#alcholism tw

[ashintheairlikesnow]

ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

-

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

[daphartwood]

[DAPHNE HARTWOOD. 27. CIS WOMAN. SHE/HER] is here! They’ve lived in Asbury Park for [FOUR YEARS] and are originally from [CHICAGO, ILLINOIS]. They are a [MANAGER AT CINEMARK ASBURY 12] and in their downtime love [VISITING PARANORMAL BOOKS & COURISITES] and [GETTING TATTOOS AT BLACK LOTUS TATTOO]. They look a lot like [GRACE VAN DIEN] and live in [MEADOWLARK APARTMENTS]. The song that makes people think of them the most is [TEENAGE DIRTBAG BY WHEATUS]

FULL NAME: Daphne Hartwood

NICKNAMES: Daph, Dee

SEXUALITY & PRONOUNS: Pansexual (She/Her)

ROMANTIC STATUS: Single

BIRTHDAY: April 1st, 1997

ZODIAC: Aries, Virgo Moon

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff with Slytherin tendencies

PETS: Pomeranian puppy named ‘Chewy’

HOMETOWN: Chicago, Illinois

CURRENT LOCATION: Asbury Park, New Jersey

OCCUPATION: Manager at Cinemark Asbury 12

ROOMMATES:  Just Chewy.

PARENTS: Trisha Rivers, Trever Hartwood

TATTOOS & PIERCINGS: tattoo of a small moon on her right wrist, different horror tattoos on her left arm, both ears pierced, and her left ear has an industrial piercing.

MUSIC INSPO: teenage dirtbag -wheatus, bad chem -sabrina carpenter, dirty thoughts -chloe adams, the remedy ( i won't worry) -jason mraz, the kill -thirty seconds to mars, samurai -lupe fiasco, the hell song -sum 41, the drugs -mother mother, flowers -miley cyrus,

BIOGRAPHY

alcoholism tw, bad parenting, child abandonment tw,

Tracy met Trever Hartwood one night while she was attending one of his concerts. Trever was a rock and roll lover to the very core of his heart. While Tracy was a doe eyed beauty with a smile that lit up any room. What was supposed to be a one night stand ended up turning into fourteen years of living with a regret. Much to Trever's dismay, his daughter, Daphne Hartwood entered this world one fine Spring day in 1997.

At first it seemed as though he had begun to turn his life around for his little girl but all of it came crashing down shortly after Daphne's second birthday. Her father couldn't give up life on the road, the music, girls, drugs, and chose to give her up instead. The moment he left her mom had never truly been the same. She was lucky that her mother was a strong person who picked her chin up and refused to ever let her daughter see her cry. Something Daphne admired greatly.

She inherited her father's love for music, as well as all things horror related, and it was certainly something her mother often tried to push back on. She eventually did cave, in hopes of growing a stronger bond with her daughter. When Daphne was fifteen she joined a punk band with a group of friends, offering her skills on the guitar, and she even got her first piercing; it was an industrial, and her mother was beyond pissed. Her mother eventually gave in and allowed the piercings that followed. Daphne was growing up quicker than her mother could keep up with, being the social butterfly she was, she figured it was better to simply go along with most of the stuff she threw her way.

The older Daphne got it became clearer and clearer that her mother was not okay. She began to notice how see how much her mother drank. Even taking care of her mother on mornings she woke up feeling sick. At the age of seventeen, Daphne was forced to move to Miami and finish school off there at an aunt's house while her mother focused on getting back on her two feet.

That never happened and Daphne hasn't seen her mother since. She eventually went back to Chicago in search of her but always came up short in the end and eventually accepted that she just didn't want anything to do with her.

As of four years ago, Daphne settled into Asbury Park, New Jersey. She works as a manager at Cinemark Asbury 12 and she loves it. She things it's one of the coolest jobs, even if she can't remember the last time she's had a free weekend.

