#mentions of alcoholism

[painful-pooch]

An Impromptu Farewell

I do apologize to those that have been waiting since the beginning to read this. I have been through one of the worst times of my life since moving to this new place due to the military. That being said, I am grateful if there are still those interested in reading this as this is where the story will pick up. I love you guys.

Part 1 (Captain Down)

Bru Bru tag list: @cpt-winters, @redd956, @straight-to-the-pain, @technom0ose, @actress4him, @whumperofworlds, @i-eat-worlds, @inscrutable-shadow, @gala1981, @thethistlegirl, @ocean-blue-whump, @noirineverysense, @steelandblood, @crash-bump-bring-the-whump, @kervl-klear

CWs: military whump, war, gunshot wounds, blood, injury, gunfire, death of random soldiers, farewells, mentions of alcoholism, and violence.... Sorry for writing so much ahhhh

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Bruno’s aim is true and his intent clear as he holds the pistol tightly in his hand, watching Khrystyna’s body tense up. She’s not moving an inch, and he can’t blink away the tears in his eyes or she might disarm him before he can react. “Get. Back. That’s an order. Don’t make me hurt you.” His side is blazing with harrowing pain, spreading like a wildfire through his body, the bullet having wrecked him while staying lodged in him. He can feel the life seeping out of his side, but he won’t let Khrystyna see his suffering. She needs to make it back home. That’s his only concern now.

Khrystyna scoffs and takes a careful step towards him, her voice not betraying her probable fear of his threat, “Sir, you have a gunshot wound. Multiple now. I made an oath when I became a pararescueman. I am never leaving you behind. Now give-” 

He fires a warning shot beside her, wincing from the recoil of the .45 caliber gun. Even with all of his armor on, with his bravado, and with his stoic nature, he feels so vulnerable; so naked. It terrifies him, and with each second that passes by is just another second for the enemy to close in on their location. He can’t live with himself if he gets the youngest member of the team captured, especially the best medic he’s ever met. 

If she is caught alongside him, she would be forced to heal him and keep him around for longer… all while getting destroyed herself. Who would even heal her or watch after her if he were to pass or not be present? He shakes away the thought in his mind and with a shaky voice, re-enunciates, “Khrys… I am begging you as someone that loves you and as your commander, let me go.”

If Khrystyna had thought he was bluffing, she now knows he isn’t playing around. She is staring at the wound in his side for a few seconds, locking eyes with him once more. “B-Bruno, I can’t let you do this. We can make it back to the evac point! We can make it out of this!”

“You aren’t stupid!” Bruno roars, forcing himself to stand up, leaning back against the wall with the gun still aimed. “You know better than this. You know that this is only going to end badly if they get both of us. I can’t make it there, even with help. What I can do is provide you and the others coverage. Give you all the chance to make it out.”

“Why? Why are you doing this? This isn’t fair! Who’s even looking out for you?! Why are you pushing me away? I won’t fail you!” 

Failure. Is that what she is afraid of? He almost feels the corner of his lip curl up. She doesn’t hate him. Not yet.

Khrystyna is in tears now, her voice so full of anguish and disappointment. “What are you so afraid of?”

Afraid? Bruno isn’t afraid. 

He’s petrified. 

He’s about to lose everything he ever loved and cared about.

“Say something, Bruno!” 

“I can’t lose you all! I can’t let them ruin you and use you all to get to me. This is the only way to make sure no secrets make it out. I can’t trust myself, Khrys. I can’t trust myself to stay quiet if it means I have to watch you all slowly die around me. I am not strong enough. I will never be strong enough! I am dying, kid.” His hand holding the pistol is visibly shaking at this point, and the pain stemming from the wound only worsens with time.

“I am fucking dying, and I need you to get the fuck away and get to the rendezvous point,” he pours, all of his emotion going into those statements without any thought, the poor girl before him listening to him reveal all those unspeakable fears. He feels so powerless even as he holds the weapon in his hand; even as a leader, he failed his medic. 

Khrys retreats only a step or so, her hands up while silent tears stream down her face. “What can I do to help you then? What can I do for my Captain one last time? I won’t leave unless you tell me or let me help fix you up. I can’t let you die…” The woman has always been such an amazing prodigy and human. Even with all of her credentials, awards, stats, and her skill, she is still a young soul. She has a life ahead of her. She’s barely past the age to drink legally and yet she’s done so much more than most have ever accomplished in their whole lives. Her potential would be ruined in captivity. No one would recognize her for who she is.

He is so proud of who Senior Airman Khrystyna Paszek is, that he is willing to die for her time and time again so she can continue on with her journey. 

