#me: cigarettes are bad and cause lung cancer

[baura-bear]

nearly finished with the cowboy fic and i realized i forgot to add something about jack looking sexy and smoking a cigarette. looks like i have to rewrite the entire thing

[corvidcall]

im gonna be honest i am really struggling w the whole submarine meme cycle. i know theyre rich people who paid to get on a deeply unsafe submarine to go down and gawk at a pile of rusted wreckage that once held other rich people, and they should have known better, and that it seems so obviously like a death trap

but also. idk. theres no way those people didnt die in the most horrific way i can image, and even if theyre bad people who brought it on themselves.... i just really dont think it's that funny overall, and the fact that every other post on here and ALSO on twitter are just people memeing about it is making every single social media deeply unpleasant to use.

[kyxhiin]

Billy is smoking. And the JL are confused cause who let Marvel have a pack of cigarettes. With the time bubble thing in Fawcett and it being stuck in the 1950s the doctor gave him a pack of cigarettes cause it will help whatever cold or infection he has now. Cause it's healthy!

After a relatively tough fight the JL are tired. Captain however seemed to be the opposite, he's still his usual happy go lucky self cheering up the rest of the League. And it's all going fine and all and they enter the space ship. Everybody's in the control room sighing, and talking. The team's spirit seemed to be lifted up until... Marvel pulls out a pack of cigarettes. But he doesn't seem to be the guy who smokes so casually.

Flash: Woah dude you smoke? Isn't that bad for you? If you even have lungs but dude, I don't judge.

Flash doing a little shrug as Captain lights up the cigarette with electricity.

Captain Marvel: Oh, yeah I do. My doctor prescribed me it, I need to take it hourly.

Flash, along with the other audible confusion of the JL: ..What do you mean your doctor prescribed you it...?

Captain Marvel with a confused glance puffing out smoke:.. Yeah? I don't understand what's wrong with it, the doctor said the smokes gonna cleanse my body or something. People always take a cigar, Mary and Jr have been prescribed it once too?

Flash now with a deadpanned but also a confused expression: What.

Superman: Marvel.. I don't think that's a licensed doctor your seeing.

Captain Marvel tipping the ash onto a coke bottle cap: What? Of course my doctor is. Look Mr. Superman I would think to know to trust a professionals words.

Superman: No, cap. Smokings like really bad, it has nicotine in it and it can cause lung cancer.

Captain Marvel holding the cigarette between his fingers: Oh, you believe in those theories? They've been going around a while now.

Green Lantern: WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEORIES??? THIS IS BASIC KNOWLEDGE????

Captain Marvel now with a chuckle to his speech: Yeah right, nice joke. You should really consider becoming a come-

Flash: DONT STEER THE CONVERSATION?? AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN JR AND MARY HAS BEEN PRESCRIBED THE SAME THING.

The JL are now speed questioning well more like interrogating Captain. Batman now scheduled a visit to Fawcett to see what the hell is going on in there.

[aropride]

⭐️ aropride Unfollow

cigarettes are bad for you i think

👎 strawman1 Follow

Some people have moral ocd and its really fucked up to moralize things like this………..

😡 strawman2 Follow

fucking puriteens trying to fascistly dictate what we do with our bodies

😣 strawman3 Follow

well its my choice to smoke and if you criticise me youre being ableist because i have autism

🚬 strawman4 Follow

theres nothing wrong with having lung cancer. my aunt had lung cancer and she was a nice person.

🙅‍♀️ strawman5 Follow

being addicted to cigarettes is actually an intrinsically queer and autistic experience. it is queer to strike a match. it is autistic to crave nicotine. saying otherwise is a homophobic dogwhistle.

-

💞 belovedmutual asked: are those guys bothering u king.

⭐️ aropride Unfollow

Yes very much so

💞 belovedmutual Follow

i will protect you…..

-

☀️ coolmutualinlaw Follow

man that aropride guy is so cool. many are saying this

-

🩸 hotvampireinmyarea Follow

tumblr user aropride is sooooo hot i would have crazy gay sex with that guy and then exsanguinate him. sexual style. with enthusiastic consent

⭐️ aropride Unfollow

r u free on saturday

-

🖤 taylorswift Follow

i have decided to kill my self

-

💸 superrichguy Follow

@aropride i saw youre post about cigarett, Would youlike several billion dollars

-

⏰ tiktokuser Follow

i wish i knew what “seggs” and “free will” were :( #fyp #foryoupage #comment4alg

-

🐁 worldssmallestmouse Unfollow

squeak squeak

-

⭐️ aropride Unfollow

i am so hot and everyone loves me

🩸 hotvampireinmyarea Follow

Can we PLEASE have crazy gay sex

⭐️ aropride Unfollow

Yes (/sexual) but only if you kill me after (/nonsexual)

-

😡 strawman2 Follow

i have decided to end my life in protest of the puritanical censorship that 15 year olds on the internet are doing that is directly causing a rise in fascism in america

❤️ everyoneever Follow

Thank fucking god.

[strangespector]

Breathless

Summary: A bad habit that has consequences

Words: 1046

The flashing lights of paparazzi cameras illuminated the night, capturing Jenna Ortega in a moment that would soon be plastered all over social media. The young actress, beloved by millions, was caught with a cigarette in hand, the smoke curling up into the night sky. The pictures went viral almost instantly, eliciting reactions from fans, critics, and, most notably, her family. Jenna's mother was especially vocal about her disapproval, a sentiment echoed by the rest of her family. They knew Jenna had started smoking on set, a habit picked up in the chaotic world of Hollywood, but seeing it publicly displayed ignited a firestorm of concern and frustration.

Despite their pleas, Jenna continued smoking, a habit that became a part of her daily routine. She would often light up at home, the scent of tobacco lingering in the air. I, on the other hand, had never touched a cigarette in my life. The smoke bothered me at first, the acrid scent clinging to the furniture, my clothes, and even my hair. But I loved Jenna. She was my world, and though I disliked her smoking, I endured it because I knew how much stress she was under. I figured it was her way of coping, a temporary crutch in the high-pressure world she navigated every day.

Years passed, and Jenna's star only continued to rise. She became a household name, and with every new role, her fanbase grew. But alongside her success, her smoking habit persisted. By now, it had become second nature to her, a part of her routine as much as brushing her teeth or making coffee in the morning. I often found myself coughing, my chest tightening uncomfortably whenever the smoke hung too thick in the air. There were days when I felt short of breath, but I chalked it up to a cold or allergies. The thought that something could be seriously wrong never crossed my mind.

It wasn’t until I started losing weight rapidly, my energy levels plummeting, that I decided to see a doctor. The cough that had lingered for months turned into something more sinister, a persistent ache that gnawed at my insides. After a series of tests and a tense waiting period, the diagnosis came: lung cancer, stage three. The words hung in the air like a death sentence. The doctor explained that the cause was likely secondhand smoke, a byproduct of living with a smoker for so many years.

When I told Jenna, she was devastated. The color drained from her face as she realized the implications of what the doctor had said. This wasn't just any illness—this was a direct consequence of her habit. A habit she had nurtured and indulged, not realizing the price I would eventually pay. She cried for days, apologizing over and over, but I reassured her that I didn’t blame her. After all, it had been my choice to stay, my choice to love her despite her flaws. But deep down, I knew she carried the weight of this guilt, a burden she would never fully shake off.

The chemotherapy was brutal. Each session left me weaker than the last, my body battered and bruised by the relentless assault of drugs meant to kill the cancer. Jenna was by my side through it all, her eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and constant worry. She quit smoking immediately, the sight of a cigarette now repulsive to her. She did everything she could to make me comfortable, but the cancer had spread too far, too fast. The doctors were honest with us—it was only a matter of time.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I grew weaker. My once-strong body was now frail, a shadow of the person I used to be. Breathing became difficult, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a sigh of resignation. I knew my time was running out, and I accepted it with a calmness I hadn’t expected. I had lived a good life, a happy life, despite the challenges. And Jenna, for all her faults, had made me happier than I ever thought possible.

When the end was near, I made one final request: I wanted to go home. The hospital was cold, sterile, a place where people went to fight for their lives. But I wasn’t fighting anymore. I just wanted to be in a place that felt familiar, surrounded by the memories of a life well-lived. Jenna arranged everything, bringing me home and setting up a bed in the living room where the sunlight streamed in through the windows.

The last few days were a blur of pain and medication. I could feel myself slipping away, my consciousness fading in and out like a weak radio signal. But Jenna was always there, holding my hand, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of my fading life. I remember the last time I opened my eyes, her face blurry but unmistakable, framed by the soft afternoon light. She was crying, her tears falling silently onto our clasped hands.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry for everything."

I mustered what little strength I had left and smiled at her, a weak but genuine smile. "I forgive you," I said, my voice barely a breath. "You gave me a happy life, Jenna. That's all that matters."

And in that moment, as I looked into her tear-filled eyes, I felt a deep sense of peace. I had no regrets, no anger, only love for the woman who had been my everything. I closed my eyes, holding onto that final image of her, my heart full even as my body failed. And then, with one last breath, I let go, slipping away into the quiet darkness, leaving Jenna with the memories of our life together and the lesson learned from a habit that had cost us both so dearly.

Jenna would go on to live her life, forever changed by the experience. She would tell our story to others, a cautionary tale of love, loss, and the heavy price of a moment’s indulgence. And though I was gone, I knew she would carry me with her, in her heart, every step of the way.

[lieslab]

Skz finds you struggling with self-harm

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Og8 X gn reader

Genre: Angst & comfort/hurt

Word Count: 10.8k

A/N: This was a request and each member deals with a different type of behavior that can be considered a form of self-harm. To whoever requested this, I'm sorry for taking about a week. In a word document, this is about forty-five pages, so thank you for being patient while waiting. I hope you can find some comfort here <3

_ _ _

Bang Chan:

TW: Cigarettes and brief mention of cancer.

"What is this?" Chan gestured towards you. 

"What does it look like?" You grumbled with the end of the cigarette in the corner of your mouth. 

You ignored your boyfriend and kept glancing off into the darkened sky. You thought he was asleep as you stepped out onto your balcony, but apparently not. Either he wasn't asleep or you accidentally woke him up when you snuck out of your shared bed. 

He stayed quiet while he observed you. You ignored his heavy gaze and pretended he wasn't there. You adjusted the cigarette back to the middle of your mouth. The end glowed a warm orange while you inhaled another mouthful of the smoke. 

The oversized hoodie hung off your body. You threw it on hoping it'd catch the scent of nicotine instead of your pajamas. Silence hung over the two of you along with the stars. You didn't utter a word. Quite frankly, you didn't want to tell your boyfriend why you were outside on your balcony smoking a cigarette at 4am. 

It was almost like he could read your mind. You exhaled and the tendrils of smoke drifted off into the distance. Realizing this was his chance, Chan broke the silence.

"Do you wanna talk abo-" 

"Nope," you cut him off. 

He pressed his lips together trying to figure out what to say to you. He knew whatever you were going through was bad. You only turn to cigarettes when life seems unbearable. Too caught up in his own life, he hadn't realized you were struggling so much. Worry and guilt began to nip at him. 

He had shifted to wrap his arm around you in the bed, but you weren't there. When he opened his eyes, he was met with a barren bed and your silhouette outside on the balcony. He knew what you were doing the moment he opened the balcony door. He was instantly engulfed by the scent of tobacco. 

No wonder you tasted so much like peppermint lately. Chewing peppermint gum, one piece after the next. Showing up to his studio tasting like mouthwash. You brushed your teeth after you smoked. Swishing around mouthwash and chasing the mouth-burning liquid with more minty gum hoping it'd block out the scent. 

"Bad day?" He finally offered. 

You snickered, "more like a bad life." 

His heart squeezed in his chest at your remark. Surely, you didn't associate him with the bad part of your life, did you? Yeah, he was busy a lot because of his job, but what about the times you shared? Was it all bad? 

Sensing his worry, you changed your wording. 

"It's not a bad life, but things seem to be piling up lately. It's one thing after the next after the next. I purchase a pack of cigarettes and then the nicotine releases dopamine. I know it's bad, but it brings me a state of peace. Is it terrible to just want to relax for a while?" 