HEADCANNONS

loves true crime, horror movies, fantasy, gaming, and overall, Chewy, her dog.

she's always ready to go on an adventure. seriously, she hardly sleeps.

she's always looking for some new friends to party with and do random things with.

constantly blasting some sort of music through her earbuds.

she doesn't really believe in leaving things on bitter terms with exes. she may not get along with all of them but doesn't see the point in wasting energy harboring bitterness towards someone.

she loves pumpkin spice anything all year round.

fully believes there is a man in a blue box traveling throughout space and time.

TATTOOS

[spacemanxpaninis]

Me, looking at antagonists in some of my major works/WIPS:

• mother figure who hurts mc

• mother and to a smaller degree father figure who put mcs in situations because they can’t handle their own shit

• elitist jerk guy who doesn’t handle being snubbed well

• mother figure who hurts mc

• narcissistic pervert with a god complex who lies, cheats, and SAs mc

• misogynist dude trying to oust a competent woman

• female guardian of sorts who basically enslaves one of the mcs

• abusive alcoholic grandfather

Yeah, I have a healthy relationship with my mother and have no history of abuse or assault 😌

[jfashion-confessions]

pretty sure this one jfashion influencer i follow has a drinking problem at least based on her stories or at least a host club problem

.

[edgarwayne]

📝 nathan

Their first impression:

"Wow, that guy at the bar looks more miserable than I feel. Maybe I should talk to him. He's also pretty cute..."

Their current impression:

"I can safely say I love this man with my entire being. I look forward to the day we can actually be together, but his well being comes first...I just wish he saw it that way."

What they like the most about your muse:

He is incredibly kind hearted; he cares deeply for other people and that shows in the way he interacts with others and in the work he does. He also makes Edgar laugh harder than anyone he knows. He's free to be himself and be awkward and weird, because he knows not only will Nathan not judge him, but he might just be worse off than Edgar is.

What they dislike the most about your muse:

How he doesn't value himself or see all the good that's in him. That he continues to do all these harmful things to himself. It's been a month now since he promised to work on bettering himself and his life and he won't let Edgar help him, let him support him. At least that's how it feels to Edgar.

What your muse is for them ( Friend, lover, rival ecc.):

Friend, but wanting for so much more. He relishes in the touches and kisses, but he's longing for when they can truly be together.

A general opinion of their relationship:

Edgar thinks they can bring the best out of each other and support one another in a way they never really had before.

If applicable, something they wish to reveal:

"I'm scared your drinking is going to do irreparable harm, to you, to those in your life. I love you so much, it hurts seeing you still coming by drunk and with markings from one of them."

[ask-madam-ruby]

Happy Halloween! Here is a nightmarish post about Ruby! (Here’s some background music to put you in a spooky mood)

Ruby’s biggest regret is not Jess becoming a Gumm-Gumm. Or how much pain and suffer Milo had to go through. It’s not even staying behind as Dictatious fights at Killahead. She regret all those things, but it’s not the biggest.

Her biggest regret is she was forced to kill children. Innocent, human children.

She is a Changeling Spy for Gunmar and the Gumm-Gumms. She has to do anything in her power to make sure things are according to plan. Even if it means murder.

There has been a few times throughout the century that she was forced to kill a child or two. She doesn’t know their names, but she still sees the fear in their eyes when they see her in her troll form. The sound of their screams still rings in her ears. The warm red wetness on her claws. The tears in the children’s eyes before she took their short lives.

Nothing could bring her peace. Not all the alcohol or drugs in the world can numb her. It’s like the souls of the children haunt her daily.

What’s worse is seeing Nika, Dee and Alex and thinking about the children she murdered. She is afraid to hold her children. She knows what her claws can do. But they trust and love her.

The whispers in her ears of children fill her with dread as she holds one of her young children. She always puts on a mask. But deep down.

She regrets.