Bruno grins down at her, trying to cheer her up even just an ounce, ensuring that no one has yet closed in on them. “Your final order? Leave me a gunshot wound trauma kit, an adrenaline pen, and take my dog tag with you. Can you do that for me? Your old man here is gonna fuck shit up just enough to give you all a window of escape. Sounds good?”

She forces a smile and laugh, kneeling on the ground to rummage through her heavy pack, giving him a few supplies from the hemostatic dressing, bandages, and a syringe with the beautifully blue liquid to some sterile gauze with pain medication. She holds her hand out to him, unable to look at him. “Dog tag?”

Bruno inhales sharply, grabbing her hand, pulling her up, and hugging her tightly regardless of the searing pain in his side, leg, and heart. He presses a small kiss to her head, slipping her pistol back into her holster. “I am gonna miss you. Promise to keep looking for me after?” He looks down at her, yanking the chain from around his neck off with a snap, handing her the dog tags he has been carrying on him since… forever ago. His own tears fall and he clenches his jaw so tightly, waiting for her answer. 

“Sir…” She trails off, staring at the tag in her hand for so long. She closes her fist around the metal piece, her eyes screwed tightly. “I want to keep fighting… But I won’t let you down. I won’t stop looking for you. You better not die on us, old man. Do you have a message for her?”

Her. 

Miranda.

Yeah. He has a message for her. “Tell her I’ll be back by chow.”

Khrys probably wants to hit him, but she nods her head, picking up her pack again, clipping the straps together and ensuring it’s all in order. “She’s going to murder you. Here… your mic is broken. Give us one last message before it’s over?” She passes him an extra earpiece of hers, one that most likely works. “Don’t die. That’s an order to you, Captain Stenberg.”

He sighs and puts the earpiece in, hearing the sounds of all the other members scrambling to get to the evac point. “You need to start heading back. Now. I won’t die. That’s a promise, and I never break my promises. Head out and I will provide a distraction.” 

Khrys wants to say something else to him, but he can tell she thinks against it, turning to the side and walking to the end of the alley. She looks behind her one last time before she books it in the direction of safety. With that, Bruno is left alone in the alley with his gear, wounds, med kit, and his broken pride. 

He gets to work, vest off and his shirt and fatigues up, checking the wound that is looking a little worse for wear. He has to pack it with the hemostatic gauze that will force the bleeding to slow down and trick the body into clotting up the opening. 

A few deep breaths and with his head tilted back to look at the hazy sky, he uses his thumbs to shove the gauze deep into his wound. He tries to not scream, his jaw tight and his veins probably popping out from the strain. He is half gasping and crying with each packing movement of his blood covered thumbs and hands. It’s so uncomfortable and a pain he truly can’t describe, but once he’s done, he’s pouring down sweat from the exertion, placing a large bandage over the wound to at least keep the gauze in there. 

Once that is over, he picks up the syringe, staring at it. He was trained to use the damned thing if he was ever in a situation where it’s hard to stay up, alive, or both. The best part about the drug in the syringe is that it gives him enough of a boost to still cause just enough damage to provide the opening needed. He keeps the syringe in the pen pocket of his right arm, using the cute little velcro strap to keep it in place. 

With his injury, he can’t carry the full weight of his gear and needs to be as lightweight as possible for his plan to come to fruition. He unclips the straps over his chest and thighs, letting the heavy pack fall to the ground. The change was instantaneous, and the painful pressure against his wounds were lessened, the man sighing in heavenly relief. “Oh thank fuck.”

Before he starts to limp his way over to where Khrys headed, he makes a few alterations to his pack, grinning like a mad little scientist when he picks up the detonator and holds it in his hand. He promised his family of operatives and soldiers he’d get them home, and he is going to give everyone a show while he does so. The world spins and darkens up around him if he moves too crazily, but he sips at his camelback water bag still hooked up to him, the cool and refreshing water giving him something to look forward to. The earpiece is finally not getting ignored by him, and the voices that pour in get processed. 

“I need a count off from everyone now.” Valdemar grunts out, the sound of the chopper’s rotors and blades whirring in the background. “Go.”

Shifting and the sound of wind respond first. “Kieran here, just staying away from the action in the middle. Probably a mike or two (minute/s) away.”

“Away from the action?” Miranda laughs, her huffing well suppressed. She was, afterall, a former Marine grunt that could haul ass if need be. “I am basically there. Just making sure I am clear before going uphill. I would love to not be a sitting duck. Where’s Khrystyna and Bruno?”