"No," he admitted after a few silent seconds. "It's not bad, but it's dangerous." 

You let out a sigh and closed your eyes. In the brazen moonlight, Chan could see everything. The full moon lit up every feature of your face. Seeing you like this beneath the soft glow, he wanted to smile, but your words twisted him with trepidation. 

"I know I should care," you reopened your eyes. You blinked trying to hide the tears building up. "But honestly, I really don't give a shit. It says right on the box that it can cause lung cancer. I already feel rotten enough on the inside, so maybe it's what I deserve." 

"Nobody deserves that." 

You stared down at the burning cigarette in your hand. Embers drifted into the darkness while others scattered onto the ground below. The rolled paper around the cigarette continued to burn. Your brain begged for you to take another hit of the nicotine, but now your heart was in turmoil. 

"You are an adult, you know. You're free to live your life as you wish. No matter what you choose to do, I can't stop you. However, as your significant other, I don't want to see you hurt." 

"I know," your voice came out weak. All those emotions you had been suppressing were coming up again. "Can I be honest?" 

"Of course, you can." 

"I hate the taste of them," you chuckled and dropped the cigarette. The heel of your shoe crushed it into the ground. Your fingers gripped the metal ledge of the fence around the balcony. 

Chan didn't utter a sound. 

"It's been going on for a while, unfortunately. For a month, at least, and I'm not sure if I can easily stop." You hung your hands together over the edge of the railing. 

"That's alright, you don't have to quit cold turkey. Maybe try to wean yourself off of them, okay?" 

"Okay." 

Tobacco stained your teeth. The soured flavor clung to your tongue. The scent draped over you like a heavy curtain.  You bit down on the inside of your cheek wondering how you were going to pull yourself away from the thing you spent the past month finding comfort in. 

"You don't have to do it alone," Chan spoke up again. "I'll be right here if you need me. You can talk to me whenever you need to." 

You nodded your head. 

"Do you want to discuss what made you turn to them in the first place?" 

"Not really." 

"Then we don't have to do that." He turned back to the moon and changed the topic. "The full moon is beautiful tonight. I don't remember the last time I've been able to stare at the moon like this." 

"It's nice." 

"Peaceful and quiet." 

You mumbled an agreement as a yawn left your mouth. 

"You wanna go back inside and get some more sleep?" 

"That sounds good." 

Not bothered by the scent, Chan walked over and put an arm around your shoulders. The two of you walked back into your bedroom. He locked the balcony door while you pulled off the hoodie you were wearing. You headed to the bathroom to brush your teeth. 

After climbing into the bed, you curled yourself up against your boyfriend, happy that you were able to find someone as patient and understanding as him. 

_ _ _

Lee Know:

TW: Using alcohol to cope with problems, depression, and self-hatred.

Lee Know was used to you occasionally drinking. You did it, he did it, and your friends did it. However, when he came home on the third day in a row to find you with a bottle of wine, his eyebrows furrowed. 

There you were curled up on your favorite spot on the couch. The large TV sat in front of you and you grinned while watching some raunchy romance show. His eyes scanned the area. A bowl of popcorn sat in your lap. A glass of wine was tucked into your hand. Too enthralled in your show, you didn't hear him come in. 

The bright screen lit up the transparent bottle to show that it was nearly gone. You just opened that bottle yesterday, so how was it gone already? He blinked in shock and stepped closer towards you. 

He snuck up behind you, without meaning to startle you, and stuck his hands on your shoulders. You let out a yelp and jumped. The popcorn bowl upturned and kernels and popcorn pieces scattered across the carpet. 

"Sorry, baby, I didn't mean to scare you." 

"Well, you did," you frowned and stared at the mess. You sighed, placed your glass on the coffee table in front of you, and began to stand up. The world seemed to tilt and you fell forward. 

"Woah!" Lee Know jerked forward, grabbed the back of your shirt from over the couch, and yanked you back to safety. 

You laughed as you plopped back down on the couch. Your boyfriend frowned at your reaction. If he wouldn't have caught you, you would have hit the coffee table. He kicked off his shoes and climbed over the edge of the couch. You giggled while he pulled you into his grasp. 

He leaned back comfortably against the arm of the couch. With you in his arms, he tugged you back against his chest. Your ear was pressed up against his heart. The gentle thrum soothed your soul. 

"How much alcohol have you had to drink today?" He began to run a hand through your hair. 

You half-shrugged on top of him. 

"One glass?" 

"More." 

"Two?"

"More." 

"Three?" 

"I don't know." 

"Four?" 

"Mmh, maybe." 

He paused and glanced back over to the bottle of the wine. Last night, it was nearly full, so you drank more than half of it. You were upping your alcohol content steadily. He frowned and stared back at you. You seemed okay the past few days, but clearly something was bothering you. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

"Do you ever hate yourself?" 

"Huh?" He was caught off-guard by your comment. 

"Do you ever hate yourself?" You repeated. "Lately, I've been feeling like I'm not a very good person." 

Lee Know kept watching you. You were pronouncing your words properly, so you must not have been too drunk. He glanced up at the analog clock stuck to the side wall. You were home before him in the early evenings. You had, at least, five hours to drink before he got home. 

"Why do you think that you're not a good person?" 

"I don't know." 

"There must be some reason." 

"I feel ugly!" You blurted out. "I feel gross and disgusting about myself. I look at myself in the mirror and I hate what I see. I've been sad and I haven't wanted to get out of bed. I have zero motivation to get out of bed or brush my teeth or do anything." 

"Oh?" 

"I feel icky inside and out. You tell me all the time that I'm beautiful. You're always there, but I'm not able to see myself like you are. Maybe I feel so gross because it's a struggle to get out of bed. I don't know, but the other day I had a glass of wine and it felt nice and then I had another and I felt okay again." 

"So you're using alcohol to attempt to cope?" There was a sadness in Lee Know's voice. 

"Uh-huh and you know what?" 

"What?" 

"It's working very well. I am so light and I feel so good. I feel like I can laugh again. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside." 

Lee Know tilted himself closer towards your face. He leaned over you and cupped your cheeks gently. You peeled open your eyes and met his. A goofy grin filled your face at the sudden closeness. 

"Whatcha doing?" 

"Don't I make you feel warm and fuzzy? Do I have to remind you?" 

"Of course, you make me feel that way! You give me butterflies. I love you so much, you don't even know. I can't put it into words how you make me feel." 

"So you're feeling bad about yourself?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"What if I gave you a kiss every time your brain said something bad about you? You stop drinking the wine and I'll replace it with kisses." 

His boba eyes stared intently into yours. You blinked in shock. It wasn't often that Lee Know was so touchy with you. He patiently waited for your answer and squished your cheeks a little more. A grin began to stretch across his face. He cooed and squished your cheeks more. You began to giggle at his antics. 

"Is that a yes?" 

"Uh-huh." 

He bent down and gave you a quick upside down kiss. Still tipsy, you squealed in delight. He puckered his lips and did it again. Pulling away, he rubbed your cheeks. "So how was it?" 

"I think I need another one." 

"Already?" He threw his head back and let out a dramatic groan. 

"You said if my brain was saying something bad!" 

"That's right, I did say that. So I must prevail in my efforts to comfort the love of my life. Pucker up and get ready for a love bombing." 

"A love wh-" 

Before you could finish, he leaned down and began placing kisses all over your face. Your laughter only added fuel to his fire. He kept going and going and going until he ran out of air panting. He threw himself back over the arm of the couch gasping for breath. 

"More!" You cried out. 

"More?" He threw his hands up. "You're just taking advantage of my love!" 

"Nuh-uh!" 

"Yeah-huh!" 

"Nuh-uh!" 

He leaned forward, wrapped his arms around you tightly, and squeezed your body. You wiggled, but your arms were pinned to your sides. You whined and squirmed, but you were no match for him. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Prison of love." He planted a soft kiss on the top of your head. "You're here until further notice." 

_ _ _

Changbin:

TW: Razors/razor blades, cutting, and self-hatred.

“They couldn’t have grown legs and walked away,” Changbin grumbled. He climbed further into the cabinet, beneath the bathroom sink, and pushed products aside. Dropped down on all fours, his torso was completely inside the darken and confined space. 

He was attempting to try and find a pack of his disposable razors, but he couldn’t find any of them. He swore he just bought another pack last week, but they were missing. He pushed aside backup bottles of body wash and shampoo. Diving further into conditioner and cotton balls, he dug back further, but to no avail. 

He pushed himself backwards and whacked his head on the top of the cabinet in the process. A loud groan left his mouth and it woke you up. In the room next door, you had fallen asleep early. Exhausted from another day at work, you were defeated by the time you came home. Within seconds of your body hitting the pillow, you were out. 

You blinked your bleary eyes and rubbed them wondering what was going on. Through the thin bathroom door, Changbin was mumbling. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he seemed to be upset about something. 

As you pushed yourself away from the tangled blankets, Changbin dived back beneath the cabinet to look again. He shoved the small basket of product to the side and when his razors weren’t in the very back, he jerked himself out again. A hand went to the porcelain sink to propel himself up. 

Crash! 

You stumbled over your feet worried that your boyfriend might have fallen. Picking up your pace, you knocked when you arrived at the door and called out to make sure Changbin was alright. Not hearing a response, you panicked even more. 

“I’m coming in,” you called out. 

When you stepped inside, you found a teary eyed Changbin staring at the floor. You stepped up beside him quickly wondering what was wrong. On the tile floor, lay the scattered remnants of the bathroom trash can. A shampoo bottle laid beside it. 

Right there on top? One of Changbin’s disposable razors was completely dismantled. Twisted blue plastic with a missing razor blade. You made sure to hide it deep within the trash can beneath the snotty tissues and makeup remover wipes. You didn’t take into consideration that the trash can might fall over. 

The pieces began to click together in your brain. You had been using Changbin’s razors for a while now. Prying apart the plastic and so desperate to feel something again. You found a friend in the cold metal blade. The stinging sensation somehow seemed to mend your internal wounds. 

Humiliation filled you and the guilt of it all crept in. You swallowed the lump in your throat as your own tears filled your eyes. You remained cemented to the floor unable to speak and unable to explain. There was nothing to explain anyways, Changbin knew what you were doing instantly. 

The two of you stayed silent. Changbin ran through your behavior the past few days in his head. You stopped wearing pajama shorts to bed, but fall had turned into winter. He didn’t question why you switched your clothes. When you didn’t want to be touched as much, he hadn’t questioned it. 

Boundaries and communication were so important to him. He knew not to cross them. The two of you were honest with each other constantly. It helped your relationship flow smoothly, it helped prevent arguments, and it left the two of you satisfied; but this? How long had you been keeping this a secret? 

“Why?” He finally got out. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was shaky as you spoke. You felt so small. So helpless. Rather, you let down one of the most important people in your life. Would he see you through the lens that you saw yourself? 

He turned around to face you. There was no hint of anger. His face wasn’t twisted and there wasn’t a scowl. Hurt was in his eyes. He reached out and cupped your face again. “Why are you doing this?” 

“I’ll replace your razors and I won’t do it again.” 

“But why?” His thumbs brushed against your cheeks to wipe away tears. “Why are you hurting yourself?” You blurred in his vision. 

You blinked rapidly trying to get the tears to stop. You didn’t want to admit you hated yourself. You didn’t admit you found comfort in the pain. You didn’t want to admit any of it. You were stuck at a crossroad. 

“Please talk to me.” He waited patiently for you to speak. When you didn’t, he pulled you into his burly arms. Warmth cocooned your body and cradled your soul. 

“I didn’t mean to start. I’ve struggled with it before, you already know that.” You sniffled and sucked in a deep breath. “It got bad again and I just wanted to self-soothe. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry for disappointing you.” 

He rubbed your back gently. Your head was tucked beneath his chin. His heartbeat walloped in his chest. “You didn’t disappoint me, you’re hurting inside. You have to learn how to be gentle with yourself, baby. You could never disappoint me.” 

More tears filled your eyes. They began to trickle down and soak his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. You let yourself be held by him. 

“You’re allowed to hurt and you’re allowed to be sad, but how about we try to do something else that doesn’t harm you? I don’t want you to hurt yourself. You don’t understand how precious your existence is to me. You mean everything to me.” 

