever gives your brain that dopamine hit that makes life worth living, that can form an addiction.

The problem in BTVS isn't magic. It's Willow's dependency on it. The way she makes it her personality, replacing who she was before. The way she leans on it as a crutch whenever things are physically or emotionally difficult. The way it substitutes for her lack of self-esteem, validating her with an artificial confidence boost by making her feel powerful and uniquely capable.

It starts in season two, with Willow casting her very first spell in the season finale to restore Angel's soul. Giles warns her then and there that casting this spell will "open a door that you may never be able to close". She doesn't really know what that means and neither do we.

But from season three onwards as Willow begins to learn about magic, we see her constantly turning to magic whenever things get hard - against advisement from the rest of the cast. People think the addiction storyline began somewhere in season six, but it actually began in episode 03x08 "Lovers Walk".

Willow and Xander, at this point, had begun cheating on their boy/girlfriends Oz and Cordelia with each other. Willow feels intensely guilty for it. At this point, they have three options in front of them:

1 - Break up with Oz and Cordelia, and get together. 2 - Do a better job of controlling their attaction to one another and remain faithful to their partners. 3 - See if Oz and Cordelia would be up for a polycule.

Willow decides to take a fourth option: She decides unilaterally that she should cast an anti-love spell on herself and Xander to magically erase their feelings for one another. She doesn't even consult him on it; In fact, she actively lies to him to keep him from realizing what she's doing.

She's put in a difficult but relatable situation; This is her first time having to make a choice between two people she's interested in. It's a situation where she needs to figure out what she wants for herself. And her response is "I can lobotomize us with magic".

It's gonna be a bumpy ride from here. This is Willow's chief character flaw. When things are hard either physically or emotionally, she leans on magic - Whether it's appropriate or not. Something that both Giles and Tara criticize her for as the seasons progress, to which her response is to sneak around behind their backs and do spells without their knowing - Such as trying to curse Oz after their breakup or giving Dawn guidance to perform an ill-advised resurrection spell on her mom.

Again, the problem is never that she does magic. Magic is shown to be tremendously useful in making the impossible possible. The problem is that she keeps leaping to extreme gestures of magic to do what was already possible. That she uses it as an emotional crutch, as a surrogate for her own self-esteem.

Magic makes her feel powerful. It makes her feel valid. That's something she didn't have before she had magic, and something she doesn't have when she isn't using magic. So she overindulges and rides the high of being able to crinkle her nose and make party favors go up, or stab a god with knives, or make anyone she loses come back to life because she is Willow Almighty and magic has made her omnipotent.

She likes being Willow Almighty. It's an awful lot better than Willow the Put-Upon Nerd. So she lets an otherwise benign activity become her entire personality, and she is made worse because of it.

[nebulousfishgills]

💔🍷💄🐞🧣🎒 for Emily please?

Random OC ask game drop because it's 1:30 AM (when I started this one) and brain doesn't wanna sleep, so here we go.

💔 - Who has your character hurt most? Physically or emotionally? How did it feel? Do they regret it?

Ooh, that's actually a hard one because, as we know, Emily is Not A Good Person and has left many broken people in her wake, literally.

I suppose the obvious answer would be Eleven since she and Henry have been tormenting her for years at this point. She bore witness to their massacre and then the seven or so years after that involved sending out Demogorgons to find her (maybe), using the Mind Flayer to infect and hurt her friends while trying to locate and snatch her, arguably it's their fault she thought Hopper died, and then doing things like taking Max away and breaking Hawkins. It's a hefty list and most of the motivation is being bitter and petty over the fact that an abused eight year old child saw all her companions slaughtered and didn't immediately run to their arms.

But somehow, some way, I think at least some part of Emily feels bad about it. The canonicity of her being their daughter is still up in the air at this point, but that doesn't even necessarily have to factor into it. They may be rivals now, but for a while, Emily was the closest thing Eleven had to a mother figure in Hawkins Lab, arguably the only other one she's had aside from Joyce. Emily's perception of her mother is extremely poor, so in my mind, there's that small part of her that feels bad for hurting this daughter/daughter figure of hers when she knows she's still haunted by what her own mother did. And abandoning Emily because she couldn't take care of her is way further down on the severity scale.

So, I think Eleven might take that spot, with Eddie being a runner up since it's Emily's fault he had to go on the run and ultimately get killed, let alone lobbing the betrayal aspect onto it. And that's including me factoring in her Twilight era since that's actively her being a better person and not hurting people like that. I suppose you could throw Aro onto that list since in the span of like, a day, she seized control of his empire and killed him because she got cockblocked one too many times.

🍷- Does your OC drink? What kind of alcohol do they enjoy? What are their drinking habits? What kind of drunk are they?

Okay, so Emily canonically avoids substances that impair her. Drugs, alcohol, the like. It's less so because she hates the tipsy/high feeling and moreso because those things scramble her brain and disconnect her from her abilities. She's very reliant on them both as a tool for defense/attack/what have you, but just as a general crutch. It's well within reason to assume that without access to her powers, she feels weak or even helpless.

Not to say she's soley dependent upon them, of course, I think being friends with Eddie Munson alone means she can land a punch and some rougher treatment, but she sees losing access to her powers as like being disarmed. She can still hold her own, but it's way easier for her to just use her abilities.

And discounting the telekinesis and crushing people's bones aspect, her powers are how she can feel Henry's presence even from dimensions away and vice versa. It's like having a waypoint, a little emotional guide, and if her brain is scrambled, she can't access that either.

But I'll bite and pose a hypothetical. Honestly, I could see Emily being multiple kinds of drunk. Angry drunk comes to mind immediately, but I could just as easily see her blubbering and slurring all of her woes on the sofa while wasted. Maybe she can be flirtatious depending on her mood. Drunk Emily would start a fight, cry about being abandoned by her mother, and then try to climb Henry like a tree in the span of about ten minutes.

💄- What does your OC think of their face? Do they have a positive or negative opinion? Do they wear makeup? Do they have a skincare routine? What traits do they like most about their face?

In all honesty I think Emily has mixed feelings about her face, especially once she gets her scars. Because on one hand, they make her stand out and look freakish, but on the other I think she likes the intimidation it brings

I honestly don't think she thinks about it all that much unless she's in public. She knows the damage could have been ten times worse since she watched Henry decay in real time. I don't think she hates her scars themselves, and moreso hates the attention they bring since she prefers to Not Be Perceived by Hawkins since she's basically being covert to spy on The Party.

But at the end of the day, she really only cares about her opinion and Henry's, and he has not a single bad thing to say about her. And honestly, I think any skincare routine she'd do would amount to just water and whatever shampoo trickles down with it. Maybe a lotion if a dry patch is bothering her. She just would not understand the need to go so far for your skin since, to her, most beauty routines and standards are bullshit and unecessary.

Emily would probably accuse you of, like, speaking in tongues if you said anything about hyaluronic acid or whatever the fuck.

Now, we kind of push against that boundary when we hit makeup because if we take Vampire Emily into account, part of her arc is accepting the fact that she can enjoy feminine things without immediately tying it to pointless social constructs and rejecting it for that.

I'm not someone who wears makeup basically at all save for costumes or just wanting to wear mascara because I think it makes my eyes look more defined, in fact I think I look weirder with it on. A lack of vanity is something I impart on all my characters because that's just not something I care about.

But the crow inside me that likes shiny things loves going into beauty stores for the bright colors. I feel like Emily would be somewhat the same way. That's how Heidi helped Emily open up a bit, like "look at all the fuzzy brushes and bright colors of the eye shadow." Also, again, Heidi telling her that makeup isn't just a conformity or for hiding who you actually are because society says women have to look a certain, perfect way. Sometimes it's just fun to do it for the hell of it.

Also, to her credit, makeup would be hard with how her scars were. Once she turns, the scars fade away and it opens up a better canvas for her.

Ultimately I think Emily's relationship with her face is just "yeah it's there, I don't need to doll it up because it doesn't matter and also my boyfriend (whichever one) still thinks I look hot either way, so suck it."

🐞 - What does a perfect day look like for your OC? What do they do? Who do they see?

The fact that this question is represented by a ladybug is perfect since that's what Henry's nickname for her is. It ties into my answer to this question, because regardless of who she's partnered up with at the time, Emily's ideal day is just a day where it's just her and Henry/Caius. Nobody else.

In Hawkins especially, she deeply dislikes people so a day where she just doesn't see them is already wonderful. If we add onto that, I think she'd also prefer a day where she doesn't feel burdened or stressed out about anything. She lays in bed with Henry and all she has to worry about is just enjoying his company. Maybe they talk, maybe he reads to her, maybe they sit by a riverbank and let their feet rest in the water. Just a genuinely unburdened day with Henry, imagining what their human free utopia would be like.

The thing you have to remember is that Emily's a bad person whose actions are rooted in wanting to be free of her pain and just live a peaceful, happy life, something she's been robbed of for nearly forty years. At this point in time, that looks like living alone and in silence with Henry and their abnormalities. She thinks the human system is stopping her from getting that, so it's gotta go.

And, honestly, I'd wager to say her perfect day with Caius looks very very similar. She's still Emily with the same nihilistic worldview, she's just more stable with a wider support system. The thriving after a life of surviving. She's an introvert who can't handle being around people all the time since it's unpredictable and overwhelming. That's a central plank in her snapping in Necrosis and overhauling the whole system. She just couldn't get a moment of peace with Caius because of other people.

So, her ideal day is just having one day of some fucking peace and quiet, but in luxury this time. Maybe a bath, sitting in the gardens, being read to by Caius (being read to is a constant, both because I love it, and also it's that childhood trauma piece, being robbed of bedtime stories, mundane may it be), maybe hunting in the woods if the mood was right... and, you know, banging.

I will omit the references from HotD we got this week.

🧣- What comforts your OC? Is it an item? An action? A person? Whatever it is, how and why does it comfort them?

Emily's unfortunately somebody who has lacked many comforts in her life. Whoever her spouse is at the time is like the one constant comfort in the form of a person. Regardless of where she is in life or who she surrounds herself with, the only true comfort and peace she knows is with her partner. Yeah, she has a certain dependency, but that's just part of her character.

Actions, I've already mentioned being read to, but I'd also say drawing is another one since in Hawkins Lab, that was like, the one thing she was allowed to do that wasn't hyper focused on her abilities, the one way she was able to express herself. I always headcanoned that she carried a sketchbook around with her sometimes that Eddie snooped through a few times. Landscapes (i.e. imagining a beautiful, human free world), the occasional manic Mind Flayer doodle, halfway decent drawings of Henry's face (to remember what it looked like pre-Vecna), and the drawing she did of the Creel House as a child when she first showed up in the lab is taped on the inside cover.

Eddie never questions her about this, of course, he shouldn't have been snooping in the first place. Even if he's unaware of her powers, he's sure she would beat his ass for looking in her stuff.

Another comfort action is playing with her hair/scratching her scalp. This is one of those me-traits that I passed on because that shit is the best feeling in the world to me. It always puts me at ease, and I wanted to give that to Emily.

As far as comfort objects, I couldn't give any that are at the same capacity of the other comforts I listed. The sketchbook, maybe her D&D dice, some clothing item of Henry's/Caius' (in fact it might be one of Caius' scarves), it could be anything. She's not really a materialistic person since she's used to having nothing. Objects don't comfort her in the same way those other things do.