Lukas’ scoff is the first to reply to Miranda’s inquiry. “Glad to know me, Sebastian, and Oscar aren’t cared about, lady. I get it. Tomcat, your happy loving pilot is going around in circles, going crazy and getting dizzy, thank you very much.”

“Lukas, I am going to quite literally smack you. You are in a fucking plane, away from all the bullshit down here. Sebastian is flying the helicopter, and Oscar is in a fucking air conditioned room back home!” Valdemar shouts into the comms. 

Oscar hums softly, a quiet response, “To be fair, last time I tried to be a part of a mission, I got stabbed…” There’s a subtle slurp from a drink, almost like he has a fountain drink at his desk. “Air conditioned room is nice.”

A moment of silence went through and Sebastian finally chimes in: “Yikes. Awkward, Valdemar the Viking. Seems like your Oonga Boonga Army brain is getting the best of y- hey, no no no get away! OW YOU ASSHOLE! THOSE ARE MY SKITTLES!”  

Bruno can’t help but laugh, even in his predicament, but when Khrys talks, the laughter goes away. “I’m almost there. I had to uh… help someone hurt.”

“Who was hurt?” Miranda asks, another moment of silence coming in when she then answers her own question. “Bruno…? You haven’t answered us yet. Where are you?”

He’s in Hell. 

He is in literal Hell, but he must tread on with honor. Someone will keep them safe. He swore them all to safety long ago. That’s the least he can do for them as their leader. Just once more, he can speak to them with dignity. He doesn’t know when the next time will be, but he prays- hope with all his might- that it will come soon. Maybe he will die, but he suspects his crew wouldn’t want that sort of ending for him. 

They need Bruno to not shatter in front of them. He can do that later. He stands up straighter against the agonizing cruelty of the cuts, bruises, wounds, aches, and shattered pride. Even if no one can see him, they can hear his confidence, and he will give them a leader, even if he is at the end of his rope. 

“I’m giving you all an opening. Keep heading to the second emergency rendezvous point as before. Engage the hostels when needed, but don’t push towards them. Keep retreating. I am getting closer to the bulk of the hostiles, so I can get their attention and draw them from you all.”

“Excuse me?” Miranda hisses into the mic, and Bruno feels the metaphorical knife sinking into his stomach. “You don’t get to decide these things! You haven’t even answered if you are hurt or if you are close enough to where we could have intercepted you to make it out of here together. You aren’t giving us a chance to make this happen!”

Bruno shuts his eyes and has to muster up all of his strength and courage for the next few words: “I am your commanding officer, Captain Ryker. I am far  too injured to make it to the evac point. It’s not close to me at all and I am not risking the lives of my men and women to get my ass on a helicopter! I get to decide these things because if I don’t, people die. You are the next commanding officer when I am gone, Miranda, so fucking act like it now.” He wipes the tears from his eyes, glancing around and making sure he’s still clear. “I can’t risk any of you getting captured with me if that’s my fate today. I love you all too much. Am I understood?”

Miranda doesn't reply back, and it's Valdemar that does. “Sir, kick their asses for us, and take as many as you can down, yeah? We’ll still put up your Christmas ornament if you miss it this year. Give them hell.”

Khrys… She simply whispers in the mic, “I already said my farewells. Still heading to rendezvous. I love you, Captain. Stay safe.”

Oscar’s popped up next: “I won’t stop searching and scrubbing all the networks for a trace of you. If you are kept around, they are going to use you, so we will get you back one way or another. I promise. You still have my chess piece, so you have to give it back to me…”

Bruno hears the sound of footsteps coming around the corner. He hides and he preps his pistol, taking on a small patrol of two hostiles once they make their identities known to him. He reloads and cringes to himself, the pain coming from his side biting him savagely. Upon taking a look, he can see the blood seeping through the wound packing. He stifles a grimace, distracting himself by still talking into the mic. “I won’t die. I promise you all I won’t. I plan on coming back for dinner. Just not tonight. And I will give them Hell. Each and every one of them.”

Sebastian is the next to go, and Bruno isn’t upset at all with the helicopter pilot. “First off: Fuck you for getting hurt. I thought you were invincible. Second off: Now who is going to validate my obsession over coffee, monster x reader books, and random tumblr posts I send in the group chat?”

He is cackling at their behavior and knows it’s a mask and that the helicopter pilot is crying, but he plays along, limping down the street, his movements growing more sluggish. Fuck. “My bad, Sebastian. Next time, I will let the hostiles know to aim at just my vests. Also, you can borrow my coffee collection in my closet. French press and my assortment of imported grounds from around the world. As far as your… literature, and I will make a tumblr account when I come back just for you, okay?”