A strangled sob came from the back of your throat. You broke down completely in his arms. He treated you with such tenderness and love, it made you cry harder. He soothed you quietly while he began listing some of your best qualities. 

You cried and cried and cried until you were completely defeated. Everything you had been holding back came up. Beneath your pajama pants, your thighs stung from the fabric brushing up against them. You tried to hide them. You forced yourself into your jeans. 

The fabric rubbed and created irritation. The water in the shower hurt. They always hurt. Just as old wounds began to itch and heal, you created new ones to remind yourself just how worthless you were. The cycle had started again and it’d continue until you stopped. 

Changbin spoke to you how a mother spoke to her newborn baby. Praising you for the smallest things. Dotting on you and gently rocking you side to side. They say a mother’s heartbeat comforts a baby in the wound. With you pressed up against and hearing Changbin’s heart through your sobs, maybe that’s why you felt comfortable enough to fall apart. 

When you finally finished sobbing, you were left breathless and exhausted. Changbin’s heartbeat continued to thrum. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you and Changbin planted a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” 

You didn’t object as he picked you up and carried you back to your shared room. Concerned about your well-being still laced him. No matter how much he wanted to continue talking about it, you needed to get some sleep. Tomorrow, he’d help you come up with a better plan to cope, but for now, he’d be by your side until you woke up again. 

_ _ _

Hyunjin:

TW: Skin picking, hair pulling, anxiety, and blood.

You didn’t realize Hyunjin moved from his spot until you felt his hand gently cup your wrist. You glanced down with confusion etched onto your face. He gave you a reassuring smile before he spoke. “You’re doing it again.” 

You glanced down with a frown. Sure enough, you were doing it again without realizing it. Lost in your overwhelming thoughts, you began to pick at the scratch on your arm. Your sharpened nails plucked at the skin. The darkened red bits of healing wounds were reopened. A fresh trail of trickling blood steadily streaked down your arm. 

“Ah, shit.” 

You stood up and mumbled an apology. In the bathroom, you began washing your hands in the bathroom sink, so you could address the problem. Out in the kitchen, Hyunjin was doing the same thing. With hands still damp from hastily drying them with the kitchen towel, he walked into the bathroom and gently tugged your wrist again. 

The uncomfortable feeling of humiliation crept inside as Hyunjin observed your bleeding arm. Lately, you found yourself doing things without even realizing it. Digging your nails along your skin and creating scratches. Gnawing at the sides of your nails and ripping off perfectly healthy skin. 

A few days ago, you began to pluck at the end of your eyebrow. You didn’t realize it until Hyunjin came home and pointed it out. On the side of your head, beneath a top layer of hair, there was a bald patch growing back. It never really registered what you were doing until it was too late. 

Wound tight with anxiety, you floated away from reality and let yourself meander a river of worry. Your fingers moved without realizing it. Your body was desperate to soothe itself even when you were consciously away from the driver’s seat of your brain. 

Hyunjin didn’t mind pointing it out. He knew how you could be and if anything, he was happy he could get you to stop. Pulling you out of that cloudy blank daze and helping bring you back to reality. He was careful with every movement. He didn’t want to startle or injure you more. 

“You really don’t have to do this,” you mumbled. 

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” 

You stayed silent and let him rinse the blood off your arm. You watched him clean up, disinfect, and bandage the scratch on your forearm. It had been healing for the past few days. The other day, you dug your nails into the delicate skin. When you scraped your nails down, your skin came with it. Pulled from your thoughts by the feeling of warm blood beneath your fingers, you realized you had injured yourself yet again.

You knew it was nothing to be ashamed of. Hyunjin was a constant reminder of that. There was no judgment from him whatsoever. However, every time he caught you doing it, you felt like a child upsetting a parent. He hadn’t made it known that he was annoyed with your behavior, but you were sure he felt that way deep down. 

The thought nagged at you while he threw the last bits of band-aid paper into the trash can. He hummed softly beneath his breath and washed his hands like it wasn’t a big deal. Suds filled his hands and the scent of citrus hit your nose. 

“Why are you never mad at me?” You finally snapped. You didn’t mean for it to come off so snarky, but you didn’t understand why he was so cool, calm, and collected about your behavior. In your head, it was inexcusable. 

“Why would I be?” He asked cooly. His face remained neutral and he dried his hands on a hand towel. 

“Aren’t you annoyed or angry or, I don’t know, upset maybe? Sometimes I’m aware I do it, but I continue doing it. I don’t care if it hurts. It just….I don’t know!” You threw up your hands exasperated. “Why are you so okay with it?” 

Hyunjin eyed you for a moment. You still couldn’t read his thoughts. He kept his face neutral until he cocked his head to the side. “What if it was me?” 

“Huh?” 

“If I did what you did. If I picked and plucked and tore and scraped and scratched; would you be annoyed or upset?” 

“No!” Your head shook frantically. “Of course, I wouldn’t be like that.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because you’re you. I love you and you deserve compassion. I’d never want you to feel like you were doing something wrong and I-” You paused for a moment. “Oh.” 

The side of Hyunjin’s lips tugged into the start of a smile. “Yeah, exactly. Do I think you should do it? No, but I understand why you’re doing it.” 

“I don’t know how to stop,” you finally admitted. 

“I was doing some research the other day and they said it helps if you wear gloves. However, I know that’s not always a possibility because you hate gloves. There was another article I found about keeping your hands busy.” 

“So like a stress ball?” 

“That’s one option, but I was thinking of something else.” He laced his fingers through yours and began to pull you away from the bathroom. “You know how you always like my art? You’re always wishing you could create art as well as I do?” 

“Yeah.” 

He pulled you into your bedroom and retrieved a plastic bag from beneath the bed. He handed it to you and let you open it. You stared at it cautiously and then glanced up at him. 

“Go ahead and open it. It’s not going to hurt you or anything. Come on,” he grinned, “you’ll love it.” 

You stuck your hand inside and began to pull out objects. A sketchpad was followed by a bright pink eraser and a pack of fancy pencils Hyunjin always used to create sketches. He beamed when a smile appeared on your face. 

“You got these for me?” 

“You’ve been wanting to do art for a while now. I can help teach you and I created a YouTube video playlist of videos I first watched when I created art. When I’m not around, you’ll be able to watch them and learn.” 

You opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off. 

“I know it might not help entirely, but it’s a good distraction. If you start this and don’t like it, I’ve been talking to Felix. He sent over some of the recipes he makes a lot. Maybe you could give baking a shot?” He offered. 

Tears began to fill your eyes from the warmth that fluttered through your heart. 

“What?” His face fell. “Do you not like this? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He rushed towards you and began to wipe away your tears. “I don’t want to seem overbearing and like I’m trying to fix you. That’s not what I’m trying to do, I swear! I-I just want to help you.” 

You laughed at his distress. He paused upon seeing your reaction. You sniffled and shook your head. Pulling away, you began to speak. 

“I’m not crying because I’m sad. I’m not sad, I’m so happy. You didn’t have to do all this for me. I’m so grateful and I feel so overwhelmed.” 

“So they’re happy tears?” 

You nodded and laughed again. More tears streamed down your cheeks. A smile began to grow on Hyunjin’s face again. 

“Thank you for caring about me.” 

“I’ll always care about you.” He leaned over and wrapped his arms around you. “I’ll do anything to see you happy. I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

_ _ _

Han:

TW: Gambling and gambling addiction.

The question sat unspoken on your tongue. You knew what you were doing was wrong and yet you couldn’t stop yourself. You shifted in your spot on the couch for a fourth time trying to gather up the courage to ask. 

Your boyfriend’s eyes were glued to the latest anime the two of you had been watching. He was clueless about your antics. You sucked in a deep breath and called out his name. When he didn’t respond, you called his name a little louder. 

He snapped his head towards you with his big eyes and round cheeks. Even without meaning to, your boyfriend was attractive. You pushed away the thought and focused back on the task at hand. 

“Can I ask for a favor?” 

“What kind of favor?” 

In the background, the characters in the anime continued fighting each other. Brightly colored hair flung around and over dramatic sound effects whirled. Fists flew and bodies bucked. Screams of despair from the hero and bouts of anger from the villain continued.

The anime reminded you of yourself. You were the hero and you were the villain. Always flipping back and forth between the two, a switch toggled, but it never flipped fully. You were reckless with life decisions. Messy without thinking things through. Acting in the heat of the moment without thinking about the effects. 

“Can I borrow five-hundred dollars?” 

“Huh?” Han’s eyes widened in shock. “Five…hundred? What? Why?” 

Your eyes met the ground. You felt pathetic. Your form of self-harm wasn’t physically damaging your body. You didn’t turn to substances to cope with things. You threw yourself into gambling instead. Every paycheck, you went through money like water. You were a pro at self-sabotaging.  

You managed to keep just enough to make ends meet and then you’d blow the rest of it. Chasing the high of winning, you didn’t know how to stop. The worst part? You were pretty decent at it. Whether it was making bets with your friends about small things or feeding freshly dispensed ATM cash into slot machines at the casino, you were good. 

Lately, you had been on a winning streak. The cash was pooling in. Over and over again you won and each time, the dopamine rush was more intense than the last. You were seeing green, at least, until greed brought you to your knees. 

You bet everything in the heat of the moment. You bet it all and within a few seconds, you lost everything. It was there and then it was gone. Even worse, you realized you hadn’t put the money aside for your half of the rent. You were royally fucked and with no more money to bet to try and make some of it back, you were screwed. 

You didn’t leave the casino giddy with excitement. You didn’t sprint to the front desk to redeem your money from the ticket in your hand happily. You didn’t relish the fresh air outside with loaded pockets feeling unstoppable. You left with tears in your eyes and humiliation coursing through your veins. 

“Five-hundred?” Han repeated again, completely baffled. He reached over, paused the show, and sat up. “Baby, why do you need five-hundred dollars? Did something happen?” 

You could have lied. You could have said something went wrong with the payroll at work. You could have said the system broke and your paycheck would be delayed. You could have pretended your bank account was hacked. As you ran through the lies in your head, they made you feel even more grimy and worthless. 

Heart taught with distress, you squeezed your eyes shut and balled your hands into fists. Your nails dug into your palms. This was your fault. You did this. You made your bed and now you’d have to lie in it. 

“I really fucked up,” you finally admitted. You stayed silent for a few moments. You weren’t sure how Han would react to your admission of guilt. You let out a sigh before you opened your eyes and spoke again. “I think I have a problem.” 

“What kind of problem?” Han stretched forward. He laid down on his stomach and tucked his palms beneath his head. He tilted his head up to stare at you from his position. “Anything I can help with?” 

“I might have gambled all my money away.” 

“You what?” 

“I know it sounds bad.” You were sheepish to speak. “I forgot to set aside rent money. I know it’s no excuse, but it left my mind.” 

Han stared at you without a word. You were too afraid to glance over at him. Your eyes never left the floor. 

“So the five-hundred dollars is to cover my half of the rent. I promise I’ll pay you back!” You peeked over at him. Eyes filled with desperation, you hoped he’d understand. “I don’t like asking you for assistance, but our landlord won’t budge on the rent being due at the end of this week and I don’t get paid until next week.” 

“Did you just start this or…” He trailed off. 

“It’s been happening for a few months. When I hang out with my friends, we go to the casinos and stuff. It was really fun and before I knew it, I was hooked on it. I couldn’t stop it no matter how hard I tried.” 

“Of course, I’ll cover your part of the rent.” 

Relief filled your veins. 

“But.” 

“But?” 

“But it sounds like this is a big issue. This was a pretty big incident that happened to you. What would happen if this occurs again and there’s nobody there to help you?” 

You frowned and shifted once more uncomfortably beneath the weight of his gaze. “Honestly, I never really thought about it. I think I might be obsessed with it. I live for the feeling of being a winner.” 

“Don’t you think you should stop before you become a loser?” 

Your face fell at his words. He scooted closer to you and scooped you up to his chest. You could barely breathe as his arms constricted around you. 

“I don’t mean it in a bad way, but this is concerning. I care about you and I don’t want to see you lose everything. Do you understand where I’m coming from?” 