🎒- What items does your OC usually carry? Do they have a bag or just keep everything in their pockets? Do they carry a lot or a little?

Again, Emily has almost nothing to her name. Day to day, she doesn't carry much since most times she's in the Upside-Down and doesn't necessarily have the *need* to carry much. But she does have a bag for her Overworld visits, I usually picture it as a dirty old black backpack with a broken zipper and a hole in one of the small front pockets.

Usually when she goes to the Overworld, she only has a few essential things:

-Sketchbook/pencils/pens

-Anything required for D&D, so like her dice, handbook, character sheet, etc.

-Possibly some kind of pocket knife both as a tool and also for self defense in case it's really not a good idea to use her powers

-Any cash/change she's gotten her hands on.

Other than that, it's just the clothes on her back, I'd say. In Volterra she has even less use for things to always have on her. Although she does feel like someone who'd have occasional stickey note notes in her pockets that she forgets about until months later.

I don't know, it's 3 am now so I'm just gonna call it there.

[golbrocklovely]

not the same anon but i wanna add to the alcohol thing. go out,have fun, do you but stas has posted herself out drinking and celebrating getting drunk,being hungover, and curing that hangover with more drinking. i dunno what’s happened to kat, it was probably already in her but she does a lot of this often now almost as if this were the go to choice of beverage. they both have posted themselves pregaming to go out and get drunk and one of them just posted a tiktok where both are holding 2 drinks each. Im honestly glad someone else pointed this out and noticed it too because most of the fandom seems to praise them and treat it like the anon said all cutesy and silly when its not.

I remember last year people blaming snc as a bad influence on the girls for drinking and look now. It wasnt snc it was them. the boys are working and theyre fine. these two are using this as a crutch. also how can you not feel emotionally,mentally, and even physically exhausted going out every night and doing this.sam legit quoted stas last year saying she rather drink than eat.

i'm gonna combine these two asks together since they are about the same thing. hope you don't mind.

this is kinda long so... i'm sorry about that.

so the last time i talked about this type of stuff/the last time i got asks about stas and kat drinking was back in 2021/22 and any time i made the same argument i'm gonna make now, i got chewed out bc ppl misinterpreted what i said and felt like i was minimizing alcoholism. as someone that has had family members on both sides have addiction issues with alcohol (along with other things), i'm not one to be blase about alcoholism. this is also not me shrugging off the real issue that stas and kat could have addiction problems.

however…. we don't know them. we only see what they post. and it's not impossible that they make it seem like they're drinking a lot when in actuality they might only be having one or two drinks. does that make what they're doing any better? no. i'm not making that argument. what i'm trying to say is that we shouldn't jump to conclusions when we don't know the full story. plus, you can't diagnosis someone via a couple stories and snapchat or two. that's just reality.

does that mean that them joking about being alcoholics is cool? no it's not. it's really dumb at the very least, and extremely dark at the most. my hope and my personal belief is that they are just partying a bunch and made some tasteless jokes. i remember when i was in college, basically the same age (if not younger) as them, and ppl around me would joke about being alcoholics. i didn't find it funny, but they did. and i'm gonna assume that it's the same thing with them. that it's not them casually telling their fanbase that they have addictions issues, but more "omg isn't it so funny how we drink every night when we party??"

i don't think this behavior is great, especially since a lot of snc's younger fans have drifted into being these two girls' fans. it's not cute to aspire to be drunkards in your early 20s. you wanna go out and have your fun, so be it. but be realistic about what your limit is. also, you don't have to hit your limit every night. you don't have to drink every night either.

but again, as i stated before, i don't think they actually have addiction issues. if they did, that's for them and ppl close to them who know them to discuss and figure out. not for us to speculate over a couple stories and snapchats. i don't pay attention to them enough to really know one way or the other, but regardless i think it's best to not assume something's wrong. if it is really that much of an issue to anyone reading this, maybe reach out to them somehow and tell them you're concerned. or if it's too triggering, which is totally understandable, just block them and move on.

i truly wish them the best, and i hope their fans know that excessive drinking is not good for you.

[warriorsparked]

Mun vs Muse

Similarities:

We are both natural born learners, despite having grown up in poverty and unfortunate circumstances. This, I suppose, is something both Megatron and I are proud of, because we've gone against the odds of backgrounds that were out of our control and have managed to rise from nothing through years of exceptionally hard work. I think the both of us also never forget where we've come from, as it's important to have those roots, and allow it to humble us. Beyond that, as leaders, we are not afraid to get things done and to make the difficult decisions to improve and better the whole picture. We prefer to see long term goals than short term.

Trauma and abuse survivors. Now, I won't claim my life was worse than Megatron's, because it in no way was, however, that doesn't mean the both of us haven't gone through some shit in our times. The both of us are highly uncomfortable about seeking help and appearing vulnerable, though. The both of us had to rely on ourselves to overcome these obstacles, because we had no one else to help us. It means that both Megatron and I struggle to open up. Not always because we don't trust, but because we both know that no one else CAN help us, or that's the way we believe things to be. As I've gotten older, and unloaded some of this, I, however, do attempt to be very upfront and honest with my past traumas, as a way to teach others that it's okay to come to terms with these things and ask for help (altho I know how hypocritical that makes me since I don't seek it myself lol). Megatron and I have both gotten used to dealing and coping with these things alone.

We are both creative when it comes to art and writing. We've both been writing since we were young, and my Megatron also draws (which I do too--when I have time lol). My Megatron also plays the piano, and although I am a beginner and no way NEAR as good as Megs is, it is something that I've taken from myself and put into him, my love for playing. I guess in that aspect, I aspire to be like him when it comes to playing, but time and all of that nonsense lol.

We both like horror movies.

We both grew up around alcoholics and drug addicts.

We're both very passionate about the rights of the oppressed and those who legitimately just want to live their lives without being punished for what they are.

Both of us have had some traumatic experiences with religion, and both of us have... complex and complicated relationships with it all (but we also differ greatly which I'll mention below).

We can both be INCREDIBLY stubborn, although Megatron is definitely far more stubborn than me. I am stubborn in the fact that when I believe or know something to be true, I will not alter it. Unlike Megatron, I can admit when I've been wrong, and I can learn from it. Megatron can and does also, but it takes more time...

I believe that we are both... "old souls" in a sense.

Where Megatron wanted to be a medic, I work in healthcare myself. While Megatron doesn't actively work in healthcare, I still consider the fact that he wanted to help people and heal, and that's myself as well.

Differences:

Well this is a given but... I've never killed anyone LOL. I've never been arrested, etc. I've been pulled over for a breath test and that's it (which I don't drink lol). Safe to say we've very different in that aspect.

While I grew up surrounded by alcohol and drugs, I, myself, have never been tempted by them, while Megatron has used them as a crutch.

I'm a metal head, and while Megatron is fond of music, it's not always the heavier stuff.

I have severe aspergers, Megatron does not. In fact, despite many of his quirks, I do consider him to be neurotypical, behavioural issues caused by both mental and physical trauma (his processor was damaged when he was created and further issues arose from life happenings, but it was a physical impairment--does that makes sense? I feel I'm wording that incorrectly... but what I mean is, he has no learning disabilities and is neurotypical).

Uhhh... I'm not a giant kick arse robot with a fusion canon that can turn into a cool arse tank? lol. XD I'm a lame squishy human, which is a shame tbh.

So about the religious one, we both have complicated views, however, Megatron's still very much in a negative space with it, I've come out. I grew up Roman Catholic, although with my crappy life, I turned to very much hating God (same deal as Megs tbh). However, I considered myself agnostic for a very long time because I just didn't know, and didn't have the power to say so, and now I'm very Buddhist leaning. I won't claim that I AM Buddhist, because I don't feel I have the right to claim such, but I absolutely follow many of their guidelines and beliefs. I believe in growth, and sharing knowledge, I believe in karma, and many more things. My exploration with this was actually due to a Buddhist colleague of mine who told me I sounded Buddhist in my beliefs when they asked, and coincidentally enough, I've always been surrounded by it from a young age no thanks to my dad, so yeah. It's something that I very much do believe and like to better myself and follow, but it's also something I'm not going to force. I'm content with just... being me atm. But I very much support it with my whole heart. :)

I am... like... hella ace lol. Megatron is not. But yeah. I don't like touch, thank you :'D Pls don't touch me.

Tagged: @aircommndr Tagging: You!

[diorysuss]

a convulated oc fact list i wrote in 40 minutes about my ocs because why not. (I am also tired so if some facts seem outta place that’s why 😭😭)

SoL kids and what they are

Dion(ysus) Simmons

- Guarded, Jazz Agent, Psygeology

- African American, specifically creole from New Orleans

- Bisexual

- She/Her, Cis Female

- Bilingual, French and English

- Companion: Molly B. Even though Dion hates the way she talks, they’re a pretty good duo.

- Autistic, but she never got diagnosed so was just called “odd but cool once you get to know her”

- Special Interest was brass instruments as a kid but now she’s just really into rocks.

- In her shadow run she gives eye trauma to shadow president as revenge

- Dating Big Lizzie. Calls her Lovebug (goals)

- Selectively mute sometimes. Like she will just flat out ignore you and not talk to you if she’s mute.

- Dion can play every brass instrument but will visible sob if you try to teach her string/woodwind

- “No, just because I’m named Dionysus doesn’t mean she’s associated with alcoholic beverages and organized crime, damn it!”

- Doesn’t wear hats. The hatless run.

- But will constantly wear her shades. Her left eye does this weird thing from when she was 6 and she doesn’t like it.

- The oldest/peacemaker out of the 3 Simmons kid.

Ares Simmons

- Checkered Past, Pig Skinner, Cryptobotany

- AroAce | Neurotypical | Anger Issues

- He/They, demiboy (he will actually beat the shit outta you if you say otherwise)

- Companion: Simone. He freaks her out sometimes but they got along.

- African American/Italian, adopted from DirtWater and brought to New Orleans

- Ares actually served in the U.S army under Bruise; he genuinely thought for a little while that his lieutenant was named Bruce, and was shocked to find him as his rival.

- He adopted the ruthless perk from his mother; absolutely a beast and has little to no empathy for most others than his family and companions. Most violent being in loathing

- He was put in prison for 6 months before getting out for the wrong thing (they thought he committed a series of gruesome murders; no he just punched a parking meter too hard or something)

- In his shadow run he didn’t just absorb Bruise he literally beat the shit outta him until he was bone

- “Romance is for WEAK PEOPLE who need another person to function.”

- Ares has little to no filter; he says whatever he wants when he wants. This can lead to unwarranted consequences that he shoves, kicks and bites his way out of.

-Bruise is missing a finger because of him.

- Youngest out of the 3 siblings

Demet(er) Simmons

- Scouts Honor, Cheese Wizard, Insectology

- Any/All, Genderfluid

- Lesbian | Asexual

- ADHD

- African American, Creole and from New Orleans

- Companion: Obie. They help each other and duet in the speakeasy a lot.

- Bilingual, French and English

- Demet is notably disabled and uses fore-arm crutches to walk; makes wizarding a bit hard but they make do

- Pacifist, he genuinely wanted to be friends with Noël, but had to send her out of country.

