#cw drug abuse

[teencopandthesourwolf]

Stiles: So you're just like——out here raw dogging life, huh Der-bear?

Derek: Dog jokes? Really, Stiles?

Stiles: Oh my God, I didn't even mean to——hang on, you mean I don't actually need to take quadruple doses of ADHD meds to be funny? BECAUSE I ONLY HAD A DOUBLE DOSE TODAY AND OMG I'M HILARIOUS! Hashtag winning! Hashtag I was just born this way! Hashtag The Stilinski Life! Hashtag How many times can a puny human pump their fist into the air without passing out?!

Stiles: *wobbles on the spot*

Derek: *steadies Stiles with a hand on the puny human's shoulder*

Stiles: Uh... Hashtag what were we talking about??

Boyd: You want me to threaten the pharmacist again, Derek?

Derek: *Le sigh* Please.

[dreamsteddie]

There is something so beautiful and melancholy about the idea of failed rockstar Eddie who was on the verge of being a major hit but ended up giving up his dreams because he didn't like who he was turning into.

Eddie who leaves Hawkins behind as quickly as he can and dedicates his entire life, every waking moment, to building up his music career. He sleeps on couches for years, staying with whoever will take him in for a night or two in exchange for a bump of coke or joint from the remains of his sizeable Reefer Kick stash. He carries everything he owns in the back of his trunk. Amp, wires, guitars, clothes, etc and basically converts it into a portable practice studio.

He plays every gig he can get his hands on. Playing as a last-minute substitute guitar or base for any band that calls, playing for pop bands and punk bands alike until he convinces enough people to join up with him and start a new metal band.

With the band comes more stability, for a while. They share a cramped two-bedroom among the five of them. Writing and jamming every day, going home to smoke up and decompress.

Just over four years after Eddie lands in the city, they play their first real show. A show at a respectable, if small, bar venue with people in the audience there to see them. People sing their songs and dance to their music. It's not sold out, not even close really, but it's the start of something big, they can all feel it. That night they go out to the club around the block with a couple of people who came to the show and party harder than Eddie ever has before. He wakes up with that distinctly fuzzy feeling the next morning that tells him he dipped into the harder drugs the night before, something he hasn't done since he learned his dad passed three years ago.

It scares him. He can't remember anything past walking into the club last night. He doesn't remember anything he did or said and desperately hopes he didn't do anything weird with a fan, but he brushes it off. Tells himself it was a one-time thing, a celebration of their success. They deserved to let loose, right?

Except it wasn't a one-time thing. In fact, it turns into an almost every night kind of thing, and as their fan base grows what feels like overnight, the parties grow in intensity with them. They play their hearts out on stage, eventually selling out all of the smaller local venues and moving on to the larger, more serious ones. The occasional disagreement over music between the band members turns into larger, more personal arguments. Eventually, they reach Fleetwood Mac Rumors Era levels of drama. Everyone is sleeping around, the drugs are out of control, and they can't hardly stand to be in the same room together anymore, only pulling it together enough to go on stage at the end of the day.

Eddie lives that handful of years in a daze. It can mostly be attributed to the copious amounts of alcohol he's turned to to cope with the stress, but he uses his fair share of snow to keep himself in the creative spirit too. It feels inevitable when he reaches a kind of low he doesn't know if he can come back from.

Eddie wasn't a saint, but he has always sworn off meth. It was the thing that killed his mom. He remembers the way she'd wasted away, the days when she seemed crazed, and how sorry she was to him when she stabilized. The regret in her eyes when she looked at him. But when he's asked if he wants a needle all he can think about is the prospect of spending the rest of his life stuck with this band full of people he can't stand and people who can't stand him if the record deal they've been negotiating goes through, and it feels like it will.

Thinks of what all his hard work will mean if it doesn't.

He says yes.

Wakes up the next day starfished in the alley of an apartment he doesn't recognize staring up at the little sliver of blue sky he can see between the fire escapes and weeps. He's become exactly the kind of person he never wanted to be, some asshole almost rich guy laying in a damp alleyway all alone with no real friends.

Eddie lies there for an hour just thinking. Trying to remember when the last time he called Wayne was. Thinking of all the girls he slept with when he probably shouldn't have, when they were both too fucked up to make the right choice. Thinks of his mom and dad.

Tries to remember the last time he made the world a better place to live in instead of contributing to the filth.

He gets up and leaves. Leaves it all behind. Gets in a taxi to take him to where his van is parked by the venue from last night. Frantically takes everything out of the back and leaves it on the street. The only things that remain are the few keepsakes he brought with him to the city and his acoustic, the one his mom left him and Wayne helped him paint. The amps, his sweetheart, and the performance wear all get dumped on the side of the road and then he's jumping into the front seat and stearing himself toward Hawkins.