You weakly nodded your head. He clutched to you tightly in the silence. The anime was still paused in the background. A fist froze in mid-air as it was ready to slam into the villain who stood with wide eyes of terror. His fingers found the ends of your hair and he began to twirl his fingers around it. 

“Han?” 

“Yes, baby?” 

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop. I’ve been doing it for a while now. I thought I’d be able to give it up, but it’s like an itch that won’t go away.” 

He paused for a moment before he hummed. His tongue clicked while he thought about the situation. His fingers lazily tapped along your spine. You laid with your head on his chest. He sat sideways on the couch while he held you. 

“I’ve heard that there are some therapists that specialize in therapy for gambling addicts.” 

The air was knocked from your lungs. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You stiffened in his arms at the words. Shame filled you once more. That’s exactly what you were, you were an addict. This whole time you were afraid to label it, but that’s what it was. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I feel pathetic.” 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” Han clutched you tighter. “A lot of people struggle with addictions. It doesn’t mean you’re worth any less to me. If anything, I’m proud of you for coming to me with this problem. They say the first step is admitting you have a problem and you’re right there.” 

“Your addiction doesn’t define you,” he continued. “We all struggle with a lot of different things. It can come in different varieties and all shapes and sizes. You don’t have to be ashamed of something that’s so normal.” 

“I don’t think this is normal.” 

“Not for everyone, no. However, I’m sure there’s thousands of people out there just like you. Some people are in denial and don’t want to admit it. Others are afraid and some feel like they have nobody to turn to. Everyone has their reasons and I’m sure you have yours.” 

His words wrapped around you like a safety net. They eased some of your anxiety about the whole situation. You mumbled an apology for everything and he reassured you that it’d be okay. He stared at you with such love and admiration, even when you weren’t paying attention to it. 

“So how about we finish our anime and we can figure everything out after this episode?” 

“You want to see who wins the battle, don’t you?” A smirk began to appear on your face. 

“Maybe just a little.” 

“You might want to watch, at least, the next two episodes.” 

“You already know what happens?” 

“Nope, I’m just betting on the fight being cut early and something dramatic happening.” 

He stared at you unamused and despite the situation that had bloomed due to your actions, all you could do was laugh at your own word-play. 

_ _ _

Felix:

TW: Overworking, caffeine addiction, and anxiety.

A frown filled Felix’s face when he laid his eyes upon you. He arrived home late tonight due to a few extra late dance practices. He expected to find you asleep in your bed, but instead you were hunched over your desk in the pitch black. 

The bright light of your laptop illuminated your face while your fingers moved over the keys. Your eyes were narrowed and you were stuck in a trance. Beside you, three empty energy drinks sat. A fourth was directly beside you and half drank. 

This morning, there weren’t any on the desk. He made sure of that because he removed them and tossed them into the recycling bin after you left for work. He ventured further into the room, let his bag fall towards the ground, and began to speak. 

“Baby, what are you doing?” 

He was met by the sound of you typing. The white light from your laptop highlighted the deep bags from beneath your eyes. You felt like your brain was melting, but the high caffeine content kept you going. You weren’t behind on work, in fact, you were ahead of everything. 

You worked a normal nine to five and then came home and worked some more. Sometimes your line of work required you to do extra work at home and sometimes you just wanted to work ahead. Felix often tried to get you to lay off overworking yourself, but you never listened. 

You had been like this for the past two weeks. You barely ate and slept. You were always hunched over your laptop. Emailing coworkers and upper management. Passing and trading reports back and forth. Filing and submitting different claims. Making phone calls, so on, and so forth. 

Felix’s shoulders slumped when you didn’t respond. Just looking at the purple bags looming beneath your eyes made him tired. He let out a yawn and rubbed his eyes. 

“Baby, come on. You can finish this in the morning. You’ve been working all day and you need to get some sleep.” 

You blinked upon hearing the voice and briefly glanced over at your boyfriend. His eyes were half closed with sleepiness. It was past one in the morning. You gazed down at the clock on your screen. 

“Go ahead and get in bed. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just let me finish up this report real quick.” You went back to your screen and continued to type. 

Felix let out a sigh, but went about his evening routine. He slipped into pajamas, completed his skincare routine, brushed his teeth, and slipped into the bed. It was cold without the warmth of your body. His head slumped against the pillow defeatedly and he waited for you. 

And he waited and he waited and then he waited some more. He tossed to one side and then the other. He tried to lay on his back and then he tried to sleep on his stomach. Haunted by the quick pecking of your laptop keyboard, he couldn’t get himself to sleep. 

He huffed slightly annoyed, shoved the blankets away from his legs, and he sat up. “Baby, are you coming to bed? You said you’d only take a few more minutes.” He glanced over at the clock beside him. “It’s been nearly a half hour since then.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there soon,” you responded absentmindedly. Your eyes were bloodshot and your spine ached. You tilted your neck to the side and small pops sounded. Ignoring them, you took another sip of your energy drink, and went back to typing. 

Felix’s eyes narrowed and daggers hit your back. His arms crossed over his chest. You were unaware as you continued typing on your laptop. After nearly another minute of silence, he finally shoved himself up. 

Unbeknownst to you, he left your bedroom and headed for the living room. He wasted no time shutting off the internet router box and slipped back into your bedroom without a sound. It didn’t take long until you frantically clicked your mouse and let out a groan. 

“Something wrong?” 

“The internet went out in the middle of my report!” 

“That sucks.” His voice held no sympathy. “We’ll figure it out in the morning. Come on, let’s go to bed.” 

You grumbled, but eventually shut your laptop and climbed into the bed. Happily, he curled up into the bed beside you and buried his head into your chest. It didn’t take long before he fell asleep due to exhaustion, but you couldn’t. 

The caffeine had you wired. You were wound up and didn’t want to sit still. You laid there for a while to make sure Felix was fully asleep. Once you were sure he was out, you slipped out of bed and ventured out into the living room. You reset the router and within minutes, you were back online. 

Nearly an hour later, Felix was well aware that you weren’t there. He woke up and reached out to cuddle you, but you were gone. He sat up wondering where you were. Upon realizing you weren’t in the bedroom, he went out to look for you. 

That’s when he found you in the living room with two more energy drinks beside you. You were sipping a third one. Felix was flabbergasted at your behavior. How much caffeine was cruising through your veins? 

“Baby?” 

You stopped typing and glanced up to face your boyfriend. You paused and meekly smiled at his sudden appearance. “Hi?” 

His arms crossed over his chest and your heart sunk. He stared at you without a word. You slowly put down the energy drink on the coffee table. 

“Do you have a death wish?” 

“What?” 

“Do you have a death wish?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“How many energy drinks have you had today?” 

“I-” You paused to think about his question. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“Felix, it’s not that big of a deal. I always drink energy drinks. Calm down and go back to bed. I’ll be there soon, I promise.” 

“No. Put your laptop down and let’s go. You’re going to bed. Do you know how many days this has happened? Multiple.” 

“You’re being irrational!” Your voice started to rise. “Stop being so fucking dramatic! God, they’re just energy drinks, Felix! It’s not like they’re going to kill me!” 

“Are you hearing yourself?” 

You rubbed your sleepy eyes and let out an annoyed groan. “Can’t you just leave me alone? Why do you care so much? I’m doing my job!” 

“Part of your job is to take care of yourself as a person! When was the last time you got eight hours of sleep? When was the last time you had a decent meal?” His voice began to crack. Tears started to fill his eyes. “When was the last time you were happy and not slung over your computer?” 

You felt like you had been slapped in the face by his words. Your mouth went dry, almost like you inhaled a mouthful of sand. You wanted to say something back, but there was nothing you could use to justify yourself. 

“Why don’t you care about yourself the way I care about you?” His bottom lip quivered. “You’re always telling me to take care of myself. You’re always making sure I’m not overworking myself, but what about you? I don’t want you to die.” 

Tears trickled down his freckled cheeks. He hadn’t meant to cry, but he was frustrated. Why couldn’t you see yourself like he could? Why didn’t you care? Why weren’t you listening to him? 

“Felix,” your voice came out softer. 

He shook his head and blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears. “I’m going back to bed. You can just stay here sipping your energy drinks and overworking yourself. When you collapse with a heart attack, don’t come crying to me.” He stormed back towards your room upset with your behavior. 

The slam of your bedroom door caused you to jump. You looked down at the energy drinks you were consuming and guilt began to fill you. He was right. He was right about all of it. You were absolutely miserable. 

The caffeine made you shaky and it spiked your anxiety. You were so dependent on it, if you didn’t have any, you started to develop a throbbing headache. You became aware of your heart rapidly beating in your chest. How much longer could you keep up this behavior before it burst? 

With a sigh, you shut your laptop and pushed it onto the coffee table. You walked back to the room you shared with Felix. Shame filled you once more. Quietly, you opened the bedroom door and stepped inside. 

Felix was turned away from your side of the bed. He was facing the wall with his arms still crossed over his chest. Silent tears flooded down his cheeks still. You weren’t sure if he was awake or not, so you softly called his name. 

“What?” His voice wasn’t angry anymore. He was completely defeated. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t realize my behavior was upsetting you so much. I didn’t think it was making you worry. I’m sorry for yelling at you. You didn’t deserve that at all.”  

There was silence for a while until he spoke again. “I’ll always worry about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Part of our relationship is to look out for one another.” 

You padded over and slipped beneath the covers. Once he felt the bed stop shifting, he spun around so he could face you. The dim light from a nearby lamp caused a soft yellow glow to overcast. There were tears still in his eyes. They were smeared along his cheeks. 

Your heart hurt at the sight of him. He moved closer to you and wrapped his arms around you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck. He mumbled into your skin and the vibrations caused tingles to run through you.

“I don’t want to lose you.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, I swear. I sent an email to my boss and told her I wouldn’t be there tomorrow. You have the day off, right?”

“Mmhm.” 

“Let’s spend the day together, yeah?” 

He pulled away from you. His eyes sparkled as they met yours. “Really?” 

You nodded your head before you leaned over and kissed his cheek. A rosy blush dusted the tops of them. “You wanna help me get rid of my energy drink stash tomorrow?” 

“You have a stash?” 

“I always have a stash.” 

“You’re not gonna get mad?” 

“No. You’re right, I need to stop. I kinda feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. It’s beating so fast right now.” 

“Or maybe that’s just because I’m here.” A cheesy grin filled his face. He leaned up and kissed your cheek this time. 

“Yeah, maybe it’s just because you’re here.” 

He snuggled back down into the crook of your neck. You let out a soft sigh at his warmth. It didn’t take long until you both fell asleep tangled around each other. 

_ _ _

Seungmin:

TW: Starvation, disordered eating, binging, and poor self esteem/body image.

Seungmin chewed his instant noodles peacefully across from you. With a fork in one hand and his phone in the other, he was content while scrolling through social media. On the other side of the table, you sipped your glass of ice water and did the same. 

The only difference was that you did not have instant noodles in front of you. You sat up straight at the kitchen table with your fingers digging into your plastic cup. Condensation pooled against your fingers and left a ring along the wood. You scrolled through your social media too. 

The scent of beef broth filled your nostrils. Your empty stomach twisted and contorted. It rumbled for the third time. You shifted in your chair and continued scrolling through your phone. Your fingers paled as you dug them into your cup tighter. 

You silently salivated in your seat. The things you’d do to have a single bite of your boyfriend’s noodles; the warmth of flavorful sodium filled broth lining your stomach. Your teeth bit down onto your bottom lip once again. 

The feeling of hunger was sharp and dull. Your stomach searched for food, but it had nothing. The feeling of cold water pooling in the bottom of your stomach filled you with a sense of pride. You were starving, yeah, but you had self control. In your brain, this was a win. 

When your stomach roared again, Seungmin glanced over the top of his phone. He eyed you suspiciously. Lately, you seemed to be pushing away food. He didn’t talk about it much because he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. 

After all, he had been on his own fair share of diets. He knew they could be difficult, but you never mentioned a diet. In fact, he hadn’t seen you eat anything recently. Realizing this, a frown filled his face. 

You glanced up at the feeling of eyes on you. When your eyes met Seungmin’s, you raised an eyebrow. He copied your expression without a word. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked. 