[strawberista]

⚅— @fangedstories asked: —⚅ ⚅— "۞" —⚅

Muse Introduction Meme

— ★ ⚄ ★ —

⚀ Muse: Silon {From @meadowthorns }

Silon stretched his good arm high over his head and gazed out at the way the morning dusted over the horizon and made everything look just a little hazy. If he weren't in the position he was currently in, maybe he could have even enjoyed it. But as things stood, he was sitting next to a long-dead campfire with no provisions and a long way to go. Nevermind the fact that he had a man tied up like a sack of potatoes and needed to drag the lout for miles into the next town. This was probably one of the most unpleasant jobs that he'd ever taken on, but he had to do what he had to do.

He hadn't gotten too many details — he didn't really need them for a retrieval like this— but he knew this guy owed his employer an awful lot of money. It was a bad position to be in. Knowing groups like this, he was sure the guy was going to be forced to do manual labor for them if he was lucky. He might be killed if he wasn't. And maybe there might have been a part of him that felt bad about that, but he needed a way to survive and the world was cruel. There wasn't any space to have sympathy for the less fortunate right now. He needed money. To eat. To drink. To drink himself so hard he didn't have any dreams or nightmares. Anything to keep the screams of his past from calling after his tattered soul.

Silon stood and went through the trouble kicking through and stomping out the campfire, even knowing that there wasn't anything left to stomp out, then he drug his prisoner up to his feet. He ignored the groan of pain and pleas for mercy, letting them flow in one ear and out the other, and he started making his way back down the path. There was so much about this that he didn't like, and there was still that voice that told him to just be decent and cut the guy loose, cut his losses.

But that really wasn't his business.

"Shut the hell up, damn," he growled as he marched along the road. "Nothing you say is gonna change anything anymore than any other part of this trip. Got it? So can it, asshole."

It was rare for him to be so blessed, but his bickering actually worked, and he was given silence for the remainder of his trip. At least he'd be eating good tonight, in an inn he could afford and with a cup of the cheapest swill in the place. He'd drown himself. And he'd forget. And for one, confused, wonderful night he would be completely oblivious to his pain.

[djmanemihi]

This was my entry for one of the Shonen Jump World Wide Manga contests four years ago. Basically my first real attempt at professional manga using 100% digital artwork. I’ve come a long way since then I feel but I’m still super proud of it. Didn’t really get a lot of attention back then on my now-defunct accounts. So….blazing.

1/4

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk!Danny pt.5

If Danny hadn’t thought about quitting and going to rehab before, he’s definitely going to do it now.

It had been one of those days. Danny had sluggishly managed to usher Jason to school- pulling himself together for their walk to the building, because he wasn’t stupid and this was still Gotham- before going home and relapsing. He knew, going into the first bottle, that he was going to regret it. But he still hadn’t felt the buzz, so he went out to get more.

“Just one. I can stop after, if I want to.”

Spoiler: he could not, actually, stop if he wanted to. Because he didn’t want to, which was the whole problem.

So, one bottle became two, two became three, three became six, and by the time the sun slipped below the horizon, Danny had a pile of bottles scattered around the couch and an intense look of self hatred set upon his brow. He was buzzed, but his stupid ghost biology refused to absorb anymore alcohol.

“Stop brooding, Danny. It’ll hurt your brain.” Jazz said, a hint of worry around her joking insult. “You’re forgetting something important.”

“Wha-?” He mumbled out back at the haze of her-hah- ghost.

The door clicked open. Danny whipped his head to wards the door, snarl on his face and ready to lunge at the intruder, when he came face to face with a scuffed up Jason.

They froze simultaneously, but before Danny could do anything, Jason’s hands tightened on the door knob. The kid’s eyes darted to the floor, where the bottles laid, and back up at Danny’s face. What he found there must not have been good, because he took a step back.

It was fear.

Danny felt his heart drop and his throat go dry. The self hatred doubled in size and weight, but he smacked it down in favor of scrambling for the words- anything- to fix the damage his stupidity and addiction caused.