Hours of driving leads him back home to Hawkins Indiana, the one place he promised never to return. Hawkins has seen a boom in the last few years, it seems. More shops, a bigger main street. He even spots a proper cafe. It all feels less haunted than he remembers. More people, fewer familiar faces. The trailer park, though, looks almost the same as it did the day he left, right down to the sight of his uncle lounging on the porch, waiting patiently for whatever comes next the way he always has.

Wayne doesn't ask any questions, not right away. He just scoops his nephew up in his arms and holds him in the cool morning air. He always knew his nephew better than anyone else, never needed words to know when he needed his uncle to help hold up the weight of the world.

And that's how Eddie finds his way back home. It takes a while for him to feel well enough to face the world again. A mixture of detoxing and coming to terms with the feeling of starting back at the beginning, like the last six years of his life didn't even happen leaves him licking his wounds in his partially empty childhood bed. It looks the same way it did when he walked out the front door.

When he does come back to the world, he starts small. Stepping out on the porch to share a cup of coffee with his uncle feels like one of the hardest things he's ever done. Maybe the most important.

He's proven right when he steps out to find he's not the only guest his uncle is entertaining this morning. Another resident of the park has already claimed the second chair as his own.

Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington who never made it out of Hawkins but also never regretted it. Who's made a small, happy life for himself here in the trailer park after his parents kicked him out for good when he turned 20. Who works part-time under the table at Miller's Mechanic and collects disability checks for the lost leg and minor brain damage he got from a car accident at 21. Steve Harrington who keeps his uncle company and makes sure he has everything he needs, taking care of the other residents in the park to the best of his ability doing easy car maintenance, babysitting, or just offering company to the more lonely residents.

Steve is so different from the guy Eddie vaguely knew in high school that he might as well be a stranger. They all sit and talk together for the entire morning, laughing and sharing stories. Steve never asks about where he's been or why he's back and Eddie wishes he could tell Steve how much he appreciates it.

Before Steve heads back he asks if Eddie would like to come over after he gets back from his shift. Asks if he wants to drink a beer and watch a movie. Eddie is quick, maybe too quick judging by the sympathetic look Steve sends his way, to turn down the beer and scoop up the movie invitation like the precious thing it is. There's something about Steve that soothes his soul. An easy connection between them that Eddie hopes they both feel.

Steve kisses him that night, slow and easy like they've been doing it their whole lives. Like they didn't basically meet for the first time this morning. Like Eddie hasn't been in denial about his sexuality for his entire life. Eddie cries at the warmth it fills him with. Steve just cradles him by the cheeks and lets him. That night Eddie doesn't go back to Wayne's. He lets Steve drag him to bed and hold him close. Lets him tangle their legs together and breathe warm air into the crown of his head until morning.

Steve shows Eddie how to live a life without dreams. A life without ambition but full of love and comfort. A life without plans, but with the knowledge that every day someone who loves you will kiss you when you wake up and hold you through the night.

[mammon-s]

Please share some Sleaze!Mammon brainrot you've had with us if you can

Yes!! I love Mams being my sleazy boy!!

Some of these are pretty sleazy I never know if I’m doing too much or not whoops

I feel like he’d take you to sketchy clubs with drugs and sex all around you especially if you are super innocent to see your cute little face get all flustered

And if we want to go with him being even more of a sleaze ball he’d get you high so he can fuck you in front of everyone while you are too blissed out of your mind to care

When he’s at casinos and brings you along, he has you dressed in the skimpiest little outfits dripping with gold and jewels and a hand always on your ass. He also puts you on your knees in front of him sucking him off while he plays, for good luck of course

Again if we want to turn up the sleaze by a lot, if he’s feeling really lucky he gambles you, if he loses you get passed around to all the demons that have been hungrily eyeing you this whole time

Another pretty sketchy one, he loves taking videos of you getting fucked by him and pictures of you with his cum dripping out of you but he loves even more to sell those pictures. It’s a win win he turns a profit and gets to treasure those memories forever

I feel like he’d definitely be a cherry chaser too, what’s better than corrupting a cute little virgin and really being their first

[dreamwatch]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Prompt: Pride | Word Count: 1031 | Rating: M | CW: Alcohol/drug abuse, driving under the influence, car accident | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth Stranger Things, past Steddie, Eddie is a very bad boy, possibly downright unlikeable, ambiguous ending

“Eddie, don’t.”

“Come on, man.” 

“Don’t be stupid, Eddie!”

He’s not listening, not tonight. Tonight he has a calling from on high. Tonight he has places to be, a person to see. A person to touch.

Tonight he’s driving

He climbs into the car, his beautiful Ferrari bought with the spoils of fame. There are three cars in his garage, but this is the fastest. This is the one he wants to be in tonight. It’s a racer, meant for speed, a rocket ship of possibilities. 