Your eyes went back down to the instant noodles. He picked up another forkful of them. Noodles snaked through the fork prongs and dripped with broth. You pulled your eyes away and shook your head. Your eyes went back to your phone and you swallowed another mouthful of cold water. 

He glanced at his noodles and then back to you. Down to his noodles and back to you. When your stomach cried out again, his eyes went back to you for a final time. This time he blurted it out without warning. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

“Bullshit. Your stomach has been roaring like a lion for the past five minutes. You’re starving, so why aren’t you eating?” You kept your eyes secured to your phone. “Talk to me, babe.” 

You didn’t dare take your eyes off the phone. You didn’t put it down because you were too afraid you’d spill and that’d ruin everything. You gave a slight head shake and went back to scrolling. 

Seungmin sighed, got up, and began rummaging through the cupboards. You watched with curious eyes while he pulled out another cup of instant ramen. You tried to ignore him, but when he added hot water, the smell of beef broth caused your stomach to rumble once more. 

You cursed beneath your breath and set your phone down. As you pushed yourself back, the wooden legs of your chair scraped against the ground. Seungmin turned around, alerted by the noise, to find you leaving the room. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

“To the bedroom.” 

“No you’re not. Get back here and sit down. We’re going to have a conversation about why you’re not eating. Sit your ass in the chair.” 

“But I-” 

“No. Sit down and shut up.” He placed the cup of noodles in the spot where you were sitting. His eyes narrowed while he stared at you. 

You wanted to turn around and ignore him. When Seungmin made up his mind, he made up his mind. There was no use in running away from the problem. He’d hunt you down and figure out the root of the problem anyway. 

You sighed and sat back down. He pushed a fork over to you and plopped down in his own seat. You stared down at the cup of noodles and your mind began to wander. 

How many calories were in it? How much sodium? What if this single cup of noodles caused you to lose control? What if this single meal caused you to spiral into a binge? On and on your internal thoughts went and Seungmin had no idea. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” 

“I’m not hungry,” you repeated. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited in silence for your real answer. You bit down on the inside of your cheek. You shifted beneath his eyes again. He knew exactly how to make you squirm. 

“I don’t feel like I deserve to eat,” you meekly admitted. You didn’t meet his eyes. You kept staring at the steam rising from the cup of noodles. 

“Why not?” 

You shrugged, but then continued anyway. “I feel like I deserved to be punished for not being good enough.” Your fingers played with the ends of your hoodie sleeves. 

“Not good enough? What do you mean you’re not good enough? What are you talking about?” 

“I could be better. My body isn’t in the best shape right now. It’s a simple way to lose weight. Honestly, I kind of like the feeling of starving. It makes me feel strangely powerful.” 

“But you have to eat.” He leaned forward and reached his hand out. He was gentle as he cupped his hand over yours. “How are you going to have the strength to get through your days without food?”

You shrugged your shoulders again. It felt pathetic when you said it out loud. Your stomach continued rumbling. The scent of beef broth was overwhelming now that it was closer. 

“How long has this been going on?” 

“It just started this week.” 

Seungmin stared at you wondering how he could help you. He knew about eating disorders, but he didn’t know how to help you. The answer seemed so simple to him, but your brain wasn’t wired like his was. 

Food was not fuel for you, it was a daily challenge; a struggle. A battle of binging and starvation. Something you loved and loathed at the exact same time. It was gluttony, but perfection; a twisted combination of the two. You never seemed to find middle ground. 

“That notebook that you’ve been writing in recently in our bedroom. You’ve been counting calories, haven’t you?” 

You didn’t have to respond. Seungmin already knew the answer. A frown filled his face. The noodles were beginning to lose their warmth. 

“Do you trust me?” He suddenly asked. 

“Of course, I trust you. What kind of question is that? I’m dating you, obviously I trust you.” 

“Can I make you food from now on? Not every meal, but just one a day, so I know you’re eating something. It’d make me feel better.” 

Your heart pounded in your chest. You didn’t want to agree, but you also didn’t want this to spiral out of control and funnel into something you lost yourself completely to. The question weighed heavily on your mind. He was asking you to give up control to the one thing that you could control.

“Can we try it for one day?” His voice softened. “One day and if you don’t like it, we can figure out something else.” 

You finally nodded your head slowly. Your eyes wandered down to the fork beside you. You let out a soft sigh before you picked it up, twisted it into the cup of noodles, and took a bite. Flavor exploded on your tongue. You relished the taste with closed eyes. 

“How is it?” 

“It’s really good.” 

“I’m glad I didn’t decide to poison it then.” 

“Seungmin!” 

He let out a laugh and sat back. A small smile appeared on your face. He kept you busy with conversation, so your mind couldn’t go back to focusing on your food. Eventually, you managed to eat half of them before you pushed them away. Seungmin allowed it without complaint. 

“Whoops, I think you got something here.” He leaned across the table and began to reach for your shirt. 

You looked down to see what it was, but before you could see, he reached up and flicked the end of your nose. 

You let out a yelp and pulled away. Shooting him a glare, he could only laugh in amusement. He always knew how to keep you on your toes. 

_ _ _

I.N:

TW: Doom scrolling and self-isolation.

The world was on fire. Maybe not physically, but that’s what it felt like. You had fallen into the toxic cycle of doom scrolling again. Climate change, war, protests, violence, politics, upcoming elections, riots, and death. You flipped through your TikTok page and soaked it up like a sponge. 

Swipe. Like. Swipe. Like. Swipe. Like. Swipe. Like. 

The algorithm was a little too good at its job. The moment you began liking content about one issue, more videos appeared. Soon there was another and another and another until your TikTok page was a manifesto of doom and gloom. 

The memes went away. The animal videos went away. The videos about your hobbies and interests went away. The videos from your favorite creators went away. Even videos about your boyfriend’s band disappeared. 

The more you scrolled, the worse you felt. How could you live at a time like this? A time when the world was flooded with such chaos. Man made disasters, disease outbreaks, deadly weather events, and crime. Murders, shootings, stabbings, kidnappings, and so on. Another child dead, another place shot up, and another country suffering. 

How could you not be sad? How could you not live with depression? How were you supposed to go on living with the realization that there was so much suffering? Why weren’t people nicer? Why are humans cruel to one another? When did humans lose their humanity? 

Eventually, you turned off your phone and let it fall onto the side of the bed. Tears filled your eyes when you rethought about it. So many stories about higher powers out there. Ancient gods and goddesses, magnificent unearthly creators passed down from generation to generation, and yet suffering still existed. Why? 

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but it wasn’t working. You reached a hand from beneath your warm blanket and wiped away your tears. You felt guilty for feeling so upset about everything. You should have been thankful that you were able to live the life you lived, but you still felt conflicted about the extent of suffering. None of it was fair. 

I.N let himself into the apartment he shared with you. He kicked off his shoes and let out a sigh of relief glad to be home. He knew you weren’t home tonight and you probably wouldn’t be home for a while. You told him you were going out with friends earlier. 

Lately, you seemed a little down, so he was happy you were finally getting back out there. You loved your friends dearly and they loved you. Besides, you could use a bit of cheering up. 

He hummed to himself and moved throughout the house. He walked directly into the bedroom ready to shower and dress in comfortable pajamas. All of his plans crashed when he heard sniffling as he opened the door. He flipped on the light and there you were curled into a ball in your bed. You squeezed your eyes shut at the bright lights.

“Sorry about that, baby.” He flipped the main switch back off and flipped on the closet light instead. The too bright white light disappeared and was replaced with a softer lighting. “I thought you were going out to hang out with your friends.” 

“I was going to, but I called off.” Your voice wobbled slightly. You sniffled again and pawed at your eyes. 

Upon seeing your teary eyes, he walked over and slipped into the bed beside you. He pulled the covers away from you and tucked himself right beside you. You wanted to cry at his actions, but you managed to keep your tears back. 

“What’s wrong? Did something happen at work or something? Did one of your friends say something?” He studied your face with concern. 

You shook your head and sniffled again. “Do you ever just realize how bad everything is in the world? There’s so much death and destruction.” Tears filled your eyes once more. “How are we supposed to deal with it?” 

He knew what you were talking about instantly. You did this sometimes. Sometimes he caught you doom scrolling and stopped you. He often distracted you from it with things like your Nintendo Switches or TV shows. You must have started doom scrolling when he was away. 

“The ice is melting in Antarctica and the polar bears…” You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence, as your bottom lip quivered. 

You wore your heart on your sleeve. Empathy was a bittersweet thing for you. You were born with too much of it and you didn’t know how to turn it off. Your heart went out to everyone and everything. Even in the cruelest people, you were able to find empathy in them. 

I.N pulled you into his arms and wrapped them around your torso. You buried your head into his chest. He gently rubbed a hand along your back. 

“You know, animals are very good at adapting to a variety of situations. A lot of them are more intelligent than we realize. I’m sure the polar bears are the same way.” 

That was the thing about Jeongin. He never belittled you for being empathetic. He never called you too sensitive or a crybaby. He didn’t brush away your concerns about things. He listened to your rambles patiently and tried his best to help alter and adjust the way you viewed things. 

You didn’t like your empathy, but he thought it was a gift. You thought about things that he didn’t. You looked at the world with such kindness and compassion. You could easily befriend a stranger if you wanted to. You provided him with a different outlook on life. 

“It’s all so sad. Why isn’t anyone doing anything? Why are we letting people suffer?” 

“I wish I knew why, but I don’t know. Unfortunately, life isn’t fair to everyone. It really sucks, huh?” 

“I hate it,” you grumbled. “I hate being stuck here and not being able to do anything about it.” A sigh escaped your lips. 

“What happened with your friends?” 

“I called off. I felt worthless, so I told them I wasn’t feeling good. I didn’t want to tell them what was really bothering me.” 

“Why don’t you go hang out with them? I’m sure they want to see you. You said they’ve been texting you about how much they miss you recently. I’m sure it’d be a good distraction for you.” 

“You’re right, but I don’t know. They’re already hanging out and they think I’m sick. I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“You could tell them you’re feeling better.” His fingers found your hair and began playing with it. He enjoyed the feathery feeling between his fingers. 

“Can you come with me?” 

“Do you want that?” 

“Honestly, yeah. We haven’t been anywhere recently. They’ve been asking about you too.” 

“I’d be happy to tag along. Where are they? Dinner or something?” 

You pushed yourself up off his lap. “They’re actually bowling right now.” Feeling a bit better, you stood up from the bed. The previous thoughts of earlier were in the back of your head now. 

“Have you ever bowled before?” 

“Maybe.” 

“You’re not going to tell me?” 

“If I say yes, you’ll know I’ve had an advantage. If I say no, then you’ll know I haven’t, so the answer is maybe.” 

“I’m gonna beat you.” 

“No, you’re not!” 

“The loser gets to let the other person pick out their outfits for a week, deal?” I.N asked. 

“You’re on!” You rushed out the bedroom door. You sprinted towards the hall to grab your shoes from the sneaker shelf. “Let’s go!” 

I.N smiled to himself as he went after you. He might not have done much, but, at least, he could help distract you from everything on your mind. He put on his shoes and hurried to follow you out the door. 

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Taglist: @fairytaleskiess

Masterlist

[scientia-rex]

If you don't mind, I saw your post about smoking while on hormones recently and I have a couple questions.

Obviously quiting smoking is better for you in general. But are the adverse effects while on hormones the same for testosterone and estrogen?

Secondly, is this mostly about the nicotine in cigarettes (generally what people mean when they say smoking) or is it about smoking anything at all (weed, vapes, nicotine vapes, etc)?

Thanks!

Good questions and unfortunately I have to say that we don’t have enough solid data for great answers on either.

Testosterone raises risk of heart attack or stroke, in part because it causes an increase in red blood cell production. You might be familiar with blood thinners that can be used to prevent heart attack or stroke; blood thickeners do the opposite. However, this data is nowhere near adequate in the transgender population. I cannot tell you much at all about how dose, method of delivery, duration of treatment, or T levels during treatment affect this long-term risk, especially over decades. The best response to this uncertainty is for trans men and transmasc people on T to protect their cardiac health from all other risks as much as possible.

