#substance abuse tw

[blitzwhore]

So. Stolas is an alcoholic. That much is very clear at this point in the show and has been for a while now. He binge-drinks to cope with depression and with his life problems at large.

What's interesting is that he's far from the only character in Blitzø's life who is an alcoholic. In fact, substance abuse seems to be a recurring theme in the show. At least three other people Blitzø was or is really close with (potentially four, if we count his father) have struggled with substance abuse: Verosika, Barbie, and Fizz.

And the show has made a very clear point that both Verosika and Barbie have been in rehab. Not just that, but it's also emphasised that they're both still struggling with addiction (Verosika still drinks at her concerts, "clutches onto Beelzejuice bottles like they're the last cock in hell", and writes magazine articles about binge drinking being sexy; Barbie still peddles heroine, though not H8). Clearly, for both of them, this is an ongoing issue presently in the show.

So, with all of that being said, I recently saw someone theorise that, in a future season, Stolas is going to go to rehab, too.

I thought it was certainly a possibility, and one that I would personally love to see explored. So I've been thinking about it... and I remembered this:

The beginning of Unhappy Campers, and Blitzø breaking into rehab to go visit Barbie.

Now, I think a lot of people (myself included) felt surprised and a bit disappointed the first time we watched this episode, because our initial assumption was that Blitzø was trying to visit Stolas. It just made sense! Stolas was hospitalised right at the end of the previous episode and texted Blitzø that he could visit if he wanted to. (At this point, we also didn't know Blitzø had trauma surrounding visiting loved ones at hospitals). And suddenly they hit us with Blitzø seeking out Barbie out of the blue? So many of us were left wondering... why? Yeah, people have mentioned that maybe feeling like he could've lost Stolas prompted Blitzø to try to mend a different broken relationship, one that he felt he had more chances of fixing. But the timing, as well as the non-immediate revelation that it's Barbie he's looking for, is still... strikingly suspicious, isn't it?

And just now, after all this time, it hit me.

What if this is foreshadowing?

What if, all along, they were telling us Blitzø will visit Stolas at the hospital in the future... when Stolas is in rehab?

[wheatnoodle]

TW//

substance abuse, addiction, self medicating

-

eddie munson does not trust steve harrington.

more specifically, eddie munson does not trust steve harrington to be driving his sheep.

now don’t get him wrong, eddie likes steve, he really does! they get along wonderfully and spend a lot of time together since dustin brought them together. thats not the problem.

the problem is that when billy hargrove rocked harrington’s shit a few years back, eddie gained a new customer. a customer who asked for “something stronger” because weed wasn’t helping his migraines and his night terrors.

when robin notices eddie staring daggers into the side of steve’s head because he watches him wipe his nose on his hand as he steps out of the bathroom, she tells him it’s a nervous motion to calm himself down. eddie doesn’t buy it for a second.

he stares at steve all night. waiting for his nose to start bleeding or to catch a glimpse of something dusty on his hand or around his nostrils. but he doesn’t say anything though. at least not until it starts getting close to curfew and steve is standing from the couch.

“alright, kiddos! time to pack up before your parents start to panic,” he claps his hands together before reaching into his front right pocket for his car keys. eddie’s up in an instant with a nervous smile, ignoring the groans of protest in the wheeler basement to focus on steve.

“hey, why don’t i drive the rats home? you- you said you’ve got an early shift, right? go home, go to sleep.” he hopes he sounds convincing. eddie shoves his hands in his back pockets, awkwardly rocking back and forth on his feet. steve’s brows pull together in confusion and he lets out a chuckle.

“it’s alright, man. you drove them, i can take them back,” steve says and shakes his head. eddie has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“i just mean, you seemed tired during the movie. sort of…nodding off…” eddie can see the tension in steve’s body. his jaw clicks closed behind his lips and he’s suddenly staring at eddie with a stronger intensity than he would like.

“i’m fine, munson,” steve says firmly, quiet for only eddie. eddie holds his ground. this isn’t king steve, this is just steve. there’s nothing to cower from.