There are voices behind him, the band arguing amongst themselves. Maybe they’re shouting at him, but he’s not listening. He’s only had a two or three vodkas, and coke doesn’t have the same effect on him as it used to, back when he was a kid and all this was new to them. The pills were nothing, just something to keep him awake, something to chill him out. But he’s older now and those things aren’t new anymore. Booze and drugs are supplements, part of the regime, part of his five a day. It’s fine. It doesn’t mean anything.

It’s Gareth that follows him, climbing in beside him a second before Eddie turns the key in the ignition and the car roars to life.

“Eddie, what the fuck are you doing, man? Come back inside.”

“Get out.”

“I’m not—”

“Get out!”

Gareth buckles his seat belt tight and glares at him.

“Fine,” Eddie spits at him. “Fuck you then.”

He revs the engine repeatedly, the vibration like electricity through his body. It only goads him on. He slams his foot to the pedal and the car streaks out of his garage and onto the streets.

The city is magical at night, blinding lights, a stratospheric glimmer of colour. He knows if he was walking out on the road it would be quiet, there’d be no sound, just the occasional car speeding past on the empty streets, just like he is now. There’s music in the car, a blasting thump of drums and bass and he feels his foot drop on the accelerator; he doesn’t look at the speedometer because he doesn’t care. Part of him wishes he’d taken the bike, his black Yamaha that barely gets ridden anymore, then Gareth would still be back at the house with Jeff and Matt and their girlfriends, and not with him shouting for him to slow down. 

“—wait till tomorrow. Nothing will have changed. Let’s just go back, you can talk to him tomorrow, okay?”

Eddie doesn’t like to be ignored, doesn’t like his calls going unanswered. So no, actually, it won’t wait. He wants him tonight. Deserves to have Steve tonight.

“Eddie, slow down.”

“No.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eddie! It’s red!”

It’s a challenge, him against the stop light, him against the cross traffic. The road is empty, he knows it will be fine, Gareth just worries too much. He always has. Cocky until he’s not, that’s Gareth. If nothing else it will be a good lesson for him. Eddie didn’t want him here so he can consider this his punishment. 

Eddie floors the gas pedal, the engine butter smooth as it gives him the speed he wants, and he howls out of the open window as he flies through the stop light, laughing into the hot summer night.

Gareth is heaving in deep breaths beside him and it only makes him laugh more, he can barely hear himself over the sound of the engine and the music. 

The Ferrari speeds over the freeway and he feels like he’s flying. He feels like he’s free, and when the fuck was the last time he felt like that? His face is everywhere, his every second accounted for, every moment of his life planned. Stand here, wear this, do what we tell you, say what we tell you. He just needs a moment to fly.

Gareth is on the phone, but the engine noise and music drown out whatever he’s saying. Eddie doesn’t really care. He can call Jeff, he can call Wayne, fuck, call the cops for all he cares. What are they going to do? He’s Eddie fucking Munson.

He lifts his foot of the gas just a little, just enough so that when he floors it again he can feel it. It’s like warp speed, he’s Han Solo and Gareth is Chewbacca and the laughter fires through him again, the utter absurdity of it all. He loves his life.

He hates everything.

When he checks on Gareth he looks like he’s going to be sick, and there’s no fucking way he’s going to be sick in his Ferrari, so he lays off the gas. Gareth hangs his head out of his own window, the wind blowing his hair back. It’s warm out tonight, it just makes everything headier. Makes his need feel deeper.

He needs Steve. It’s in his head now, can’t sleep, can’t sleep, can’t sleep, can’t be without Steve. That there, that’s the heart of it, he doesn’t know how to be without him. Can’t get his head around him leaving, can’t comprehend why he’d walk out on this. They had everything, Eddie gave him everything, and he threw it back at him. Like, how fucking dare he work, go out on the road, make money for them? They were fine, they had a system, it worked for him, it worked for Steve, he’d have said if didn’t. It was Robin getting in Steve’s head again, telling him this wasn’t normal, ‘it’s not a relationship if you’re never together, Steve’, and when did she become such a meddling cunt? 

He drops his foot on the accelerator.

It’s not instant. The streaks of light are lining the road, leading him to heaven, and then it’s the light polluted sky he sees, the distant glimmer of weak stars filling the windscreen. He thinks Gareth is screaming beside him, but Eddie’s not scared. He feels like he’s floating, feels the hot night air whip around him, feels the dizzying spin of the car, his own fairground ride in the sky. The strips of white lining the asphalt rise up to meet him. 

He never feels the hit.

Yes it's essentially Blinding Lights by The Weeknd, but this prompt was fighting me so hard and I've spent days trying to make another story work and it just wasn't. Then this came on, and yes I may have looped it for half an hour while I wrote, but I competed the prompt!