Which then leads to the question of type of smoke. I would love to be able to offer you conclusive answers on that, but the Feds made it virtually impossible to study marijuana until a couple of years ago, so I can’t tell you whether marijuana is as dangerous as tobacco or not, or whether mode of intake matters. I can tell you that tobacco is bad but that people consistently underestimate the risks of nicotine by itself. Nicotine is the insecticide component of tobacco. It will cause your small blood vessels to contract, decreasing blood flow to critical areas of the body and heart. Nicotine impedes healing—smokers are notoriously bad at healing after surgery to the point where I know multiple surgeons who will literally do a blood test for nicotine metabolites before doing higher risk surgeries. They don’t trust patients to tell them whether they smoked, and they have reason to distrust. You want top or bottom surgery? Quit smoking. Now.

I had an attending once describing to me watching what happened to a woman who had fingers reattached. He warned her that if she ever smoked again, she would lose the fingers. She didn’t believe him and thought just smoking a little would be fine. The fingers necrosed—died—immediately, because those small blood vessels are critical to healing a process like a reattachment or transplant. So then she had open wounds with gangrenous fingers attached to them. Great.

We don’t have long-term health outcomes data on vapes yet but for my money they’re going to turn out to be really bad for you as well. Nicotine is a poison. Your lungs don’t love poison delivery by any mechanism. The combustion products of tobacco are also REALLY FUCKING BAD for creating cancerous mutations in your cells, but don’t inhale poison if you want to live a rewarding life where you get to enjoy doing things you want to do, like fucking. (Erections also depend on blood flow and healthy blood vessels. Treat yours with kindness.)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i asked my friend to stop talking about cigarettes and nicotine related things with me? (cw for lots of talk ab smoking and cancer)

i (18ftm) have a friend in my psychology class (18f) who smokes cigarettes frequently and has been talking about considering switching to vapes.

for some backstory, my father passed away around two years ago now from lung cancer and complications, brought on by smoking cigarettes. he was undergoing chemo and radiotherapy, also self-medicating with CBD tablets to help with the pain.

i’m only just registering this part of my life now and have not really gone to therapists or councillors as i didn’t need it until now, but i recently got an appointment for this along with a referral for potential OCD and health anxiety that may or may not have been caused because of my dad’s smoking and illness.

i go to a uk college in the countryside so there are naturally a lot of kids who smoke both weed and nicotine, and a lot who vape.the issue here is that ive found the smell of cigarettes sends me into an anxious state and makes me feel sick/nauseous. the smell of weed is fine usually for me.

i hate to say it but i do not like smokers. if you’ve been doing it for a while, there’s no point in asking ‘does it smell like i’ve gone for a smoke?’ the answer is always yes, it sticks even through deodorant and perfume and stains your teeth and nails, it smells to the people around you and don’t even get me started on second hand smoking.

the friend i’m talking about is in my psych class and smokes very frequently to the point i can smell it on her whenever we meet up. this wouldn’t be an issue in itself as i am trying my best to ignore it and learn to deal with the anxious shakes i get around her, but the issue is that she constantly brings cigarettes and smoking up.

i’ve asked her not to smoke around me if possible and if she needs one i will gladly leave or wait for her in another spot . however when she doesn’t have a smoke or can’t have one for whatever reason she’ll still talk about how she gets cigarettes, how her mum feels about them, how her brother smokes, how she wants one really bad. she’s now switched to talking about how she wants to switch to vapes, which again i still don’t appreciate because it’s still talking about nic to me.

she’s ignored this multiple times despite knowing about my father’s issues. or she’ll talk about it for a long time then go ‘oh sorry, about your dad, i should stop talking about this’. it’s not a big big thing as we only hang out from time to time (mostly on a walk to the bus stop every monday afternoon).

i feel like i’d then be being a dick for saying that i’d appreciate her stopping talking about it while i’ve already asked her to not smoke around me. wibta?

What are these acronyms?

[babyflorencee]

Cigarettes

Timothée Chalamet x fem!Reader

An unwanted, yet all so familiar scent filled the room as I tossed and turned in bed, waking up, but not being able to go back to sleep. I turned to my side, not really expecting, but rather hoping that I would see my husband, Timothée, but he wasn't there. I looked around the room until I saw a bare back sitting in the corner, hunched over a desk. Yesterday he talked about some paperwork he needed to do, so I'm assuming he's finishing that up.

He had a cigarette; or, as I liked to call it, a cancer in between his lips. As he inhales, moving it away for a moment, exhaling, as the smoke leaves his mouth in numerous, perfectly formed rings.

The room quickly starts to feel stuffy, as if the walls were caving in on me. I walked over to the window that was to the side of our bedroom, feeling as if I could suffocate at any given moment. I quickly opened the window, taking a long, deep breath as I bathed in the fresh air. Thinking to myself about how I will never take nature for granted anymore. I let the cold air slowly consume the room, sighing with relief as the cigarette smell already started to fade.

The winter breeze hits my exposed legs, as I just now realized I was only in my underwear and one of Timothée's old white button ups. "Morning," he mumbles, not glancing up from his paper, taking another breath of his fake air.

I start heading towards our bathroom, a cough escaping my mouth as I splash cold water in my face, hoping to help relive the throbbing pain in my upper head. But to my dismay, it only made it worse. My head starting to pound from the smoke. The throbbing sensation, now taking a hold of my entire face, as I let out a whimper, wondering to myself why he puts me through this kind of pain every morning.

I exited the bathroom, dizzily walking over to Tim's desk, "Could you either take that elsewhere or put it out already? It's fucking hard to breathe in here!" I said rather harshly. I never meant to sound rude, but using a tone was the only efficient way to make him listen. 

He takes a glance over at me for a second, shock written all over his face. But none the less he listened. He held up one hand in defence while the other put the cigarette out. "Sorry, love," he said with a sigh, running his hands through his brown-colored hair.

I rolled my eyes at him before walking over to the window once again. I heard him getting up from his seat, feeling his toned arms wrapping around my waist not even a second later, bringing instant warmth to my body. He bent down slightly so he could nuzzle his head into my neck, causing me to cringe at the coldness of his nose. He began planting small kisses from my shoulder, all the way to the top of my neck, causing me to shrug him off. "Are you ever gonna quit?" I asked slightly hesitantly, needing to confront him about his issue but at the same time not wanting him to be mad at me.

I could see his shocked face from the reflection of the window. "Stop what?" he asked, now putting on a confused face.

I let out a tired sigh, turning around to face him, "Oh, come on, Timothée Hal, don't be an idiot right now." I snapped at him, crossing my arms.

"Love, I have no idea what you're talking about," he calmly said, only making me more upset with him.

"Like you don't know. You always smell like cigarettes, and I'm tired of having to ruin my own lungs for your unhealthy habits." I said, not looking him in the eyes.

"Come on, it's not that bad," he said, obviously irritated that I brought the subject up.

"It is 6 in the damn morning, Timothée, and you've already smoked enough today to make this whole fucking room suffocate me!" I scoffed, tearing up slightly.

"How many have you had today? Three, five, six, nine!" I yelled. 

"I've had three, it's not that bad," he snapped, starting to walk away from me.

"Oh, it's not that bad? Well, my mistake for thinking having three cigarettes at six in the damn morning is concerning. I don't know why you're acting as if I'm some kind of idiot. I know that you always have at least two full packs on you at all times. But yeah, my fucking bad for worrying about my husband." I said, following close behind him as tears started to form in my eyes, clouding up my vision.

"Okay, I fucking get it!" He yelled, slamming his hands down on a table, causing me to gasp.

"But you don't! We have had this conversation countless other times and you give me the same answer every single fucking time! You say you'll try to quit and that you would do anything for me, but it doesn't mean shit right now, and quit frankly I'm fucking terrified that it won't ever! Why can't you see how much this is affecting me, affecting you?" I screamed back, my heart breaking at the sight of him tensing up as all signs of anger clears from his face.

"Listen, I get it. It's fun for now, but I can't sit back in silence anymore as I watch you slowly kill yourself. I love you way too much for that." I said, my voice breaking as tears were now fully rolling down my cheeks.

He reached his hand up to my face, lightly wiping the tears away, before pressing a kiss on both of my cheeks "I love you too, but it's not that easy to quit, you know," he said, both of his hands now cupping my face as he placed numerous kisses to the side of my head.

"I know baby, but have you even tried?"

"Yes." He mumbled, now looking down.

I rolled my eyes, "whatever then. I'm leaving until you get your problem sorted out." I said, pushing him off of me as I started to walk away, but before I could even take two steps, I feel him grabbing my wrist and pulling me towards him, into a hug.

"Please don't go, baby, I'm so sorry. I promise I'll stop. Just please don't go." He said, pressing sloppy kisses all around my face. 

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I will, y/n please, just don't go. I love you so much." He said, holding onto me as if he were about to fall to his death. 

I brought my hand up to his hair, slightly tugging on the roots of it, placing a small peck on his forehead. After a while, I loosened out of his grip, walking over to the jacket hook, where his cigarettes lied. "So you wouldn't care if I threw these away?" I questioned, holding up three packs of cigarettes, one almost empty but two of them not even opened yet.

He stared at me for a while, taking a deep breath, before taking the packs from my hand, quickly walking over to the restroom before emptying them into the toilet, flushing them quickly, and disregarding the packaging in the trash. Causing the biggest smile to form on my face.

"Give me one second, there's more," he said, walking over to his desk, opening the drawer up and pulling out one more pack, doing the same to that pack as he did to the last three.

He turned to face me, pulling me into another hug. "I love you so much," he said, kissing all over my face, causing me to laugh. 

"I know baby." I said, jokingly, laughing at his scrunched up face. 

"I can always buy more cigarettes." He said with a straight face, trying his best to hold in a laugh.

 "I love you too, Timothée Hal." I said, pushing his head down a little by his hair, forcing him to kiss me. 

[kanmom51]

I think I had wishful thinking with how this whole Jk thing would be handled. It’s showing me that a lot of ARMY still forget that our boys are human. I understand having strong feelings towards certain habits due to a multitude of reasons but seeing people question his character is wild to me. Yoongi talked in his documentary about this very thing. Things being blown out of proportion that genuinely in the scheme of things don’t need to be. Our boys have shown us they drink heavily, something that is also harmful but it seems that doesn’t get as much hate as smoking. They are grown men who will do and have habits that aren’t great but as of what we know don’t change who they are. Jk is still our goofy silly guy that we love. I’ll get personal for a second I’m also a singer and used to be a heavy smoker of 🌱, I stopped eventually because I knew long run it wouldn’t be great for my voice but so many singers do it. Now what he seems to be smoking is obviously not healthy but he chooses to do it cuz he likes it and wants to. Of course we want them to be healthy and take care of themselves but again they are grown. I really feel for K-pop idols because it seems there is no way to win. The idol system in a sense sets them up to “fail”. More people upset with him smoking then him being filmed without his permission. Western pop stars are out here doing some wild stuff and no one holds it against them. I feel for them really I do. Again I get that it can be hard for people if they have their own experience with smoking. I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am with the reaction I guess but after how he has been so open on his Weverse lives about being an adult and living his life the way he wants, who are we to say no you can’t do that because we don’t like it.

I agree!!!

Anything else I have to add? I really don't know, cause you kind of said it all @leearmy.

Do I love he's smoking? Hell no. Like I wouldn't love for one of my girls to. It's bad for your health. It's not great for his voice. I lost my mom to lung cancer so it's a little of a sore spot for me.

But at the end of the day, he's a grown up and it's his decision, his life to live.

So, not loving it, but no judging going on. These are my demons to deal with, nothing to do with JK or his choices.

I do have to say that I don't love the glorification of it either. JK is sexy. Period. No need for a cigarette in his mouth to make him that.

I just wish people would accept this is something he does and move on without the ugly or sexy talk going on.

Either way, this is still JK. Smoking or not smoking doesn't make him a good or bad person. It's a lifestyle choice he's making. Nothing illegal going on. Nothing hurtful to others. And as such it's in the "people need to mind their own business" category.

This is most definitley being blown out of proportion. As if we have any say about their private lives in any way shape or form (we most definitely don't).

Like you said, it's still JK, the sweet kind goofie young man that we love.

Plain and simple.