“steve,” he says softy, almost pleadingly, “i’m not okay with you driving them tired.”

“i’m. fine,” steve punctuates. his eyes are wide, hurt, as they flick between eddie’s. he knows he won’t back down.

“steve.”

after a few beats of silence, steve scoffs and turns on his heel. without even a goodbye to the group, he’s out of the basement and out the door.

eddie turns back to the party who’s staring at him like he has three heads.

“…okay. rats, buckley, let’s head out.”

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1332

TW: Substance Abuse | Overdose

Anon asked:

Do you have some prompts for a whumpee struggling with substance abuse after some bad things happening in their life, and their friend / caretaker supporting them through it?

A few:

Maybe the caretaker notices erratic behaviour and decides to address it gently. This could lead to a discussion, or even an argument if the whumpee tries to deny it despite the evidence being clear. (Why do they try to deny it? Are they ashamed? Embarrassed? Worried about what people are going to think?)

The caretaker could find out about the abuse when the whumpee hits rock bottom. They could get a call from the hospital/a concerned friend etc. Maybe they haven't heard from the whumpee in a few days, so decide to do a welfare check of sorts. They could get there just in time to witness the whumpee overdosing.

Does the whumpee relapse? Do the caretakers threaten to give up on them?

^ I like the idea of the caretaker saying that in private, but the whumpee accidentally overhears.

During recovery they celebrate small victories - a day sober, three days sober, a week sober etc etc. It becomes tradition to get a cake for every milestone. Maybe at a longer milestone - when the whumpee as gotten much better - it's not until late at night that they realise it's a milestone day. Their only option is to go to a gas station to find a cake, but their only choices are the questionable hotdogs, flowers, a chocolate bar, or even more questionable sushi.

At first the whumpee rejects professional help, but seeing the strain it puts on the caretakers, they decide to seek out a therapist.

Don't forget the withdrawal symptoms.

What kind of coping mechanisms do they put in place? Chewing gum? Knitting? Folding laundry?

On the emotional side - the whumpee has to work very hard to repair the relationships they damaged.

[ineffablecabbage]

Today's ER hot take is this:

I love Abby Lockhart, but in a just world, Lucy would have lived and she would have walked in on John Carter injecting himself with the big F.

[lietwice]

semi-plotted starter for @jsbashirmd

IT'S BEEN A BAD NIGHT. Every night is a bad night, without the wire. He's clear-headed enough to think, and Garak thinks too much. Sleep has been scarce and short-lived since he left the infirmary, and with each new day, more painful thoughts and memories return to him with disturbing, unrelenting clarity. He tries to push them aside during the day, busying himself with sketching designs and other 'restful' activities, but at night, there's nowhere else his mind can go, and no wire to blur the pain away. He lays there, eyes closed, knowing that he'll wake each morning alone in his miserable quarters, on a station no longer meant for people like him, surrounded by people who hate him, and with no relief from any of it. It's been so long since he faced the station without the wire. The memory of the loathing and contempt of the station's inhabitants makes the air taste bitter around him, and he hasn't ventured out of his quarters in days for fear of choking on it.

This particular night, he hasn't slept more than an hour. He wakes repeatedly in pain and then struggles to relax again, feeling tormented by his own mind and body. Headaches are somewhat expected -- he has had significant surgery on his brain, after all -- but the rest of his pain weighs on him with new strength without the wire to diffuse it into the background of his consciousness. His joints ache. All of them, all at once. His back hurts, and he seems to find new stiff, sore spots along his spine with every new position he tries.

All of this, though, he knew was coming. The depression, the aches and pains of his former life weighing on his body, the hopelessness of being without his one source of relief. Unfortunately, his new clear-headedness has also brought to his attention another pain that he hadn't particularly differentiated from the rest of the haze, when he had the wire. His tail has hit the point of regrowth where it's beginning to lengthen. He usually deals with it before it gets to this point, cuts it off in the same brutal fashion he knows to be the proper way of dealing with it, before it can really develop any significant weight to it. He hasn't been in any state to so much as notice, this time. Until now.

