Tw Alchoholism - Tumblr Posts
I may have furrified Augusto and Melora. Just a little bit.
The two Mexican 14 year olds in the worst relationship ever, everybody.
The song Melora is dancing to in that one fourth picture is called “Fiesta Pagana” by Mago de Oz. Check it out.
slice of life
Wartober/Kisstober - Day 15
I’ve decided to combine @rubinecorvus Wartober 2021 and @raincoffeeandfandoms Kisstober 2021 prompt challenges for double the fun and double the headache. :3
Day 15 - Spirit + Kisses In The Rain
WARNING: Chick flick moments ahead. And yes I did listen to Easy On Me on repeat for this one and I make zero apologizes, SO THERE. xD
“Come home,” Nixon says.
The rain mats his dark hair into a fringe that covers half his vision and he keeps spitting out mouthfuls of waters he’s gathering as he pants. He’s shaking but it has nothing to do with the water soaking him to the bone.
“I can’t,” Dick tells him sadly. “I told you.”
“I know. I know what you said. But just come home.”
“Lew-“
“I signed up for rehab,” Nixon cuts him off.
For a long pause, the rain falls around them, indifferent and cold, misting their breath into little clouds in the space between them.
“You did?” Dick’s voice is soft, hesitant.
Nixon nods, and dares to take a slow step closer. As if Dick is a skittish animal who might run if he rushes the approach.
“I check in next Thursday.”
Dick blinks water from his lashes, frozen in disbelief.
“And I’m gonna go,” Nixon says. “I’m gonna give it my best shot. But Dick, I’m so fucking scared.”
He takes another step, closing the distance one foot at a time. Heel to toe, scraping over the slick pavement. So far Dick hasn't moved. He’s just staring with a hungry intensity, like he wants to believe what he’s being told but can’t help search for a chink in Nixon’s honesty.
“Of relapsing?” Dick croaks.
“Of living without armor. I’m not like you. I don’t charge into battle certain I’ll come out on top. I’m- well, I’m a goddamn coward.”
Dick doesn’t like this admission. His mouth tightens into a line.
“You’re not a coward, Lew. You jumped out of moving planes.”
“Because you did,” Nixon corrects him. “I enlisted for myself. But I survived over there on your borrowed spirit, we both know that.”
Dick turns his head with a huff, jaw set.
“Loan it to me just a little while longer. I swear I’ll give it back once I figure out how to do this.”
Dick shakes his head, indicating he doesn’t know what ‘this’ is.
“Live,” he clarifies. “Charge. Jump.”
Dick’s eyes are wet and Nixon can’t tell if it’s rain or not. His face keeps wobbling between devastation and hope. It makes Nixon’s chest constrict to the point of pain, because he has no desire to be a sadist, to keep dragging this man’s trust through the mud with his negligent callousness. But at some point Dick has become as integral as oxygen and Nixon is terrified of suffocating should he fail to barter another chance he doesn’t deserve.
He holds out imploring hands, begging Dick not to run. “I figure it might be easier if I knew I had something - anything - waiting for me on the other side.”
Dick exhales shakily.
Nixon gears up for the agony of choking when Dick turns and walks away. He’s not ready, will never be ready, but he’ll stand at attention in the rain and watch the love of his life serve a benefiting sentence for his crimes against his steadfast heart.
Then Dick drops his knapsack to splash on the ground at his feet, snaking forward to hook Nixon by the back of the neck and draw him in for a punishing kiss.
Nixon gasps beneath him, trembling, numb fingers clutching at Dick’s shirt front like a lifeline. Dick breathes life back into him, every place their lips connect bursting forth with warmth and color enough to combat the grey of the storm. He can taste lifetimes wasted and never lived on Dick’s mouth, their future washing away with every passing second, like water through Nixon’s fingers.
He wants to stop the world, slow it’s rotation and drag this moment out so he can memorize every piece of it, use it’s light to illuminate the dark cold existence waiting for him without Dick’s fire.
All too soon, Dick withdraws. Nixon whimpers.
Sniffing once, twice, Dick knocks his forehead into Nixon’s, presses in like he’s trying to get even closer and squeezes the nape of his neck.
“Dick?” Nixon breathes in a sob.
He clings to him, heart in his throat. He fears it’s a goodbye kiss until Dick cuts the drone of the rain with a barely audible, gruff promise.
“You got something, Lew. You got me.”
https://archiveofourown.org/works/34542667
Leave me comments/emojis/just random noises on my ao3 please and thank you! :D
I want to start heavily drinking so I can stop feeling anything
cash going from your typical “ugh here we go another loser drug dealer” stereotype to an asexual child of an alcoholic who struggled with self harm and is desperately trying to escape his groomer and ex-gang to be with his non binary poc partner…I LOVE YOU CASH!
God made me mentally ill because he KNEW that if I wasn't, that I would be writing essays on how alcoholism, toxic family dynamics and domestic abuse are normalised within Australian culture.
Posting this separately from the rest for tw reasons
It's been a long time since ive read the first book of quests, but from what I remember, if Alex wasn't in a kids book he would be slamming back shots every night. Poor guys fucking depressed. On the other side, I headcannon Aaron as being heavily adverse to drinking, which is kinda funny because he's literally killed people.
I know Oda consistently draws post-timeskip Zoro as malnourished and dehydrated to show all those muscles, but I legitimately think soft strongman beefcake is peak Zoro design. You know Mihawk was telling Zoro about macros and micros, proteins, rest days, recovery meals, and through sheer force of will alone forced Zoro to stop substituting alcohol for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
I will never be convinced post-ts Zoro is anything but this
honestly i think he’d look amazing with a body like Sasaki, but conservatively.. he should be a barrel
Here they are~
Commission by @vixxmann aka Larrikin in Telegram
To the Chief, If He Can Hear Me.
There are lines you can’t cross,
But they’re fine ones, and blurred.
There are things you can’t do,
But that you’d much prefer.
As the orange sun sets,
And the time rushes by,
My hands remain wet,
Though the blood’s long since dried.
You can’t justify means
Just to serve all your ends,
But the law’s long been smashed,
And all good men condemned.
Because blinded by Light,
We saw not what we should.
And his smile seemed so bright
When his teeth glowed with blood.
It’s true you can’t load a gun, go blind, and shoot,
But betrayed in the warehouse,
‘Twas all I could do.
I had no more words,
So I fired with all might.
Gun in hand, vision blurred,
With my target in sight.
And backwards he stumbles,
Downwards he falls.
One more Yagami gone from the frame on the wall.
You explained all the lessons and lines long ago,
And I had believed them, cause how could I know
That you’d die at the hands of your pride and your joy?
That I’d be relieved to shoot your little boy?
Why did I do it, and what was it for?
Am I better than he was, or evil therefore?
No answer will come,
And you’re ash in a pot,
So I’ll down some more sake
And drown all my thoughts.
tony: i’m playing a new drinking game
tony: it’s called “every time i’m depressed i take a drink”
pepper: that game exists, it’s called alcoholism