“D-Deal. Thanks, old man,” they stammer back.

“Bru Bru…” Lukas’ voice is so soft and there’s a sense of sadness and despair in it. The man is practically like a son to Bruno. A lot of the younger team members are basically like the kids he would never be able to have, and he is going to miss that part the most. “Please don’t go. I’m sorry I hurt you. I won’t fuck up another air strike. Just don’t go. I won’t drink again.” Lukas is fully sobbing at this point, which is never a good sign for a pilot, and Bruno the leader needs to reel this one in quickly. 

He winces from the broken promises Lukas has made in the past about no longer continuing down the path of alcohol dependency to make it through the day, and he rubbed his face. “Son, I will never blame you for this, but I need you to make that choice for yourself. I need you to stop drinking for your own betterment, and not for me.”

“Guys.” Kieran cuts in, his voice cold as ice, and yet in this instance it was soothing, “give the men some credit here. Both Lukas and Bruno. Lukas will get better on his own and Bruno is going to come back like the tidal wave that he is. You know he’s going to somehow bullshit his way through and win this whole ass thing over. Plus, he owes us a vacation. Khrys has never gone to Disney World and the thought of seeing the big man in mouse ears is sending me places. So cut the damned theatrics and let’s go.”

Bruno chuckles in his mic and sighs. “Thank you, Kieran. Better words couldn’t have been said. Miranda? Anything to say before this is over?”

“What more is there to say, Captain? Don’t die, return with Honor, and remember where your loyalties lie.” Miranda sounds so cold and upset on the comms. Bruno can’t blame her. He never will. 

His throat clamps up and it’s like he can’t say the words he needs to say. “I… thank you… for everything. For giving me a reason. And a family.” He inhales deeply, so many tears of his own falling, and he isn’t able to stop his voice from cracking, his emotion showing. “Don’t forget me.” He rips out his ear piece and he throws it to the ground, stamping it into the ground with his heel, grinding it into dust if it were possible, screaming from the rippling pain the shock caused. 

Good. He wanted his enemies to come to him. This is it. 

He reaches over to the adrenaline pen he had secured, looking at it curiously in his hand. “So it’s just you and me now, huh?”

The blue liquid shimmers so beautifully in the sunlight, and in mere seconds, it disappears into Bruno. 

It doesn't take long for the effects to kick in. He leans back against the wall for stability as he hears the roaring crash of the waves, the sounds of the beach so far away from there just in his ears. The image flashes before him of a scenic sunset, the lapping waves hugging his body with a cold embrace until it warms him to the core. He can feel it… until the gunfire, smoke, and screaming all around him grounds him to the reality of what truly is happening.

He grits his teeth in silent contempt. He would make them all pay for making him abandon his family. 

His chest tightens up and he feels dizzy, but the man pushes himself off the wall with a growl. He makes it to the end of the alley, hearing vehicles rushing past, heading towards the emergency rendezvous point. “Come and get me, not them,” he mutters, putting himself out in the open and aiming with his razor sharp focus. With a few pulls of his trigger, he sees one of the vehicles swerve and crash into one of the buildings, a cruel smirk on his face. 

“You want me?! Come on!” He roars at the enemies coming out of the truck, firing back at him, and so he takes cover and returns each bullet he can.

There’s more vehicles and more enemies, and when he stands up to aim, he feels a wet slap followed by searing pain in his right shoulder. He screams from the burning metal lodged in him, and he switches hands to fire, using his left instead, but it’s useless when the pistol clicks and he’s finally out of ammo. 

He stays standing and throws his pistol to the ground, the hazing dark in his peripherals coming back to haunt him. This can’t be it. No, I refuse.

Before he knew it, he was surrounded, rifles aimed at him from every direction. He refuses to surrender and he picks up a shattered piece of glass with a jagged end, ignoring the blood trickling out of him. “Get back!” He yells, turning to each enemy and swinging angrily, their rifles still trained on him. 

He sees a woman and man break through the ranks and stare him down, and it hits him that they are the ones in charge. “So you are the ones I need to kill.”

The woman laughs and shakes her head. “You’re dying right in front of us and are still cocky as ever. So be it; I love to see the fire leave your eyes when you stay with us. I hope you enjoy it.”

The man beside her grins as well. “We even have a little friend to keep you company.”

Bruno’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to say something, but because his attention was on the man, he doesn’t sense the rifleman behind him until it’s too late. There’s a sharp pain in the back of his head and he topples over, the darkness creeping in close. 