Until now, this morning, after his horrendous almost-sleepless night, when he's staring down at it, knowing exactly what he's supposed to be doing, and failing to do it. The tail is as long as his forearm now, long enough that he can hold it in his hand and bring it around his hip to look at it in the mirror without having to twist too much. He hasn't seen his tail properly since his exile. Hasn't seen it since it was merely a costume, a tool to use, to keep or to remove depending on the part he needed to play. But to keep it now... to keep it now wouldn't be a costume. He's an exile. An addict, a traitor, in the eyes of his homeworld. There is no lesser role to play. The tail is a mark he deserves, now, in a way he never really felt he did even as a service class child. It's a label, a signal to others, like his designation Ten at Bamarren. A signal that he is something lesser than the rest. He should get rid of it. The residents of the station hardly need another reason to look down on him, after all. But even as he grips it, picks up his tool, his hands shake, and the overwhelming despair at the thought of more pain and more healing is just too much to bear.

He has no idea he's been staring at it for so long, desperately hoping to find the strength to do what is necessary, and failing to do so, until his door chimes. Dr. Bashir. Of course. Garak stumbles back from the mirror in the refresher, letting go of his tail and hastily wiping his eyes. He doesn't answer the door, pulling on his robe instead to hide the tail and retreating to his bedroom, horribly ashamed at his own weakness.

[mosscreeper-ao3]

Wow I love James so much. I can’t wait to spend October documenting his descent into substance abuse.

[maskednerd]

[the-whumping-hour]

Day 1 - Helpless

@febuwhump day 1!!!

CW: Mean caretaker (who is caretaking against his will), said caretaker making whumpee cry, multiple mentions of drug abuse, one mention of broken glass, one mention of broken bones, little hints of classism and ableism, annoyance at whumpee's fidgeting. 

Notes: Top ten men who break the Hippocratic oath by being fucking losers. Happy Febuwhump Day 1!!!! As this challenge continues, I may link related stories together. For those who are new, welcome to the hellscape! 

***

They’re still awake. Of course they’re still awake.

And sure, Seiah may be a medic, clinically certified and all, but hell if it means he can’t be pissed off at Felic Fucking DiMaggio.

“You got percs?” That idiot, the little whiny rat quietly digging a hole into the sofa cushion, hadn’t talked in almost fifteen minutes, which Seiah had hoped meant they’d be falling back into half-sleep soon enough. No such luck.

“No,” he snaps, hazel eyes tinged with streaks of insomnia roll up at them over his laptop. “Forty minutes and you can have more meds. I’m trying to study.”

Back to silence. Or almost— he swear he can hear threads ripping with every quiet tap of Felic’s fingernails against the seam. Just because it’s an old couch doesn’t mean anything. Just because they’re a 'friend' doesn’t mean anything. 

“Do you need a stress ball or something?” He’s trying to be nice. He really is. 

“You got one?” They still sound seconds from crying, or maybe that’s just the city drawl, thick in the back of their nose like they’ll hack it up with a hairball. They sound sick, look sick, they always look sick. Sick when they’re tweaking in meetings and sick now, bits of glass and two fractures in their leg and still they’re acting like they’re using every little scheming wrinkle in their brain to act normal. Not normal; something worse. Someone competent, or well-off, or anything other than a leech tagging along with the Rift Guard to seem like a savior.

And they reek like burning plastic.

He digs through his desk drawer. “Best I’ve got is a box of paperclips.” It leaves his hand with a rattle, a tinny sound that makes Felic twitch their head with a grimace, as the box hits their leg and falls into the cushion divot. They seem to paw it like a cat. “I can check the bedroom, but I need Gabe to rest…” he trails off.

“Nah, ‘s fine, ‘s fine.” They’ve maneuvered into some other horribly contorted position, leg still dangling off the couch like something dead. He hopes they’re content. He swears, if they’re not… but no, now it’s back to his pediatrics assignment, back to… reading this same section, again, and...