@the-unforgivenn

[7squidgy7]

✧.*Day 31 Cotltober 2024: Fungus*.✧

day1 - All illustrations

Lambert didn't know mushrooms could be dangerous. Their friend Sozo was just a bit eccentric that's all, but he was kind at heart and they would fulfill any request a friend asked of them.

It was only after performing the brainwashing ritual during their crusades against Shamura, when dissention was high, did they realise how dangerous menticide mushrooms could be. Half their flock was badly ill and they felt immense guilt in its aftermath.

This is when they began to worry for Sozo. He was becoming more paranoid. So they stopped giving him mushrooms.

After they built a statue on his request they returned to spore grotto with camellias, in hopes of helping him, but found his fungus ridden body.

Sozo was dead and they blamed themself.

In reality Sozo was always domed to die the fungus had long taken him, but it could be argued Lambert sped up his death.

So every arttober I do a special piece for the final day that's x4 bigger than the other prompts.

Promt list by stychu-stych

[wondrous-art]

CW: Substance abuse (fictional).

Cullen is a man who makes good life choices. /s

[the-bar-sinister]

[vorpx]

death’s mend cor meum non pascat ipsum

her name is eddie

[awkwardcourage]

semi-plotted starter | @gingerspiice

It felt like cheating, even though there was no romance to anything they did. Hughie saw Robin in the corner sometimes, a brief flash of disappointment and judgement. She was never there when they did drugs, when Hughie actually wanted to see her. It was only when he and Cherie fucked that Robin haunted him.

Cherie didn't mind smoke in her apartment and it was nice to share a spliff, lying sweaty and naked in bed together, coming down from one high only to replace it with another. Hughie didn't like the taste of weed, but he still took deep drags.

"What are you thinking about?" Cherie asked, coaxing the spliff out of his mouth.

There were only ever two things on Hughie's mind: A-Train or Robin.

"I wish I could kill him." Hughie murmured, letting the spliff be pulled from his lips. "Or... break his legs so he couldn't run again."

Cherie hummed in thought, pausing to take a drag.

"I know a guy."

Hughie snorted. "What, a guy who kills supes?"

"Yeah."

"... Can I meet him?"

That was how Hughie wound up at a club he'd never even heard of, nostrils still burning from the coke he'd snorted before they'd gone out, the bass thrumming in his bones. There was comfort in not knowing if his heart palpations came from anxiety or narcotics. Cherie led him over to a tucked away booth. The man that was waiting for them didn't look like a supe killer. Hughie stared for far too long before Cherie nudged him into the booth. Hughie slid in, quivering with adrenaline and narcotics and offered an awkward wave in greeting.

[fireandspiceland]

If I was to ‘dilf-ify’ Arthur I wouldn’t give him a beard or voluptuous chest hair. He isn’t the type for that. He’d have more of that silver fox charm, thinking of (please excuse the comparison) a Tony Stark kind of sexy. With the hint of grey hair at his temples and laughter lines from a life spent in good company and those sly, intelligent, yet flirty one liners that win over every guy’s and girl’s heart.

He’d be that old money kind of guy. Educated. Knowing good wine and whiskey and tea and foods from all over the world. Having learned to appreciate the good things in life, which includes a pretty thing holding onto his arm at dinner parties (or two, if he’s feeling especially swanky).

He wouldn’t make himself the centre of attention (well, maybe he would but it’s more subconscious behaviour than putting himself there on purpose), but he still would be, ever so often. Being thought of as effortlessly charming by the younger folks and as a chap who always has a nice story to tell by his contemporaries.

Arthur, or Mr. Kirkland, would already be far beyond careless hookups in the back of his car or a blue smoke filled bathroom at a club. Those were a different time that he’d look back to fondly, but now he appreciates his lover(s) sprawled out on silken sheets with a shower and a set of clean clothes in the near. Though that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t play dirty. Where’s the fun if he can’t make them beg for him and stroke his ego and some other nice big things?

Maybe a youth lacking a couple of hours or days or weeks due to severe experimentation substance abuse would lead to him sometimes needing help in form of a certain little blue pill, but there’s no shame in that, is there? Wouldn’t his pick for the night appreciate it? That he’s hard just for them? And his own pleasure of course.

His experience in the bedroom would show. There’s hardly anything new one could show him, but that isn’t needed anyway. He’d much rather take his lover by their hand and guide them, show them how to make the most out of their time. Not afraid to get his hands dirty with lube and cum or down on his knees (though not on the hardwood floor) Arthur would teach his lover a trick or two. And by the time his blood has grown hot and his cock hard he’d have them begging for the main event.

[alex-wrestling]

HELLO??