- Demet knows piano; a hobby she practiced since she wasn’t allowed (or rather didn’t let herself) go outside.

- Hates bugs but hates sapient rocks and weird plants more

- She likes Jasper’s shades a whole lot; makes her feel cool.

[famouslastwrdz]

its 7am and im still drunk from what i had at 9pm.

i cant write when im drunk we know this, all full of words that dont mean anything to each other, empty sentences in a crowded room of bullshit metaphor making small talk saying oh hows your mother where are those shoes from hey uhhh has anyone mentioned the elephant in this room haha

but still i open my little notes app and put some words down because hey if i cant write then i cant think.

so, i digress. im still drunk but hey at least i stopped puking 2 hours ago. and theres things i want to talk about but im in the corner at this word party and nobody wants to introduce themselves to me so i can start a damn sentence

so, ill go with so again.

so i nearly pass out and im laid on his lap, and he's stroking my hair, and we're under a tree at midnight and he's had a pint and ive had, what, half a bottle of straight vodka and an additional bottle of wine. and whatever painkillers i could find. shhhh on that one, keep it quiet, dont tell tim. not that tim would know or care, in his own lonely drunken stupor in red's spare room.

so you kinda get the gist of my plight there. ya boy was struggling.

so i stand up, and he puts a hand to steady my back, and it stings.

and i sit down on the ground and lean forward, miserablewhisper hey im gonna be sick. and i spit, and then some of the vodka comes up. great! cool. get it out of my system. and then some more comes up. yep, still cool. thats fine. its all liquid, nothing else in my system. nothin but alcohol calories and a dream.

he opens tiktok on the bench he's sat on and i cant speak for spitting and i know its awkward for him but all i want in that moment is for someone to hold my hair back. drunk enough still to admit to crying even when writing this but i dont want to hold my own hair back anymore. i do it every godforsaken day on this planet hunched over on the bathroom floor i dont want to do it anymore. i want someone to just grab my fringe for me, tuck the smaller framing pieces of hair away,  get the length out of my face. i want him to hold my hair back. i just want him to do that instead of messaging coworkers late at night he doesnt even KNOW i purge anymore he doesnt know.

he walks me home, though. and on the way back he asks if im drunk in the brian way or the okay way. and i cant even turn to him, spinning as the world is, but i laugh. what the fuck is the brian way. does he mean the brian way- nancyboytasteinmen? prettyboy wasted with my eyeliner down my face and easy? or the brian way- slowdisease stumbling home with a system full of slowwwww liquid suicide?

i just really hope he means the latter.

so i laugh, again, dry with gerd and dehydration, and i say no its the okay way. of course its not the okay way you blind fucking fool this isnt just social nicety type of drunk i cant see and nothing is real and youre ASKING me if this is okay. look at me. please look at me, take a real fat fucking look, theres sick in my hair because i couldnt raise my arms enough to hold it back and theres makeup down my neck and im actively using you as a crutch and im bleeding. theres blood down my back and its probably making your hand stick to my shirt and it hurts so much i cant reach to bandage it but no this is fine its the okay way. just please, can you look at me. i cant do any of this on my own anymore.

all i wanted is for him to hold my hair back for me and now i get a discord notification at the end of writing this and the lord in heaven can really time it, wow, if it aint a sign then im not a motherfucking believer.

and if youll excuse me, im heading to bed before the world's spinning takes me over.

[nostalgictide]

Honeybee, I’m Sorry

Trigger Warning 'I think that you deserve some form of apology. So here I am, and here it is. I'm sorry.'

It Runs in the Family

“You know, everyone thought that she drank antifreeze that day?”

“What?”

“Yeah, your aunt wanted an autopsy done. But your mother and I, we just thought ‘What’s the point?’”

Some people need that closure, I thought. It didn’t matter that she tried so many times before, or that she used drugs and alcohol as crutches to trudge on through life. Sometimes, all a daughter needs is closure. She didn’t leave behind a reason. No note, no letter, just an undying need to find peace. Wouldn’t anyone want to know more? I’ve always imagined that it must be hard for people to understand why someone would want to take their own life. 

But sometimes I think it might be harder understanding exactly why someone would want to. 

“Doesn’t it make you wonder how fucked in the head your mother must be? I mean, we know you’re fucked in the head.”

It felt like a punch to the chest, a blow to the throat, and having all of my teeth knocked out—but all I could do was smile while all the air in my lungs was forced out in a sharp exhale that passed as a laugh. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t even looking at me anymore. He was too busy sucking down the last of his beer and jumping to the next topic like the weight of the world hadn’t just unearthed my grandmother. 

Sometimes she feels like an angel and others, a parasite. They say things like that are hereditary. I believe it might be. Mine blossoms when winter takes its place in the air—cold, bitter, dark, and long. It’s not even that I miss the sun. I just miss the warm safety of knowing that it’s easier to crawl out of rain-softened dirt than frozen and snow-laden. 

And It’s All Around Me

“Is it fucked in the head, to feel like you’ve never understood life no matter how hard you’ve tried? I mean, does anyone get it? Truly? I’ve never known peace…” 

“I get it.” His stare is soft, but it doesn’t settle on me as often as I’d like. If I allowed him, he could unravel my chest and rip me apart until I’m his very own black hole, I think. However, I can’t sit still long enough for him to catch me. I’m always too busy busying myself with this and that. Not even his untimely pleasantries can catch me off guard. “You can talk to me. I hope you know that.”

But I don’t, frankly, I wanted to say. Instead there was a long pause, peppered by birdsong. 

You told me that you get it, but how often have you threatened me with your life when things have gotten too hard? 

‘I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” You sobbed. “I-... I even thought about the gun in the closet.” So I took you back the very next day. 

“I feel like a loser, like you deserve better. I’m just a fucking loser. I think about hanging myself everyday, but I just try to pretend like everything is okay.” Ten minutes later you told me not to worry about it. That it’s not that serious, but it’s all I could think about. How much truth is in your words when you speak them? Don’t you see the way it cracks my every bone and swallows me whole? 

“Don’t worry about it. Forget it. I don’t want you to worry.”

And so I’m wearing the ring, aren’t I?

I Can’t Outrun It

I'm a woman, sometimes. Less than a person, most of the time. A creature of habit, nonetheless. And a human longing to be a better one—one who understands their inner turmoil, where it starts, and how to stop the maelstroms. I want to convalesce and work to ameliorate myself from the inside out, but it's hard to stop the spinning and to keep from getting dizzy.

Often, I dream that I am made of wax so that I can chew, soften, and remold the parts of myself that are not good enough. I’ve always believed that I must work hard to find my purpose, but that no matter what I do, it's not enough. Frequently, I wonder if I was born in the wrong body because of how much I hate the way my own skin crawls from me when I look at myself in the mirror for too long.

I dream of speaking honestly with my mother, ‘I understand why you abused me. It was because you endured worse. I think, maybe I forgive you. I think I forgive you. I’ll forgive you when you stop crossing boundaries I don’t know how to set in place.’

There was a crystal ashtray that my grandmother would grab, full of more than old cigarettes. Her fingertips would dig into the ashen remnants of her habits to grip the heavy crystal with white knuckles to hurl it at my mother from across the room. She would blame her daughter for everything wrong inside her head because there was no way for her to make sense of the chemical imbalance. Why do our own brains sabotage us like that? So she consumed and inhaled more chemicals to try to make sense of such an unsound mind, but the scales toppled over a long time ago, and its incessant echo never stopped, until she made them. 

There was no balance to be had when her face was already down in the mud in the middle of a battlefield.

She didn't care about breaking her daughter because it served as a reminder of something fragile. It only fueled her anger, I believe, as it highlighted the delicate yet resilient nature of life, something she wanted to escape. Her daughter witnessed her gradual decline and even uttered, "I wish you were dead," but regretted those words when they became reality. When she had to make the heart-wrenching decision to disconnect her mother's body from life support, her mind already gone, my mother lacked the strength to offer an apology for all those moments she yearned for her mother's life to end, just to be liberated from her.

Were you freed, though? 

'Cause I lost faith in myself, when I turned away from the one with the longest stretch of embracing arms to hold, to hold, to hold me. So now I'm all alone.’

The generational guilt riddled through my bones buzzes like a wasp nest, but at night, when the sun can’t see my face, I tuck myself away into blankets and try to convince myself that I am surrounded by the soft bellies of bees. Instead of the meaty, rich crunch of an exoskeleton as I reflexively clench my jaw and grind my teeth, I try to imagine the evaporation of nectar with every shallow breath until my mouth is full of honey instead of blood. Sometimes, I find sleep, and even though I'm usually dreamless, my body feels beaten every morning.

I drove a hammer through my alarm clock a few years ago. Now I have the gentle vibrations of a watch latched around my wrist. It doesn’t make getting out of bed any easier, but I don’t come to with a heartbeat on the fritz. I still hit snooze and bury my face back into my pillow, no matter how sweet the idea of coffee sounds in the back of my head. No matter how the scent of an old coffee pot dripping fresh brew reminds me of the best days of my youth, the start of something new every morning after a night of wishing my life away. Now that I'm here, older than yesterday, I find myself wanting to reset the clock, thinking about all of the things I could have done differently, said better in a time in my life that shouldn't even be swimming across the forefront of my mind. The times I drove home drunk in high school. The days I was cruel to people who didn't deserve it. The hours I would eat until I couldn't breathe, only to rid myself of my shame in the shower down the drain.

Do you think I didn’t hear you? Do you think I didn’t see you? All I ever wanted to do was look up to you without having to question my own moral compass. I don’t remember a time I was ever allowed to be a child unless I was alone. And oh, was I lonely.

I often don’t remember how I manage to get out of bed everyday. "Good morning," I greet myself with a contemptuous smile in the mirror.

'Cause God grew too tired to fix the mistakes he made with Love. I think his biggest mistake was making me.'

[neverluckygoldfish]

32 -

I did something. I don’t want to admit it but I need to get this off my chest. I promised to always be honest here, if nowhere else. I got ahold of some pain pills. And now I feel anxious and guilty. I mean duh? What else did I expect?

But at the same time, I have a secret. It feels good in the way that knowing something that only you know feels good - knowledge is a private power. I feel sneaky and a little clever. There’s a rush to doing something and knowing you likely won’t get caught.

I’m so committed to my recovery. To actually sit with the hard stuff, not just numb it out. To living with integrity. To pursuing my dreams.

Or so I thought. Getting ahold of them was instinctual. I didn’t really think twice about it. Okay…not true, I debated on it for a while. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t convince myself not to. It was so easy. There was no way I could be found out. And I’d have a good time for a few hours.

Or rather, I didn’t want to think twice. I wanted them, plain and simple. I wanted to have them because I knew I could.

If I were to take them - I don’t have any intention of getting more. I wouldn’t even know where to go or who to ask. I just wanted them for a fun little afternoon. Nothing more. I’m not trying to escape my feelings or using them as a crutch. I have the capacity and tools these days to work through my problems, sober. They just feel good.

I guess I could describe it similar to non-alcoholics who want to enjoy a glass of wine while they have a quiet night in.