Holy fucking shit.

They’re using the paperclips. To pick at the fucking couch.

“No. No, you know what? Screw this.” Maybe it’s that stupid ugly couch, or his own lack of sleep, or how disgustingly pitiful they look in an oversized hoodie and bandages down an entire pale, skinny leg. “Done studying. Not even gonna try. Is that what you wanted? You want my attention? Gonna keep me up another three fucking hours because your tummy hurts when I don’t let you take every pill in this city?”

Maybe he should’ve thought that through more. Maybe, but it’s too late. Sue him. If this bitch wakes up Gabe, if they disrupt the final second of peace anywhere in this world at all—

They’re crying. No, no, no.

Shit, they’re crying.

“Felic.” His whisper-yells get more frantic. “Felic. Felic. Felic, hey, no, Felic, I’m sorry, I didn’t, I’m just tired, we’re all tired, Felic please,” out of his chair and onto the ground in front of them, they’re shaking like a leaf, no sounds but little sob-hiccups as their hands twist and wring themselves in their sleeves. They really are some helpless little thing, a pigeon stuck in a storm drain. “Look at me, look, I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at you. Calm down, calm down, just, I didn’t even do anything Felic, please just do this for me please…”

A knock at the door. Gabe.

“What’s going on?” His voice is rough with sleep, hair falling in curls over his eyes. And Seiah loves him, he loves him so much, but the look on his face when he sees Felic. As if they deserve it. As if the rat deserves any of this. “Did they have a nightmare?”

“They were never asleep at all, actually, which is—“

The glare Gabe gives him shuts him up quick.

“You need to give them space.” He motions Seiah away, impatient yet calm, locking eyes with the hairball having a breakdown on the couch. 

“No, listen, everything’s fine.”

“Clearly it’s not,” he retorts, still as calm as ever. “Go get some rest, Seiah, I’ve got this.” 

“We need to talk about this later.”

“Yes. Later. Shh,” he motions, and now he’s back to Felic, and it’s like Seiah isn’t here at all. Is this what his fucking job at the Rift Guard is? Keeping the rats on a leash?

Well, there’s no reason to stay here anyways. Seiah rises to his feet, computer abandoned, boyfriend preoccupied with a little bitch. 

Whatever. It’s not even a nice couch anyways.

He shuts the door. 

[riintasticresources]

💔💢😥--- Angsty Lyrical Sentence Starters

"And how about you just take some blame?"

"You should just forget my name."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"You give me nothing, but somehow it's always enough."

"And I'm terrified that you could leave me crying."

"Is there a word for bad miracle?"

"But, could we please pretend this won't end?"

"I wish it wasn't true."

"You clearly weren't aware that you made me miserable."

"'Cause I'd never treat me this shitty."

"I didn't cry when you left at first."

"I'd run away and hide with you."

"Everybody says they love me, but I'm still brokenhearted."

"I swear I'm not crying, the sun's just bright."

"Nothing good happens after 2am."

"I can't make it on my own."

"I'm just trying to be happy."

"Tomorrow might be good for something."

"He/She/They hasn't been sober for days."

"Was it something I did? Was it something you said?"

"It's like I'm the one you love to hate."

"No one will love you like I did."

"So, good luck finding something better."

"__, why are you calling me so late?"

"I guess we never really moved on."

"This rejection's got me so low."

"Who was I to make you wait?"

"My bad habits lead to late nights ending alone."

"I was looking for a way out, now I can't escape."

"I don't think I understand it all."

"We all got a dark side, we all try to hide."

"'Cause the truth is we're no different than the others."

"Will you never call again?"

"Will you never say you loved me?"

"I wish I could care less."

[kycken]

[Continued from HERE.]