[dreamwatch]

You Know, This Used To Be Fun

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #13 - Prompt: Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: drug abuse, alcohol abuse, mention of rehab, mentioned overdose | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Angst, hurt/no comfort (sorry!), a whistle stop tour of the Sunset Strip through the eyes of someone who has never been there, stream of consciousness, run on sentences, Eddie's head is a whirlwind.

I SWEAR I will write something fun for tomorrow, I promise you!

Title from Success Story by The Who

****

They make it to LA in Eddie’s piece of shit van and Jeff’s slightly less piece of shit station wagon, and it’s… well. It’s something.

They find a motel to hole up in before they plan their next move, because they have no idea what they’re doing, nothing is planned, they just said goodbye to everyone in Hawkins and ran, and now here they are.

They need gigs so they go hunting, and hair metal is still fucking hanging on by its polished finger nails, but it’s not just hair metal on The Strip, fuck Metallica played here. So they head there and. Jesus Christ.

Jeff gets a job at Tower Records, Gareth is waiting tables in some restaurant, and Matty works in a gas station. And Eddie, well he asked about bar work but the thing is… the thing is he’s not comfortable with people yet. He gets in his head now since Hawkins. But he finds a job as a janitor and it’s solitary enough to suit him. 

It’s 1989 and they’re going to be rock stars

****

They get a gig at The Whisky. They’re the opening, opening, opening act, the doors have barely opened, it’s Thursday and Matt and Gareth had to call out sick (and they’re praying no one from their jobs like metal enough to come to The Whisky on a Thursday). It’s 7pm. and there’s barely anyone there, a couple of blonde girls and blond boys and a fuck-ton of Aqua-net; this isn’t them. This isn’t their scene. But the crowd comes later and now there’s Metallica and Judas Priest T-shirts wandering around and they slot into place.

When they play The Whisky again they’re the opening, opening act and it’s 8pm and people are coming to see them.

After the show they wander up to the Rainbow and they drink away the last of their money, and watch girls making out with guys whose faces they’ve seen in Metal Edge.

And they play their gigs and they work their jobs and it’s 1990 and one day that’s going to be them.

****

They travel up to San Francisco for some shows, getting on the bill with some other thrash bands. It blows their minds.

They get on a tour to the East Coast; they have to give up their jobs but that’s fine, because Jeff is a step away from becoming the manager and staying there, and Gareth hates his fucking job, and Matty got held up in a robbery a few months back and it scared the shit out of all of them, so fuck it. And it’s amazing, what he remembers of it, the shows are amazing, but the after was amazing too? He thinks? His memory is spotty.

And then, and then, well fuck if they haven’t been signed. Well fuck if they’re not in a studio recording an actual album, not like that shitty demo they did in Indy. Well fuck if it’s not being released.

The drugs in LA are better somehow. Like, Hawkins had baby drugs, like junior training wheels drugs, but the drugs in LA are for the grown ups. When they play shows now they’re the main attraction and now people are giving them booze and coke and pills, whatever they want, they don’t even to ask. Then they’re drinking in the Rainbow and girls are climbing on their laps, and he’s not uncomfortable but he’s not strictly comfortable either. But Jeff leaves, and Gareth walks away with some girl attached to him and Matty’s next to him with one on his lap and one nuzzled up beside him, and Eddie pushes his one off and says ‘rain check’ like he’s ever going to see her again.

The album is released and it sells, it’s in that Tower Records where Jeff nearly became a manager, and they go in there every day moving it to the front of the ‘C’s. And there’s less copies every day because people are buying it.

It’s 1991 and they’re about to be rock stars.

****

The album takes off and they get support slots on bigger tours, bands they know, whose albums are sitting in Eddie’s trailer back in Hawkins. They’re playing five thousand seat venues, and one day he sees a Corroded Coffin banner in the crowd, and fuck, it’s emotional you know? It’s what they always dreamed about.

There’s another album, and money, and then they have a headline tour across the states, Jesus Christ, and people buy them drinks, and they give them drugs, and even though they have money now they don’t have to pay for a goddamn thing. 

There are girls, but Eddie finds guys on the road, guys at truck stops, and they’re famous but they’re not, you know? So it’s cool. It’s safe.

There’s a video and it’s on Headbangers Ball.

It’s 1992 and they’re rock stars.

****

Things get fuzzy after that.

There's another album. There’s festivals in Europe, and bigger tours, arenas, more guys but none of them are him, and then another album, and the drugs are good in LA, you know, but actually it’s the drink he prefers, who knew? But that’s good because Gareth and Matty prefer coke so more for them. Jeff dabbles for a while, but he gets married. She cleans him up. Eddie hates her.

There’s another album, another award, another tour, and they travel all over the world and Steve Harrington finally comes to LA, after years of Eddie asking, just as friends, you know? And Eddie drinks, because he can, and there’s another album but he doesn’t look for guys anymore because he belongs to Steve now, and there’s another tour, and Gareth ODs, but fucking shit he’s ok, and Matty cleans up, and Eddie drinks and he drinks and he drinks until Steve says “I love you but you need to stop”.