“Jason.” He said, voice raspy. Had he been screaming again? Good start, good- nope. Never mind, Jason is using the door to shield himself now. Danny glanced outside and-

“Oh. I- I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” He turned back to Jason, who eyed him warily. “I- I forgot to pick you, didn’t I.”

“…I can walk back by myself.” The hesitant but full of bravado reply made Danny’s ghostly obsession to protect rear its head.

“Still. I’m… I’m sorry, Jason.”

Jason evaluated him, noticeably eyeing his open hands and purposefully lax posture, before stepping inside. He doesn’t close the door behind him- clearly leaving it as an option just in case he needed to bolt. Danny stood up slowly. Jason watched him, and his hands. His smaller hands- Ancients, Danny was scaring a kid- curled up into fists.

“What… how did you get hurt?”

“Got mugged.”

“Are you okay? No- wait,” Danny flooded his liver and blood stream with ectoplasm, and his head instantly cleared. Ah, the agony of being coherent.

Danny subtly shook his head to clear his thoughts. Focus.

“Of course you’re not.” Danny stepped away from the incriminating bottles, slowing to a stop once more as Jason shifted backwards like he was either going to spring at Danny or bolt out the door. “Why don’t we get you patched up? And you can tell me about your day. That I missed, when I forgot to pick you up and that I’m really really sorry for.”

Danny held his breath as Jason considered it. “Are ya drunk?” Jason asked, tilting his shoulder to slide his Wonder Woman backpack down, hand clutching at the opposite strap. A good bludgeoning weapon, even if Danny would rather be electro shocked to death again before he ever hurt Jason.

“No.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, scoffing as he looked down again. Danny recognized the motion, a bolt of heavy nostalgia slamming into his chest as he remembered another red-head doing the same thing when he tried to bullshit his way out of something.

“I was buzzed but… I’m a meta. Alcohol doesn’t exactly affect me. I had to drink a lot to even get buzzed, and it’s gone now.”

“Y’er a meta?” Jason straightened, not completely losing the vigilance, but less tense.

“Yes. I’m completely sober right now, I promise.”

Jason stared at him, inhaled, and relaxed. “You better be.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Whatever.”

——

Danny placed the bandages over Jason’s cuts.

“I am so, so sorry I didn’t pick you up.”

Jason shoved at his shoulder, grumbling “I c’n do it myself.”

“I know. You don’t have to, though.”

The kid looked away for a moment before softly admitting, “I was… worried. Cuz, I thought somethin’ happened.”

Danny swallowed the lump in his throat. Jason slipped more into his alley accent the more upset he got these days, having learned some of the local accents at his new school and regularly swapping those out instead of sticking with his alley accent.

“Thank you. For worrying about me. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

Point. From the mouth of babes came the painful truth, right?

“No. I’m not. But I will be. I’ll go to rehab, Jason. I don’t want to forget picking you up again.”

“Whatever.” Danny hid a smile as Jason ducked his head, looking endearingly like a grumpy duckling. Like, Jazz, when their parents made those blueberry ectoplasm pancakes she liked but thought they’d forgotten that she liked.

“And thank you, Jason, for coming back alive. I- I should have been there, but I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

“I want waffles and ice cream for dinner.”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

“Wow, you musta felt real bad if you’re letting me eat that for dinner.”

Danny grinned down at the head of black hair (with their red roots once more poking out) and ruffled Jason’s head. “I let you eat like five chili dogs in one go. This should not be surprising. But I’ll let you skip the veggies today too.”

“… No, I want the veggies too.”

Danny let out a bark of bright laughter.

Yeah, there’s no way he’s ever risking Jason looking at him like that again. The kid looked like he thought Danny would come swinging at him, despite their previous meetings where he had, perhaps and with plausible deniability, swung for Jason, but never against him.

That night, after he tucked Jason into bed, Danny signed up for rehab. As a matter of fact, Jazz’s words coming into mind, Danny also signed up for therapy. For him and Jason. Yeah.