@rxsolvx:

It was strange that so many years of his life had been so violent, and now he was almost entirely unused to it. He broke up fights in the shop, he hadn't lost his muscle, but when they'd come for him he'd struggled in a way he wouldn't have when he was younger. He was scared, he had realised far too quickly, and panic was hard to fight through. He'd still fought back with everything he had. It just wasn't enough. As soon as the drugs had entered his system it was over for him. Still, it wasn't the first thing his mind went to as he regained consciousness. The bed beneath him was comfortable and he could hear Koko's voice... He could feel his lips against his face. It had been so long, but there had been plenty of dreams in the time since they'd parted. "That's... Not what you call me.." He groaned, for a moment believing he was simply criticising his dreaming mind. Most people called him Seishu now, surely his brain was just getting confused. But as he shifted and his mind tried to catch up through the haze that had settled over it, he frowned. His arm was heavy and when he moved it he heard something metal. It was difficult to understand but he knew something was very wrong. "Koko...? What is...?"

"I thought you'd be happier to hear me use your first name... The proper one, anyway-" Hajime laughs softly, cupping the slope of the blonde's cheek and stroking his thumb across the plush cushion of his partner's lower lip.

"Well, if you prefer 'Inupi'... That always was the classic, just between us, right?"

It's nice being like this...

Kokonoi's sprawled out on his side and resting his chin against the heel of his hand, the opposite toying with a lock of golden hair that frames Seishu's jawline and the length of his pale neck. Always so pretty, effortlessly so. This is the way things should have been from the beginning.

"Ah, I almost forgot-" he remarks suddenly, pulling away to rifle through a small prescription bottle. There's a rolling, multi-tiered cart beside the bed- Various medications, syringes, and bottles of liquid neatly organized by type and effect.

"Open up, Inupi- Say 'aaahn'... " he encourages, rolling a small white pill between his thumb and forefinger.

"You might get depressed being in the same room so long, so taking escitalopram in regular doses will keep your mood stabilized. We can always go out once you're more accustomed to the situation, of course, but- It's really much safer to ensure you don't develop a chemical imbalance."

[wildfairies]

Would you be comfortable sharing more about your Infamous MC?

i would love to 😈🙈🖤 this is gracer glass, lead singer of [tbd]

her legal name is grace robak. in kindergarten, there were three graces in her class, and going by "grace r" evolved into gracer. so she's always gone by gracer, but uses a fake surname

1000% has undiagnosed adhd. incapable of thinking ahead

is the biggest flirt & romances everyone but gets very vulnerable and sad around seven

has a very hard lesson to learn that natural talent can only take her so far and she will eventually have to get it together and take her career more seriously

was a theater kid until high school. playing belle in beauty and the beast in 8th grade remains one of her greatest accomplishments

generally over-the-top friendly and extroverted but has a mean streak. incredibly petty

hates her negligent parents. the source of her substance abuse issues

loves music but not as much as she loves attention

[unkledeath]

bound, ghost, midnight for ezra! 👀

OC Asks

YEEEEHAW okay I'm putting these under a cut because this is gonna get A. long and B. probably pretty gnarly. (Any potential nastiness will be CWed in the tags.)

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

Ezra's been captured more than once in his long, storied history of adventuring. Most of it has been pretty low stakes stuff he was able to talk himself out of, but his last experience with it was by far the worst.

It started about two months into his relationship with Gortash, who offered Ez a place to stay since he didn't have a stable residence at the time. What started off as a cozy little sugar daddy type of situation got ugly fast, and his wealthy arms dealer boyfriend turned out to- shockingly -be an obsessive control freak. It only got worse after they found out they were the respective chosen of enemy gods, and Gort put Ezra under constant surveillance to make sure his new pet canary wasn't singing his secrets to anyone else.

He finally managed to escape after several months of what amounted to house arrest, waiting until Gortash was out of the city on a business trip. Fleeing to the one supportive person he knew, his on-and-off patron and half-brother Luca, he laid low at his home for a while as he tried to recover from the experience.

Gort eventually caught back up to him and tadpoled him for having the nerve to leave, but even before that the whole experience fucked Ezra up pretty badly. He's always valued his freedom above most things, and while the gilded cage he was kept in might not have been the worst by most standards, dealing with being watched and controlled was terrifying. So no physical scars from it, but definitely some mental ones.