It’s 1998.

He’s thirty-two, he's an alcoholic and he’s about to go to rehab.

But hey, he’s a rock star, right?

[tristayranambrosio]

Attention - Grief (DWC day 4) Disclaimer and CONTENT WARNING: This post has a graphic depiction of what some might find triggering due to imagery and content. CW: Drug-abuse, Child-Abuse, Overdose and Death Okay onto the story, you have been warned:

Was I ever Enough? Questions asked left forever, Unanswered always. The cold weight of copper coins were heavy in the boy’s hands… not because there were enough to fill the yawning ache in his belly, or enough to warm the wooden crate he hid beneath to stop the rain. The walk back to her was wet… and cold, the streets empty of the denizens that would have made his take more generous. The thunder and storm like some monster that had driven each indoors to fires and luxuries that the child had never known. He knew… he knew he would displease her… that the six copper coins may be worse than if he had returned empty handed all together, but his voice had hurt… the cough and the rasp made it harder to sing and harder still to out sing the downpour. It hurt to breathe but he panted anticipating her outrage. “M-mama?” He rasped hoarse from the beating his chest had taken from the cough. She was angry… her motions sluggish but filled with fury she whirled on him, bottle clutched tight in her hand. The neck of the dark green glass cracked and shattered open because she had not had it in her to bother with a cork. Her son flinched offering the copper coins that he had clutched so tightly the imprint of royal faces and crests had left themselves in his palms. Thunder drowned out the sounds of the cruel intentions she offered in return, but apologies and pleas for forgiveness, and promises ran into gutters with red from his split lip. 

Your Love all I craved, Your attention my one goal, Silence, your reply The boy came to, his mother having realized in her drunken outburst that she’d nearly broken him, she spent the aching sobering hours of her hangover, doting and promising she would be better, promising she loved him… showering him with every ounce of her attention. He craved it… that acceptance… that love, and despite the hurt in his body and his lungs faced the cold streets again begging, singing… pleading for more coins because each one more he collected meant Mama would be happy, Mama would be pleased with him, Mama would not make him hurt.

Lines of spilled life blood Raised like briar thorn up veins Your arms are so cold     The coins came easier… but he still went hungry, the clawing need for food tempted the boy to buy bread, a heel, a crumb… anything but the scraps covered in refuse and mold he could scrounge from trash and discard behind taverns… But Mama needed the coins. He brought them to her and she snatched them from his hands while his body shook and felt the beating in his soul just as deep as his starving belly, when she didn’t even bother striking him in her haste to leave.

Your dark addiction The vice that bore your burden The child you can blame… He watches her shake then sink the needle deep from a place he hopes she cannot see. Her shivering stops… his continues… He is so hungry… and the needles are full. Empty promises, Lies to spin and weave like webs, On Spider’s silk lashed. He strives for more… squirrels away enough, defies her to pursue the strings… the scraps of wood, he builds a masterpiece, plays an instrument… the coins turn first from copper to silver then silver to gold… his voice, his music… none stir her heart, none make her proud. The boy’s heart breaks… he thinks he knows grief as he clutches his rose… and hurls the gold at his mother’s feet, who snatches it up and does not face him, her boy a young man before his time… her boy still begging for his mother to see him, when all she sees is a golden idol on the cobblestones that can buy her paradise. I am far away, I am not there when you go I return too late.

He wakes to the shuddering spasms that have grown worse, her eyes rolled back into her skull and her lips blue while she drowns in open air, her nose bleeds her nails have yellowed and some have even peeled from their beds… he can count every rib on her sides… he can see every ridge of her spine. Half her size he tries to turn her over and though she is frail as a bird and almost as hollow she does not help him still plunging more of that poison into her paper thin skin. He weeps… He begs he apologizes… promises tomorrow he’ll bring more so she can eat… more coins to buy his mother what she needs… if she would only speak, if she would only look at him But she sees nothing… and her silence turns eternal. Was I not enough… Would you have stayed if I was? I was never enough...   He wanted the world to stop… for the sun to stay past the horizon… he needed time… just a little more time, she would wake, and the world would make sense, he could sing and play for more coins and they could eat a meal… drink from something not collected in puddles and spillways or fountains between patrols. But the world didn’t. Guards had to employ their most extreme measures to dispose of her body because her son clawed and scratched and bit his way back to her as if he’d let them bury him alive with her and the other vagabonds and homeless they discarded daily. So deep was his grief that it took their hawkstriders and lynxes to drive him away… until she could be buried properly and not rise a wretched given her state at death. When the sun set again the boy sobbed over the freshly packed soil, nails black and brown with the dirt beneath them and he found himself wishing the skies would open and weep with him but the night gave him only an overcast starless night… as if the eyes of the cosmos were as blind as the rest of the world to a pair that had someone noticed might not have been torn apart… The only comfort in grief was the rose he had kept rather than the gold… someone had listened… not like the woman in the ground that had given birth to him… given him a Name with the weight of history and prominence of fate he would not discover for years to come… but a boy with violet eyes who had paid him that scrap of attention.