[porcelana-r0ta]

Bound for Glory

Fandom: Night In The Woods

Word Count: 2119

Ao3 Link: Only available to registered Ao3 users

Summary: Casey Hartley is nineteen and isn’t ready to grow up (and he won’t).

xxXxx

He strikes the match against the sandpaper side of the matchbox, igniting his small world of the night sky and the train tracks. He brought the orange flame to the tip of his cigarette, and once the flame took, he shook the match out. Dropping it, he stomps on the burned out match: Smokey Bear would be proud. Or disappointed. 

Shoving the box of matches in his hoodie pocket, Casey Hartley takes his first drag of the cigarette as he resumes walking west. The smoke fills his lungs, clouding his organs, stretching them and destroying them all in one. He blows out. He can’t see the smoke under the new moon. The only light on the train tracks lives with the stars and the dim ember of his cancer stick.

“What, not gonna offer me a light?” Cain asks, flipping his Zippo out and sparking the end of his Marlboro. 

“You hate my matches,” Casey says. 

“‘Cause it’s not fuckin’ 1923, damn.” Despite lighting his cigarette, Cain keeps his Zippo out, flicking the flint wheel. Sparks fly, but never catch. 

Casey likes matches. Likes lighting them up and letting the flame crawl down to his fingertips. Likes blowing them out and smelling the woody smoke of their dying breath. Likes stomping them beneath his feet. Likes using them for his cigarettes or blunts, going through the same motions as thousands of smokers before him and the invention of the lighter. Likes feeling like something. Feeling like there’s something other than Possum Springs. 

Mae got out, at least. And Angus and Gregg are saving to get out. 

He and Bea, though? 

He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales. Holds it. Lets it out in a sigh. 

“Cain—”

“No,” his cousin says immediately. 

“No?” 

“No, you can’t join the business.” 

Casey is offended, “I don’t want to join your business.” 

“Good,” Cain says. He flicks his cigarette, sending ash to the tracks. “You’re gonna have a future, you know.” 

His stomach curdles. “In Possum Springs?” He tries to keep his tone wry and playful, but his bitterness takes over. Consumes, like the smoke. 

“You can leave. Get a job, like your gay friends. Gary and Angie, or whatever.” 

“Gregg and Angus.” Casey rolls his eyes. 

“That’s what I said.” 

"Uh-huh."

“Yeah, whatever. Point is, you don’t have to be like me. Mary and Bryan love you. They’ll support you even if you get a bitch pregnant and walk out on her.” 

His mom would sooner beat his ass for walking out on a girl after knocking her up, but Casey doesn’t argue the point. 

“That’s not the problem.”

“Yeah?” Cain’s voice takes on a hint of arrogance, the inflection he uses whenever he successfully blows a smoke ring. It’s too dark to tell, but Cain is always sure of himself. “Enlighten me.” 

Casey kicks at the ground, hoping to strike a rock, and only scuffs a plank on the track. 

“I dunno what I wanna do.”

“What, with life? For a job? No one does.” 

The lit end of his cigarette shakes in time with his fingers. “No. Or yes? I don’t know what I’m fucking doing.” 

“Yeah, and no one does. Life is a guessing game, man.” 

“Well, it sucks. The only thing I know is I don’t wanna stay in this shithole town. Maybe I should just hop on a train already.”

“Possum Springs ain’t that bad.” 

Casey scoffs. 

“No, really. It’s kinda nice, minus the xenophobia.”

“Huh, so you did pay attention in high school.

“Shut it, kid.” Cain punches his shoulder. He’s only seven years older, which isn’t that much older, but Cain milks it for all it’s worth. 

They’re quiet for a long moment, the only sounds being their feet on the tracks and earth and their sighs of smoke. Then Cain suddenly breaks it. 

“I wanted to be a teacher.” 

Casey looks down, startled. “What?”

“‘S true.” He flicks his cancer stick. Cinders falls and die in the dark. “Loved art. Loved Mrs. Terry. Wanted to make other kids like me feel like they were worth a damn.”

Casey knows the name, even if he never took art class himself in high school. Mrs. Terry had taken Cain in after he was kicked out, at least until Casey’s parents found out and gave him the spare room. Cain stayed there until he scrimped up enough money for his trailer house. 

“It was really cool of her to take you in like that,” he says quietly in the night. 

“Yeah,” his cousin agrees. “Mrs. Terry’s real cool. She said I could make it. But college’s expensive. ‘N I’m just a dealer now.” 

Casey’s not good with this, with comforting people or supporting people. But he can’t say nothing. 

“Maybe you can save up. Do a ju-co, then something cheap for your last two years.” 

Cain scoffs a laugh. “No…. Nah, that’s just not me.”

He drops his cigarette and steps on it, suffocating the fire. Killing its short life. “Seriously, Case. You can do whatever you want, and your parents will help you. I’ll help, too. You’re my cousin, more like brother, honestly. You can take all the time you need to decide what you want in life.” 

But Casey’s not in high school anymore, he doesn’t want to go to college, and he feels stuck in place. He doesn’t want to grow up. He wants to stay Casey Hartley, seventeen years old, rage-playing drums while Gregg plays guitar and Mae plays bass and Angus sings. He wants to commit crimes with Gregg and Mae, wants to lift snacks from the Snalcon and smoke weed in the upper office of the old Food Donkey and referee Gregg’s and Mae’s dumb knife fights. 

God. He won’t even be a teenager in a few months. His twentieth birthday is creeping up. 

He’s scared of getting a job. He’s scared of hating his job and being stuck with it. He’s scared of taxes. He’s scared of finding an apartment to rent. He’s scared of never owning a house. He’s scared of owning a house.  He’s scared of Cain being arrested. He’s scared that Mae will never come back. He’s scared that Gregg and Angus will leave and never come back. He’s scared that Bea will be crushed under the weight of the Ol’ Pickaxe and her negligent father. He’s scared that he’ll be all that’s left of them, left behind in dying Possum Springs, left behind to die here with no one but conservative asshats and nothing to do and nothing accomplished that means anything.

His parents will stay, and they are young, but they aren’t getting younger, and a good son dies after his parents. He’s scared of that. Of being with just them until old age claims them and then he really is—

a   l   o   n   e

He doesn’t want to grow up.

The train tracks start to rumble, quiet and gentle. A headlight beams behind them, though it has not reached their backs quite yet. Casey steps off on the right, and Cain goes left. 

“You’re right,” Casey says instead of any of his fears. “You’re right.”

“I usually am.” He looks at the stars and hums. “Look, it’s late. I’m going home. You should, too.” 

The train gets closer and louder. The light reaches them.

Casey has to yell, “Yeah, I will. See you later!” 

“I—”

Cain’s response is stolen by the train, cutting in between them and blocking Casey’s path back to town. 

The train wails as Casey lights another cancer stick. He lets the fire creep to his fingers before dropping the match and stomping it out beneath his black canvas shoe, his fingers stinging as he puts the cigarette between his lips. 

The air is warm with the birth of summer. He shouldn’t even be in his black hoodie in this weather, but it’s the same hoodie he’s had since sophomore year and he’s not good at letting go. It was only during the hottest August days that he’d shed the hoodie in previous years.

He hums “Die Anywhere Else” as the train passes, whistling and crooning all the way. He finishes his cancer stick, considers lighting another, but ultimately doesn’t. 

When he gets to the chorus, his chest burns, and he sings the words instead of humming the melody. That part was always meant for Mae. But she had bigger and better plans than an idiot like him who was scared and clueless all at once for his future and would throw that future away as soon as he gathered the courage to hop a train.

Maybe I should just jump on the train, he thinks to himself. Leave for Durkillesburg. Crash with Mae for a weekend or two. Start finding my own place.

But his legs are stuck in place, just like he is. Glued down by fear. Petrified of the culmination of the future of his wrong decisions.

The train eventually passes, and Casey is expecting to be alone, Cain long gone to his trailer. But he’s not. 

Someone stands on the other side of the tracks, a silhouette in the darkness. They are tall and look like they are wearing something long, like a trench coat, maybe. Some kind of hard hat rests on their head. 

A crusty, his mind supplies, a vain attempt to calm his heart. His fur stands on end, his blood going cold. He’s jumped off the train, just like a million other crusties.

For a moment, the two can only stare. 

“Casey Hartley?” they ask. They sound male. No crusty is likely to know his name—he’s befriended some, sure, but they hardly ever return, and they wouldn’t just assume that the first shadowy figure they see is him. 

“No,” he says. “Cain, actually. Casey’s my cousin.” 

Their hand goes up to their head. A clicking noise is instantly followed by a beam of bright light. 

Casey flinches back, his arm raising to block the light. He squints against it, trying to make out who is across the tracks. His stomach drops and he takes several panicked steps back, the other suddenly on the same side of the tracks as him. 

“Look like Casey to me,” the person notes, voice dangerous. 

He’s not going to try pleading his case. He turns and bolts.

He makes it maybe five yards before there’s a bang and a sharp pain in his right calf. 

He falls, yelping, sweating, crying. He claws at the dirt, forcing himself to turn over so he’s not face-down and accepting death quietly. Anywhere else, he tells himself. Anywhere fucking else. I won’t die here.

“You fuckin’ shot me!” he cries. He reaches for his leg with a trembling hand, expecting a bleeding bullet hole, but instead he feels something cool and cylindric with fine hairs coming out from the top. He yanks it out and throws it, terror mixing with drowsiness. 

No, wait—

He immediately regrets the action, belatedly realizing it could have been his own weapon if he’d kept it. Fuck.

“No,” says the person, confirming what Casey has already concluded. “I tranq’d you.”

“Why?” His vision spins. He feels alert and subdued all in one. His stomach twists. His body is heavy, like he’s trying to pull himself out of the public pool after being in all day. Please, no. Don’t sleep. Don’t fucking sleep. Don’t even lay down.

“Don’t be scared, Casey.” The person kneels next to him, still bright and unknown. It hurts his eyes, but he’s so scared that if he closes his eyes, he won’t open them ever again. 

Casey swings at him, but his hands glance off, doing nothing against this monster. They coo and cup the back of his head, fingers grasping Casey’s fur, their other hand grabbing at Casey’s upper arm. They force Casey to lay down, and he’s full-on sobbing now despite the call of sleep. 

“No,” he begs. “Pl’s, no. Don’ do this to me.” 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. This is for you, Casey, and your family. Your parents. Possum Springs doesn’t need another dealer, hmm? But we need business. This is just business, Casey. It’ll all be over soon. You won’t even know it when you’re gone.” 

“Nnnnnnnoooooooooo.” It’s a low moan, grieved and miserable. It takes the rest of his energy, his body numbing, his mind clouding. He tastes smoke.

He wants his dad. He wants his mom. 

Did he say bye to them this morning? When was the last time he said he loved them? He can’t remember—it's all too fuzzy now.

“Shh, shh. Just go to sleep, Casey. It won’t hurt none.” 

He’s supposed to fucking grow up. 