---

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

His mother. Ezra's mom didn't handle motherhood, rejection, or the dire poverty he grew up in especially well, and his entire childhood was an extended lesson in learning how to placate her. She was his first lesson in presenting people with the version of himself that they wanted, and her violent mood swings molded him into the person he is today.

He was 12 when she died, and while finding her body and trying fruitlessly to find help for her was traumatic, it's not really what haunts him. Ezra feels much greater guilt over how relieved he was when he finally accepted that she was gone.

---

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

Ezra has gnarly nightmares. It's 50% home-grown trauma and 50% the natural consequence of letting an evil lich ride shotgun in his skull, but he is not a sound sleeper. He has a hard time falling asleep on his own, and the only thing that can really guarantee him a solid 8 hours is self-medicating. (Laudanum's his preferred method, but he's not averse to drinking himself unconscious either.)

When that's not an option, he keeps himself distracted. There's always songs to practice, new projects to write, plans to be made. Anything to fill his mind, because it's not a pleasant place to be when it's quiet.

[jsbashirmd]

@lietwice sent:

"I thought I could handle it." ( garak after hiding his post-wire-removal headaches from julian and getting caught abusing drugs to deal with it! )

"... Oh." Julian had thought it was tragic before, but somehow, the tone of Garak's voice made it feel all the worse. "Addiction can be like that. It's not your fault that it got out of your control." He sat down, then reached out a hand to offer it to him. "I mean that. And I wish you'd come to me, but I don't think any less of you for this."

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1317

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

A whumpee who got out, who got better.

A caregiver. who is so relieved the worst is over and whumpee may not be back to their old self, but they seem okay and on some days caregiver isn't even reminded of what happened…

Until they catch the whumpee indulging in old patterns. Maybe the whumpee secretly punishes themselves. Maybe whumpee lets it slip they see themselves as less than human. Maybe the indulge in the form of unhealthy relationships or substance abuse.

The caregivers whole world comes crashing down while whumpee completely undoes any progress before their eyes as they realize they got caught.

[heiresstm]

For eighteen years, he's lied to her face about his happiness, his joy.. was he ever truly honest with her about anything?

Her childhood was used as an excuse to escape the screeching of her upset mother, broken his near decade-long promise to watch burning asteroids with her in favor of having the last word against her mother, and then he gives his life in the place of his affair partner! Octavia is thankful that her father's life had been spared, but.. to perform a song on live TV and confess to staging his own assassination?

None of it makes sense, and he's had so, so many chances to come clean and talk to her until this point. She isn't a little hatchling anymore! She can take it! She can hear and understand the truth, if some EFFORT was put into it!!

Maybe... if these kept her so well-hidden from his anxieties for so long, they could do the same for her, too. She knows it isn't right -- it's not hers to take -- but Octavia is so sick of being the one caught between the floods of rage and anguish of either of her parents, and she wants to feel some modicum of normalcy again.

[lietwice]

thinking abt the episode second skin. there is absolutely no way that garak doesn't have some sort of breakdown after that. first sisko implies that he might have him kicked off the station, after acknowledging that it's the safest place for him. then he suggests he'll do that if garak doesn't help them. helping them then consists of going to cardassia, the one place he isn't allowed to go, the place that being away from is 'no life at all'. so he gets a little taste of home, a reminder of what he's missing, because he's literally being threatened with getting kicked off the station if he doesn't. then he has to go back to the station. and that's that. he just has to carry on with his life.

there are too many ways he could spiral from that. there's the possibility of a sudden increase in paranoia or a full blown psychotic episode, there's the drug addiction, there's the alcohol, there's the claustrophobia and panic attacks... so many possibilities.

what's also quite fun ( not fun. very much not fun for him. ) is that if he tries to explain, the truth kind of sounds like the sort of paranoid delusion he might have? that he's going to be kicked off the station and murdered if he doesn't do what he's told, that sisko is extorting him, that he was forced to go to cardassia, that they might make him do more things...