I knew grief that day, I bear it, an open wound, Grief: what scars Your soul. I can’t forgive you, For this yawning void within, I live despite it. Let me forget, heal You haunt me in stranger’s eyes Release me from this Rosaline, Mother, Only wished to make you proud 

Not be your mistake. I wasn’t enough But could I ever have been? No… just your son… trash.    

( @daily-writing-challenge )

[eyzoa]

BEN DROWNED || Selfship Playlist || Listen Here

the balled of mona lisa — p!atd

i can't decide — scissor sisters

perfect nothing — ghosts and pals

green eyes — wavves

for the love of god — mindless self indulgence

great vacation — dirt poor robins

cult leader — king mala

riptide — vance joy

sea, swallow me — cocteau twins

i hate myself — twin pumpkin

the president has a sex tape — k.flay

cigarette ahego — penelope scott

rises the moon — liana flores

video games — the young professionals

culling of the fold — the decemberists

little pistols — mother mother

impressive depressive — bad luck

señorita — titanic sinclair

killer — the hoosiers

lemon to a knife fight — wombats

visitation of a ghost — the brobecks

dead moon — brick + mortar

absinthe — idkhbtfm

black cat — never shout never

the mind electric — miracle musical

howl — the family crest

message lost — ferry

anybody else — dom fera

black water — of monsters and men

the cult of dionysis — the orion experience

[once-in-a-blue-moon-rising]

Fix It

Rated M, 5178 words

His mother raised one, perfectly plucked eyebrow in his direction, and Sherlock, with the very same opalescent eyes, allowed Mycroft a brief moment of contact. He was doleful and pathetic, a skinny, jet-black cat dropped into a river.

Mycroft tilted his head infinitesimally to the left, and gave a small smile.

In his chest, some string, pulled taut, snapped.

...or, a Holmes family Christmas plagued by addiction and brotherly discord.

[not-that-dillinger]

AU to Ed's 2.0 AU

Or: The AU where Ed agrees to spy on Encom for his father and Dillinger Sr. takes advantage of Ed's old bad habit to keep him in line.

/* well, fairly sure nobody here is surprised that Elf loves angst and putting Ed in the worst possible situations, and... well. May have been... inspired by a recent meme post. So. Have the AU of where Ed gets kidnapped shortly after starting at Encom, but makes a different decision than in the 2.0 AU. */

Ed woke up--he didn't remember falling asleep--in a white room, surrounded by humming, blurry machinery, and the smell of cleaning chemicals burning his nostrils, with no memory of how he got there.

He'd been... he'd gone out to the bar with the rest of his coworkers--no. He'd left the bar to find somewhere to eat, too overwhelmed by the noise and upset as it had become apparent the rest of his coworkers hadn't really wanted him there.

No. He'd left the restaurant, because it became obvious someone was following him. He'd gone back--

"He's awake, sir."

Ed recognized that voice. Peter. His father's assistant, who'd been in charge of... doing all the necessary child rearing his father didn't have time for.

"Pee'r, i'me 'lassssses," Ed slurred, unable to get his mouth to fully cooperate. He hated Peter McQueen. Hated that he kept taking away his glasses as a means to control Ed.

"You'll have them back, when you earn them."

Father. That was bad. Very bad. If his father wanted to keep him locked away, here was no hope of rescue if Ed couldn't escape on his own. He would hardly be missed at work, except for the small effort it would take to replace a low-level programmer. He doubted anyone would even think to file a missing person report at the police.

Ed jerked upright, panicked, and caught a glimpse of a blurry figure he's recognize anywhere.

Or, Ed attempted to sit up, only to realize he was tied down to the table he was laying on.

"No, no, it's okay, stay down," Peter murmured, running a hand gently---in mock tenderness of what a parent might do to soothe a frightened child--through Ed's hair. He pushed on Ed's forehead, and Ed gave in with little resistance.

"Hello, Junior," Ed's father said.

Ed glared up at his father, but otherwise remained silent.

"It's been a while. I've missed you."

Ed didn't miss his father. He'd hoped he'd never see the man again.

"You've had your fun, but now it's time to come home. Time to come work with Daddy."

"I know I've made it abundantly clear I have no intention of ever working for you," Ed finally said. "That hasn't changed."

The older Dillinger sat down in a chair at the table by Ed's head. "Well. This is your last chance. I'll make you a deal. You can keep having your fun at Encom, but you will report to me on Encom's... doings."