But I feel guilty because it’s not for the right reasons - who uses pain pills to have a “fun little afternoon”? (10 points if you guessed - an addict). And I didn’t get ahold of them in a trustworthy way. If I take them, does it count as a relapse? I don’t want to start over. If I take them, am I unwittingly taking a step down that path again? Can I really say it’s not a choice when here I am, self aware, and still making the choice anyway. They say you will always be in recovery, you can’t cure addiction.

But no one knows, except me.

It’s a decision based upon deceit and selfish intentions. Can I live with that?

I was thinking about them before I went on this trip. I knew they’d be around. If I really was committed to my recovery, then I would have taken precautions, not made plans. Right?

My recovery is still my recovery. I struggle with the idea that abstinence of all for the rest of my life, is the only option (except it is definitely for alcohol). For me - if I can understand the root of why I used to begin with, then I can identify when those feelings come up and sit with them instead of escaping. People use the high to fill a void in something. If I have a foundation of healthy coping mechanisms for negative feelings, then who’s to say I can’t have a fun little afternoon and that’s all it will be?

Or I’m just full of shit and I sound like every other addict out there trying to justify and rationalize why this will be okay. It’s a compulsion of the mind. The fact that I’m even analyzing this….I really don’t know.

[keefwho]

June 30 - 2023 Friday

7:18 AM

I had a dream where I was someone else spending time with someone that had multiple romantic interests. I knew this but still thought we had something going on and was hurt when one of the other interests showed up and I had to control myself. 

The dream felt like it was exercising my feelings of being a side bitch even though I don’t have something like that actually going on. What does give me this feeling is how deep down I don’t feel prioritized because other people always have their main friends or friends that they can go to physically. It fundamentally feels like I am always only a side option. I don’t have IRL friends currently so my virtual ones mean the world to me. They are literally everything. I don’t think I get that sentiment back. 

I’m also catching myself being pitiful this morning, or on the brink of it. I am so very aware of how I get a weird kick out of being pathetic and getting occasional hits of re-assurance. I am aware of how if I don’t catch myself, I’ll start self sabotaging and crafting situations where I need that reassurance and if I don’t get it, I’ll only get worse. It’s literally like when I child wants attention so they will cry but then if they don’t get attention, they might act up and start breaking things. Its the EXACT same. I currently don’t know what I can do to stop these feelings if I even should, but I know I can avoid the crutch. Just like with an alcoholic craving a drink, I crave reassurance. I can choose whether to “drink” or not, even if I can’t stop the cravings. I can choose to deny myself the rush I get when someone finally tells me I’m good enough or that they like me. I can catch the ways I self sabotage myself and just stop or direct my attention elsewhere. 

I’ve been in the position before where I feel strong and independent and the love I share is genuine and on equal terms. Having been there proves to me that it is possible to achieve. What I described above is one of the things that directly undermines the healthy mindset I seek. It puts me beneath others because I have a developed affinity for seeing myself as lesser. I can’t not admit that I like the feeling. It feels GOOD. But I know it feels GREAT to truly stand on my own and see myself in the same playing field as others. Feeling lesser and pitiful is lonely, I inherently push others away by portraying myself like I’m unworthy. Its a form of isolation. Maybe that’s how I manifest my fear of opening up and being vulnerable. Maybe it all comes down to that. 

8:52 AM

I think I enjoy pity so much because sometimes it feels like the only way I can accept affection on account of my own low self worth. Like it’s impossible for me to believe sometimes that I could be loved and appreciated for just being me so I have to rely on being lesser and pitied. 

9:27 AM

Now I have to question if my desire for commitment is coming from a genuine place or not. I want to know someone is committed to being mine but am I being healthy about it or am I using that to validate myself? I do know it’s something I want in a healthy way and it’s something that is expected I feel like. Letting your friend/partner know that you’re always there is a good thing and something I know I need. I just gotta make sure I don’t take it too far. 

2:37 PM

FUCK I really want to vent to someone right now but I got nobody. I hate having to deal with shit on my own sometimes. I’m breaking down just when I thought i had it together like usual. Just give me a fucking break please. 

3:11 PM

There I go farming pity again. Not this time. 

10:10 PM

What is wrong with me uggghghhhhhh  Needing so much reassurance is so unattractive  I just want to feel stable I guess

I’m tired of feeling lonely and left out, like I’ll be abandoned as soon as they find someone better. I don’t want to feel like the option that they are settling for. 

The fact is I am alone tonight. I’m not involved in anything anyone else is doing. I’m stuck in my room by myself. The world is passing me by.

How could I ever think anyone would be crazy about me, what is there to be crazy about? Fucking idiot

[studiomilkbox]

Schizoid

Deep inside myself, my love feels relentlessly painful... all it does is hurt, in hopes that people close to me feel just like I do.

A crushed-Insignificant and achingly hollow kind of hurt.

I just broke up with a lady to protect her from this painful thing in me that wouldn't allow me to love her back… the way it's so easy for the rest of you.

One part of me said I was doing the right thing.

One part said I wasn't.

In the middle, I found it cruel and unfair to be so torn that I felt she deserved better (don't we all).

Funny way to protect somebody.

Everyday I feel my love the way you feel your love, only my crossed wires receive that message as worthlessness. Even in a healthy relationship.

Imagine how many times your heart swells every day... 

To me that feels like a consuming anguish, torn between a lonely, temper-mad envious, kicking-screaming little tantrumy kid that is starved-desperate for it; malnourished and fed lies by a terribly possessive, manipulative monster that denies him the ability to feel anything except guilt and shame for wanting love in the first place.

So much that once he's allowed a toy, he's driven by privation to break it. So no one else can play with it.

I've lost a lot of good people over a lotta years… not knowing I've been buried in a hole of recusing turmoil my whole life, because I never knew what this was… pouring a lifetime of alcohol in that hole to float and drift covertly amidst you.

Ya see, I just couldn't stop drinking. Otherwise I'd feel this. Every day. Because turmoil is my baseline.

Five years of sobriety's only reward is feeling more like myself than I have in the past 25 years… the problem is, I feel like what I felt as a child. Empty and starving. Ravenous in a world, surrounded by feasting animals.

For years now I haven't really been able to feel anything about anything. Walking blind, oblivious of this black hole inside me sucking the light and joy out of everything that came close, as well as everything I do. everything I think.

Can't tell you how incredible 'nothing' feels like… it doesn't even hurt, because pain is informative. It's just a collapsed emptiness, ignorant of its helplessness.

Heartache isn't the opposite of heart-swell.

Heart-hardening is.

It's a heavily fortified suit of armor worn over the opposite of love.

But it protected me. This shutdown protected me by closing off all sensation. It kept me from feeling the unstoppable force of destructive love, breaking over my immovable object-relationships with the last few things that gave meaning to my life. In hopes to keep them safe from arrows of loss that had already penetrated; trapped in a suit of armor, bleeding internally.

It's an endless maintenance trying to stop wounds from bleeding out while trying to polish an inadequate form of defense from external attack.

Five years is a long time to live without your most prized coping device. It's a long time to live as a black hole too.

It makes you seek out anything that can serve as a surrogate. 

I'm tired of using other people as a crutch.

I'm tired of indifference all the time.

I'm tired of lying and cheating and stealing from everyone just trying to scavenge off what they feel, pretending I made 'em feel it.

(Breathe) I've been at rock bottom before. Collecting damaged pieces and throwing out the broken ones… it leaves you with so few things to put back together to function as a whole animal in hopes to live long enough to replace what you've been forced to give up. Forcing yourself to live without.

Telling yourself it's all for the best.

That you've done the right thing...

Because, jesus christ, there's no such thing as a rock bottom in a black hole.

Recovery is a hard road for a scavenger. It's a constant crisis, searching for water to fill your gut to stave off hunger pangs of something that filled you so completely.

It's a lot of rewiring to connect, when you've never learned how to attach.

I'm jealous how easy it is for you to switch and change and get what you want, bearing witness while struggling constantly to get just a small piece of what I need.

And yet at the same time, it's absolute torture to take active part in something you've taken for granted so much, you honestly feel you don't deserve it.

It's a take no prisoners aftermath.

I have two warring factions inside me fighting each other, needlessly, for supremacy. One is a scared-stiff little kid, afraid to say or feel anything, lost in the bottom of my heart, crying in fits of frustration because I won't let him grow up. One is an angry-voracious mouth with spider legs for teeth, burrowing up and down through my spinal canal, looking for its next bone-meal. They're both trapped inside, isolating the conflict from collateral damage in solitary confinement.

It's my battle with addiction, against coping… because I want a drink, but I can't drink, because drinking only hurts me. And if I allow myself to, I won't stop.

I want love, but I won't feel love, because I don't want my love to hurt you.

And if you allow me to, I won't stop.

To those of you I've loved too much, I'm sorry.

Caught-22.

I did my malfunctioning best.

Stop.

I'm doing my best to atone.

Catch-44.

Doing my best to live without.

STOP.

[dojunie]

★★★

desc: random iotas of what—out of being buzzed, tipsy, or drunk— i think the members of nct dream are most likely to be at a party! since dear jisung is officially of age, i thought this would be an interesting thing to write! (also yay first offical post ??? hmhmhm :-])

warnings: mentions of, obviously, alcohol!

members: all of nct dream!

wc: about 2k!

mark lee; buzzed, because he's usually designated driver, but is no stranger to getting turnt.

As much as everyone would love to see this goody two-shoes really let loose, Mark is more the type to quit while he's ahead— which means cutting himself off when he's just getting started with his drinks. Responsible Older Brother vibes, you know? Just enough to be conversational, maybe a little loose, a little giggly, but not too much that he doesn't have all his faculties in check at the end of the night, because the idea of not remembering the night before definitely freaks him out. BUT! When he DOES let it go, on the rare occasion he's not DD'ing for his blacked out friends, I feel like Mark gets Super Incredibly Fucked Up. Krumping on kitchen islands, fucked up. Can be talked into doing literally anything, fucked up. It's like one second he's completely fine, hanging with his buds, having a grand old time, and then all of a sudden he's bouncing off the walls and laughing wildly, dancing with anybody who looks at him, having the time of his life, and telling everyone who will listen that he 'loves them so much he could just die'. Yes, even to people he barely knows. Declarations of love are commonplace when Mark is a few drinks in.

And everyone knows that Mr. Mark Lee is quite talkative already, but get ready to quite possibly get your whole ear jabbered off if Mark decides that you're his buddy for the night. You'd better hope to god you don't have to use the bathroom anytime soon because Mark will go on forever if you let him; and who could ever say no to a face like that? (Especially when it's speaking so emphatically about what song he's been learning on the guitar that week, how cool his new dance teacher is, and the rap concert his friend TY is taking him to the next day?? You'd have to be a real mean son of a gun to interrupt that.)

huang renjun; tipsy, but like... heavily so.