——

Off camera, they talked about why Jason react to bottles and hands the way he does, and why he’s so scared whenever Danny slips back into his addiction. I’m just rlly too tired to write it.

——

Danny, who thought his addiction wasn’t that serious and that he could stop anytime because he stopped for Jason: I’m cured!

Also Danny: drinks as soon as Jason goes to school

Danny was one hundred percent using Jason as a crutch and when he felt like Jason was safe, he slipped back to his habits. The only reason Danny’s not dead- well, deader than he normally would be- is because ghost biology makes it so that alcohol is cycled through quicker. Like the Flash, but less fast? Anyways, he had enough to make him lose track of time and forget important things (Jason) and that’s what addiction can do to you, amongst other things.

Jason might seem calm but that’s actually a combo of his go to trauma response (fight) and his experience of 1) being on the streets and 2) living with a previous drunkard coming into play. Also, you might be like what kind of kid wants to eat veggies? And to that I answer: KIDS THAT NEVER HAD ENOUGH TO EAT. I would have killed for a veggie stir fry with a lot of chicken back as a kid lol

On a lighter note, the whole time they’re having this interaction, I kind of imagined it as two chickens just kind of dancing around each other.

[guardian-angle22]

911 lone star -> prelude to Judd's struggles

[that-bitch-kat3]

lily to remus after hes 11 drinks in: remus you are going to kill your liver

remus: my liver has been living rent free in my body for 17 years! its about time it starts pulling it weight

[aethramusings]

dr nicholas shepard divorced his wife , catherine f . chungus on May 3rd , 2020 after a rough divorce in which the custody of their daughter , poppyseed , was given over to miss chungus on August 17th . reasons for the divorce include but were not limited to : alcoholism . alcoholism . alcoholism . low motivational drive secondary to alcoholism . alcoholism . inability to communicate his needs in a healthy manner . they are both gay . alcholo

( very quietly ) wait hold on is shep divorced ,

[the-epic-amphinomus]

”Amphinomus…”

-@the-true-telemachus

Telemachus.

[quackity-rp-blog]

***-***-**** >> Alaska: You’re alive?

***-***-**** >> Alaska: You better FUCKING explain right now

***-***-**** >> Alaska: I ALMOST SHOT MYSELF, ALASKA.

-@schlatt-is-president

Alaska >> ***-***-***: "I'm so sorry Oves."

Alaska >> ***-***-***: "We're horrible for each other, I wanted you to move on."

Alaska >> ***-***-***: "But I haven't. I can't stop drinking. I've started smoking our supply. I can't take it."

[dulcetlamb]

[uhhlifeig]

Arrow - Feb. 8th - word count: 209 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Remus felt as if an arrow had shot him in the chest, lodging in his sternum.

James and Lily were dead. 

And Sirius was the one who betrayed them.

“Black was their Secret Keeper,” Kingsley had said apologetically. “I’m sorry, Remus.”

Remus didn’t want to believe it. There was no way that Sirius- his Sirius- had sold out James, or Lily, or Harry.

Except Sirius wasn’t his anymore, now was he? Maybe he never was Remus’s.

Maybe it was all just a ruse.

And not only had Black killed two people, he had killed thirteen more- including Peter Pettigrew. 

Blown to smithereens, the Prophet had said.

Black’s mugshot was on the front page, too. A deranged looking man, holding his serial runes and laughing maniacally at the camera. 

He was nothing like the Sirius that Remus had known, back in Hogwarts. 

Maybe this was the real Sirius. Maybe everything that Remus had known and loved about him was fake.

But Remus still loved him. 

And oh, wasn’t that a tragedy in itself?

But Sirius was never his.

It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense anymore. 

Remus reached for the bottle next to him. 

The amber-colored liquid inside sloshed invitingly.

Tilting his head back mournfully, he drank.

He was alone.

@estellethewriter youre being fed :D