"You want me to help you destroy Flynn's company," Ed said.

His father smiled. "I never said that."

They both knew that was his ultimate goal.

"No."

"Very well. That was your last chance. If you won't work with me, then you'll be helpful in another way."

He gestured to Peter, and Peter untied him from the table and hauled him to his feet.

Ed stumbled his vision spinning from having stood up too fast.

"Think you can keep a user in line this time, Master?"

"I would have, been able to keep Flynn in check if I didn't have that pathetically incompetent 'assistant' you'd given me." His father's voice echoes from the computer.

Ed froze, the computerized voice invoking memories from when he was very young that had given him nightmares through middle school.

The older Dillinger tsked. "Well. He's yours to entertain. You can do whatever you like, except for kill him." He made an open handed gesture toward a chair with restraints, a prototype of the digitization laser at the other side of the small room pointed at it.

So the stories were true. Flynn had been inside a computer--and they were going to do the same to him--they were going to give him to this version of the MCP.

Ed still remembered having nightmares of that dreaded program from the time he'd encountered it when he was four.

He couldn't. Existing stuck in his father's control was bad enough but to be at the MCP's mercy--"No no please don't." Ed pleaded.

"I invested in your education," his father said. "I expected a return on that investment."

Peter shoved Ed into the chair, and a lab technician Ed hadn't noticed before buckled the restraints on the chair's arms tightly around Ed's wrists. Over the pounding of his heartbeat, the laser hummed to life.

"Fine! Please, I'll spy on Encom for you just please don't!" Ed said desperately.

Or, he'd drag his feet about it, and make excuses, and only give his father the bare minimum he could get away with until he could figure out how to get out of his situation.

His father held up a hand. He turned to Ed with that smug, pleased smile that Ed had bent over backward to see as a kid. The part of Ed that was still that desperate child yearned to see more of that expression.

The rational, adult half of Ed's still foggy, slowly clearing brain, wanted to punch that stupid manipulative smile off his father's face. "Very well."

The hum of the laser decrescendoed, and then it went silent.

"Peter, finish restraining him. Dr. Skinner--" His father gestured to a box.

"What--"

"You've proven to be uncooperative before. I would like... reassurances."

Even with blurred vision Ed still recognized the shape of a syringe in the doctor's hand that he had produced from the box.

Ed's father smiled viciously. "Fortunately, that hospital bill I had to pay off your first year of college turned out to be quite an investment."

"That's--" Ed lurched forward, desperate to get out of the chair. This was bad. Extremely bad. if that was what Ed thought it was, he'd rather deal with the laser and the MCP. He couldn't go back to that old habit. It had nearly killed him once, and Ed didn't know if he could escape it again.

"Your old poison of choice," his father confirmed, "plus some other stuff mixed in, so that you can't find an alternate source. Behave, and you'll get your fix. Don't, and... well, I think you know what that's like." The 'other stuff' was likely also so to make it harder for Ed to escape.

Peter finished tightening the restraints --one around each ankle and wrist, one across his lap, another around his chest and lastly, one around his neck. He ran a hand through Ed's hair soothingly, as though to comfort. Ed held perfectly still on instinct--any movement thought to be resistance, and his father's assistant would pull on his hair.

Ed watched in horror and anticipation as the doctor approached. He couldn't breathe--the restraints were tight enough to make breathing a little difficult, but not enough to cut it off completely.

"Now, hold still and let the doctor administer your medication." Peter murmured in his ear.

Ed couldn't help but watch as the needle pierced his arm, and shivered as his body recognized the drug mixing with his blood. And then Dr. Skinner stepped away, and Ed's father stepped forward.

Ed's father cupped Ed's chin in his hand, forcing Ed to look at him. Ed's skin crawled at the contact. He wanted to pull away, but knew that any resistance would only make it worse. He didn't dare even voice his discomfort.

"Now, you'll call off work for the next week, tell them you're recovering from an accident. Dr. Skinner will provide you a doctor's note. During that time you will come home with me and undergo...reconditioning. The official story will be that you've moved home due to health complications. At the end of the week, we will give you a device so that the drugs can be administered remotely, either by me... or Master Control, which you will install a copy of on your work computer."

Ed would find a way out of this. He'd escaped addiction once the hard way, he could do it again.

He nodded numbly.

He just had to be the perfect obedient son and get through this week and then figure out how to escape.

His father slipped Ed's glasses onto his face, and motioned to his assistant to undo the restraints.

"Good lad, Junior," His father said. "I'm proud of you. It's good to have you back. Now, let's go home and get you settled in."

Peter undid the restraints, and hauled Ed up from the chair.

Ed followed obediently in a half daze as his father and assistant escorted him out of fCon's laboratories.