And he's a giggly tipsy person, too. The touchy, always laughing, everything is absolutely hilarious, draping himself on people, way too close to you when he's talking kind— that kind of tipsy. It's cute though; it's like he sheds just about every calm, mature inhibition when he's got a few drinks in him, and by a few drinks, I mean a few drinks, because there is no doubt in my mind that Jun is a lightweight. Two shots of something strong and he’ll start getting all smiley; laughing himself to tears at things that aren’t really meant to be jokes. If he manages four shots? He's holding onto people around him because his legs won't keep him upright. Six shots and he's hugging and clinging to people he doesn't fucking know, and one of the other boys will have to use force to pry him off of whatever poor person has become his new smootch victim crutch for the night. (But... who doesn't want a half-drunk, giddy, outside-voice-right-in-your-ear using, gooey Renjun latched onto their side for an hour or two? Right?)

Renjun will want to do stuff when he's under the influence. He'll want to bake, and draw, and play Mario Kart, and dance, and he’ll want to adventure! …But he’s also incredibly impatient, so he's going to give up on all of those things about ten minutes in and it''ll be up to you to turn the oven off, and move the paints out of the way before he tramples them, turn off the blaring music he's magically stopped hearing, and half carry him back home when he gets bored of adventuring. He’ll sing at the top of his lungs in public places, and will bite you if you try to cover his mouth when you get glares. (Will also try to fight the people who glare.) Yes. He's an angry drunk, too. Will switch from extreme, cute tittering, to glares and pouts and half baked bickering. It kind of loses its heat though when the angry drunk in question is 5'7, too woozy to stand up straight, and hiccups after every death threat. (Just don't let him know that.)

lee jeno; WASTED!

This man gets Project X levels of turnt. Jeno, much like non-DD Mark, drinks like it's his last night on earth if he's in the situation where the vibes are right (and if he's with his friends, the vibes are always right). He doesn't do that responsible, slow, sipping-sipping shit, either: He is the embodiment of 'Drink First, Ask Questions Later', and this can be attested by the fact that he doesn't even ask what's in a drink before he tosses it down his throat and Kobe's the cup into the trash.

You'd think he'd be one of those that basically become a wobbly, barely-sentient couch potato after how he drinks, right? Wrong! Jeno, amongst his other talents, is also one of those magical, superhuman people who'll be half a Jaeger handle into the night and still dust you in beer pong, hacky sack, charades, and just about every other party game that normal people can barely pull off completely sober. He'll slur his words and stutter his sentences and forget what he's talking about halfway through a conversation, but if you dare him to do a backflip off the roof into the pool in the backyard? Prepare to get him a towel. You wanna challenge him to a handstand competition after he just shotgunned two cans of 4loko? Have fun throwing up your insides in a few minutes, because Jeno will not only win, but double your time for fun, do a lap around the whole house on his hands, and do a kegstand afterwards. Jeno gets wasted, but where normal men would fall, his manic power will only grow.

lee donghyuck; drunk, but no matter how much he drinks, he just seems a little tipsy to everyone else.

I feel as though Hyuck can drink and drink and drink and only ever reach, like... Slightly More Touchy & Giggly Donghyuck mode. He's already always so boisterous that it’s hard to imagine he'll be anything new when he's got a few drinks in; someone tells you he's kissing people? Duh, he does that when he's sober. Hyuck is picking people up and licking them and laughing in their ears and refusing to let go of strangers he just met? …So? You could tell me that at 9AM on a Monday morning and I'd just go, 'Oh, Fr? Yeah, Hyuck is like that :)'. And TBH... if anything, I think Donghyuck might actually Simmer Down a bit when he's drunk. He'll get all touchy like Jun does, but more in the 'I'm going to wrap myself around you on this couch and cry if you try to get up and leave me', type of way. In the 'I'm going to stare at you while you talk and not absorb a single word because I am 1. trying so incredibly hard not to kiss you, a person i met ten minutes ago, and 2. I might fall over if I sit up too fast' kind of way. Hyuck gets drunk, but the thing is that you just don’t realize it because… he’s kind of just always like that.

He falls in love with people who pay him the barest attention. Wears his heart on his sleeve (even more obviously than usual). If you thought he was flirty before? Hoo boy. You'll be swept off your feet with drunk Donghyuck, and I mean this quite literally: because Hyuck is already possibly the most touchy, no-personal-space-having person that has ever existed on planet earth when he's sober, much less when he can't think straight about whether he should really be scooping this pretty stranger off the ground or not. (Though, obviously, if it's you he's clinging to— you can't really say you mind it too much.)

na jaemin; is either barely buzzed or sloppy, barely understandable, might need to go to the Emergency Room, tanked.

No inbetween. He plays nice on most nights. Prefers to sip at a white claw or something, you know, something light. Likes to sit on the walls and talk to his friends and people-watch— maybe dance a little bit at the end of the party when a song he likes is on and he's a little unsteady, just the barest bit inebriated. But. If you catch this man on a good night— or, if you ask the people who have to take care of him afterwards, a Fucking Bad Night?— prepare to be terrorized. Because Jaemin? Jaemin with a few shots in him? Drunk Na Jaemin? Drunk Jaemin becomes an agent of chaos.

Not only does he basically start speaking in tongues— so, while he’s doing his bullshit, he’s also completely incoherent— he's a runner. He's one of those. The phrase 'Has anyone seen Jaemin recently?' will strike fear into your bones if you're one of the people entrusted with keeping him alive that night. One moment he's grinding on some person on the dance floor, looking like sex personified, shirt half off and having the time of his life. You take your eyes off of him for one second and then he's trying to climb from the balcony onto the roof because Chenle dared him he couldn't make it into the neighbors backyard pool from there. Or, you find him half a block down the street, sobbing all of a sudden because trying to type the directions to the nearest 7-11 in his phone and, because he's drunkenly only typing 'sexy elev near close' into his notes app, he can't figure out where to go. It's your job to shepherd him back into the house and wipe his tears, maybe try to cheer him up by giving him a capri sun or something, but guess what? In ten minutes he'll be back on the dance floor swinging from the light fixtures. Na Jaemin is a mixed bag. (And the highlight of it all? He never remembers any of it the next morning.)

zhong chenle; buzzed.

Do I even need to explain this? Look at him. Chenle, at his youthful 20, is a wine aunt. He is a Wine. Aunt. The type that can down half a bottle of 400 year old wine out of plastic chucky cheese cup and still fuck you up in a game of horse on the basketball court afterwards. Instead of only getting insanely intoxicated once in a blue moon, LeLe is perpetually at about a shot and a half levels of intoxication. Just enough to make everything feel a little fun around his six, comparably less alcoholic friends. He can't stand the taste of beer, or, god forbid, convenience store liquor, and exclusively drinks special shit you can only buy if you know somebody who knows somebody: but he shares! That's the great thing about drinking with Chenle. He shares all of his weird old alcohol. (Though, it's fair to bring up that it might only be because he loves seeing his friends get so severely intoxicated that they trip and fall and crash into things and do stupid shit. It's most likely that, knowing him, but you'll give him the benefit of the doubt). Another thing is that Chenle can outdrink every single one of the Dreamies. I will bet money on this. (Sagittarius vibes XXX)

The only person who can come close is Jeno, and everyone always thinks 'this time will be it!! when Chenle gets usurped!!' because Jeno is incredibly good at not physically appearing drunk... but then after like the 8th shot of LeLe's magically tasteless, 80% ABV, neon green poison wine, Jeno will lay down for a little break and then just not get back up again until the next day. Hence, Chenle, who is rolling his eyes and pouring his own ninth shot and opening up TurboTax to log his last months spending, is the uncontended winner. As always.

park jisung; wasted. Definitely drunk. But like... in the I’m-still-kinda-new-to-this way, where he isn't aware of his limits yet and keeps accepting the drinks being pushed into his hands because he doesn't know any better, and ends up Fucked Up twenty minutes into the function because his bastard friends keep refilling his cup and he can't say no. The type who's whole face turns pink after the first shot because he's trying to look cool and not gag even though he's about one wrong swallow from throwing up entirely.

Jisung will get fascinated by the most mundane of things when he’s inebriated; how the LED lights at the party switch from color to color, how soupy his limbs feel when he moves, how far away and simultaneously close up and wobbly everything looks when he looks at it for too long. He has to remind himself to stop staring at everything, at the floor, and the drink in his hands, at you when you’re talking to him; because everything is just so weird, but… nice weird, and he's not used to it yet. (He will probably never be, TBH). Probably another one like Donghyuck, who hates being left alone, but instead of demanding his person of interest stay with him— he'll simply just get up and follow them around. You're going into the kitchen? Cool, Jisung will come too! Someone is calling you on the phone, so you have to step out for a second? He'll keep you company, doing nothing but staring up in awe at the stars the entire time, and he'll get so into it that you're the one who has to drag him back inside afterwards. Drunk Park Jisung and Freshly Born Puppy are interchangeable phrases; All wobbly limbs and sudden revelations about life and absolute no control over their inside voice. Jisung doesn’t drink often, and surely not for fun because that shit tastes nasty to him still, but when he does give into his friends ribbing and teasing? It’s always the cutest show in the world for anyone lucky enough to see it.

(a/n: first offical post! letz goooo!! more is to come :-D)

[cuubism]

Could I request a mission gone wrong or Alec feeling guilty about his job but Magnus coming in to talk him down and hold him until Alec feels better? thank you so much, you’re a gift to this fandom <3

hello anon from november 2020. idk if you're still here, but here's the prompt 😂😂

---

Magnus still doesn’t know how to deal with this. Alec drinking. It’s been happening more and more lately, Alec coming home late, passing out on the couch. Magnus isn’t… worried, per se. Well, he’s not really worried about the drinking aspect of it. Alec has never been much one for alcohol, so drinking for him usually means one of Magnus’s stronger cocktails. Magnus isn’t too worried about it. If anything, he slightly prefers the drinking to other coping mechanisms Alec’s used in the past. Well. Slightly.

But he is worried about the causes behind it.

Magnus sits down across from his husband on the cold floor of his office. He gingerly pries the bottle of scotch—gifted to Alec from Luke in celebration of his appointment to Consul—out of his hands. It’s barely touched, thankfully, more a physical crutch and option than something to actually be consumed.

“Hey now. Drowning sorrows in alcohol is my schtick,” he teases, quiet as the dust settling in the corners of the room. Alec’s office in the Gard is… not like his one in the Institute. It’s cold, walls of ancient stone and adamas, bay windows looking out on Idris’s distant snowcapped mountains. No wood paneling, no warming fireplace. Magnus has brainstormed décor ideas, has put warming charm after warming charm in the desk, chairs, floor… but he can’t quite manage to banish the chill. Perhaps the place is simply resistant to his magic after so long harboring minds so hostile to warlocks entirely.

“I know,” Alec mumbles, ignoring the teasing of his tone. His eyes are downcast, fixated on his empty hands. “’m sorry.”

Magnus sets the bottle aside and takes his hands, pushing a warm burst of magic into them. “No, darling. I’m only worried about you. I know what my mind gets like when I’m driven to drink; I don’t want to think about you suffering in that way.”

“Don’t think about it, then,” Alec says flatly, and Lilith, this is going to take even more delicacy than Magnus thought.

“I always think about it,” he says, and Alec looks up at him, guilt flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t,” Magnus says, before he can speak, cradling his face in a hand. “Don’t.”

“I don’t like being here,” Alec admits. His face is set in a deep, furrowed frown. “I just don’t know what to do. I know you don’t like it when I work out too much.”