The woman walks up to him, setting the bottom of her boot on his head. “You’ll have fun. Enjoy your nap.” Everything for Bruno goes dark when her boot rises and comes back down, and in his final thoughts, he can only pray his family did get away safely. 

[prokopetz]

The funny thing to me about those "the combat drugs we give to the mech pilots make you grow boobs" hornyposts is that this legitimately is a known side effect of a wide range of drugs and medications. Just about any non-trivial chemical imbalance can potentially make you grow boobs. Breast growth is a known symptom of alcoholism. Some male bodybuilders experience female-typical breast development as a side effect of steroid use. Even kidney problems can induce breast growth. The human body is evidently just itching to grow boobs!

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

as newspapers today dont tend to hire children, a modern day Tintin would run a clickbait YouTube channel, except the clickbait is 100% real every single time

he starts off as an irritating conservative pundit at 14, meets Chang then leaves the think tank paying him and launches his own independent channel and blows up shortly after. Chang helps with video editing and managing his socials and they often chat on video calls between adventures. Haddock, his foster dad, has absolutely no knowledge of his earlier videos.

[shiftythrifting]

ominous flask I found at a Goodwill in Phoenix AZ

[teaboot]

I've started playing this new game when I'm bored where I look up shitty T-shirts with pictures and slogans on them intended to be worn to very specific occasions and I try to think of a different place where it would be way funnier to wear it

Some Examples:

ONE

EASTER SHIRT

Slogan or image: Easter bunny, "I have the best eggs"

Intended wear: Family event, community event

Funnier place to wear it: Fertility clinic

TWO

ST. PATRICK'S DAY SHIRT

Slogan or image: Man with two beers on green. "Dublin fistin"

Intended wear: At a bar with the boys

Funier place to wear it: BDSM club. With the boys

THREE

HALLOWEEN MATERNITY

Slogan or image: Skeletal ribcage aligned with the wearer's ribcage, and a cartoonish skeleton baby just below it.

Intended wear: Low-effort Halloween event

Funner place to wear it: Abortion procedure

[bamsara]

Local chaos god gets humbled, creates chaos over it. His aim still needs some work though

I really need to stop drawing Drunken Gods chapter stuff and actually finish the damn chapter lmao

[anonpolls]

Bonus! Please put in the tags where you are from and if your situation was common where you are from!

Thanks, Anon!

-submit your poll!-

[assassinbugs]

if there's 1 alcohol that tastes good to you pls vote for you like it <3

[copperbadge]

Saw this, thought of you.

What makes this art and not merely fuckery is that it's not "Malort Baseballs" or "Baseball Malort", it's that it's baseball infused Malort.

I kept coming to this ask and looking at it and trying to decide how to describe the image and just...sighing and walking away again in defeat. But not today! Today I will identify this beast!

But also like.

I keep seeing the image and thinking...It's not like it would make the Malort worse.

[ID: A large glass candy jar in what appears to be a bar or possibly an antique store, difficult to tell. The jar is full of baseballs which are soaking in an amber liquid that reaches the rim. A label on the jar has the logo of Nisei Lounge, a Chicago bar, and under that reads: "Baseball infused Malort. Tastes like trading away Willson Contreras. Unlike every beloved veteran cubs player, this is not for sale."]

[incorrectbatfam]

Bruce: What is in this bottle?

Jason: It's water.

Bruce: No, it's wine.

Jason: Listen here, Jesus, this is water.

[charlesoberonn]

"Someody who's good at the economy please help me budget this burger. My family is dying."

[candieduranium]

[prokopetz]

One of my perennial probably-never-gonna-do-it ideas for a tabletop RPG is... well, okay, have you ever heard of Chronica Feudalis? It's a tabletop RPG set in 12th Century England, except its central conceit is that it's actually from 12th Century England, in an alternative history in which tabletop roleplaying games were invented during the 12th Century rather than the 20th. The text is written entirely in character as a medieval English monk, with commentary by the contemporary editor who ostensibly translated it from the original Middle English.

Anyway, if I ever find the time to perform the historical research to properly do it justice, some day I want to write a Prohibition era hidden-world science fiction game (i.e., a superficially realistic setting with the science-fictional elements forming a "secret world" within the ostensibly mundane milieu), presented as a game written during the actual 1920s in an alternative history in which tabletop roleplaying games were invented and popularised by H G Wells.

[felsicveins]

The road to forgiveness is paved with miles of bullying

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[canisalbus]

✦ Tipsy ✦