He falls asleep instead.

xxXxx

Casey Hartley's away message:

BORN 2 LOSE COUNTRY TRASH PROUD DRUMMER SK8 AND DESTROY SK8 2 CR8 BOUND FOR GLORY

[constantineshots]

as someone wit cancer (posting this anonymously because some ppl on the internet hear this and go fucking crazy) I’ve always found John Constantine is actually a really interesting rep In theory. I do think Delano like most things fumbles the bag when it comes to that topic but… it’s Delano what do you expect. I really like timelines where John gets treatment before it’s terminal (though usually that very idea seems out of character) or something it’s such a comfort hc. sorry for rambling. I was wondering how YOU interpreted johns cancer storylines as the John Constantine guy.

hey, you’re safe here, do what’s best for you! and I wish you the best. and never apologize for rambling! i love rambling. please keep rambling.

i’ll put this under a read more because i realized how long this is, but i hope it helps answer your question!

but as the john constantine girlie, it’s always been such an incredibly interesting plotline to me. he does take drastic measures to cure himself in the main vertigo timeline, and his interactions with other cancer patients and then realizing that this thing is terminal… it was intriguing. because it’s john. how he handles things is so much different than how others will. you’re never going to get the logical answer- “maybe he’ll get treatment.” “maybe he’ll go find healing magics that could help him.” “maybe he’ll go spend more time with his loved ones.” this is how most people would think to act. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have cancer, but if it were me, i feel like i’d be angry to be living on a timer, so i’d probably check a few things off my bucket list out of spite. not john constantine, though. instead he threatens a war in hell over his soul so everyone has to cure him.

john smokes cigarettes. we all know this to be a fact. however, he ends up getting terminal lung cancer as a result. it shows a very possible risk that most people aren’t willing to acknowledge until it’s too late.

i haven’t spoken to my mother in forever because our relationship was never good ( can’t you see why i like john constantine now? ), but in a way, it reminded me of her. she was a heavy smoker, and i, as a child who sometimes went over to her house begrudgingly, would be caught up in second hand smoke. as a result, these sorts of things were big worries of mine, and yet every time i told her she can’t do things like smoke inside the house and such, she’d just do it anyway. which put everyone at risk.

while, of course, cancer isn’t always caused by smoking, it can be, and she never took it seriously, not even when she was coughing badly and it was clearly dangerous for her health anyway. I don’t think she ever will.

within john’s character, though, we know he clearly didn’t care much. of course, he didn’t want to die because he knew he was going straight to hell at the time. so he concocted his little plan and ended up curing himself of cancer and not dying as a result… and then continuing with the bad habit. he’s a comic book character, so i guess it’s different, but i think it kind of sent the wrong message.

after a tale of john being distressed about having cancer and having to say goodbye to the people he cared about, or john meeting others who had cancer and being affected by the loss of someone who had died as a result of it, i think some expected him to put down the cigarettes. but alas, john has never been the kind of person to make good decisions.

so when i see him doing the smart thing in some storylines or aus that people write and so forth, i’m always stunned. like good on him, of course, handling his shit before it gets worse, but john has always liked to be a pain in the ass and wait until the worst possible moment. like the exact day he’s supposed to die for example. though i do enjoy these more, because it sends the right message…. john isn’t the kind of character you look to to give you the right message in most aspects. his political beliefs are good, but everything else is a dumpster fire.

but in my opinion, john constantine is a character- one of a rare few- who has cancer. there’s a described time of his struggles with it, some depression from it, the loss of someone he’d met who had it, and that was a journey. but then, in true john constantine fashion, the cornered rat idea he has, he cures himself of it- or, well, more forces some other beings to cure him of it, but hey.

that’s all i got, but feel free to explain further on anything you want to!

[prismuffin]

So context, John Constantine died from lung cancer but lived because of a deal he made with an entity. (forgot the Logistics)

So how do you think John would react to his friend picking up smoking Cigs?

While their talking, John asks about the pace of smoking, and they say, they finish off a cig each week. (Which is very light, incase you don't know)

Oooooo I’ve never understood cigarettes personally but I do know they can be addictive which is terrible cause they are so bad for your health! But anyways I think that—

Telling John that you’ve started smoking would stun him for a minute, not visibly but in his head he’d be questioning whether or not he heard you right.

Whether you know that he “died” or not from something related to smoking doesn’t change what he tells and asks you.

After you tell him that it’s only one cigarette a week he’s glad it’s not as big as a pack a day or something and he urges you in the most nonchalant way to drop smoking.

“It’s not good for your health, I should know-“

If you say you won’t he’ll probably scare you with the story of his cancer to try and persuade you to stop.

“Only reason you’re here, talking to me, is because I sold me soul to the fucking angels and now this demon won’t let me die cause he don’t want heaven and hell fighting over me!!”

If you still say you won’t drop after that he’d probably get super pissy for the rest of the outing. If he ever sees you smoking around him he’ll slap it out of your hands. Constantly asks about your pace to see if it’s increasing and once it does start to then he’ll probably get more pushy with his ways of stopping you.

———

Directory

[zeldahime]

Highway to Pail Day 22

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 22: What kind of cigarettes do angels have? Holy Smokes!

Aziraphale was having a miserable time trying to kick the habit. He didn't even want to, really, but unlike his other vices, this one apparently managed to cause cancer in humans just by their being around it, and he wanted to avoid unnecessary harm more than he wanted to indulge in the pleasure of a good long smoke.

Unfortunately for him, Aziraphale had seen enough of his neighbors in Soho quit tobacco over the centuries, and especially the last three decades, to know what to expect*. Irritability, cravings, increased appetite, restlessness: all common symptoms. All symptoms the angel was experiencing right now.

He glowered at a young woman who had entered his shop with her eyes on his first-edition Milne, handbag at the ready, until she gave up her nerve and left to threaten some other bookseller with buying their precious books. He paced behind his desk, unable to focus on any the new novels crowding his desk or on any of his favorites. He thought about dinner at the Ritz with Crowley with unusual fervor, his stomach actually grumbling in the way it usually didn't.

He really wanted a damned cigarette.

By the time Crowley swung in his blasted automobile, Aziraphale was three days clean and quite ready to bite his head off (or someone's head, anyway).

"Must you make such a racket?" he demanded in lieu of greeting, having bustled out of the bookshop as soon as he heard Crowley lay down his horn outside. (He'd forgotten to flip the sign and lock the door, but the bookshop knew to do that itself anyway.) Crowley's answering smirk and wink—and how did he always make sure it was clear he was winking through those dratted glasses, anyway—only irritated him further. "You may not care what your neighbors think of you, but I actually live with mine."

"I care!" Crowley protested. "I make sure they're good and frightened of that terrifying stranger who haunts the top floor, don't I?"

Aziraphale gave Crowley a once-over and sniffed.

"Yes, the terrifying stranger who dresses like a junior MP; I'm sure they're all quaking in their boots."

"I'll show you boots," Crowley grumbled, and turned the radio to bebop to get out of this conversation. Aziraphale took the forfeit as a win, restoring his mood slightly.

Eating also helped. Aziraphale's conversational snipes subsided somewhat once they were served and generally changed target from Crowley himself to the ideas presented. By dessert, Aziraphale felt nearly himself again, though his lungs still craved the bright grassy smoke of his Sweet Aftons.

Not that he had Sweet Aftons anymore. He'd smoked his last pack before quitting, to make sure that temptation did not lurk in his bookshop. He knew well how temptation worked, and would not fall prey to it unless he really wanted to (see: exhibit Crowley).

"So what bee's gotten into your bonnet today, angel?" Crowley asked as Aziraphale finished his pudding and dabbed at his face with a napkin, a gentle smile on his face. "That Thompson bloke try to buy your Wildes again?"

"Edmund Thompson will never get his hands on my Dorian Gray, no matter how many times he bats his eyelashes at me," Aziraphale said primly, "and he should jolly well know it by now." Crowley's suppressed laughter at his irritation was at least as sweet as any Virginia blend, Aziraphale thought.

He still rather badly wanted a cigarette, but it wouldn't be so bad; he was used to wanting things he wasn't allowed to have, and the pleasure of Crowley's company was always a balm to it.

--

*Crowley, who would quit smoking in two years because he'd be assigned to working some Phillip Morris executives in America before realizing exactly how evil they already were on their own, did not know what the symptoms of nicotine withdrawal were, and therefore would not experience any of them.

--

Author's note:

I would like to thank people on this pipe-smoking forum for actually talking about what tobacco tastes like instead of delivering a lecture on why I shouldn't start smoking. I know that already, Reddit! That's why I'm Googling it instead of smoking it myself!

I mentally set this in the mid-to-late 90s, since it seemed like that was about when the dangers of second-hand smoke began to percolate out to the public. Smoking bans in the UK seem to have begun in 1987, but they also seem to have been primarily fire-safety bans, not public health bans, until 2006. The 90s seemed like a good compromise position.

I chose Sweet Aftons for Aziraphale for a couple reasons: 1) they had a literary name and history; 2) they were unfiltered and single-source, which seems like an especially Aziraphale way to smoke; and 3) I liked the way the name sounds and looks!

[lakemichigans]

friend anon again, I think you were joking when you said ask me how I know about the addiction topic, but I would really be curious to know more of your thoughts on that (sorry if that's too invasive, you don't have to answer this at all, but I am curious!)

oof yeah i feel like i've overshared and made people uncomfortable, but if you're asking then i'm fine talking about it!! airing out my dirty laundry... 🧦

basically i just have a family history of addiction that goes back many generations on both sides of my family. myself, my parents, both sets of grandparents, and even my great grandparents have been affected by alcoholism and/or substance abuse at some point in our lives. some of them went totally sober, some passed away, some are still struggling right now and have been for many years. there's such a wide range of people in my family. yeah some fit the stereotype of the "typical alcoholic" and you could probably guess by just looking at them that they have substance use issues. but others are so young and put together, you would never know. 3 of them started their addiction with prescription pain meds because we have a lot of chronic pain in our family (i got all the good genetics huh lol), and the rest of us pretty much exclusively have a problem with alcohol. that's why it makes me so angry to see people imply that alcoholism is a lesser addiction when it has completely decimated my family 😒 the cherry on top is that my best friend since childhood has really similar problems and even though we try to support each other and keep ourselves in check, we both have ended up circling the drain like everyone else we know. so that's great

ironically my grandparents were casual meth users who stopped using meth quite easily, but could never quit drinking or smoking cigarettes no matter how many times they tried, and it was lung cancer that actually killed my grandma. i feel like that's a common misconception among people who don't know much about addiction; you would assume that a highly addictive drug like meth would permanently change your life, but every person is different and one substance may be a harmless treat every few months while another "lesser" substance will completely and utterly ruin your life. it's like how some people can do a few lines of coke at a party and look back on it as a fun college memory, but other people will have their world completely rocked by it. you just never know

i NEVER thought i would have a problem with alcohol. literally never. i was so hyper-aware of the damage it can cause and i took so many precautions. i never drank when i was in a bad mood, i never drank alone, i never drank in the day or super late at night, i never got so drunk i lost my memory, i never drank in unfamiliar places, i never drank to get through a menial task, etc. and i cant even pinpoint when or why that all changed. it all just got so fucked up. i don't like how i act when i'm drunk and i feel so embarrassed when i wake up and remember (or find out) what i said to people, so i prefer drinking alone but that's a whole other problem. i've nearly gotten into fights at bars with grown ass men, i've wandered around downtown and have no memory of getting home, i fell off a fucking rock ledge while hiking at sunset and yeah i can laugh about it but it's also like. i nearly killed myself and for what? because i was drunk and trying to take a good picture. i drink to make chores more bearable. i used to do my college homework tipsy. video games aren't fun sober anymore. i make unnecessary purchases while i'm drunk and that's on top of the financial burden that drinking already provides me. i'll take a hit of anything i'm offered while i'm drunk, and thank god so far that has only been weed or cigarettes, but drunk brandi would not even ask what it is. i genuinely can't bear the thought of talking about my feelings with people if i'm not drinking (even then, i don't say what i really want to say because my mind isn't clear enough to string a thought together). like every fucking aspect of my life has been tainted by alcohol and it happened so slowly that i never even saw it coming. and if it can happen to me, someone who was PREPARED, it can happen to anyone

i'm not trying to scare people, i just wish people understood how slow and insidious addiction can be. maybe then they'd have a little more compassion

but yeah, that's where i'm at right now 🥲 it helps to write about it and vent because i just don't do that in real life. and maybe this rambly mess can help someone else or at least put things in perspective

[horrorofthebeast]

I mean as much as I hate people who make smoking weed their whole personality, weed doesn’t. Cause lung cancer

yeah. but cigarettes dont cause as much harm as weed does. it can start schizophrenia in people who dont know they have it dormat in their brain. cigarettes can be addictive, yes. but there is way more pressure about weed online. whenever i see something about weed its some weird peer pressure to do it. it happened with me and took a whole entire year from me (2022) because i was forced to stop cold turkey by my therapist and parents. it affected VERY differently than what people have said online. i thought i was stuck with brain damage forever, it was bad i really thought i had gained very early onset of dementia. weed has more deeper connections to the brain than cigarette, but yes, both lead to lung cancer. no doubt about it. use in moderation if you can. if you cant use cigarettes and/or weed in moderation, i would suggest to talk to someone about it and they could help you take the first steps to moderation or even quitting itself at all. I know people use it to self medicate, i thought it was working for me, but then it didnt, i just thought i needed to smoke weed even more.....

weed is seeriously more dangerous than cigarettes

PS: ik ur agreeing with me, i just had to voice my uneasiness of it