“I don’t like it when you hurt yourself at all.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Alec insists, and Magnus sees, again, the invisible walls he’d seen around him when they first met. The years of living with no options that had convinced him options didn’t exist at all.

“For now?” Magnus lets out a long breath. He still hasn’t figured out a long-term plan to help, especially as so much of the source of the issue falls on the shoulders of others—the Clave, mainly. But immediate triage. That he can do. “Come take a walk with me. This stone floor is turning my ass into an ice sculpture.”

Alec finally laughs, though there’s a crack through it. “It’s your fault for wearing fishnet tights in winter.”

“The weather should bow to my fashion sense,” Magnus declares, and Alec laughs again, and Magnus’s heart warms to hear it.

He takes Alec’s hands and pulls him to his feet. “Come along. Grab your coat.”

“You should grab some pants,” Alec grumbles, but he does get his coat. It’s such a nice coat, too, if Magnus does say so. A navy wool peacoat, much more expensive than Alec would ever have chosen for himself. Magnus is quite proud of that gift, especially because Alec has a tendency to tuck it over his shoulders whenever he sees Magnus wearing a weather-inappropriate outfit.

“What, you don’t want to see my sexy legs?” Magnus asks, feigning affront.

Alec scowls, but it’s his oh my god Magnus you are being ridiculous scowl, not a real one. “I don’t want to see your sexy legs turning blue.”

Magnus ignores this. High fashion is far more important than a little discomfort. He takes Alec’s arm and leads him from his office. “Would you like to hear what escapades Chairman got up to today?” Magnus still wants to know what had Alec so upset, but he thinks it’s better to give him some breathing room first. A distraction.

“Yeah. Though I’m not sure he can top the time he turned himself into an aardvark.”

“That was awful,” Magnus moans. “I had no idea an aardvark could cause such destruction.”

“Why did you even have a potion that could turn something into an aardvark in the first place?”

“Well, that wasn’t its intended purpose, Alexander!” Magnus yells, just as they’re heading through the entry hall, causing several guards to turn to them with raised eyebrows. Alec leans against his side, giggling. “Anyway, what he got up to today was worse. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get pink fabric dye out of cat fur?”

Alec chokes on a laugh. “I mean, I’d have thought you’d think it was couture.”

“His feet were hot pink!” Magnus pushes open the door, letting in a gust of frigid air. “He looked like an eighties home workout trainer wearing leg warmers!”

Alec tugs him close in the cold night. His breath fogs as he says, “I don’t know what that means. Is he still pink?”

Magnus sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his admittedly subpar jacket. “Regrettably, yes.”

They walk through the Alicante streets in silence for a while after that. The city is nearly empty this late at night, at the height of the freezing Idris winter. It’s just them, the stray cats, and the few flurries of snow that are falling. They catch in Alec’s hair as he stops on the street corner, shrugging out of his coat and laying it over Magnus’s shoulders, predictably. Magnus summons him a scarf for his trouble, but not another coat because he feels it might ruin the deliberateness of Alec’s care.

He wraps the scarf around Alec’s neck and ears, draping the ends over his shoulders. Alec rests his hands on Magnus’s hips under the coat, and Magnus flattens his hands on Alec’s shoulders, and finally asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

The gentle smile Alec had previously been wearing for him fades. “Not… really,” he says, “to be honest. You can probably infer anyway.”

And the thing is, Magnus can, because it’s usually the same issues recurring over and over, mostly out of Alec’s control. Which is what makes it so hard for Magnus to help. “I suppose I can,” he says, “but I’m always willing to hear about it anyway.”

The snow is falling faster now, creating a hush in the world around them. Alec’s lips twist. “Maybe later,” he finally says. “For now, I just want to spend time with you. Without any strife, or anything.”

“Alright.” Magnus settles in against his side, and Alec wraps an arm around his waist as they begin walking again. “Careful what you say, though. Ask for no strife, and you’ll jinx us with a demon invasion.”

“We get demon invasions either way,” Alec grumbles, sounding put out. “They never give it a rest.”

“You know, I’ve been wondering if instead of killing demons, we could just distract them by putting something more interesting down in hell,” Magnus muses.

“More interesting than killing people? Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Build-A-Bear. Froyo with fifty toppings. Truly demons just haven’t been exposed to all the joys life has to offer—”

Alec laughs, knocking his head against Magnus’s. “Alright, Magnus. Demon enrichment. I’ll bring it before the Council.”

“I’m sure my genius will be recognized,” Magnus says with satisfaction.

Alec keeps his head pressed against his, and Magnus keeps their arms locked, and the snow falls on the dark street. And Magnus knows that, as long as they can keep finding these moments, everything will end up okay.

[kenobihater]

I need to write a literary analysis for monday but all I can think about is Lambert. Therefore, what thoughts do you have regarding Lambert's relationship with alcohol??? Cause I find it very interesting that out of the three younger Wolf Witchers, Lambert is portrayed as being the most into booze and alcohol - and he even has the skills to make his own! But his father had been a drunk - a violent drunk that Lamber hates and quite possibly killed, according to his dialogue - and I can't help but imagine that Lambert is one of the people that falls into addiction very easily, and that with the Witcher schools probably only allowing true means for affection when drunk (with both Lambert and Geralt being their sappiest towards each other when absolutely sloshed), and with all the alcohol in the witcher potions, I think he was more or less forced into developing an addiction to or dependence on alcohol, and I think he is both unwilling to break this (it does help make the Path a bit easier to bear) but he also probably hates it and himself for being complacent because it reminds him so much of his father. God, I can't imagine how terrified he must've been when locked in the same castle as several other older witchers who were not only powerful, but who hurt him when sober, too - how many nights did he lose staying awake because he smelled the stench of alcohol and the sound of them drinking and was waiting for one of them to storm into the room and beat him to death, because his father was bad enough but at least he was weak and human, but witchers?

Oh I definitely think he has a problem, which makes me sad because as you said, his father was an alcoholic and I'm certain he has trauma around that. I never even thought about alcohol being in their potions and therefore fostering a dependency on it, but I agree that it's shitty and basically unavoidable, meaning abstaining from alcohol entirely is a good way to get yourself killed. I think his problem definitely got worse after Aiden died, considering he seems to use it as a crutch/coping mechanism, and losing a friend is a heavy blow to anyone, let alone someone as emotionally constipated as Lambert

I did notice that the only time he seems openly affectionate is when drunk, and I think that is a good reflection on how they were socialized, which paints a pretty sad picture. And oh, the thought of him being scared of the witchers drinking hurts, but it's totally something I could see happening.

All of your thoughts on this are great and are all pretty much in line with my headcanons on the topic!

[fictionalfics]

I had an idea. Could you do a crossover thingy where Aizawa has a daughter and she goes missing and he comes in the next day looking worse than normal and then the broadcast gets sent out and Aizawa sees his daughter in it and he gets either happy she’s alive or sad because she’s in a war?

This is s great idea! I’ve never written a parent fic before, so this is quite a challenge. Hope it came out okay!

Title: Not This Time

Pairing: Dad!Aizawa x Daughter!Reader

!TW: VIOLENCE, KIDNAPPING, MENTIONS OF K*LLING, LIGHT ALCOHOL USE!

(Gifs not mine)

“Aizawa-sensei’s been sleeping a lot more than usual, have you noticed Iida-kun?” Midoriya looks at his classmate expectantly as they make their way to the dining hall.

It was true, their rugged teacher had been sleeping in class a lot more lately. He had barely greeted his class before the yellow sleeping bag made its appearance. 

“I’m sure its nothing, Deku,” Ochako chimes in, “This is the first time in a while he’s taught a full class. Besides, you know who he has to deal with.“

Midoriya chuckles as his friend gestures to Kaminari, Bakugo and Kirishima - they didn’t mean to be, but they were one of the main sources of trouble in class 1-A.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

                                                         --------

Back kick. Block. Jump, kick, dodge. Bend the knees, feet to the floor. Breathe, start again. 

The thick material of your scarf is tight around your palms as you dodge attack after attack. You hold your hand out and erase the enemy’s quirk, before landing a swift chop to the neck. Another one down. You handcuff them as fast as you can before dodging a beam of light. It just catches you ear, the scent of burnt hair becoming more intense as you roll to the side.

A stakeout operation gone wrong. A local gang that turned out to be something much bigger. You were fighting a war that had nearly run its course, and this mission was meant to be one of the last. That was, until your stakeout partner revealed she was working for the other team, a double agent. 

That left you in this mess. You wished your dad was there with you right now, but he wasn’t. He’d taught you to cope on your own, you told yourself. You’d manage.

Smack!

                                                       -------

Three days. No text, no call, no you. Shouta had waited in the living room all night, sipping coffee to stay awake. It had been three days since you walked out the door with a great big smile on your face, saying goodbye as you left for work.

Ten years ago, the seemingly heartless man had taken you into his care after saving you from your burning orphanage. The hero saw himself in you, especially since your quirks were so similar. He trained you himself, teaching how to use the capture rope alongside your fists.

You had enrolled in Shiketsu High, in order to separate yourself from your dad, and started your work studies with a mid-ranked but successful pro in your second year. 

Shouta was extremely proud of you, and made sure you knew it every single day.

But it was unlike you to stay out for days at a time without contact. The first night wasn’t so bad - maybe she’s at the bar with friends, I’ll see her in the morning, he thought to himself.

You weren’t there in the morning. He put it down to you staying over a friend’s house - he was up pretty early after all, so you’d be home later.

Nope. Nothing. He continued to make excuses up for you all night, and all the way into the morning too, only grabbing an hour’s sleep before leaving for work.

When he came home to an empty house for the third day in a row, he started to panic for real. Texted you every hour, on the hour. Called a couple of times. Called your workplace, to no avail.

6:30 on the clock. Shouta chugged the rest of his coffee and slung his work bag over his shoulder as he noted it was day four now. Work was going to be a long one.

                                                        ------

Your ears rang as your former partner delivered another slap to your face.

“This would be over so much quicker if you told me where the boss is being held hostage, Y/N. You’re making this so hard for yourself!”

“Go to hell.”

Wack!

A scream held back in your throat, your teeth grind together as you fight through the pain. The edges of your vision began to go black, and you almost considered telling the gang everything.

                                                        ------

Shouta’s thumb was over the send button when he heard your name on the local news. 

Y/N Aizawa missing in action. Something about a fight against a gang, an ambush they said. No other details could be released for citizen safety.

The hero didn’t even realise he’d slid off the couch to kneel in front of the TV. Missing in action. He rested his forehead on the box, his hair sticking to the screen due to static.

Missing. You were missing.

His legs carried him to the agency you worked with. His voice demanded to see your boss, begged for the details of your whereabouts.

They wouldn’t tell him. “We cannot release details to the public, its for her safety as well as theirs,” your boss told him.

Shouta argued that he wasn’t the public, that he was a hero like you.

“There’s nothing more we can do, I’m afraid.”

                                                       -------

The ropes had begun to bite into your wrists as you hung from the ceiling. After deciding the initial interrogation was obsolete, the gang had taken you to a new building and strung you up. Your feet could almost touch the floor, but had given up trying to get free an hour ago. Possibly. You didn’t know how long you’d been there. You were sure you’d stayed awake, but even blinking felt like it took days in that dark room.

You strained your ears from information.

Move........found.....kill her.......risk? No......stupid.....

There wasn’t enough for you to piece together the crumbs of information. You were sure you were going to die at this point. So much potential, a great future ahead of you.

No, you can’t think like that! What would Dad do in this situation?

You couldn’t answer that one. Instead, you hummed a lullaby to yourself - your favourite that he used to sing to you if you’d had a nightmare. This entire situation was a bit of a nightmare, so you thought it was appropriate.

The door opened before you, the bright light bringing tears to your eyes.

                                                       -----

“She’s gotta be alright Shou, she’s tough! Besides, didn’t you go MIA all the time?” 

Hizashi did his best to comfort his friend, handing him a small glass of whiskey, which Shouta drank in one. He slammed the glass to the table with a dull thud.

“That’s different Yamada. I knew where I was, and I was never gone for long. I don’t know where she is, and it’s been nearly a week.”

The blond runs his palm down his face, not wanting to admit the he feared the worst too.

“She’s a hero Shou, bad things happen. You know the dangers and she does too, she’s not dumb.”

“Another whiskey please.”

Hizashi refilled Shouta’s glass, and the liquid disappeared as quickly as he’d poured it.

“She’ll be okay Shou.” 

                                                       ------

Your arms were freed of their painful restraints as your friends occupied the gang and, summoning as much strength as you could, dragged yourself to your feet, using your peer as a crutch. Your head turned to watch your team take on the four or five people that had taken you hostage, silently celebrating as you limped to the exit.

“Sorry we took so long Y/N, it took us a while to figure out where they’d taken ya!”

A tired chuckle escaped you as your co-worker apologised. “At least you’re here now.” Your response wasn’t completely a joke, but you couldn’t blame them. This gang was good at hiding.

“The whole operation is gonna be extended, thanks to the newbie. We had no idea she was a double agent- it’s gonna set us back to square one!”

Double agent. You scolded yourself for not catching on in time. “I’m sorry, I should have figured out sooner. Now the entire mission’s been compromised.”

Your peer sat you in the back of an ambulance that had come along with the police.

“Don’t beat yourself up silly! Even us pros didn’t know, there was no way a student could have guessed!”

The fight was over relatively quickly, thankfully. After the criminals were handed over to the police for interrogation, you were escorted back to the agency to be patched up, and report to the higher-ups.

                                                         ------

Eraser didn’t immediately jump up when the front door creaked open. He was a hundred miles away, trying to convince you to take a day off instead of going to work. You’d be home with him that way, smiling as you cooked your favourite meal in the kitchen. That smile... How badly he missed it.

He felt the couch sink next to him.

“Sorry I’m late Dad, I had one hell of a day at work!”

Dad? He snapped back to reality as the words sunk in. He looked to where the voice came from - his eyes traced it back to you. Covered in cuts and bruises, dark circles adorning your eyes, but you all the same.

“Y/N!” The dark haired man jumped up and lifted you into his arms. You giggled and squeezed him back, giddy with relief.

“Y/N Aizawa, you are grounded forever! What the hell happened to you?”

He set you down on the couch as you began to explain as much as you could, without giving away classified information.

“But I’m here now! I’ve got about a week to recover, because I wasn’t injured too badly, plus they did hold me in the recovery room for a day.”

“A week?” His shoulders slumped at the thought of you fighting. “They’re sending you back out there?”

“Yeah. The mission isn’t over yet, we have to dismantle them completely.”

Shouta ran a hand through his hair, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Promise me you won’t go missing again.”

“I can’t. You of all people should know that.”

“Humour me.”

Breaking eye contact, you sighed, before looking back at your father and smiling as wide as you could. “I won’t go missing this time Dad. I promise.”

“Good.” Shouta patted your head before standing up and making a beeline for the kitchen. “You’re still grounded forever.”

“But Dad!”

“No buts!”

“Even if I make you some coffee? Maybe cook some yakitori?”

“I may reconsider,” he chuckled. You always knew your way to his heart.

He loved his daughter so damn much.

[mighty-ragnarssons]

Knocked Up | Modern Vikings AU | Chapter II

Relationships | Modern Ivar x OC Warnings | some smut, a little angst, violence, harassement, teenage pregnancy

Keep up with the previous chapter here [chapter 1]

First of all let me thank you for the amazing support. You guys are the best! I hope you enjoy this one as well :)

You can read in AO3 as well (click here).

Chapter 2

Days passed and still no text. Ivar was tempted to drive by the apartment he’d left them at, but that would be crazy, right?  He should’ve never told her to use his number in case of emergency. What if that was why she didn’t contact him? Instead he tried to let it go although it wasn’t easy. He’d go to class in university, he’d party with his brothers, he’d smoke some things to keep his mind away, but nothing really worked. Once he was obsessed with something, that was it. 

It didn’t help at all when Hvitserk came home one day saying he’d seen Ivar’s girl.  

“What do you mean?”

“That girl from the other night. The one you’re so hung up on. The pretty blonde” Ivar had to stop himself from growling. Why couldn’t his brother just tell him already? Hvitserk was clearly amused at the whole situation. “I left the gym and went to try that new coffee shop downtown, know which one? Well, she’s an attendant there. And you know what, she looks really cute in an apron” Hvisterk teased, seeing how Ivar’s teeth clenched slightly. “Cute and nice. She offered me a coffee and a muffin, saying it was to thank me for the help. Damn fine muffins. I might have to go there again for one of those sweet things.” 

While Hvitserk daydreamed of muffins, Ivar was thinking about having them as an excuse to pass by the coffee shop. He couldn’t stay away and this was the perfect excuse.

“Did she tell you to visit again?” Ivar asked, taken aback for a moment. His older brother, much like the others, was the town’s heart breakers. Hvitserk’s pretty looks and dazzling smile could get him anyone he wanted. Perhaps he’d already bewitched the girl. 

“I guess so. She works there, isn’t she supposed to say that? ‘Have a nice day. Come again!’ I’m pretty sure she says it to everyone. But if what you are asking me is that I got her number or anything, the answer is no. I actually asked her out again but she didn’t take me seriously” Pretending to be hurt, he put his hand over his heart. “Perhaps she is not into Ragnarssons. Interesting, uh? There’s always a first”

Stupid Hvits, Ivar wanted to say. How could his brother go after the girl he clearly had staked a claim on? 

“Did she tell you her name?” This little detail was something he couldn’t stop wondering about.

“Now that I think about it, no, I don’t think so. I was too distracted by her pretty smile to ask about that” Well, now Hvisterk was really just trying to mess with his brothers “Tell me, little brother, will you crawl into that coffee shop right now?” he joked “Take my advice: lose the puppy face before going.”

“So funny I forgot I to laugh”

Hvitserk was wrong. Ivar didn’t crawl to the coffee shop right away that day, although he wanted to. Instead, trying to be rational, he waited a couple of days and decided to drop by after his classes in university. He could always pretend he went there to study, although that was something he rarely did. He just really wanted to see the girl again. She hadn’t left his thoughts since that night.

However, to his dismay, she wasn’t there. There were only two attendants and none were his  nameless girl. His heart sunk a little,  but disappointment was something he was used to. It no longer left a bitter taste to this mouth. He stayed, nevertheless. After a couple of hours working in his computer in the company of a whipped cream coffee and one of the famous muffins - his brother was right, they were a delicacy, he was finally willing to admit defeat. It’s not like he could even ask about her, not really given how her name was something he didn’t know yet. so, the afternoon definitely didn’t go as he had expected. 

Frustrated, he put his computer back in the bag and left the payment on the table. With the help of his crutches, Ivar stood and was on the way out, almost making it past the door but stopped seconds before the door opened, almost hitting him.

He would’ve been mad, but it was her coming in. 

“It’s like we can’t stop meeting like this” he chuckled. 

The blonde girl looked surprised. “I’m sorry. It seems I have a bad habit of bumping into you” 

Because there were clients trying to go through said door as well, both Ivar and the girl stepped outside. 

“You’re leaving?”

“And you’re just getting here  now?”

“I guess your brother told you I worked here”

“Well, yes. But I was just passing by. My university is just a couple of blocks away. I’ve been meaning to try out this since it opened and I needed to study” 

He regretted saying this almost immediately. Would she get the idea that he  was not interested in seeing her again? 

“I only work here after classes” she informed, while  mindlessly flipping her hair away from the side of her face, tucking it behind her ear. Ivar didn’t miss a single movement of hers, wishing he’d been the one doing that for her. 

What the fuck, Ivar? Focus, he was trying to tell himself. 

“It was nice to see you, Ivar. I don’t think I thank you enough the other night. You really helped us out. Not many would have done that” She smiled a little “I gotta go in or else I’ll be late for my shift” She moved closer to the coffee shop’s door. 

He didn’t want to see her go, though “Maybe we can meet one of these days?”

Looking conflicted, she bit her lip “Perhaps we'd better not" she said “It’s like I told your brother… I have a lot going on, with school and work and.. well, I’m sure you’re busy too” 

Ivar was shocked. Was she really dismissing him that quickly? He wasn’t one to take ‘no’ for an answer. “There’s always time if the company is good”

“You’re Ivar Lothbrok. One of the Ragnarssons”

That settled it. The first time he heard her saying his name, it sounded so good. This time? She was not as impressed, it seemed.  

“And so what? What stories have you heard that led you to believe I won’t be any good company?” his voice was raised and succeeded in making her feel uncomfortable. 

She shot him an apologetic look. “It doesn’t matter, Ivar. I’m sorry, I really have to go inside. Please, do know that I’m grateful for your help and I wished things were different”

“You just don’t want to hang out with a Ragnarsson, I get it” his accusatory tone made her flinch. Although his expression was carefully controlled, she saw in his eyes that her rejection stung. “Before you go, allow me at least to say a proper goodbye. I don’t know your name yet”

For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to tell him anyways. All of this was going terribly. But then she surprised him “My name is Eva.  Eva Jørgensen”

Bitterly, and before walking away, he proceeded  “Then I guess this is goodbye,  Eva Jørgensen. Have a nice life.” 

“Goodbye, Ivar Lothbrok”

Her rejection stung far more than he wanted to admit. It felt worse than his previous rejections, not just because of the blow to his ego, but more because he cared a little for her, had since the night he helped her in the club, and somewhat he’d been expecting things to go differently. How stupid he was feeling. 

It didn’t take long for his ill temper to grow as he drove back home. Finding out that a party was taking place in the Lothbrok home didn't improve much of his mood, either. Moving through the crowd of people into the living room, he saw Sigurd playing DJ in a corner, looking high as fuck by the looks of his attempted dance moves. Not far from him was Hvitserk surrounded by a bunch of ladies. Ivar recognised many of the faces among the more than a hundred people. 

“Brother” Ubbe showed up behind him. He was still in his business attire, looking completely out of place from the rave “Sigurd claimed we need to make use of the house before our father comes back. Texted everyone we knew.” he explained, opening a beer can. Only then he noticed his little brother’s somber expression. “What’s eating you? You look like you could use a drink”

“I sure do. Actually… You wouldn’t happen to have any pills with you? In your personal stash”

“Ivar… I’m not sure that’s a good idea”

“C’mon, don’t be a killjoy” 

“Is it for the pain?” Ubbe asked, but reckoning it wouldn’t be. Ivar’s eyes were not the strongest shade of blue like they used to be when he’s suffering more than usual. 

“Ubbe, will you fucking give me some or not?” he snarled.

“Look, I don’t have any at the moment. Maybe Hvitty does, but he looks like he’s already under the influence of them. Why don’t you just come out to the terrace, drink something and chill? I’m sure your shitty day will get better if you stop being so grumpy” 

“Spare me the bullshit. I’m out of here” 

Holding tight to his crutches, Ivar went to his room. It was the only room on the ground floor so the blasting music could still be heard from it. In need of releasing some steam, he took the matters to the gym they had on the basement floor, also known as the man cave. Getting one beer from the bar they kept down there, he decided to throw punches on the boxing bag, which he could only do from a seating position. When beers were no longer satisfying him, he took it to the bottle of vodka. Ivar just wanted to have his mind distracted from the beautiful Eva.

At some point, when his sight was already blurry and he had collapsed on a red couch, he thought he was imagining things for he’d swear there was a girl who was making her way to him. He tried to blink but his vision wouldn't get any better (no doubt too much alcohol and physical pain had taken over him). The world slightly dark around him, Ivar felt a set of hands pulling his t-shirt, then pressing onto his sweaty torso first, then down towards his pants.  The next thing he feels is his lower lip being bitten. At the metallic taste of blood, he regained consciousness just a bit, but enough to discern the blonde girl who now had her hand inside his pants. 

“Margrethe, don’t fucking play games with me” he said dangerously. 

Margrethe only continued to look mockingly into his blue eyes. “So vulnerable and at my mercy, Ivar. Still, you don’t get it up, do you? Why do I even bother?” A mean laugh rose from her throat “Ubbe said you need some cheering. I guess I felt sorry for the poor little Boneless”

Something snapped in him.  His ungovernable temper got the best of him. With the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly grabbed her arm and forced it off of him. Muttering between his teeth, he warned “We 'll see about who’s at mercy here”. He could be a crippled, but he was not weak by any means. His hand was not on her neck so hard that Margrethe fell back against the couch, and stayed there with her hands spread out against him, trying to get off his grip. 

“IVAR! What the fuck are you doing?” 

Suddenly Hvitserk was pulling him away, making Ivar collapse on the floor. Margrethe jumped to the blonde brother’s arms in no time. 

"He's crazy. He’s absolutely mad!”  She whined, burying her face in Hvitserk’s chest. “Take me out of here” 

To complete the party, the rest of the brothers showed up as well, all of them taking Hvitserk’s side and looking down on their cripledl brother. Their looks were one that Ivar had spent his whole life loathing: one of pity and superiority. 

“You’re drunk, man. Crawl back to your room, cripple” 

It was Sigurd speaking, of course. Margrethe was his favorite. Ubbe simply shot him a disappointed stare before the four of them returned to the party.  

Ivar stood on the floor laughing hysterically until he realized what he had done. It didn’t matter that Margrethe was not a saint. She loved to miserly tease him just so she could humiliate him next. It still didn’t give him the right to go against a woman, though.  Shame poured over him.

Alone on the cold floor of the basement, a single tear ran down his cheek. What a fucking miserable day.

The following days were no better. His brothers were giving him a silent treatment since the party. Sigurd could barely look at him without snorting. And without his brothers Ivar really didn’t have anyone close, not really caring for his colleagues at university. 

There was one person. Floki, the oldest friend of his father Ragnar and Ivar’s mentor. 

Ivar dropped by the bay where Floki had his workshop, where he worked on the sailing boats that had coined him the best boat builder in all of Norway. He now ran a successful company called North Sails. Usually Ivar would go spend his afternoons there and would even help a bit, but his mind wasn’t in the right place at the time and Floki kindly dismissed him after Ivar almost ruined a custom-made pine wood deck by spraying the wrong product. 

For the most part of the week he had been lonely, which wasn’t something new, but it still bothered him. To pass the time, he worked out more and even went to all his classes and not skip some as usual, but none of that really helped. So that late October afternoon he had resigned to spend it indoors, playing playstation, which was something he usually delighted in beating his brother at, but not this time as he was by himself.

Until his phone beeped. At first, Ivar didn’t pay much attention, but then another text message flashed his screen and a word caught his eyes. Eva. 

He immediately grabbed the phone, sliding into the messages from the unknown number which read: 

‘Sorry to bother, but I don’t know who else to ask for help. Can you come to the coffee shop? Asap’

‘It’s Eva’

Less than fifteen minutes and many crossed red lights later, Ivar parked his SUV right in front of the coffee shop, not minding it was a forbidden parking area. Although it was past the normal closing time, the lights were on, yet the door was closed. On a normal week night, the street wasn’t as busy as during the day, and but a couple of guys in a corner, it was all empty. 

Ivar first tried to look inside, then knocked. He was worried, wondering what help Eva needed. Was she in trouble? Was she hurt? Ivar surprised himself by figuring out that all the grudge he was holding against her was gone, completely replaced with worry.

He let out a  sigh of relief when she came up from behind the counter and came to open the door, allowing him inside. The look of relief in her face did not escape him. “Thank you for coming, especially after the last time we..uh...met”

“What’s going on? What’s the matter?”

“This might be silly, and I’m sorry for making you come all the way here, you did tell me to contact in case of an emergency and this might not be one and I’m sorry  -” 

He cut off her nervous rambling “Eva, just tell me” 

“My stupid boss went to watch a football game and left me the keys to close up the space, even if it was not on my schedule. Some guys dropped by. It was really difficult to get them to pay and leave. But they're not gone. When I tried to step outside and wait at the bus stop, they started coming my way and calling out. I rushed back here and locked myself. I was so nervous I texted you. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking”

“Don’t apologize.” His jaw clenched. His face hardened, and he started to rise with a hint of violence “Stay here” He commanded before turning his back on her and walking out of the coffee shop.

“Ivar, what are you going to do!”

“Damn, Eva, stay inside”

But she wouldn’t and followed him into the alley. Ivar actually recognised the four guys propped against the wall, acting all tough. The Ragarnasson stood his ground, not feeling nor looking the least intimidated for being outnumbered. 

“Nothing to do tonight, boys? You can always go home and catch up with the last episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians instead of creeping out here” he gritted through his teeth.

“Who do you think you are?” one of them stood to face Ivar. 

“Oh, the brave one of the group, no? Get your asses out of here before I make you regret coming” Ivar warned seriously. 

“You think I’m afraid of you, cripple?”

Don’t say I didn’t tell you so, Ivar thought before head-butting the guy in the nose. The scumbag immediately fell to the ground, dazed. Ivar stomped his crutch over his chest.

“If you ever come near her or the coffee shop again, I'm going to break the rest of your face. And after I do that, I promise I'll break every bone in your body, one by one. Trust me, I know how much it hurts to have your bones broken. You don’t want that happening” He lifted his foot a fraction and the guy whimpered “You know who I am. I am Ivar Lothbrok. I might break a bone, but I can never break a promise. Do you follow me?” 

After Ivar let him, the guy rolled over. He seemed scared enough, his hands covering the bloody nose. The guys were looking at Ivar like he was mad and that scared them enough to leave as soon as they helped their friend get up. 

When they were finally alone, Ivar turned back to face Eva, thinking he probably scared her off as well. Yet there she was and the next second he knew, Eva launched herself at him, giving him an unexpected firm hug. He definitely hadn't seen that coming. 

“Thank you” As she stepped back, she looked a little embarrassed as if realising a boundary had been crossed “I’m sorry.”

“You apologize a lot” She blushed. “I’m glad you texted me”

“I didn't know who else to text… I don’t know many people in this city yet.”

“Do these guys hang around here much?”

“Sometimes” she bit her lip nervously. “Tonight was the first time they tried  to come for me. I usually don’t do night shifts alone” 

For a moment he wondered what could’ve happened. Anger build up within him, making him wish he’d beat the crap out of those stupid guys. 

“I don’t think they’ll try again. If they do, they’ll have to do deal with me”

“Again,  I really do not know how to thank you enough, Ivar”

“It was no trouble” he replied, with a smile that made him look more handsome than ever, or so she thought. 

“It was trouble. Are you hurt?” Again, without thinking, she came closer to him inspecting concernedly “Are you hurt? You head butted that guy strong” 

“I’m fine, don’t worry”

“Well, I am worried. Let me at least give you some ice”

He followed her inside and sat waiting for her to return with a bag of ice. The inside of the coffee shop was welcomingly warm in sharp contrast to how cold he didn’t realize was outside. “Lean back” she instructed and he followed suit, putting his head back. Eva had to stand so close to him that her body touched his as she placed the ice bag gently on the swelling of his chin. She bent over him, her lips puckered in serious concentration as she tried not to hurt him. Other than his mother, no one had ever been so gentle with him before. Gradually as he takes in her closeness, he smells her perfume, surprised that it is  something spicy, sweet and lovely altogether. 

“I’m sorry you got hurt. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen” 

“This is nothing. I grew up the youngest of many brothers. Can you imagine how many times we wrestled while growing up?” 

She smiled, causing him to do so as well. After how he treated her the last time they met, he thought she wouldn’t feel comfortable with him again, but it didn’t feel that way. He felt...at ease with her. Just like he did when they had first met. 

Eventually, as Eva released the ice bag, their distance grew a bit. Ivar had to keep himself from growling in disappointment. 

“Oh shit!” she exclaimed after looking at the time and jumping to grab her things “The last bus just went by. Fuck!” 

“Let me drive you home. There’s no way I was going to let you wait for another bus anyways”

“I don’t want to cause you trouble anymore. You already had quite a share”

“Don’t be silly. I won’t take no for an answer”

Driving her home took longer than he imagined. She lived almost out of town, which made him figure it would be around forty minutes by bus. Driving took a little less time. Time which they did mostly in silence, although it looked as both wanted to start a conversation without really knowing how. 

“You can drop me off here”

“Are you sure?”  There didn't seem to be many houses there, mostly warehouses and shops. 

“Yes, I live nearby.”

“I can drop you off at your doorstep”  She seemed troubled which made him guess “You don’t want to be seen with me”

“It’s complicated, Ivar”

“You said that last time” he snorted, disappointed once again.

“You’re right. I did.”

“You have a look on your face that tells me you’re about to say sorry again”

“Well, I was. I am.” How had he read her so easily? “I wish I could explain it better. I can get in trouble if my family realizes something happened and that I took your ride. That is all. Ivar, I really owe you thanks for your help” her hand reached his instinctively. Eva looked up at him with a thankful gaze before getting out of the car. 

He watched as she disappeared in the distance and drove off afterwards, not knowing how to feel about all of this. He had wanted to talk to her, learn more about her, ask her what was going on and on what terms they were on. He wanted to ask her if she’d text him again. 

He wanted to tell her he wanted her to.

To his amazement, she did. Text him, that is. He was already in bed when his phone bipped. 

‘I really thank you, especially for helping me out twice already. I promise trouble doesn’t usually follow me so often… I also want to apologize for the way I approached you at the beginning. I'm sorry about that. Let me know how I can make it up to you. Good dreams, Ivar.’

That night he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

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